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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

Text

what happened the first time Wes tried to crack open the Danny is Phantom conspiracy did he like, confront Danny first or was it all behind his back like, maybe hoping ground zero would be lost among the gossip and that Danny wouldn't find out who spilled the beans once everyone knew

I mean it obviously wouldn't work because nobody believed him and the gossip didn't take off very far beyond a few people talking about Wes being kinda weird

I should absolutely write a fic about this.

I am absolutely going to write a fic about this.

I AM RIGHT NOW GOING TO WRITE A FIC ABOUT THIS.

----

"Hey Fenton! Fenton!!" Dash came bounding over and threw a meaty arm around his shoulder.

"Jesus Dash! What?!" Danny buckled under the weight (pretended to anyway) as Dash gave him a surprisingly lighthearted punch on the arm.

"You haven't heard?! Wes has this total batshit insane theory, it's hilarious!"

Dash was in a genuine giggle-fit, Danny didn't think he'd ever seen him this merry, he was also starting to suspect he was going to leave this conversation being the butt of the joke somehow. Wait-

"Wes? Who the heck is Wes?" Danny asked, it wasn't like he knew everyone in school, like Dash seemed to.

"He's on the basketball team, you know, tall guy, red hair, threw a sick move at least month's game! You know, WES!"

"I didn't watch that game."

"Oh," said Dash, flatly, "Oh yeah, almost forgot you're a total nerd. Anyway, like I was saying!"

Dash grabbed Danny by the shoulders and nearly lifted him off the floor.

"Wes thinks," he could barely speak through his giggling, he even snorted a few times, "Wes thinks your secretly PHANTOM."

Dash dropped Danny back down as he doubled over laughing.

"Could you imagine?! You! You're not even DEAD!" Dash honest to god slapped his knee in mirth.

Danny went through an incredibly swift array of emotions in the span of about five seconds.

The first was fear, clear and bracing, then came confusion, how did he know? Had he seen something? Then there was hope, Dash didn't believe it, and if DASH didn't believe it, maybe nobody else believed it either. Then relief, he could roll with this, he could TOTALLY roll with this! Dash was right! It was absurd, it was ridiculous, it was hilarious, him being Phantom? What utter nonsense!

Sam and Tucker had been standing by his side at a Dash-safe distance, looking absolutely horrified. Sam looked ready to jump in and lay down a swift defence, but Danny gave a quick little low wave for her to stand down. He got this.

"Oh my god SERIOUSLY?" Danny busted out a slightly hysterical laugh, okay so he wasn't completely over the initial terrified anxiety.

"How could I- I mean what- WHY does he think I'M Phantom?! I mean how does that even work I don't-"

Dash clapped him on the shoulder, this was probably the most contact he'd ever had with him without being physically assaulted.

"I know right?! Like apparently he thinks you look alike? And he's all like 'But I've seen his eyes glow green' and 'they're never in the same roo-hoo-hoom." Dash wheezed and started hacking and coughing.

Danny carefully constructed a look of offence.

"Hey I mean, it's not THAT funny. Why couldn't I be Phantom! I know how to use a Fenton Thermos! Look I even HAVE one right-" he torn open his backpack and pulled one out, making sure to fumble it in a terrific display of fuck-uppery and drop it noisily on the cafeteria floor, he dropped to his knees trying to grab it but knocked it under a table.

A few girls standing nearby who'd been listening in started tittering, one of the guys sitting at the table snorted milk through his nose and Dash was just about on the floor in hysterics.

Even Sam and Tucker covered their mouths in an attempt to look like they were holding in laughter. Tucker muttered to Sam, just loud enough for people around to hear.

"I mean, he's our friend and we love him, but god that was painful to watch. He knows he's terrible at ghost hunting! He's got like, nothing but thumbs."

Danny climbed under the table, grabbed at the thermos and lifted it up as he crawled back out.

"See! See! I have a thermos! I could TOTALLY be Phantom!"

Sam walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay bud, I think you'd be a great Phantom." her voice was thick with her usual sarcasm, soaked in pity though it were.

Danny's ears burned in embarrassment, he might have been humiliating himself on purpose, but it was still humiliating, watching everyone laugh at him for being so weak and incompetent. He was grateful to his friends for pushing through their discomfort and keeping up the act, it was still painful, but it came with a wash of pure unadulterated relief.

Nobody believed this Wes guy, nobody thought it could be even remotely possible. People would talk about it for a little while, have a laugh, maybe there would be a few memes and in-jokes, but eventually it would drop off. People would forget all about it and it would be just another notch on the gossip mill belt.

Even if someone DID believe it, they could never admit it for fear of vicious ridicule, for once in his life peer pressure was his friend.

And then Wes walked in.

Once Danny saw him he realised that he did recognise Wes, he'd seen him hanging around Kwan a few times, and chatting with Star, he was also in Danny's english class. That was about as familiar as he got with the guy, they'd never spoken a word to each other.

Wes had a terrifying expression of seething fury ripping across his face. He was glaring at Dash.

"It's NOT. FUNNY."

Dash was completely unable to stand, it was honestly overkill, Danny almost thought he was hamming it up on purpose, but maybe not, his face was turning an alarming shade of red after all.

"Wes don-" Dash gasped. "Don't do this to me man, I can't brea-" Dash was gasping for air, trying desperately to hold down the giggles.

Danny could almost see steam rising as Wes seethed. Then suddenly that furious stare was shooting daggers straight at him. Danny shrank into himself, looking as small and helpless as he possibly could.

"Uh hey Wes, um, I've heard the news." he joked tacking on a nervous laugh for emphasis. "Uh, soooo," he tossed the thermos from hand to hand, nearly dropping it again. "Is this like, just a joke or do you really-?"

Dash continued to wheeze, Kwan was holding him up by the arm, muttering about getting some water to cool off.

Wes strode over until he and Danny were face to face, he was taller by a good couple inches, even more so with Danny making a conscious effort to appear small.

Wes jabbed a sharp finger into his collarbone.

"Don't think I'm fooled by this pathetic act you've got going on, I am ONTO you, Phantom." he spat.

Danny glanced sidelong at the table beside him, silently begging for assistance, they only watched in silence, strained faces trying not to laugh. A glance the other way to his friends, they simply shrugged.

"Um, okaaay," Danny started backing away slowly. "Uh look Wes I am honestly really flattered but, do we really look that alike?" Danny ran a hand through his hair and then pointed up at Wes. "I mean we BOTH kinda have Phantom's haircut."

Sam deadpanned from the sidelines, "Maybe they're BOTH Phantom."

"We should start marketing that haircut." Tucker muttered to himself, tapping something on his tablet. "We could make a fortune, are you any good at hairdressing?"

Sam shot him a look of disgust and did not dignify the question with a response.

"Don't play dumb you two," said Wes, flipping his focus, "You're definitely in on this!"

The entire cafeteria was awash with giggles by this point. Just about everyone had heard about Wes' theory, but were mostly convinced it was some kinda joke. Now? Now they knew Wes was straight up fucking delusional.

He glanced around as people laughed, at him. At HIM.

"It's not funny!" he yelled over the crowed, the tittering increased in volume. Someone across the room yelled-

"Hey if I get the haircut, can I be Phantom too?"

One of the goths stood up on her seat.

"I've GOT the haircut! Mom says it's MY TURN to be the Phantom!"

There was a fresh round of mirthful laughter, some kids wheezing as hard as Dash had been. Another few kids piped up above the cacophony, throwing jokes of their own.

"I've got a soup thermos so I'm Phantom now, sorry sweaty I don't make the rules."

"If I wear a Phantom shirt does that make me Phantom ALL the time or am I only Phantom when I'm wearing it?"

"I have an ass, Phantom has an ass. Conclusion: I am Phantom's ass."

"Tag yourself I'm the thermos."

"DO THE BUTTS MATCH?"

Wes had been trying to scream over the din, infuriated, desperate to find SOMEONE who would listen.

Danny gave him a pat on the back.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, The Guys in White once hunted some guy down because he had white hair, if a government agency can fuck that up then-"

Wes slugged him.

It wasn't a particularly solid punch like Dash's hits, it was quick and precise, Was wasn't a brawny guy, but he was lean and fast and had good aim.

Danny whuffed out a heavy breath as Wes' fist collided with his sternum and he collapsed to the floor.

Everyone in the cafeteria lost their shit, a few people screamed and one table of football jocks all stood up chanting, "FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT."

Tucker ran over to him as Sam stepped up and without hesitation slammed a fist straight into Wes' nose.

The footballers lost their minds, one of the goths stood up on their table screaming "REPRESEEENT!!"

Wes backed up immediately, crying out from the sharp pain blossoming across his face, he'd never been hit before and couldn't pull his thoughts together quick enough to throw a punch back at her, so he was taken by surprise once again as Sam placed a solid roundhouse kick to his stomach.

He had certainly not been expecting that kind of brute strength from her, she had incapacitated him swiftly and effectively, barely having broken a sweat.

One of his teammates hollered over the crowd and came barrelling down on the goth, she dodged without batting an eye and darted nimbly out of the way, giving the guy a quick kick in the pants to throw him off balance as she rocketed for the cafeteria door.

As Wes took a deep breath through his mouth, his nose dripping blood, he realised that Danny and Tucker were gone. The fight had lasted only seconds but Sam had run distraction well enough for the boys to take off without anyone noticing, a glance around showed Tucker supporting Danny about to exit through the cafeteria doors.

The doors opened to an out of breath Mr Lancer on the other side.

"'The Light Fantastic!' WHAT is going on here?!"

Oh they were all so fucked.

#danny phantom #wes weston #I definitely wanna write a sequel in detention #danny phantom fanfiction #Lula's headcanons #Lula's fanfics

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arrowflier · 3 years

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Betting on Bullets

Daily Speedwrite, finally stopped keeping count. I’m sure lots of people have written scenes similar to this, so please let me know if I hit too close to anything existing.

It was a Sunday afternoon when it happened. Everyone was at the house for a family dinner--Ian and Mickey included, despite the latter’s protests that better things awaited them at home--and they gathered around the table as the oven timer ticked away.

Carl was telling some story he heard from his partner about a shootout outside the old Macy’s, complete with his own colorful commentary.

“Then, POW!” he shouted, jolting back in his seat with the kickback from a fake shotgun. “Jones got one of ‘em in the leg.” He relaxed again with a shrug, adding at a normal volume, “other one got away though.”

Mickey hmphed, taking a long sip from the beer bottle he had been dangling from loose fingers.

“Damn cops,” he muttered.

Carl raised an eyebrow at him across the table, ignoring Ian’s headshake and Lip’s widened eyes.

“What?” Mickey asked roughly when he caught the look. “I said what I said.”

“Bet I woulda taken both of ‘em down,” he challenged. “Gotta keep criminals off my streets.”

“Here we go,” Tami murmured under her breath, standing and taking Fred from Lip’s arms. “We’ll be in the other room when you all calm down.”

“Me too,” Liam said, jumping down from his chair and hurrying through to the living room. Tami turned to follow as the remaining boys started in on each other, then paused at the counter.

“Franny, why don’t you come with me?” she suggested lightly. The little girl shook her head without looking up, completely absorbed in doodling on a scrap of paper that used to be a water bill.

“She’s fine,” Debbie said absently from where she sat next to her daughter, texting someone.

“Kid, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,” Mickey dismissed behind them.

“You wanna grab a gun and try me?” Carl goaded loudly, and Debbie finally looked up, right into Tami’s expectant eyes.

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled. “We’re coming.”

House rules left with the children, apparently, and things got louder behind them as they moved into the living room.

“I could outshoot you any day, Gallagher,” Mickey announced.

“Mick,” Ian warned, lost under Carl’s response.

“Please, I’d wipe the floor with you.”

“Alright, alright!” Lip cut in. “Let’s settle this the old fashioned way.” Everyone quieted as he took charge. “Ian, go get one of those targets you used to steal from ROTC, think we’ve got one in the attic still. Carl, Mickey, go get your guns and meet us under the L.”

“What guns?” Mickey asked innocently, wide eyes fixed on Carl. “I’m an ex-con, man, I don’t got no guns.” He thumbed his brow. “Least not while there’s baby cops in the house.”

“I’m not gonna turn you in, Mickey,” Carl said, rolling his eyes. “Just gonna prove I can take you.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. Seeing it, Ian sighed, getting up from the table with a groan and heading upstairs to find the target. He knew not to fight that look.

Behind him, he could hear Mickey say, “Oh, it’s on.”

-----

Twenty minutes later and the four of them are gathered under the train, target set up along the length of the tracks.

“Alright,” Lip said when he finished adjusting it. “Here’s how this is gonna work. We all get three shots. Go for head, heart, and groin.” He gestured to the appropriate areas on the target. “Carl and I will use his gun, Ian and Mickey use theirs.”

“We’re part of this now?” Ian asked his brother, exasperated, but Lip just grinned.

“What, you were gonna let your husband have all the fun?” His grin turned sharp. “Or are you worried you can’t hack it? All that army stuff was a long time ago, little brother.”

Ian, tight-lipped at the sudden mention of his old dream, didn’t respond. Mickey just muttered, “asshole,” under his breath, and stepped forward.

“My turn first,” he decided, raising his gun and shooting off three quick rounds before Lip could even get clear.

“Fucking hell, Mickey!” he yelped as he flinched away. “Give me some fucking warning next time!”

“Nah,” Mickey replied. “Gotta have my fun, right?” He spun his now-unloaded gun around his trigger finger, showing off.

“Jesus,” Lip said under his breath, taking out a marker and writing “MM” next to each hole in the target. Mickey hadn’t done too bad for such a quick draw.

“I’m next,” Carl declared, stepping into position and taking his stance. “Out of the way, Lip.”

Lip took a few exaggerated steps to the side before nodding, and Carl squinted for a second before firing off his own shots.

“Not bad,” Lip said when he returned to mark them. “Looks pretty close, actually.” He leaned back to get a better look, then gestured Ian over. “What do you think?”

Ian glanced over the spread of bullet holes, shaking his head. “I think it’s a shame,” he offered. He got three confused looks in return, and clarified, “all that lead-up, and neither one of you can shoot for shit.”

Carl just gaped at him, but Mickey snorted. “Oh, excuse me,” he started, “think you can do better, Mr.--”

He was cut off by Ian grabbing the gun from his hand and shooting three times in quick succession, the sound drowning out the rest of his taunt.

Everything was quiet for a moment, and then--

“Fuck,” Lip breathed. “Ian wins.”

“No fucking way.” Carl walked up to peer at the target, where a new hole sat right between his and Mickey’s shots at each point of interest. “How did you do that?” he asked as he faced his brother, but Ian was locked in an intense staring contest with Mickey, and didn’t hear him.

“Uh, guys?” he tried, and it snapped Mickey out of it enough to grab Ian by the arm and start dragging him away.

“We’re leavin’“ he said gruffly, and Ian brokered no argument, casting a giddy grin over his shoulder at his brothers.

“But I haven’t even gotten a turn!” Lip called after them.

“And unless you wanna watch your brother’s perfect aim in a whole new way, you’re not gonna!” Mickey returned.

They never did make it back to the house for dinner.

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #carl gallagher #lip gallagher #fanfic

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

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Nowhere Else to Go

Rating: Teen, Gen

Graphic depictions of violence, Major character death.

TW: Self-harm, mentioned child abuse, emotional manipulation

Chapter 2/4: Curses and Glyphs

Ch 1

“You know those are fake, right?”

At Emperor Belos’ voice, Lilith surged upwards, creating a blade of ice and pointing it at him. He went cross-eyed looking at the point that was touching his nose, and she lowered it. Slowly. “Apologies. I keep forgetting that it’s you.” She glanced at the texts on the coffee table. “I know. That doesn’t mean it’s all lies, though. There may be some truth to it. I shouldn’t discount any source until I’m sure it’s all false.”

He sat down cross-legged on the floor, sliding one of the books over to his side and flipping through it. “Where did all of this junk come from?”

“My mother. She was desperate to find a cure for Edalyn, and she… fell for quite a few scams.”

“Mmm.” Hunter scanned the pages, then froze. “Who owned this before your mother?”

“I don’t know. Some con artist. Why?”

Hunter turned the book around and jabbed a finger at the corner of the page. “Wild witch magic. There’s a glyph here.”

Lilith snatched it up. “Lemme see.” Sure enough, there was a glyph sequence at the bottom of the page. “Hmmm.” She sketched the glyphs on a piece of paper. “Alright, let’s see what this does!”

Hunter grabbed her wrist. “Wait, we don’t know what it’s capable of!”

Lilith yanked away. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“It could be dangerous!”

“I doubt it.”

“This is how you burned down the library! It’s wild magic, it’s unpredictable and—”

Lilith snorted. “Now you really sound like Belos.”

Hunter jolted upright. “Don’t—”

Lilith grabbed his wrist. “C’mere.” She pulled his hand closer to the glyph, and he tensed. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

“I—I don’t have any magic, it won’t—”

“Then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Lilith tapped his hand on the glyph. It glowed gently, and spheres made of ice floated into the air, glowing and making sparkling patterns on the walls.

Lilith’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

Hunter yanked his hand away, and the ice crashed to the ground. “You shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have—it’s wild magic, it’s forbidden and—”

“That’s Belos talking. You don’t work for him anymore. You don’t have to listen to what he said. Wild magic isn’t anything to be scared of—it’s dangerous, yes, of course, anything powerful is, but it’s also... hope.” She shrugged. “Have you ever been able to do magic without a staff before?”

Hunter looked at the fallen ice, then slowly sat back down next to her. “…can you… show me again? I read some books, but I—I’ve never—it’s forbidden, and I—”

“And you were a good little soldier, I know. Very loyal. To a bit of a fault.”

His ears turned red. It was… incredibly odd, seeing Belos like this. Just a scared kid. Lilith sketched a light glyph. “Try this one. It’s easy—just a light glyph. Nothing to be scared of.”

Hunter tapped it, and it floated up, a twinkling light illuminating the cursed slime taking over his face. “…huh.”

“Does that look dangerous to you?”

“…I guess not.” Hunter sketched his own and tapped it. Nothing happened. He sighed. “Guess I should have known. I can’t do magic on my own.”

Lilith sketched light glyph after light glyph, pushing them sideways across the table for him to touch and activate. Despite his melancholy, he did, creating constellations, glittering masterpieces over heir heads. “That’s because you’re thinking of magic as something you have to do on your own. I didn’t create these glyphs—I didn’t even discover them. Luz found them, she taught them to me. And she didn’t create them, either—she simply followed the patterns in nature. None of us use our magic on our own—the isles gave us this gift, showed us the way.” She sketched one last light glyph and pushed it over to him. “Maybe you can’t do magic on your own, but no one can.”

He didn’t activate the last glyph, and she glanced over. He was staring into space, his eyes unfocused. “Hunter? Are you—”

He made a choking noise and fell over to the side, gagging and coughing. The slime that was taking over his face came out of his mouth, and a jolt of panic ran down Lilith’s spine.

“Hold on!”

He whined, coughing up more slime as she ran for the kitchen, sliding back down next to him with a bottle of elixir. She tilted it into his mouth, rubbing his throat to make him swallow. Hunter hacked and coughed some more, and she sat him up so he could breathe easier.

“Your arms,” he wheezed.

She looked down. Feathers had started poking out. “Ah.” She went back to the kitchen, sipping her own bottle of elixir. When she went back, he was hiding behind the couch again, his knees drawn up to his chest. “I… didn’t know how bad Belos’ curse was,” she said softly.

He looked to the side. “He didn’t let many people see him vulnerable,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Lilith slid down to sit next to him. “Neither did you.”

“I’m not vulnerable. I mean—I am in this slime-sack, but I wasn’t.”

“Mmm.” Lilith twisted the ends of her hair in her hands. “When I was a kid, my mother never paid attention to me. And then when I joined the emperor’s coven, it was… the opposite. People paid attention. If I made them. If I earned it. I had to fight hard for approval, but I could get that scrap of approval, the attention that my mother never gave me. And in a way… I think that was worse. You, me, Kikimora, always at each other’s throats. Trying to take each other down to get Belos’ approval. Maybe if we’d ever stopped fighting each other, we would have realized that we could have helped each other. Maybe if we’d stopped seeing each other as the enemy, life… could have been better. For me. Certainly for you.”

“I was fine.”

“You were alive. But you weren’t fine, none of us were. None of us could be fine in that situation. Kikimora’s still not fine, she’s top dog now that we’re both gone, I’m sure, but she’ll spend every second paranoid that someone else is coming for her power.”

Hunter rested his chin on his knees. “Maybe you weren’t fine. Maybe you were unhappy, maybe you struggled. But Belos cared about me. He was happy I was there, I was useful. I was special.”

Lilith sighed. “We went over this, Hunter. He was using you. Your ‘special’ ness? Was the fact that he could take your body. Belos doesn’t care about any of us. He never did. Would you be here now if he really cared about you?”

He looked away again. “Whatever. You wouldn’t get it.”

Lilith stood up. “No. You’re right. I wouldn’t. Belos was using me, but in my mind, I was using him, too. I thought I could get him to do what I wanted, to heal my sister. I never had the same devotion to him you did. I had Edalyn—maybe I was wrong in how I treated her, maybe I was a bad sister, but at least I had something to live for other than those fleeting moments of approval from Belos. I’m surprised you even came here after Belos threw you out. I’d think you’d still be at his side like a kicked dog, still begging for a pat on the head.” She moved back towards the kitchen. She should probably store some elixir around the house like Eda had for her, so that he could get to it in time if another attack hit him. “But… I suppose I’m glad you’re not. Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Hunter.

Xxx

Lilith couldn’t sleep. It happened a lot since the curse—she woke up, unfortunately usually with a craving for voles that meant it was probably time to take another elixir. She shambled out into the hallway, and was about to create light when she realized she could see. There was a soft glow coming from Eda’s old room, and she padded over, pushing open the door to see Hunter poring over the scam healing books, a ball of light floating above him.

“Wow, no wonder the bags under your eyes are so bad. What are you doing up this late?”

“Reading.”

“Hilarious. Couldn’t sleep?”

Hunter rubbed at his eyes. “What if I have another attack when I’m asleep? I’ll choke on slime and die, and I’ll just… never wake up. And you’re asleep, and your mother is asleep—if Belos attacks us, we’re sitting ducks!”

“And you’d do what, exactly? Cough up slime at him? You’re just running yourself ragged.” She nudged him with one foot. “C’mon, let’s go downstairs before we wake up Mother.”

He trudged after her, tripping over his own feet and knocking into her from behind. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I’m just… still not used to this body.”

“’s fine.” Lilith put the kettle on, a ball of light hovering over her shoulder. “Find anything interesting in those books?”

“They’re mostly junk. But I did find a couple more glyphs! I’d need you to test them, though, I still can’t do it on my own—I had to use that last glyph you drew for light. It’s really strange finding them, though, because Belos heavily restricted all wild magic. Luz only found the glyphs by studying nature—it’s odd to find them in some scam book. But your sister was considered a criminal, too, and a wild witch, and she probably ran a scam or two like this. Makes me wonder if maybe there’s some kind of… I don’t know, underground scam group of wild witches? I know there are wild witches out there, but the idea of there being a wider group, not just a few loners floating around is—” he shrank back into himself. “Never mind. It’s too late—you don’t want to hear about it, I’m sure—”

Lilith poured the boiling water into a pair of mugs. “No, go on, I’m listening. I asked. An underground group of wild witches? It would be hard to hide that from Belos. How do the scam books fit into it?”

“Code? Or maybe a lot of the wild witches use scamming people as a smokescreen to keep Belos from figuring out that they’re actually part of a wider wild coven?”

“A wild coven. There’s a concept. I know Eda jokes about her ‘bad girls coven’ but…”

“They’d know glyph patterns beyond what you can piece together on your own, like the one we did earlier. If we could find them—”

Lilith set a mug of tea down in front of him and sipped her own. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. A few glyphs in a scam healing book doesn’t mean there’s a whole secret society out there. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t. But we don’t have enough information to go charging out chasing shadows. Careful with that, it’s hot.”

Hunter sipped at the tea. “Okay. Okay, fine. But if there is, they might know spells we don’t—maybe how to lift curses.”

Oh. “Hunter, I… maybe. But please, please, please don’t pin all of your hopes on it.”

“I… don’t know what else to pin my hopes on. Belos spent years trying to remove his curse. The only thing he wouldn’t accept is wild magic, so if there’s a cure, it must be there!”

“Okay. It’s too late now to look into it, though. Let’s… try some of those new glyph combos?”

He nodded and followed her into the living room. It was still… disconcerting. After all, that was a full adult body, and an old one at that. But most of the time, despite the old appearance, Lilith could easily imagine him as a child. It was something about the way his face moved, the way he talked. The way he held himself. It was missing the usual bravado of the Golden Guard she’d known, but still seemed so familiar.

Hunter sketched the glyph patterns on a piece of paper, and Lilith copied it. She pushed it to him. “You go.”

He tapped it, and explosion went off. Hunter yelped and jumped backwards as Lilith snorted. “You did that on purpose!”

“I did not! Probably an experimental glyph that didn’t work out. Edalyn tried a few of those. Glyph combos can be tricky.”

Hunter rubbed soot off of his face. “Told you it was dangerous!”

“Everything on the boiling isles is dangerous.”

“Yeah, but—” Hunter broke off coughing, ooze coating his hand. “Hngh—”

Lilith pushed the papers to the side. “That’s enough excitement for one night, I think. You need to go to sleep.”

She helped him stumble his way up the stairs and back to Eda’s room, sitting him back down on the bed. “Now sleep.”

He curled up in an exhausted ball. Lilith extinguished the light with a sigh. How did Eda take care of a kid all of the time? Did Luz stay up all night, too? Lilith went back downstairs and started a letter to Hooty.

Dear Hootsifer,

The Golden Guard is at my house. I need you to let Edalyn know—Belos has switched bodies with him. It’s… odd, having him around. He’s not as much of a brat as I remember. The problem is, Belos was suffering from a curse. And I’m relatively certain that it’s fatal. I don’t know how much time Hunter has left. I wish I could help him, but I don’t even know where to start. I wish you were here—you’ve had Luz in the house for so long, I’m sure you could help with this one.

Love, Lilith

Lilith sighed, and went back up the stairs, briefly poking her head into Eda’s room. Hunter was still curled up in a ball, but… something was wrong. He was all tensed up, and she thought she heard a strangled whimper. Lilith crept into the room, sitting down next to him. “Hunter?” she said in a low voice.

He started awake, grabbing her hand. “No!”

“Hunter, it’s just me, you’re okay—”

“I didn’t mean to, it’s not my f-faul—” He squeezed tighter, then fell back asleep, twitching.

Lilith shook her head, but didn’t pry her hand out of his grasp.

What did Belos do to you?

Ch 3

#toh #the owl house #toh hunter #lilith clawthorne #toh lilith #tw: child abuse #tw: emotional manipulation

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sofwrites · 3 years

Note

for the prompt thing; polin + 41

41: sitting close and knees touching | Also my entry for Polin Week Day 3: Modern AU

A modern twist on Penelope finding out about Colin's journals

Themes: angst, yearning, teasing | Length: 2.3k

Read on ao3 or under the cut | masterlist

Thank you for requesting! xx

He hadn’t planned on telling anyone. He really hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them. And he really really hadn’t planned on anyone ever reading them.

The only reason Colin had even started keeping a journal was to remind himself that he was a real person on his travels- that he had the power to leave something permanent on earth. That he wasn’t completely wasting his time flitting from country to country- desperately trying to find some sort of purpose in his life.

Again, he hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them.

But one day he was painstakingly hiding his journals in a deep, hidden corner of his laptop, and the next, Penelope Featherington had found one. She’d found one then read. And somehow, she thought they were good. Actually good. Not I’m-only-saying-this-to-be-nice good.

And, sure, it had all happened by accident, but after some time, Colin was so incredibly thankful that it did.

He’d been hiding out in Eloise’s flat (Anthony had texted about wanting to meet that afternoon because- well, it didn’t matter really. The fact of the matter was that Colin had no desire to do so) when the buzzer rang.

He ignored it and continued to flip through the book in his hand.

But then it rang again. And again.

And on the fourth ring, Colin finally groaned and forced himself off of the sofa.

It was barely a second after his finger had reached the speaker that a loud, rather familiar-sounding shriek rang out. “Eloise!! Eloise! Please tell me you’re there!”

With a snort, Colin cut the voice off and buzzed them in. And in roughly a minute (an impressive feat considering that Eloise lived on the fifth floor), he saw a bouncing bit of red hair through the peephole and opened the door.

“Thank God, I really need-” Penelope froze mid-step in the frame as her eyes traveled up to reach Colin’s face. For a moment, she just stared, her mouth parted open. And then she swallowed and gave a quick shake of the head.

With a slightly forced smile, she nodded and swept past him, looking around as she went towards the sitting room. “Is Eloise in?”

“She’s not,” Colin answered flatly as he casually leaned against the closed door. He kept an impressively blank expression as Penelope haphazardly rifled through Eloise’s desk, roughly blowing a few loose curls out of her face. “Looking for something?”

Penelope either missed or simply ignored the teasing tone as she frantically moved her search to the sofa cushions. “Did she leave her laptop here?”

“Don’t think so. Though I’m not entirely sure- all she told me was to try not to empty her entire fridge.”

Normally, that would have elicited Colin a laugh or an amused smile, but all Penelope did was let out a groan. A groan that bizarrely caused his stomach to flip. He glanced away from her, clearing his throat. ”Erm- but if you need a laptop, I do have mine.”

Penelope looked up at him with such sharpness that it caught him a bit off guard. “You do? Can I borrow it?”

He blinked at her for a moment, but quickly nodded and motioned to his bag near her feet. He’d barely muttered a “Course” before she’d already retrieved and set it on the table.

“Oh, password’s-” Colin balked for a second, his mouth still open. He’d never told anyone his password before, and it felt… Odd. Unnerving to give away such a private piece of information. But Penelope was looking up at him again, eyes huge and slightly feral, antsy fingers hovering over the keys. He rubbed the back of his neck before mumbling, “GregorySux. With an x.”

The tips of Penelope’s fingers froze as the corner of her mouth twitched, but she bit her lip as she looked down to type.

“He kept hacking into it,” Colin said in an attempt to justify himself.

She seemed so focused on the screen that he thought she hadn’t heard him, but, almost absentmindedly, Penelope said, “Don’t think it’s hacking if your password is literally Password.”

He gaped at her. “I can’t believe Eloise told you!”

This time, Penelope just shrugged in response, her attention completely taken away. The only sounds that filled the room were those of her lightning-quick typing.

He stood there for a moment, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as he watched her fingers work. And then he cracked his neck before nodding. “Right, I’ll give you a minute…”

And as he reached Eloise’s toilet, it occurred to Colin he’d never before been alone with Penelope- not really. He’d known the girl for over a decade, but they’d never really been friends. They were friendly and had spent a decent amount of time together, but there’d never been a real closeness, definitely not one where they could spend a casual afternoon hanging out.

But Colin had never had trouble with finding the right words to say, so it shouldn’t be different with Penelope, right?

He’d asked her about work- that was safe. And maybe how her recent trip with Eloise and Frannie had been- also another safe topic. After that, it’d be no trouble.

But when he reentered the hallway, Colin immediately noticed how quiet it had suddenly gotten- the air completely absent of any hasty typing. Silently, he peered inside the sitting room.

Penelope was still hunched over his laptop, her mouth parted slightly as she stared at the screen. The only movement of her hands was to scroll, but her eyes were running across the screen at an inhuman speed. He watched her for a moment, the corner of his mouth rising unconsciously as her lips mouthed a few words.

He felt intrigued.

Not intrigued by her- of course. But rather intrigued by what had entranced her so much that she couldn’t dare peel her eyes from the computer.

She didn’t react as he crept behind her, looking over her shoulder to see the screen. The brightness was a bit lowered, but he could see a Word document. He leaned a bit closer, eyes squinting as he read a random line.

Imagine you’re at a party, feeling weightless and invincible-

Wait- he recognized those words.

Colin’s eyes flew to the title of the page, which very clearly read, Italy, 09/03/19.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Penelope yelped at the sudden noise, turning her head so quickly that her forehead made contact with Colin’s nose.

“OW!”

And that was how it had all started. A frantic Penelope, a trip to the toilet, an accidentally minimized Word document, and a (luckily) not broken nose.

He’d been angry at first… Well, really, he’d been fairly livid about the entire thing. Not because he was necessarily mad at Penelope, who had accidentally opened the tab initially, but rather because he felt… Embarrassed. It was embarrassing having one’s little sister’s best friend accidentally come across their greatest secret.

But even though he wanted to forget and pretend it all had never happened, Penelope had been unrelenting. After an assurance that what she read had been good, she’d practically demanded that he let her read through the rest of his work.

And now, weeks later, here they were sitting next to each other at his kitchen table, two cups of tea and a printed-out version of his journal laid out in front of them.

“What was it you were trying to say here?” Penelope asked, her eyes rolling over a highlighted section of an Australia entry.

He looked down at the page, following where her finger rested. Instantly, he felt himself flush a bit. She was pointing out a particularly convoluted metaphor he’d written, one likening the magnificent sunset to the familiarity of reading one’s favorite childhood book for the first time as an adult.

“Erm…” He cringed, unable to say anything else.

It was still so odd- the not knowing what to say. Colin Bridgerton wasn’t someone who ever had trouble figuring out his words, and yet… And yet having Penelope had that effect on him. Or, more likely, having Penelope inspect his work, dissecting every word that had ever come out of his brain, make him feel insecure in a way he never was.

It wasn’t so much that it was Penelope, of course. She was his sister’s best friend, a woman he’d known since they were barely grown. It would have been like that if anyone else had seen his work, he was sure of it.

But even still- he found himself staring at a rogue curl on her cheek, his hand twitching to reach up and tuck it away.

“Colin?” Penelope interrupted his roaming thoughts, abruptly looking up at him. Her lips pinched together once she saw his expression, pulling themselves down into a small frown. “Colin,” she repeated in a softer voice. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were a fantastic writer. It’s just that everyone needs a little editing- even the best of us.”

His head tilted slightly as he looked at her, suddenly caught on her use of the word, us. “Do you write a lot then?”

Penelope’s lips slowly formed a smile as she looked at him, a hint of hesitation on her face. She sighed, taking a moment. “Well, actually-” But then she cut herself off, suddenly resembling the same shy Penelope he hadn’t seen in years.

Colin found himself leaning in, putting both arms on the table in front of them, desperate to hear the end of whatever she’d wanted to say. He could feel his knee bumping into hers, but neither of them moved. “What?” he prompted, surprised to hear how faint his voice was. There was something about the moment that was making it rather difficult to breathe.

Penelope was looking back at him with an intensity, mouth slightly parted as she licked her lips reflexively. There was nothing inherently seductive about the movement, but- But something about the way her tongue flicked out made Colin’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

“Uhm,” she whispered, only hearing the loud beating of her heart. No one knew about her secret, other than her editor. And it would surely be a disaster if anyone ever found out …

But she had found out about Colin’s secret, albeit by accident. It felt only right that he should know hers as well…

But if she were being truly honest, she didn’t care very much about her secret at that present moment. Not when the two green eyes she had spent her entire adolescence (and much of her early adulthood) pining over were staring directly at her, looking as though they could see through her entire soul.

Every breath was an effort, every movement was the most difficult task in history. The spot where their knees were still gently pressed against each other felt like it was on fire, spreading itself across her body. She’d been in so much shock when the contact had happened that she hadn’t moved away. And then she’d been astonished when he hadn’t either.

Penelope couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about, and it almost appeared that Colin… That Colin shared the same sentiment.

It felt like she was dreaming. Somehow, he was staring at her with just as much intensity as she was to him. She wasn’t sure if anyone had… She was quite certain that no one had ever looked at her like that.

Colin swallowed as he stared at her, taking in every freckle spread across her nose and every loose curl surrounding her face. He could see her eyes clearly for perhaps the first time in his life- a beautiful shade of warm brown with golden flecks throughout the iris. And then his eyes unwillingly moved, flickering to her lips as she licked them again, causing his gut to wrench painfully.

And then he realized that his hands on the table were so close to her own, the one still resting on his forgotten journal excerpt.

Almost without meaning to, his pinky twitched, moving just enough to meet hers. His breath hitched as he looked back up to meet her gaze.

Neither of them moved, as if moving would break something fragile. As if moving would forcibly tear them from the moment they were.

But then- he wasn’t sure how long- Penelope’s soft eyes left his, darting down to rest on their touching fingers. And then her eyes widened, and her entire body jerked backward, and suddenly Colin’s knee was incredibly cold.

Her chair made a loud scraping noise against the floor as she jumped up, startling him out of the hold he’d been under. “Pen-?”

“It’s getting a bit late,” Penelope muttered through a quick breath, quickly stashing away her belongings. “I’ll finish this at home, and we can meet another time to discuss it. Maybe coffee- next week.”

Colin frowned, getting out of his seat, and taking a few steps towards her. Quietly, he said, “Or you could stay here?”

Penelope froze for a moment before slowly retrieving her keys, gaze firmly locked onto the ground. All he could see were her eyelashes as she blinked.

He bent down slightly and reached out to lift her chin. “Or you could stay here,” he repeated with a bit more reverence in his voice. “We could get some dinner and- talk.”

Penelope swallowed as her eyes rested on his face for a fraction of a moment, but soon enough, she pulled away again. Her fingers trembled as she draped the bag over her shoulder, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. “Erm, no, sorry. I really- really need to go, Colin.”

And then she all but sprinted from the flat, leaving a speechless Colin Bridgerton behind.

#polinweek #polinweek2021 #polin #bridgerton fic #my fic #this is my first posted modern polin #I have another one coming at the end of this crazy week #hope you like this though!#also I'm sorry this took weeks I hope that's okay #polinanon #ugh can you tell polin week is killing me #because it is

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jouretnuit-nightandday · 3 years

Note

Fluffy shoni prompt: Toni taking care of a sick Shelby 🥺

Thanks! I love writing for these two :’)

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Toni comes home to a dark apartment. The blinds are closed. The lights are off. Even the air seems stiller than usual. She chucks off her shoes, and quietly makes her way to the bedroom, where she finds Shelby, asleep, under a pile of blankets. There’s a mountain of tissues on the bedside table, three dirty mugs, an empty pack of almond cookies, a bowl of half-eaten, congealed oatmeal, a huge bottle of Ibuprofen, and, at the foot of the bed, a pile of the old vintage comics Martha got Toni for her birthday, the very ones Shelby always makes fun of her for liking. Who’s the nerd, now? Toni thinks, with a small smile, as she steps over various discarded items of clothing to get to the bed.

The mess doesn’t surprise her. Contrary to appearances, Shelby isn’t a particularly organized person, and though she makes an effort to keep their shared space clean and orderly, that tends to disappear completely when she gets stressed or, in that case, sick. Toni, on the other hand, is very tidy. When you grow up in foster care, without much to your name, you quickly learn the habits that are least likely to get you in trouble, or to get your stuff confiscated, or stolen. So the first thing Toni does, before even checking on Shelby, is push the mound of tissues into the wastebasket. Then she puts away clothes and comics, and collects mugs and leftovers, bringing them back to the kitchen to deal with later.

When she comes back into the bedroom, Shelby’s eyes are open, and she looks contrite. “I’m sorry you had to clean all of that,” she croaks out, trying to sit up. Toni takes a seat on the bed, beside her, and gently pushes against her shoulders until Shelby lies back down against the propped pillows.

“Don’t worry about it.” She brushes blond hair away from Shelby’s sweaty forehead, rubs at the spot between her eyebrows. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Shelby says, “but I’ll be okay.” She smiles, weakly. Toni bends down to kiss the tip of her nose.

“Has the fever gone down at all?”

“I think so,” Shelby says. She coughs, a bit, then exhales shakily. “I’m definitely a bit less woozy than I was this morning, so that’s nice.”

“Good. I’ll give you a couple more pills with dinner, and hopefully you’ll be fever-less by tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” Shelby frowns. “Toni, I don’t know if I’m up for eating.”

“Well, you have to. You need some energy if you’re gonna beat that nasty flu.” Toni’s voice grows a bit higher, and she adopts the no-nonsense tone of Dot as she says, in a perfect imitation of their friend : “Lots of liquids, lots of rest, and make sure she eats something, that should do the trick.”

“You called Dot?” Shelby reacts, her eyes widening. “Gosh, Toni, you shouldn’t have, now she’s gonna be all worried.”

“Please,” Toni snorts. “I was worried. Dot just listened to me ramble on the phone all panicky for, like, a full minute, before telling me it was”-- she makes quotation marks with her fingers --” just the flu and I needed to get a grip and go buy chicken soup.” She ends the quotation marks. “Which I did, by the way, I stopped by Trader Joe’s on my way from work. Got you some juice too, and even some ice cream - pistachio, your favorite - to help with the sore throat.”

Shelby raises a hand, and touches Toni’s shoulder, fingers trailing down her arm until they circle Toni’s wrist. She gives her a light squeeze. “You were worried?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse, but there’s a smile stretching her lips. “About me?”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Duh! Of course, I was worried. It’s almost like I love you or something.”

But Shelby’s smile doesn’t go away. “It’s sweet,” she murmurs. “You’re so sweet.” Toni’s heart flutters in her chest, a little. They’ve been together for years, but Shelby complimenting her still somehow affects her just like it did in the beginning. It makes her feel alive, and loved, hearing the fondness in Shelby’s voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Shelby says, still holding onto Toni’s wrist. Her eyes are bright in the semi-darkness of the room. Toni moves her arm so she can bring the back of Shelby’s hand up, close to her mouth, and she presses a light kiss onto her knuckles.

“Always, Shelby, you know that.”

Shelby smiles, and opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say is interrupted by a horrible coughing fit. Toni props her up and rubs her back as she wheezes and hacks and gasps, and her fingers tighten around Toni’s wrist, almost painfully, but Toni doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t make a sound. When it’s over, Shelby rests her forehead against Toni’s shoulder, catching her breath. Toni slips a hand under Shelby’s shirt, presses her palm against Shelby’s spine, hoping the touch will help her calm down. “You’re okay,” she whispers into Shelby’s hair.

“I hate feeling like this,” Shelby groans.

“I know, I know. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you back in bed, you can rest till dinner.” Slowly, carefully, she moves Shelby back into a lying position, her back against the pillows. Shelby’s eyes open, with some difficulty, and she looks up at Toni. “Will you stay with me?” she asks, voice gravelly. Then she tries to shrug. “Sorry, I know I’m being super needy right now..”

“Babe,” Toni cuts her off, shaking her head. “Of course, I’ll stay with you.” She climbs into bed with Shelby, and curls up on her side, one arm across Shelby’s stomach, and her head resting on Shelby’s chest, under her chin.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best girlfriend?” Shelby mumbles, sleepily.

“Hmmm, I think that’s just the fever talking,” Toni jokes, her tone light, and she feels the rumble of Shelby’s laughter against her cheek. Shelby’s hand comes to rest on her waist, pressing them closer together.

“Go to sleep,” Toni says, low and soft. “I’m here.”

#Anonymous #shoni #the wilds #fic

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explosionshark · 3 years

Note

31 the I cant keep kissing strangers one for jack/Miranda. U know, if u want to

I’m gonna cheat bc I remembered the prompt wrong and already wrote half of it in my head while I was showering, so

It’s years of experience, it’s meticulous and brutally honed control of her body, it’s her genetic predisposition to deceit and manipulation that keeps Miranda from reacting when her the alert pings, a brief series of flashes on the corner of her ocular overlay. S.O.S.

Dupont’s hand is on her thigh, just under the material of her dress, grip damp and too tight. He’s leaning in close, under the auspice of speaking into her ear in the crowded club, but she recognizes the clumsy excuse to peek down her dress for what it is. It takes every ounce of restraint not to shove him bodily away and rush straight for the rendezvous waypoint blinking on her display -- a maintenance closet beneath a stairwell at the back of the club. There’s a thrum of panic in Miranda’s chest that she squashes with a deep, subtle breath and a careful flick of her hair. She drags a teasing finger down Dupont’s chest as she leans back.

“Excuse me a moment,” she pitches her voice low, breathy, the way she knows he must be imagining it sounds in bed. She shoots him a smoldering look over her shoulder before she leaves, adding a bit of whine to her words. Desperate women are, to men like this, honey to flies. “Don’t go where I can’t find you.”

She’s careful as she slips into the crowd, gait controlled, face expertly molded into an expression annoyed enough to ward off potential interruption from men, yet still bland enough to fail to catch the interest of anyone watching.

It’s torture, keeping her pace unhurried as scenario after gruesome scenario of what could have gone wrong plays out in vivid detail. Jack wounded, bleeding out among the bleach bottles and filthy mops. A Cerberus trap, Jack captured, bait to lure her to the same fate. Dozens upon dozens of equally vivid, equally terrible possibilities conjured with each leisurely step, all laying the same accusation at her feet: Miranda’s mistake, with Jack paying the price.

Jack hadn’t been Miranda’s first choice.

Miranda’s list of trusted contacts is smaller than it’s ever been and shrinking by the day. Trusted and available? Smaller still.

She had wanted Shepard. Or, better yet, Kasumi. But Shepard was wrapped up on some affair on Tuchanka and Kasumi was running a different op for the Shadow Broker, out on the edges of the Terminus.

Jack had been an indulgence - and one that was proving to be foolish and selfish.

She was humanity’s strongest biotic and one of the most capable operators Miranda had ever known, but her strength lied in frontal assaults. Massive destruction, flamboyant, devastating attacks with lots of collateral damage. Not delicate infiltration missions like this.

She should have been safe with her students on Grissom Station, not here dying for Miranda’s cause, not--

--Grabbing Miranda roughly by the hips, slamming her back against the shelving unit along the wall hard enough to rattle the metal, laying the flat of her arm across Miranda’s chest, just under her neck, to pin her there.

“What do you think you’re doing?“ Miranda hisses. She can’t see any obvious injuries or damage to Jack in the dim light of the closet, not held in place like this. When she raises her hands to pat down Jack’s body there’s a flair of shimmering blue light in the air, and then the always disconcerting staticky sensation of stasis fields pinning them in place at her sides.

“What am I doing?” Jack huffs, fists still bunched in the material of Miranda’s dress. A shame - it had been nice. Expensive. She can feel the material ripping under the strain of Jack’s grip and despite everything, she finds it distantly erotic. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Miranda, for all of her considerable intellect, feels like she is at least three steps behind a conversation she doesn’t remember starting. She shakes her head, twisting as much as she can with her hands pinned. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not fucking hurt,” Jack snaps, hips jolting forward to slam into Miranda’s rattling the shelf again. This time she hears the fabric of the dress rip in Jack’s hands, can’t contain the shiver it sends down her spine that Jack absolutely notices. “I’m fed up. I can’t keep watching you kiss strangers.”

Jealousy? Miranda doesn’t bother trying to hide her laugh. “If you’ll remember, my kissing a stranger was a key part of the plan you agreed to. I was supposed to be doing that while you were--”

“Keep him busy,” Jack growls, “You were supposed to keep him busy while I did all the hard work. You never told me your plan to distract the guy was to let him put his big stupid gorilla hands all over your--”

“Someone was taking their time ‘doing all the hard work,’“ Miranda sneers back. “I had to improvise. He was losing interest.”

“Hey, it’s your stupid hack module that wasn’t working,” Jack accuses.

Of course, at that exact moment, Miranda’s display pings again. The tracker she’d slipped into Dupont’s jacket shows him leaving the bar, headed for the elevator to his suite.

“Jack, let me go,” Miranda says quietly, urgently, and to her credit Jack does so immediately without arguing. “He’s on the move. I can try to head him off in the lobby, but-- Look, this is very important. Did you leave any evidence you were tampering with the safe or anything else in his room?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack snorts. “I think he’s gonna notice his top secret Cerberus Reaper hacking plans are missing.”

“But you said the module--”

“Yeah, total crap. Useless. I just blasted the ever-loving shit out of the safe.”

“Jack.”

“Anyway, if he’s on the way up there he’s gonna notice uh. Pretty much right away. We should get out of here.”

“We should have been gone the moment you compromised the plan,” Miranda hisses, following Jack out of the closet, wincing at the sudden too-bright light of the hallway.

“Nag, nag, nag,” Jack drawls, throwing open the emergency exit door to the alley behind the hotel with a truly unnecessary flair of biotics.

“We went over the codes before we even got here,” Miranda reminds her. In the back of her mind, she’s counting down the seconds they have before Dupont realizes he’s been robbed, before he puts together she was involved, before he decides to come after them for the data (bad) or alert Cerberus to what happened (worse). She figures in how long it would take to stop running and strangle Jack in one of these dank Illium alleyways and realizes, regrettably, she can’t afford the slowdown. “There’s one for emergency exit, one for mission compromised, one for package acquired. Any of those would have done. S.O.S. is emergency only.”

“Well, it was an emergency, okay?” Jack says, stopping short at the curb while Miranda calls forth the skycar she’d arranged with a flick of her omin-tool.

“How so?” Miranda demands, shoving Jack into the back of the skycar first and clambering in gracelessly after her, ruined dress gaping open in the front. “This is coming out of your pay, by the way.”

“It was a pre-emergency--”

“That’s not a thing.”

“If his hand got any higher up your skirt I was gonna blow both of our covers by ripping his arms off in the middle of the bar.”

Miranda should still be mad -- furious -- that Jack had scared her so badly. Should be angry for the terribly botched mission as well, the absolute flouting of her discreet and effective plan.

But they’ve lived. Another day in a galaxy torn apart by war on multiple fronts, another day outmaneuvering the Illusive Man himself, another day Miranda gets to find herself in the company of this beautiful, blunt, maddening, impossible woman.

And they had gotten the data, despite everything. A success, however unconventional.

And if all she has to show for it is another burned identity and a ruined dress, Miranda finds she doesn’t mind as much as she might have in any other circumstance besides this -- in the backseat of a skycar with Jack, genuinely irritated to have seen someone else touching Miranda, a torn dress, the thrum of adrenaline still rushing through her veins.

“Never figured you for the jealous type, Jack,” Miranda says, relenting, twisting in the seat to pin Jack with a simmering look.

“Yeah, you did,” Jack mutters. “Were probably counting on it when you asked me to do this thing with you. Probably got off on it. Control freak.”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Probably has something to do with you being an arrogant psycho that’s obsessed with keeping me under your thumb.”

Miranda pauses in the dark of the backseat and stares Jack down. She’s tense, pupils blown wide, breath coming in gradually quickening gasps.

Miranda has seen Jack scared and angry and hurt before. She’s seen her wound up tight on adrenaline, turned on to the point of recklessness too. Knows well enough the difference between the two to recognize this for what it is.

It’s that confidence that draws Miranda across the space between them, shrugging the straps of her dress down her shoulders in a movement that allows her to reach the zipper in the back and slide it down immediately after. Jack doesn’t move to stop her when Miranda drops a hand to Jack’s thigh, a more elegant parody of Dupont’s boorish groping earlier. The higher Miranda’s hand ventures, the further open Jack spreads her legs, nostrils flaring as Miranda leans in close, whispering into her ear at the same time as her hand slips past the waistband of Jack’s pants, to the soaked front of her underwear.

“Funny, Jack,” Miranda says, mockingly, stroking her slowly. She’ll draw this one out, as a lesson. “Under my thumb seems to be exactly the place you’re always so desperate to be.”

“Fuck,” Jack groans, a low hiss of air from between her clenched teeth.

Miranda grins in the dark. She’d been wrong, before. Jack had definitely been the right pick for this mission.

enjoy my work? wanna leave a tip?

ko-fi / cashapp

#mass effect #jack mass effect #miranda lawson #jackanda #prompt fills #explosionfic #i'll put this on ao3 later probably #woops i said i'd do short fills but this was really fun oh no #peachythesequel

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galahadwilder · 4 years

Text

Kitty Missed the Message, Pt. 2

Part 1

"There's thousands of people named 'Adrien' in Paris!" Plagg protests from Adrien's inside shirt pocket. "There's no way she meant you."

"And how many of those Adriens does Ladybug know?" Adrien mumbles, gazing down at the lid on his coffee cup. He sits—no, lies—against the front steps of the school, too tired to even bother trying to keep his back straight. Between the thrill of his new love life and the confusion of her dropping his name, he didn't get any sleep last night; he's allowed to slump a little.

"A lot of them, probably!" Plagg says. "She saves lots of people."

"And how many people has she given a Miraculous to?" Adrien says, gritting his teeth as he contemplates his coffee, then throwing back a sip fast enough to miss his tongue entirely—though it still scalds the back of his throat. He gasps, hacking.

He hates the taste of coffee. Even the burning is better.

"Um," Plagg says, squirming. "Ten?"

"Exactly," Adrien rasps, trying to clear his throat. "They can't all be Adrien. And since she knows Chloé..."

Plagg snuggles grumpily into his chest. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so smart," the Kwami says.

"Too bad you're stuck with me," Adrien says, looking down the street contemplatively. Where is Nino? He's fairly certain he impressed on him the urgency of his dilemma.

As bad as Adrien.

"Am I really that oblivious?" he mutters to himself.

"Well you didn't notice me," Nino says from behind him.

Adrien shrieks, leaping from the steps and stumbling onto the sidewalk, all hackles and hissing. He can feel the pressure on his scalp as his hair tries to stand on end, only to get dragged down by its own weight.

"Dude?" Nino says, shock written across his face.

Adrien looks down at where he flung his coffee, trying to straighten himself without meeting Nino's eyes and hiding the blush burning up his cheeks. "I'm fine!" he yelps. Being a cat is so embarrassing sometimes.

"Dude!" Nino cackles. "I haven't seen you jump like that since the thing with the cucumber!"

"I thought I asked you not to bring that up again," Adrien grumbles, splashing the sole of his foot in his spilled coffee and spreading it dejectedly across the sidewalk. A waste of good caffeine, that is.

Nino’s mouth twists. “Ah. Right,” he says, gently taking Adrien’s forearm. “Sorry, bro.”

”It’s fine,” Adrien says with a slight smile. “I did look like a doof, didn’t I?”

”The doofiest,” Nino says with a nod and a grin. He steps back and folds his arms. “What was so urgent that you needed me at the butt-end of the morning?”

Adrien opens his mouth, closes it again. "I, uh..." he begins. "You... remember that girl I keep saying I like? The one I work with?"

Nino raises an eyebrow. "The one who's not interested in you?"

Adrien's stomach bottoms out. "Yeah," he says. "Or, well. No?” He looks down at his feet, scratching at the back of his neck. How to put this? “It's gotten... weird."

Nino crosses his arms with a wry grin, sinking his weight backward into an uncharacteristically sassy sort of pose, the one he’s been doing more often the more time he spends with Alya. "Weird how?"

Adrien closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out. "According to her,” he says, picking his thumbnails into his fingers, “yesterday was our one-month anniversary."

Nino’s silence is somehow louder than any words would have been. Adrien opens one eye, wincing, bracing for judgement, only to see confused pride on his friend’s face.

"So... wait," Nino finally says, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his sinuses with his fingers. "Let me—let—” He shakes his head. “You're dating her now?"

Adrien shrugs in distress. "Yes?" he says with another wince. "I'm... it's confusing." He raises his fingers to his lips, the memory of the softness of Ladybug's mouth on his own warming his face. "She... did kiss me last night. Unprompted."

Nino's eyes grow wide. "Dude," he says, holding out his fist. "Dap."

Adrien taps his knuckles against Nino's, still a little too confused to properly appreciate the situation.

“Come on,” Nino says. “Let’s head inside, we can talk while sitting.”

Adrien nods, following without really meaning to move his legs at all.

“So what changed?” Nino says as they walk down the hallway toward their lockers.

“What do you mean?” Adrien says, his eyes wandering. His head still feels a little fuzzy, to be honest.

Nino shrugs. “Well, I mean...” he says, “there’s gotta have been some kind of change, right? That led to her changing her mind?”

The side of Adrien’s mouth twists. “I got nothing,” he mumbles.

Nino turns to stare at him, then snorts and rolls his eyes. “Not surprised,” he says. “You’re not always the best at noticing things like that.”

”That’s... actually why I wanted to talk to you,” Adrien says. “Am I... really that oblivious?”

Nino stops walking and sighs. ”I...” He catches his tongue between his teeth. “You know how pretty much everyone we know has had a crush on Marinette at some point?"

Adrien gives a small smile. “Of course,” he says. That’s pretty much a given.

Nino nods. "Did you ever wonder why she never took anyone up on it until last month?"

"Yeah," Adrien says. "She had a guy she liked, right?"

Nino’s shoulders slump. "Yeah," He says. "You."

Adrien's train of thought comes to a screeching halt. "What?" he says.

Nino reaches out and claps Adrien’s shoulder. “She had a crush on you, dude.”

Adrien blinks. “But, her new boyfriend... wasn’t he the guy?”

Nino snorts. “Nope,” he says. “It was you, bro. And you were the only one who never knew.”

Adrien feels like lightning has been rammed into his skull. As bad as Adrien... it couldn’t be, right?

There’s no way.

Class isn’t as difficult as he was expecting. It’s worse. Nino’s words aren’t much to go on—in fact, they’re nothing at all, but it’s the first clue he’s had. So his brain, scrambled from exhaustion and caffeine as it is, can’t stop flitting around Marinette.

First: Kwamibuster. He’d been certain she was Ladybug, all the evidence he’d needed had been there, they were so alike, so brilliant and energetic... and then he’d seen them right next to each other. Different people? Illusion? And then Marinette had suddenly picked up a boyfriend, one who nobody in the class had met, and Adrien had been... so disappointed, but he could never pinpoint why.

When was that, anyway?

Was it a month ago?

He can’t pay any attention to anything that’s happening in front of him—the only thing he can hear is Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. It can’t be her, right? But his brain won’t let it go.

”So, how was your anniversary date?” Alya says with what Adrien can only assume is a sly grin. He can see her exact expression, even though he’s trying desperately not to turn around. Not to let on that he’s listening.

Marinette makes a sound like she’s swallowed her tongue. “Uh! W-weird, actually.”

Alya hums. “Weird how?” He hears the flannel of her shirt slide against the desk as she leans toward Marinette. “How’d the ‘plan’ go?”

Marinette squeaks. Adrien squirms in his seat, staring at his hands, screaming in his head not to turn around. He’s ignoring the way Nino is staring at him, trying to hold still.

”Come on, girl, spill!” Alya whispers. “Did you kiss him?”

”Yep!” Marinette squeaks.

”Oh my god you’re so red!” Alya cackles. Then her voice drops to a hiss. “Tell me everything!”

Marinette swallows. “I mean... it was really weird?” she says. “He... didn’t know we were dating?”

Adrien’s blood rushes to his ears like a vise around his skull, crushing inward. Didn’t know we were dating. That’s—it’s impossible.

Alya snorts. “Girl, are you sure you’re not dating Adrien?”

Adrien doesn’t hear Marinette’s response. He doesn’t hear much of anything until lunchtime, really.

Marinette is Ladybug. He’s going to explode.

“Hi, Mari!” he says as soon as she closes her locker.

She shrieks, leaping backward, scattering her papers on the ground, and Adrien immediately feels a rush of guilt at surprising her—but cats are 60% bastard, and he can’t help taking a little joy in it.

Marinette heaves a breath, pressing her hand to her chest. “Adrien!” she gasps. “You’ve gotta stop doing that!”

Adrien feels a grin spread across his face. “Never,” he drawls, leaning a bit into her space. “You’re too much fun to scare.”

Marinette smirks, pressing a finger to his sternum. “Well maybe I’ll just start sneaking up on you.”

Adrien’s heart begins to beat hard in his chest at her touch, at her smile. Oh, it’s her, it’s her, it’s her. And she’s not scared of him anymore, and now he knows exactly why that is...

”Can—can I talk to you?” he gasps out. “In private?”

Marinette’s eyebrows tighten, concern in her eyes. “Everything okay?”

It strikes him through the ribs, the way she cares about him, the way she makes his problems hers, and he knows she deserves the universe. He’s loved her, both of her, since the day they met, and she’s loved both of him, and if she asked him to steal the sun for her he’d burn himself alive snatching it from the sky. “Everything’s fine!” he says, gripping her arm. “Everything’s... great, actually.” He flashes her a smile, his fan’s favorite smile, hoping to put her at ease.

Instead, she tenses. “That’s your fake smile,” she says, her eyes narrowing.

Adrien blinks. “You can tell?” he says.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and her face goes bright red. “I—uh—”

Adrien bites his lip. Right, she’s been in love with him forever—knowing how she is, how the hammer-force of her attention slams down on everything she cares about, she probably noticed everything about him. It’s a wonder she didn’t figure out his identity.

”It’s fine!” he says. “I was just—trying to put you at ease, you know?”

Marinette sets her jaw and nods, glancing around the locker room, cataloguing everyone in the room the way she does when she’s trying to work out a Lucky Charm. “Classroom’s empty?”

Adrien nods. “Classroom.”

Marinette sits down on his desk, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “What’s up?”

Adrien looks away, breathes in. “How’s things with your boyfriend?”

Marinette blinks. “Adrien?” she says. There’s a note of... something in her voice. Hope? Anger? Disappointment? Maybe all three. You’re paying attention to me now? it seems to say.

“Last night was your anniversary, right?” Adrien says, looking at her. The pigtails. The eyes, bluer than blue. The earrings he’s only ever seen her take off once—the day Lady Noire showed up instead of Ladybug. Everything about her is the same, even the fire in her eyes.

Marinette’s eyes narrow. “Adrien, if this is about—”

”To be fair, My Lady,” he interrupts, slashing a Chat smile across his face, “you never actually told me we were dating.”

Marinette’s face goes slack, her mouth open, her eyes wide. “I—what?” she whispers. “You... no. No way. You—you can’t...” She straightens, breathing in, gathering herself. “Kitty?” she whispers.

Adrien grins, pressing one arm to his waist and throwing the other out wide with a bow. “Always at your service,” he says.

Suddenly he’s halfway to the floor, falling backwards, Marinette’s tiny hands seizing bunches of his lapels, her lips strawberry-sweet on his. They slam against the ground, together, entwined, gasping, together. Peppering each other with kisses.

“Kitty—”

“My Lady—”

“Princess—”

”Adrien—”

”Marinette—”

”I love you,” he gasps, clutching her chest against his own, and she stiffens.

”I... have been waiting to—to hear you say that... for—for two years,” she stammers.

He presses a kiss to her temple. “I’ve been saying it in private every day,” he says. “And I will say it to you every day for as long as you want it.”

Plagg snorts. “I can confirm,” he says. “Every frickin’ day with this kid. Both identities, too!”

Marinette giggles. “You should hear some of the stuff I said about you,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “Or—maybe not, please don’t—”

Tikki giggles from inside her purse. “I’m telling him anyway!”

Marinette’s eyes shoot to her bag. “Betrayal!” she hisses.

Adrien giggles, and Marinette laughs too, and the two of them just dissolve into laughter. Then, suddenly, Marinette stops.

”Oh,” she says. “Oh, no.”

Adrien blinks. “My Lady?”

Marinette fixes her burning gaze on his eyes. “What are we going to tell Alya?”

#miraculous ladybug #my fic #fanfic #original content #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #plagg #nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #fic #ml fic #ml fanfic #fluff #identity reveal

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

Text

some kind of loud, attention grabbing noise that lets you know ITS FIC TIME, BABYYYYY you could start here, but the context... the build up.. the hours of worldcrafting, you'd miss it all... so start here, instead, then circle back.

These last two weeks have actually been nice. She and Adam had both mutually agreed that, despite not being the kind of person either of them would intentionally seek out on their own, Beetlejuice (she still has a hard time believing that’s what BJ stands for, but okay,) is fun. Not just fun, but funny, and seemingly often in the mood to laugh, in that overblown, Vincent Price horror movie way he does, which earns him multiple shushes in the library.

Drama club has gotten better. Barbara has a private theory that what most people need is to just get used to BJ, to spend enough time with him that he stops looking like an outsider, and it’s coming true, slowly, but finally. BJ had mentioned off-handedly he played ukulele, and when the other kids had expressed interest, he’d brought it with him the next day... Though she’s not quite sure where he kept it, the entire day. She’s seen that mess of a locker he’s got. She doubts it fits in there. And it can’t have been in his backpack, either, because every time he sets it down, she can hear what sounds like glass and rocks settling. She’s even seen him, after school, pick up a rock and shove it in one of the pockets. She has to assume his bag weighs a hundred pounds, or so.

His instrument, almost predictably, was painted with black and white stripes, but he’d played the little thing like a pro. She had never taken him for someone who enjoyed the mellow, soft sounds the ukulele was known for, but clearly, she doesn’t know enough about the boy. Miss Larson, the drama instructor, had clapped, and learned that BJ could read music, too. “Maybe while we’re practicing, you can accompany us?” She’d asked, clearly trying to work a way into getting more participation out of their newest member. BJ had been flustered, but had agreed, easily.

The wildest thing had been hearing him sing. They’d moved from being in the drama room, most days, to being in the auditorium, working on lines and practicing their singing. No one’s been officially cast, yet, but it’s mostly to get used to being on stage. Miss Larson had insisted that BJ sing a few lines for them, and he’d sort of made a face, ducked backstage, and had appeared with his ukulele in hand. Barbara didn’t even know he’d put it back there.

“Uh, so, sing what?” He’d shuffled awkwardly, and Miss Larson had smiled. “Whatever you feel,” to which BJ just snorted, and rolled his eyes, but then he plucked a few notes on his ukulele, and started to sing.

“There’s a camp, there’s a camp, by the frozen lake, wa wa ooh. With every belly starving and every finger numb, but up on the hill there’s a red, red rum, somebody’s always cooking something in the lean-to.”

It wasn't a song she’d recognized, but it was clearly morbid. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. The real focal point was his voice, his strange, scratchy pitch, because despite sounding like he gargles sandpaper and nails, he’s got a strong, clear tone, one that carries well, and as he sings, he doesn’t hit a single sour note. She also noted that his enunciation is much clearer when he’s singing, oddly enough. He sang as much as he decided he needed to, and clung to his ukelele as he finished, like a lifeline. “So. Yeah.” He’d said, and then flinched when the clapping started, from all members present, but especially her and Adam. He’d stood looking around at them all, utterly baffled.

“You didn’t tell us you would sing!” Jeremiah, the student director, was the one who looked the most enthused, and BJ balked. “Didn’t think it mattered. M’just gonna be a stagehand.. Right?”

“Maybe he could play the dentist?” Miss Larson had looked at Jeremiah, and they’d begun talking amongst themselves, ignoring him, as he strummed nervously at his instrument.

“Oh, wait, check this out!”

And he sings again, another verse from that same, oddly morbid song, which she’d started to pick up is definitely about cannibals, but his voice is.. Different. The grit is gone. It’s like he’d ran his vocal cords under some hot soapy water, and washed all the grime and gravel out of them, because he sang like an angel, like a normal person, and then, suddenly, devolved into a hacking cough, doubled over.

“Sorry, can only do that so long. Hurts my throat,” he said, after a moment, all the grit back in his voice. He waited. There had been a soft laugh, and then it grew louder, coming from each of the members watching him in turn, because the idea that speaking like THAT somehow hurts, and his normal tone doesn’t, is just so outrageous and silly, and he’d stood there proudly, grinning in that way he does, because his joke had landed, and he might, for the first time since he was forced into their club, be enjoying himself.

So, yes. The last few weeks have been good. Very good.

All that club progress aside, looking back makes her a little flustered, because at this point, she’s gotten the hint that he’s not gay. What he is, is incredibly flirty, not only with Adam but with her, and she finds herself... enjoying it. He keeps his ukulele tucked into the bottom of the cart in the library, and sometimes, when he’s certain he won’t be interrupted, he grabs it and sings little songs about them, laying on top of the cart like a drunk lounge singer on a piano, as she or Adam wheel it along. The songs are made up on the spot tunes that often start dirty, and end sincere, like he can’t even help it. It’s embarrassing, and endearing, and just very… Beetlejuice.

There’s just the problem lingering overhead, the one she’s desperate to solve, of Kevin. BJ doesn’t talk about him, abruptly changes the subject when she tries, or just goes silent, and gives her a hard glare with those amber eyes, which is the worst of the three options, because silence on him is unnerving. He can do this thing where he goes deathly still, and she swears he doesn’t even breathe, just stands there, totally unmoving, like a corpse.

She thinks if she could just go to his house, and talk to his mother, she might get a better understanding of the entire situation, but despite him inviting them, he’s never followed up, and both Adam and herself are too polite to push.. Directly. But then, he doesn’t show up that day, not for library duty and not for drama club, and she makes the decision for him, that today is the day they’ll be coming over. She gets his address out of the guidance counselor, easily. “It’s so sweet you two want to go check up on him,” Mrs. Birch says, sliding his address across her desk to Barbara. “I knew the drama club would be a good fit for him! He’s already making friends!”

Adam’s mom is nice enough to drop them off, and Adam, adorable, sweet Adam, stares delighted at the house, as they walk up the front steps. “It’s a tudor!” he tells her, and she sort of nods, not really knowing exactly what that means. “I’ve never seen one painted black and white, before. Usually those accents are a natural wood color,” and she rings the bell, as he goes on. The outside of the house matches BJ’s stripes, and she wonders if that’s coincidence, or if his parents just really, really love him. The door swings open, and then a chubby blur jumps away from their line of sight, startling her from her thoughts. “Beetlejuice?” Adam calls, concerned, and it takes a moment for their friend to reappear in the doorway, with a croaked out, “Sup?”

He looks terrible. He always looks a little terrible, as mean as that is to say, too pale and with purple spots under his eyes she chalks up to exhaustion, but he looks worse, today. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d actually be sick.

“We just wanted to come by and see if you were okay,” she tells him, and BJ cocks his head so far to the side, he looks like he might fall over. “Why?” “Because.. We’re your friends,” Adam says, cautiously, which causes BJ to stare down at the checkered entryway tile.

“Oh.” He packs a lot of emotion into that little noise.

“Can we come in?” She asks, and he doesn’t look sure, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then next to him, in the doorway, appears what must be Mrs. Deetz. She’s on the tall side, slim, with blonde hair past her shoulders, and she’s wearing all black with lace accents. Even her stud earrings and the rings on her fingers are that same dark hue.

“Well, hello! BJ, invite your friends in!” She urges him, and then, to them asks, “You kids hungry? We’re just sitting down to dinner. It’s grilled cheese tower night,” and then she turns, and leaves them there, like that needs no explanation.

BJ fidgets a moment, but relents. “Come in, I guess,” he moves aside, and Adam and Barbara take a collective step into the Deetz household. The house is dark, not for lack of light, but for lack of color. The walls are paneling which Adam, delighted, says must be original, but they’ve been stained a dark shade of coffee, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she does, she takes in how strangely eerie the place is. It’s less like someone’s home and more like a haunted house ride.

“Oh, you guys haven't taken down the Halloween décor, yet?” Adam asks, noting a cracked vase full of black roses on a side table as they follow BJ further in, and BJ snorts. “That crap? It's up in th’ attack. This is what passes for normal around here.” Barbara stops to stare at a picture of a distorted figure cannibalizing a smaller one. “Saturn Devouring His Son,” BJ says, briefly putting on a voice like a tour guide, high pitched and peppy, and both she and Adam wince. “What’s with you and cannibalism?” she asks, which only earns her that haunted laugh in response.

The kitchen, at least, looks a little more normal and bright, but Barbara learns quickly that’s not to be trusted, because sitting on the counter is what looks to be a lasagna made from sandwiches and sauce. “You guys are here on a night Emily had to cook. Bad luck,” BJ tells them, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about his mother. Does he use her first name?

Emily, or, Mrs. Deetz, her mind corrects politely, busies herself with dishing them both a plate. “So, you kids must be.. Adam and Barbara,” she says, knowingly, and BJ, perhaps embarrassed, shuffles his bare feet at nothing. He’s been talking to his mom about them… aww. She notices then that he’s in his pajamas, which are, like everything else he wears, eccentric. He looks cute. She realizes she’s staring, and BJ catches her eye, and wiggles his eyebrows at her. Oh, god.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced, Mrs. Deetz,” Adam says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Mrs. Deetz waives that off. “It’s totally fine. BJ’s never taken a sick day, before, I bet you probably thought he was faking. You kids can call me Emily. And that, of course, is Lydia.” She gestures to the nine year old scrutinizing them from the kitchen table.

“Hello again,” Barbara says, and Lydia gives her a smile, at least, but it's wary, it’s very, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It’s strange to see from a little kid.

They all sit down to eat, all five of them, at the kitchen table, she and Adam settled across from BJ and Lydia. Adam squints, trying to read what’s on the other boy’s shirt. “What does that say?” he asks, and BJ glances down, and pulls the top taught, to make it easier to read. “Least exciting hole I’ve ever been in,” both boys say, at the same time. “Grand Canyon National Park.” Barbara and Adam both blush at that, and Mrs.. Emily, Emily just laughs. Lydia looks annoyed. “No one will explain to me what that means,” she tells Barbara, leaning closer to her, and almost looking hopeful. Barbara avoids that look. “It’s a dirty joke,” is all she says, and Lydia, clearly not satisfied, just takes a bite of her grilled cheese abomination. “Chuck hates this shirt,” BJ tells them. “Chuck?” “Chuck, Chuckster, Chuckles, Charles.. My dad,” he grates out. Barbara can’t imagine calling her father by his first name. She’d be in a world of trouble for being “disrespectful,” if she tried. “Is Mr. Deetz home?” Adam asks, and Lydia is the one to reply, mouth still a little too full.

“He’s at the office. He’s always working so fucking late,” Lydia says, and then lets it settle in the air, like she’s waiting for something. Barbara balks, and it feels like her eyes are bulging out of her head, because she’s never heard that kind of language from a nine year old. She glances at Emily nervously, waiting for her to blow up, to be angry, but Emily just seems to be in deep thought.

“I dunno about that one, Lyds,” Mrs. Deetz finally says, and Lydia puffs up her chest and tries again. “He’s always working so god damn late?” She looks to her mother, and Emily, finger on her chin, nods. “Yeah, alright. I hereby decree that Lydia Deetz, at the age of nine and a half, is allowed to say god damn.” Lydia pumps her fist and then takes another huge mouthful of grilled cheese casserole. “Bout fuckin’ time,” BJ grunts. Barbara thinks the Deetz family might all be whack jobs. there's more, a lot more, but tumblr can't handle it all, so read this chapter in full over on Ao3!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice the musical #goldenrat #beetlelands #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lydia deetz #emily deetz

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

The Rapunzel Effect

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect)/Reader

Word Count: 2,048

Warnings: None, one use of (F/N) (L/N)

Upon losing his arm, Ezra is left stranded, almost entirely unable to care for himself without making some kind of mess. That’s where you step in. As his prospecting partner turned somewhat nurse turned Cee’s other new parent, it’s your job to keep poor Ezra functional and marginally happy as he adjusts to his life.

Living with Ezra was hard.

You’d known him for a while, on and off as distant friends do. You two would take a prospecting job together, work side by side for a bit, and then go your separate ways until you managed to team up for another job.

And then he got stuck on the Green.

You could still remember his face when you’d left him. The mutiny that your coworkers had staged, them dragging you away from him, the expression of betrayal and terror as he realized what was happening.

You quit prospecting after that. It was too dangerous, especially on moons like the Green. For almost two years, you built a life for yourself on a nearby habitable planet, looking up and seeing the Green every so often, wondering if Ezra was up there or if he’d given in yet.

Honestly, you should’ve expected he’d come back. He was a stubborn bastard, of course he’d come back.

You got a call one night, stumbling out of bed and answering it.

“Hello?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

“Is this (F/N) (L/N)?” The person on the other end asked.

“Yeah?”

The person took a breath. “You are listed as Ezra 4053’s emergency contact, is that correct?”

“Who?” You asked, genuinely confused for a minute before you remembered Ezra had no surname. He had been a state ward, meaning he had a number in place of a family name. “Oh! Yeah, I am.”

“We recently took Ezra into our care, and he now needs a responsible guardian for the duration of his recovery.”

The shock hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d expected them to say they found his body, not that he was alive and in their care. “Oh. Okay. Um, that’s,”

“Unexpected?” The person said, voice tipping with amusement. “He was brought in last week, along with a young girl. If you’ll consider it, she’s highly attached to him.”

Immediately, you nodded. “Of course. I’ve got room for her too.”

“Perfect.” The person said. “You can visit them whenever you want, and we’ll send them out to your care come the weekend.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled absently, putting the phone down and sighing. This was going to be an adventure.

And it was.

Seven months later, Cee was recovered well enough. She’d begun to attend virtual school, slowly growing out of the shell she’d forced herself into. She had nightmares, of course, but she was handling them as best she could. She went to therapy, talked her problems over, and took the prescriptions she’d been given.

Ezra was a whole different story.

On the surface, he seemed okay. He did what he had been told by doctors as well, rubbing a numbing disinfectant on his wounds and sleeping with the help of a machine that regulated his oxygen, trying to reverse some of the damage done to his lungs.

But below the physical, he was at war with himself. That long on the Green without pleasant company did things to the mind. Ezra was jumpy, more so than you’d remembered. Every little noise was a threat to him, turning his face pale and his hand sweaty. He had night terrors, he saw things, his entire body would hurt like crazy, and worst of all, he couldn’t care for himself anymore.

“Ez!” You shouted through the house. “Ez! C’mon, breakfast time!”

Ezra stumbled out of his room, clearly having just woken up. “Huh?”

“Breakfast,” you repeated, sliding a plate with scrambled eggs and a few bites of sausage his way.

He sighed, sitting down and fumbling with his fork. He had been right handed, but now he didn’t have that arm. It was clearly still a struggle for him. He still couldn’t really write, or eat without dropping food, or properly care for his hygiene.

“Cee’s going out today,” you said, putting the breakfast dishes in the sink to do later. “We’ve got the house to ourselves.”

Ezra hummed, focusing on his fork. It was shaky, but he hadn’t spilled anything yet. “Sounds good.”

You sighed, but left him alone to eat.

Twenty minutes later, Cee left, waving at the both of you and smiling to her friends, who were just outside.

“She’s doing well,” you mumbled, crossing out a mistake in your most recent work assignment. “I’m glad she’s making friends.”

Ezra was silent, slowly stabbing the last bite of eggs on his plate. You watched with interest as he ate the bite, looking down at his plate in slight shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

He stood, picking his plate up and putting it in the sink. You followed him, grabbing a paper towel and smiling. “Ez,” you said, holding the paper towel up. “You’ve got egg in your beard.”

Ezra smiled, allowing you to wipe egg off his face. “Now darlin’,” he drawled smoothly. “How’s about we have some fun, you and me?”

You laughed. “Ezra,” you murmured, running a hand through his tangled and overly long hair. “Why don’t you go shower, then we can talk about having some fun.”

Ezra left to go bathe, and while he did, you did the dishes. Once they were all done and you’d heard the water shut off in the bathroom, you grabbed a new towel and knocked on the bathroom door. “Ez? I have a towel.”

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, grinning when you saw Ezra’s left hand poking out from behind the shower curtain. “Thank you kindly. I’ll be out soon.”

You nodded, promising Ezra you’d be waiting for him.

Of course, he fumbled after a few minutes.

As soon as the clattering and the string of loud curses hit you, you were up and running, shoving the door open and seeing a very frustrated Ezra staring at his hand, which had a small cut across the thumb.

“Oh Ez,” you mumbled, opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing some disinfectant and a bandage. “It’s okay Ez.”

Ezra whined, his eyes filling with tears as you methodically cared for his wound.

“Do you need anything else?” You asked, putting away the disinfectant once you were done.

Ezra turned his big brown eyes on you, pleading without words. “I can’t.” He stopped himself, choking on tears. “I can’t.”

You slowly picked the abandoned razor out of the sink, shaking water off it and holding it out. “You can. You just need help.”

He sighed, looking at you and choking on a whimper. “Help.”

“Yeah.” You carefully turned him around, so he was facing the mirror. “Help.”

It was a slow going process, helping Ezra shave. He held the razor in his shaking hand, you holding the hand and keeping him steady enough to shave.

Eventually, you had the Ezra you remembered standing in front of you, with his patchy facial hair and visible smile.

You grinned. “Hello handsome.”

Ezra poked his tongue out at you, setting the razor down and hesitantly picking up a pair of scissors. “My hair too?”

“Aw,” you pouted, taking the scissors from him. “But I like this whole reverse rapunzel thing you got going on,” you said, tugging on the natural blond streak in Ezra’s hair.

He laughed, taking your hand that didn’t have the scissors. “I know, but it’s a damn pain.”

You nodded, picking up a comb. “Alright. Sit.”

Ezra sat down, wrapping his arm around your waist as you combed through his damp hair and began to take chunks off. You warned him that your hack job wasn’t going to look good, and he simply responded with the fact that he didn’t care.

The end product wasn’t bad, in all fairness. It wasn’t great, but Ezra’s hair was back to its old length, which satisfied both of you.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing his hand as he tried to walk away from you. “Y’know you can ask me for help, right? I’m not gonna say no.”

Ezra’s eyes darkened. “I don’t wanna be a bother.”

You shook your head, pulling him close and hugging him tight under the artificial lights of the bathroom. “Oh Ez. Ezra, darling. You could never be a bother. Not to me, not to Cee, not to anyone who loves you. You hear me? We’re here to help you, my love.”

Ezra loosened in your arms, sighing out a huge breath. “You’re amazing, little dove. Y’know that?”

You smiled, pressing a kiss into Ezra’s hand. “I know. So’re you.”

You both ended up on the couch, mindlessly cuddling. Ezra stroked through your hair, slowly putting you to sleep.

“Can you tell me a story?” He finally asked, causing you to look up at him.

“What?”

“A story,” he repeated. “Can you tell me one?”

You nodded, laying your head back on his chest. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince named Ezra.”

Ezra snorted beneath you, but didn’t say anything.

“The prince was born with magical powers, the power to heal the injured. This power stemmed from his beautiful brown hair.” As you spoke, you reached up to scratch through Ezra’s hair, causing him to smile. “But others were jealous of the prince, namely an evil witch who kidnapped baby Ezra and locked him away in a tower. The tower-“

“Babe,” Ezra interrupted. “You’re just retelling rapunzel with me as the princess.”

“And?” You asked, shimmying upwards so you could kiss Ezra’s nose. “You wanted a story.”

Ezra chuckled. “I did. You may proceed.”

You smiled, shifting so you could continue. “Anyway, the tower was covered wall to wall in plants, so many plants that little prince Ezra soon started to call him prison the green. And one day, little prince Ezra wasn’t so little anymore. In fact, he was an adult, begging the witch to let him go, to let him see the world. When she refused, prince Ezra cut a lock of his very special hair, causing it to go white and lose its power. For that, the witch vowed to never let Ezra leave. Ever.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a prince or princess who comes to save prince Ezra?” Ezra interrupted yet again.

“Ez!” You groaned playfully. “Stop interrupting! I’m getting there.”

Ezra shrugged, but stayed silent so you could continue.

“But, what prince Ezra didn’t know was that a young royal from the neighboring kingdom had been spying on the witch and prince Ezra for a while, and the royal was deeply in love with the prince.”

Ezra sighed, smiling and letting his eyes fall shut.

“This royal would risk it all for prince Ezra, and they did! One day, when the witch left, the royal stood at the base of the tower and called out to the prince. ‘Ezra, Ezra, let down your hair!’ And the prince did. He fell in love with the royal, and they spent many days together while the witch was away. But one day, many months into the secret relationship, the witch caught them. When she saw the royal, she freaked out, yelling and screaming. She tossed the royal out the tower window, and they landed in a bed of thorns at the base of the tower. Ezra, in his despair, jumped out after his beloved.”

You smiled, tracing shapes in Ezra’s shirt, feeling your own eyes grow heavy. “Ezra, horribly injured, cradled the dead body of his lover, surrounded by the thorn plants. Consumed by his grief, he grabbed the dagger off the royal’s belt and shore all his hair off. ‘If this is what life is,’ he declared. ‘Then I wish to live no longer.’ However, at the last second, before the dagger could strike his body, his beloved awoke, healed by the prince’s tears. They rode off into the sunset together, and while the mighty prince Ezra lost an arm that day, he gained something of higher value. A lover for all eternity.”

You yawned, cuddling up to Ezra’s chest and closing your eyes. “The end.”

When Cee came home hours later, she found the pair of you laying on the couch together, tangled in a messy pile of limbs and blankets. Upon further inspection, she realized you were both asleep.

“Those two,” she muttered to herself happily, tossing another blanket overtop you and heading off to do her schoolwork.

#prospect #prospect (film)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal #my writing

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dastardlydandelion · 3 years

Note

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one.

ao3 link

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * *

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * *

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * *

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * *

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #neil hargrove #my fic tag #anonymoose #can't get enough of these two as a murder duo

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my-sterion · 3 years

Text

Rescued

Featuring Princess!Kenny and Thief!Craig in somewhat of a Stick of Truth AU. But it’s not correlated to the game’s story. I just wanted to write whump.

Words: 1628

“Tell me!”

The familiar sound of sharp leather cutting through the air stings in Craig’s ears, moments before he even feels the whip connecting with his vulnerable skin and a deep groan escapes his lips.

“Tell me where that little whore is hiding out, tell me now!”

Craig is just lucid enough to recognize the impatience that creeps into the elven warriors voice. He knows they expected him to crack sooner, knows they probably hoped to pay him off to get the information they needed. And had it been anything else, Craig probably would have too- but he’d rather die than sell out the one person in this forsaken world he actually cared about.

“Never!” he stubbornly spits, teeth gritted through the burning pain. It takes all his strength not to imagine the mangled sight of his back, soft skin now surely covered with gashing wounds.

Another lash. The pain is getting so overwhelmingly intense that Craig feels close to passing out and his knees buckle, letting him fall forward, cheek colliding with the cold, damp floor. The guard steps closer, clawing his hands into Craig’s matted hair to pull him upright again.

He leans down so, stinking breath filling up the thief’s nostrils and hisses: “Listen Feldspar. Make this easy for both of us- because while it would be a terrible inconvenience to kill you, I will if you don’t cooperate.”

“Kill me, if you must.” Craig weakly mutters, eyes only half open. “I don’t care.”

At this point, he might actually prefer death over another day in this torture chamber of a cell. Obviously frustrated, his captor abruptly lets go, allowing Craig to sink back onto the plastered floor while he paces around the room, kicking against the door in anger.

“Fool! We are going to find the princess with or without your help. Your resistance is pointless!”

Even if Craig wanted to give another response, his strength is at its limit, drained to the point where he can hardly keep his head, let alone speak. But the silence only seems to rile the guard up even more. His hard leather boot flies into his stomach with such force, he feels the urge to throw up, but thanks to the fact that his stomach hasn’t seen any food in days, all he can manage is some painful dry heaving.

“Get some sleep while you still can.” the elf speaks coldly, staring down at Craig squirming. “Tomorrow won’t be a pleasant day for you.”

A moment later Craig can hear the door fall into its lock. Panting heavily, he finally manages to let some of the tension bleed out of his tensed up muscles and presses his forehead against the cool stone.

The prospect of dying in this filthy cell seems more and more likely with every second that passes. In a way, Craig has already made his peace with that. He hadn’t ever imagined dying a death this noble, but that’s what love did to even a selfish man like himself.

If there’s only one thing he might regret, it’s not getting the chance to look into Kenny’s shining blue eyes one last time.

“Craig!” right on cue, a voice that is painfully familiar whispers in a hushed tone.

As much as his heart aches, Craig doesn’t lift his eyes to look at what most likely is nothing but a pain induced hallucination. He has been tortured enough tonight, he doesn’t need to torture himself with the inevitable disappointment as well.

But then the same voice urges again, louder and more real this time: “Craig! Fucking wake up!”

His muscles are trembling from overexertion, but he props himself up just enough to raise his glare. Even through black spots and a few greasy hair strands in his eyes, the person standing in front of him is a picture crystal clear and the desperate whimper of relief falls from his lips.

Kenny is pressed close to the gate, hands tightly gripping the iron bars. Her long blonde hair that is usually carefully braided is now tucked away into a ponytail and her dress is replaced by something armor-like, but the expression coloring her face is just as fierce and determined as Craig remembers.

Worriedly, her eyes seem to roam over his body. “Holy fuck, you look like crap.”

An amused snort quickly turns into hacked up coughing while he sputters out: “It wasn’t the most comfortable stay.”

She ignores him and instead starts working on the door lock. While Kenny might not be as skilled as a lock picker as he is, her witch-like powers are widely known across the country and so it barely takes a minute until the door snaps open. It’s not the most elegant option, but it’s effective. As soon as it does, she hurries in, crouching down by his side in merely a second. Her hands gently clasp around his waist and she pulls him into her arms, careful not to worsen the already angry wounds.

Craig weakly looks up at her face. Her eyes are soft but the brows furrowed in deep concern. It’s so relieving and he all but melts into the comforting touch.

“I didn’t-“ he starts, only for his voice to break a mere moment later. Craig gathers himself, swallowing dryly while he tries to blink the blurriness away- everything under her gentle caress.

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Why those are the words his hazed mind chooses to say, he’s not sure. It’s rather pointless too, because if he had said a word about Kenny’s whereabouts, she definitely wouldn’t be standing in front of him, but somehow he still needed her to know.

Needed her to know how much she meant to him- that she had his unending loyalty.

Kenny’s ocean eyes widen only slightly before her face shifts into an expression full of emotion, affection and love. With a gaze that might be a little more teary eyed than she’d normally let on, the princess moves her hand to cup Craig’s cheek and gently strokes the burning skin.

“I know.” she assures him, voice not entirely steady, “I know you didn’t, darling.”

There’s guilt and sadness in those words and in every corner of her face. Craig wants to chase it away, wants to reassure her of everything that wasn’t her fault, but his body won’t let him.

Her touch is like cool rain on scorching flesh. Craig stares up into the soft features of her face, sees the tears pool at the corners of her eyes and barely manages to nod tiredly, warmth flooding through his limbs. Silently he makes an oath to himself, that if they make it out of here, to tell her every disgustingly sappy thought that has crossed his mind for the last few days.

The distant noise of keys jingling tears both of them away from the blissful moment of intimacy and a cold wave of dread washes over Craig. Frantically he pushes away his lovers hands, trying to get out of her hold with what little power he has left.

“No, no. Get out, or they’ll take you too.” he whispers, failing to keep the panic out of the words.

Kenny carefully retracts her hands from his hips, the look on her face suddenly cold and determined as she stares down the dungeons corridor.

“Like hell I will. I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a god damned hand on you!”

Craig’s feral instincts of survival as well as wanting to protect Kenny don’t allow him to appreciate her fierce attempts of defending his honor for more than a split second. Before she can even get up, he grabs her wrist as tightly as he can and squeezes, hard enough so that she is forced to turn her head back to him.

Their eyes meet- Craig silently shakes his head and the crashing storm of rage in her bright blue eyes seems to quiet down.

Sighing, the tension that has built up between her shoulder blades, dissipates.

“Alright, fine.” she relents, casting a last careful outside the cell. “I’ll let them live, for now. Let’s just get you out of here.”

Craig is still seated on the floor, but even staying upright is becoming harder and harder every second. The adrenaline of seeing Kenny here is slowly wearing off so that the pain sets back in and the edges of his eyesight become blurry again.

Blinking once, twice, he breathes deeply. “Do you have a plan?”

Despite the threatening situation, the blonde princess shoots him a smitten look over her shoulder. “Don’t I always, darling?”

He’s too exhausted- and in all honesty, scared, to even go in on her playful banter but at least manages a weak smile at the admittedly truthful words. In the years they’ve known each other he had learned to never underestimate her capability.

So, as he trusts his life into her hands, Craig carefully crawls to back up against the cool wall, palms scraping on rough stone, and breathes deeply. Only for a moment the thief allows himself to close his eyes and relax- until her sweet scent intensifies once more.

Tiredly blinking, Craig stares at her expectantly. Kenny just smiles and leans down to gently help him get up on his aching feet. Instantaneously, her arm wraps tightly around his waist, keeping him from toppling over with doting determination.

“Ready to get out of here, Feldspar?” she asks, voice low and yet loud enough to make his whole body tremble lightly.

Now that he’s standing up, his sight is worsening again. With a sigh Craig leans into her support just a little bit more and brings himself to a shaky, but content nod

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

#crenny #crenny fanfiction #south park #whump fic #kenny mccormick

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timextoxhajima · 4 years

Audio

Playlist Feels

*SHORT SERIES

Member: j u y e o n

Genre: drama with chaebol/lawyer juyeon

A/N: I’m investing way too much feelings and emotions into this i might cry when it ends. this chapter is more serious i guess i can’t be writing angst and smut every chapter LOL

Link to other parts:

I Never Wanna See You Again

Frustrated (light smut)

Love Somebody (light smut)

Play With Fire (smut)

“i’m playing with fire.”

all you wanted to do was have breakfast, but you walk out along the hallways of the second floor only to watch an entire crowd of staff members push and pull countless of racks across the living room.

the female staff member who recognised you from the previous week notices you standing awkwardly behind the wall, struggling to process the crowd at the foot of the stairs.

you watch her say something to another staff member, before she strolls across the living room and heads up the stairs to greet you.

“i’m going to hope you don’t have any clothes of your own,” she smiles at you, eyes flitting to your neck for a split second and looks at your bare legs.

“uh--” you stumble on your tongue, having trouble finding any words to say. you completely forget about the marks on your neck, and you were only in his underwear with the large pullover barely covering your rear.

“i’m gonna get you a robe while you choose your clothes for today and i’ll run you a bath before you have breakfast.”

you watch as she walks away into the bathroom, and again, you wonder why it was so difficult to think of anything to say. you had expected the house staff to be judging you for sleeping with him, but they all seemed so nice and candid, it was a little difficult to believe.

you just couldn’t get the idea of juyeon being such a kind, relaxed boss out of your head.

she returns from the bathroom with a robe, the water now running and a rose scent begins to waft through your nose. “here,” she hands you the robe and waits for you to put it on.

“mr lee wanted you to pick out as many clothes as you wanted, and he wants you to know not to worry about the price.”

you reach the bottom of the stairs with her standing right next to you, and you see at least three racks of clothes surrounding the living room. there were at least two full-body mirrors next to the sofas, and a separate mobile shelf with shoes.

“uh... do i have to? where are my clothes from yesterday?” your hand unconsciously reaches up to your neck to cover your skin.

“in the laundry! we’ll get it steamed and ready for you by lunch, but right now, he’s told us he wants to see you in something from any of these racks. he didn’t exactly give us much choice either,” she gives you a look that comforts you, gently patting your arm to encourage you.

you choose out exactly five different sets of clothes, which included shoes. you suddenly feel like you went on a splurge and your credit card would’ve exceeded by now, judging by the brands the clothes were from.

you soak yourself in the bathtub, the light from behind you illuminating the white, black and golden surfaces. you couldn’t help but to let your head replay the memories from the night before as the rose scent pulls all the knots in your body apart.

it felt like you were on vacation, when you were really just... feeding off your boyfriend’s wealth. you felt guilty, and frankly, a little worried that people were going to start thinking you were with him for his money.

you haven’t done anything for him besides curse at him, take the credit for his workings for the case and sleep in his bed.

you shake your thoughts away, deciding that it was time for you to get your due breakfast before working on the case.

you were pushing the last few bites of the strange looking pudding around in the bowl, and the female staff from before was in the dining room with you, arranging the cutlery and utensils away from sight.

“hey, uh--” you call out, looking at her while mrs jung comes out of the kitchen. you wonder why it took you three meals before you notice that you could see into the kitchen. the dining table was right next to a black counter where mrs jung would leave the food right after it was prepared, and the kitchen itself looked extravagant.

“you called?” the female staff lays down the plate and walks over to your side.

“yeah, uh...” you scratch your temple, slightly pulling on the turtleneck you chose to hide the bruises he left. “you don’t-- happen to think that... i’m with mr lee for his money... do you?”

the female staff blinks in surprise at you, and before she could respond, mrs jung does the honor.

“oh, my dear, definitely not! you’d be surprised at how good juyeon-nim is at picking out who’s genuine and who isn’t.” you turn and watch mrs jung carry some leftover food back into the kitchen.

“we were very surprised when he asked you to stay last friday, past the time where the house staff gets off work. he doesn’t like guests over, unless they are his parents... so it was nice to see him bring someone back.”

you let a small laugh escape your lips, feeling the blood rush up to your ears and cheek.

hold on.

‘someone’?

“you mean he’s never brought anybody home before?”

“not willingly, no.” mrs jung responds from the kitchen. “juyeon-nim is only friendly to people he trusts and even then he’s extremely cautious, though sometimes a little dense... but now that we know how comfortable he is with you, and we’re all just happy for him.”

you feel a second wave of embarrassment wash over you, your hand now wrapping around your own neck and pulling up the material to hide any possible marks that were peeking out from under.

“you don’t have to hide those as long as you’re here. everybody knows what happened,” the female staff member teases you, clearing the plates that you literally licked the crumbs off from before.

“awh... nooooo,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

the staff member laughs at your embarrassment, encouraging you to finish your dessert before she tells you where his office was.

you get the door open, and the first thing you notice was the similar L-shaped glass windows like his bedroom had. the desk sat on the right side, with a main leather seat back facing a large shelf. the levels were alternated between files and small, expensive-looking statues and souvenirs.

right before the glass panels were two single-seaters with a small coffee table between them, and your eyes took awhile to notice the little fridge under the table.

you log into the computer with ease, surprised that there wasn’t a password required. you remember mrs jung saying that he doesn’t have anybody over, and you figure that nobody else has been in his office anyway. the worry about someone hacking into his files was non-existent.

your suitcase was already placed by the table, and you wonder when did it get here. did he leave it in here last night? this morning? or did he get a staff member to do it?

the online system was perfectly synced with the system you had in the office, and all you needed to do was log in with your information before your case displays itself on the screen.

you get to work almost immediately, every now and then looking past the computer screen to look out the large glass windows.

the clouds were so fluffy against the bright blue sky today, and you couldn’t help but imagine chanhee, eric and sunwoo’s reactions when they notice you didn’t clock in today.

oh. chanhee, eric and sunwoo.

you reach over to your suitcase and pull out your cellphone, noticing the nearly ten missed calls you got from them starting about five minutes before the supposed reporting time.

chanhee: where the hell are you? its 7.55am!

eric: did she oversleep

chanhee: she doesn’t oversleep

sunwoo: not with that annoying ass alarm she’s got

you smile to yourself, unable to contain your happiness as you scroll down.

chanhee: why do we have to hear about your absence from our manager?

sunwoo: wait

eric: OH MY GOD

sunwoo: mf WAIT

eric: DID THE BOSS TELL OUR MANAGER THAT YOU WEREN’T COMING IN TODAY

sunwoo: DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM AGAIN

chanhee: but he’s in office!

sunwoo: so? he could’ve just left her at home and came to work to reduce suspicion cause it’ll too obvious if the both of them are absent

eric: unless...

sunwoo: i’m betting on that and OTHER REASONS

eric: i was thinking about other reasons

chanhee: whatever the reason, call us during our lunch break!

eric: yeah we want details

sunwoo: fucking disgusting

you snort to yourself, ready to keep your phone away and finish up the case.

but the aggressive vibration from your phone stops you just as you laid it down, and you sigh heavily when you see the caller ID.

“yello,” you put the phone down on the table, keeping it on loudspeaker.

“why do you sound so glum? i return from a two month trip and this is how you greet me?”

you roll your eyes, laying your hands right at the keyboard. “hi mom, how was your trip to san francisco?”

“oh, it was gorgeous!” she says with a strange accent. must’ve been the american air for two months. “i was pretty sad to leave, but nothing can stop me from coming back to see you!”

“when have you ever needed to see me?” your tone was unenthusiastic, and you resist the urge to hang up altogether.

“aw, no, honey,” she whines. “are you still mad about last year?”

“just so you know, i’m gonna stay mad for quite a bit, so don’t expect anything different.”

“aw, but you did say you wanted swavroski--”

“yeah, a swavroski ring! not the damn brand!” you huff, burying your face into your hands. your eyes were on the screen, staring at the case document, but all you could hear was the heavy breathing over the phone.

“i take it that you haven’t signed the contract to claim ownership of the brand.”

“of course i didn’t! i left home so i could build a life for myself. you promised me that you’d leave me and my finances and my life alone. you know i don’t want you or dad’s help but you go ahead and buy a whole jewellery brand?!”

silence.

“i’m never signing that contract, just so you know. it’s been sitting at home since you had it mailed to me while you ran off to canada.”

“are you still living in that tiny flat by the lake outside of town?”

you pick up a pinch of contempt in her voice. “yeah, what’s so bad about my 'tiny flat’?”

“nothing,” liar. “i just want you to have the best we can afford.”

“again with the ‘we’. how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want you or dad’s help?”

“but--”

“no,” you snap into the phone, picking it up and hovering your thumb over the hang up button. “i’m gonna go now because i have work to do. don’t call me unless it’s to tell me that someone else already owns swavroski.”

you finally hang up and you throw the phone back into your suitcase, hands on your forehead as you return your attention to the screen.

needed me? what a load of bullcrap.

maybe if she didn’t treat you like some kind of trophy when you were younger, you’d believe that she genuinely loved you.

you were called to lunch when the sun was at its highest, the blinding rays bouncing off windows and the metal from buildings that it heated up the room like a toaster.

mrs jung’s food never fails to deliver, and the female staff from before struggles to tuck your napkin into your clothes so that the gravy doesn’t fly about.

you were mindlessly praising the hell out of mrs jung’s pasta when you hear a staff outside the dining room shout. you turn at the sound of the doors swinging open, and you find yourself standing immediately at the sight of a lady who looked like a million bucks.

“what do you mean he’s in offic--” the lady finally turns her attention from the staff outside the dining room and to you. “and... who are you?”

so much for that lunch phone call to your friends.

you find yourself sitting awkwardly opposite her, carefully watching as she swirls the wine in her glass. you feel her eyes pierce right through you, and your hands reach up to your turtleneck in a bid to pull it upwards.

“there’s no need to hide,” she nearly scolds you, and the harsh tone strikes a chord in you. “i know who you are.”

what?

“you’re the reason why my son’s fiance is in shambles right now.”

his what--

“i’m sorry, who?” you squint your eyes at her, for a split second forgetting that she was the mother of your now-boyfriend.

“he didn’t tell you?” she offers a smile of disbelief. “and here i was thinking he changed for the better.”

“’for the better’? he wanted to leave the country to do charity work, not run away.”

“he was running away from the responsibilities he was born to shoulder. we do enough charity for him to stay,” she leans forward on the table, one palm pressed flat on the surface.

“but he didn’t even want the damn law fi--”

“mother!”

the both of you turn to the door of the dining room. every staff member within your line of vision looked like they were scared shitless, which was a strange sight, considering how relaxed and candid they were in the absence of this... crazy lady.

who might be my mother-in-law? ugh.

“you should’ve told me you’re visiting,” juyeon walks in the doors and the staff members shut them behind him. he grabs a seat next to you, and it visibly stuns his mother.

“i wouldn’t have bothered if i knew you weren’t even at home,” she watches in slight disgust as juyeon leans into your face and plants a kiss on your cheek. your eyes widen and your heart feels extremely heavy. “care to explain what is going on?”

juyeon carefully sits his suitcase next to his chair as the kitchen staff serves him a glass of wine. you remember the only food that was prepared was only for you and the staff members.

“what’s there to explain? i never said i agreed to marry anybody i was told to.”

you watch anxiously, eyes switching between juyeon, who was calmly sipping on his wine, and his mother, who was so angry that you could almost see the steam escaping from her ears...

“and so you run off and sleep with some random girl?”

ouch.

“will she still be ‘some random girl’ if you knew what she was capable of? she’s closed more cases in six months than i did in a year, mother.”

“i didn’t think a lawyer would let someone leave such savage marks all over her body like this!” she berates you, hand carelessly gesturing to all of you.

“which year did you walk through a portal from? it’s not the 1800s, mother.”

wow, so she blames me and not the one who made these marks?

“girls nowadays.”

you could feel juyeon’s frustration hit the roof, and the atmosphere in the dining hall gets heavier as each second passes in silence.

“what are you here for, anyway? just to ask me about me dumping my fiance who i never even loved? i don’t even like her face, mother. she’s an incapable princess who does nothing but sit around and gets waited on.”

“forget about that, you’ve gone ahead and spent your weekend breaking off the engagement anyway,” his mother glares at the two of you.

didn’t he spend his weekend with his family--

“but i do want to know why you’re back in the office.”

juyeon locks his jaw in odd angles, and if you didn’t know it was his mother who was pissing him off, you would’ve thought he was going to throw a punch across the table.

“what do you mean ‘why i’m back in the office’? doing my job and accepting my responsibilities like you wanted to!”

“and you didn’t have the decency to at least inform us? we were ready to re-sell it to the bureau director!”

juyeon sucks in a deep breath and stands up, eyes tightly shut as you watch him collect his feelings. his mother remains relaxed in the seat opposite you, arms tightly crossed over her chest but her face still brimming with anger and dissatisfaction.

“okay,” he leans downwards, pressing his palms flat against the surface of the table. “if you’re so upset then i assume a contract has already been drawn up, yes?”

his mother doesn’t respond.

“alright, i’ll contact the bureau director and i’ll explain the situation. it’s you the bureau director has a problem with, anyway. it’ll be easy for me.”

your face was turned to juyeon, but your eyes couldn’t resist the temptation to look at his mother. she had just been outspoken by her son, and you felt so proud of him for standing up for himself.

his mother finishes the win, visibly angry. she gets up and leaves the dining hall, and when you hear the lift ‘ding’ followed by the sound of its gears shutting its doors, you heaved a sigh of relief.

the entire room relaxes and begins helping to clear the table. juyeon was the only one who looked like he was about to burst from anger and frustration.

you stand up and wrap your arms around his torso, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

“hey.”

“i’m sorry you had to see that.”

you shake your head, pulling away and hugging his arm instead.

“i’m sorry that i lied about what i did over the weekend, and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you i was already engaged.”

you let the pain of the realisation sink in for a moment, before giving him a weak smile. “well, it wasn’t really a lie. you said it was something to do with your family... and besides, you broke off the engagement.” you reach over his chest and find his arm to pull him to face you, looking up at him whose eyes were filled with remorse.

naturally, a shitty feeling swamps you when you lose sight of his prideful, authorial self, so you pull his face down to meet yours and you feel him melt into the kiss.

“do you need to go back to the office?” you let him go, his hands now resting on your waist.

“yeah,” he sighs apologetically. “i only came back because the lobby called to tell me my mother was here.”

“aw,” you grin in attempt to shake off the tension that was still hanging in the air. “nice to know you came back to save me from your mother.”

a smile appears on his lips, and he pulls you in all so suddenly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“maybe i shouldn’t leave my marks so high up your neck next time.”

you sigh with your lips in smile, pressing your head into his chest as he wraps his arms tightly around you.

THE NEXT DAY

your arm was linked tightly with juyeon’s as he walks you up the stairs of the grand hotel, the ends of your gown dragging along the marble surface to the restaurant where he would meet the bureau director.

you couldn’t take your eyes off him, though the simple suit was nothing compared to the dress he had prepared for you within a day’s notice. you reach the restaurant entrance and the lady immediately recognises him, turning to lead you two into the restaurant and in the corner where the private rooms were.

“so just to be clear, ignore your mother and be nice to the bureau director, right?” you giggle as the restaurant staff knocks on the door.

juyeon laughs and pecks you on your temple. “maybe if you ignore her enough, she’ll start wanting your attention.”

you snicker to yourself, watching the door pull open and the light from inside spills out.

you trail behind juyeon and look into the room, and your heart stops in your chest.

the world stops revolving around the sun and your breath hitches in your throat, your grip on juyeon’s arm tightening instantly when you see the two people in the room.

“mother,” juyeon awkwardly starts, only noticing your sudden grip on his arm.

mother.

she looks at you with wide, surprised eyes before they dissipate into a wide smile.

“this is the bureau director, mrs--”

“it’s alright,” she stops juyeon. “i know who she is.”

you gulp and your chest collapses in on itself.

of all people, THIS bureau director just had to be your mother?

Part 6: Bourbon

#timetohajima #timetohajima playlist feels #lee juyeon #the boyz #the boyz juyeon #juyeon imagine #juyeon scenario #juyeon fanfic #juyeon

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

The Color of You || Part IX

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on.

NOTE: Haha...yes I have made it back from death. Just one more chapter and this series will be done. Very sads. Also next chapter will have smut. Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this series, any natasha stories I do, Wanda stories, or everything.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII

PART IX of X

Count: 2873

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your heart is palpitating with the wind whipping around you as Steve revs his motorcycle, going 90 miles per hour.

You try to hold onto Steve tighter, feeling like if you don’t, you’ll end up flying right off the backseat. It’s supposed to distract you. The wind, the noise, the cold, even the pain is supposed to take your mind away from the fact that if you’re too late, then Natasha might die.

Your mind tries to rationalize with you because she’s Black Widow, and she’ll have different things up her sleeves.

But what could she do?

So you focused on Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You know that the Iron Man suit should be airtight. The poison can’t get through, but in your vision, you saw on the screen that he had his mask off as he worked on the computers.

Even if you can get Steve to tell Tony to keep his mask on, what about Bruce?

Bruce would die if he inhaled any of that poison.

You’re formulating plans quickly inside your head. Possibility after possibility, wishing that you knew how to control your gift more because, at this point, this was just hoping for the best outcome.

“Hey, Steve?” You shout loudly through your helmet, licking your lips when Steve turns his head around briefly to show you he heard you.

“Can you get in touch with Natasha?”

Steve releases one hand off the handle as he touches his earpiece. He calls her name a couple times, but then he puts his hand back on the handle.

“I’m not getting anything on her end. She might be out of range, or there might be interference where she is. We’ll know if she’s back,” He yells.

You sigh, hoping this plan works.

Steve slows, coming to a rough stop when you’re in front of your estate again.

Taking off your helmet, Steve helps you off, and you look at him.

“Can Tony hack into camera systems?” You ask, and Steve snorts.

“That would be like taking candy from a baby for him,” Steve tells you and you nod.

“Alright...can you ask him to do this?”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You had Steve park in the same blind spot area you smuggled Nat into that time you brought her home.

Waiting until the camera turned, you pulled Steve past, opening the kitchen door.

You immediately start rummaging through the drawers.

"What are you looking for?” Steve asks, and you’re about to answer him before he suddenly bolts into you, pushing you to the ground, a loud gunshot ringing in your ears.

Pain rushes through your arms and legs as you haven’t quite healed yet. You groaned quietly and forced your head up to see what happened.

Steve jumps up, his shield forward to protect you, and the two of you see Evelyn standing there with a gun raised.

“Evelyn,” you breath, and she looks at you, eyes darting to Steve for just a moment.

“You’re a fool to return, miss,” Evelyn grouses, and you raise your brow at her.

“Let me guess, capture? Or kill on sight?” You ask, but Evelyn doesn’t react to it. It already tells you what you need to know because if you’re not useful to him, then there’s no use for you at all.

You nudge Steve at his back because you still need to get to the drawer. He slowly inches up, and you follow. Evelyn follows your movements, but she can’t do much with Steve protecting you.

You grab what you need from the drawer, and Steve draws his eyes to you without moving his head.

“Go,” he tells you, “I’ll catch up.”

You move, hearing more gunshots fired at you, but they easily bounce off of Steve’s shield. You glance at him, gratefully briefly before running off. Evelyn tries to take off after you, but Steve immediately blocks her way, forcing her back.

Evelyn steels herself with Steve doing that same.

“Captain America, huh. I’m a big fan.”

Steve grins.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You take off your shoes before running again, more relieved at the lack of sound your shoes were making.

You open the door to the basement, fingers trembling slightly as you walk down.

You haven’t been back down here since you were allowed up into the estates. There was no reason for you to go back down, but you needed to.

You needed to because Natasha might die if you didn’t.

Hand dragging along the bricked wall, you counted the bricks as walked until you reached 57.

Pressing the brick in, the door opened, and you looked into the room. You were early, it seemed. No one was in the room, but then you started to hear footsteps, and you quickly made your way in, running until you were behind a pillar, hiding as you slowed your breath.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha didn’t like the silence.

It was too quiet.

She had broken into William’s estate through a window, and when she jumped down, she realized she was in the basement.

It was big, seemingly looked like a basement suite. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for at first, just checking every room until she was in the master bedroom of the basement.

It would’ve been unnoticeable to anyone, but the bed was just slightly crooked. Probably no more than 3 degrees needed to be straight.

It was such a plain bed for a master bedroom, but Natasha pushed the bed back in an attempt to make it straight.

Then she heard it.

The floor creaked unnaturally ever so softly.

Natasha moved the bed, staring at the floor door.

A heavy feeling settled over Natasha.

Everything in her body told her that she shouldn’t open it because whatever she would find in there would make her sick.

But Natasha opened it anyways.

It was dark peering in, but with some of the light outside, she could make out a staircase to go down.

Her hands drifted to the wall, dragging against it as she walked down. Her fingers brushed against a light switch when she reached the bottom. When she turned it on, she noticed there wasn’t much space. There was the staircase, and about 5 feet across from it only had another door. There was nothing else.

Natasha slowly walked forward, staring at the door. When she opened it, it was completely dark, the light hardly making any difference in the room, so she needed to use her own flashlight.

And there was nothing in the room.

No furniture.

No windows.

Just a concrete floor.

A giant hole in the middle.

Natasha clenches her jaw because she can’t stop hearing your words in her head.

She walks forward bravely until she’s at the edge, pointing her light down. The sight inside makes Natasha stiff.

It’s deep.

Roughly around 150 feet and too wide for anyone to try to climb back up.

She can see some food trays at the bottom, a small pillow, and a blanket.

And Natasha knows.

You were kept a prisoner here.

All alone in the dark until you had a vision of her.

But even then, you were still alone in the dark, replaying the visions of her, praying, hoping, wishing for her until you were allowed out.

Compromising your morals and ethics, enduring everything for Natasha to come.

It burned.

Natasha’s eyes drift to the side at the bottom, teeth clenching when she sees traces of dried blood.

She grips the gun in her hand a little tighter.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s happening.

Faster than you can formulate any other plans in your head.

“You think this is over?” William sneers at Natasha.

“Your plans being ruined and being captured usually means that. So, yes, I do think this is over.” Natasha tells him back, no emotion on her face.

“You know, there’s one thing my miserable father did teach me,” William says with a smirk, pulling out a device and in one hand and a gun in another.

“Take a look at this screen,” William tells her, and she can see it’s Bruce and Tony who’ve made it into his control room, working on canceling his program.

“This button in my hand will release a deadly poison into the air. They’ll die within minutes,” William smiles, and when Natasha makes a move to step forward, he puts his thumb on the button threateningly.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, “one move, and I’ll kill them.”

You want to yell at Natasha to call his bluff, that it’s fine, but you might be making it worse.

But then he points his gun at her, and you only have a snapshot second to make a decision of what to do. You try to peer around, but Natasha seems to be rooted in place as she’s not willing to risk Tony and Bruce’s life.

“You should’ve never come here,” he tells her before pulling the trigger–

You jump out from behind the pillar, rushing towards William as you push his chair over, disorienting him as he falls over on his side. The bullet fires, but completely misses Natasha.

Shock and horror enter Natasha’s eyes as she sees you, but you’re too busy trying to wrestle the gun out of his hand. She can’t shoot with you in the way. Despite being knocked over, William manages to keep a tight grip on both the button. You did manage to get his gun, but he uses his elbow, knocking it to your face. The shock and pain make you drop the gun, but further away than any three of you can reach. William uses that moment to grab you, wrapping his arm around your neck as he staggers to stand up.

William groans angrily, his thumb touching his lip as he sees the blood from when you hit his face from trying to get his gun.

The blood drains from Natasha’s face as it’s become the worst possible scenario for her with him holding you hostage.

“You actually came back,” William looks at you and sneers, “how foolish.”

You have one hand on his arm to stop him from squeezing harder and one hand straight down, your sleeve covering your arm.

“How idiotic of you,” William berates you. “Let me guess, you saw this happening and just couldn’t help but run to save her.”

His face distorts into disgust. Natasha is watching like a hawk, her gun up and steady.

William looks at her and rolls his eyes.

“Put your gun down, or I will press this button and kill everyone in that room,” he threatens.

Natasha falters, but you shake your head at her, warranting William to tighten his hold around your neck.

“DROP THE FUCKING GUN,” William screams at Natasha, but she looks at you, and you’re still shaking your head as much as you can.

��Trust me,’ you mouth at her as best you can.

So, Natasha doesn’t drop the gun, and William explosively glares at her as he pushes the button.

Natasha whips her eyes to the screen, but when moments pass and nothing happens, she looks back at him.

William scares at the screen, confused and angry as he presses the button over and over again, but nothing happens. You can feel his grip loosening.

“What the hell,” he looks at the button but then snaps his head to you.

“What did you do?” He seethes at you, and you merely smile, causing him to tighten his grip around your neck.

“It’s a feedback loop,” you say before you reveal your hand with a fruit knife in it that you hid in your sleeve before stabbing him in his thigh.

William yelps, immediately releasing you as you tumble away, and Natasha immediately uses the opportunity to shoot William in the chest.

There’s a moment of silence in the room as the bullet pierces him. He looks around at his chest, red seeping through his clothes as he falls onto his knees before his back.

He wasn’t dead, maybe Natasha shot him inches from where it would’ve been an instant death.

But he was certainly dying.

You crawl over to him, looking over his face as he took shaky breaths. He looks up at you.

“It’s over,” you whisper to him. It doesn’t really seem to register to him as he lifts his hand up, trying to touch your face.

He doesn’t have the strength to make it.

“I...loved you...for...real, you know,” He breathes out shakily, slowly turning paler.

Tears well up in your eyes as you shake your head.

“No...” You tell him, “you don’t know how to love anything without ruining it.”

William merely stares up at you, mouth open as his trembles before the life fades from his eyes, and he lets out his last breath.

It’s finally over, you think, trying to get up but stumble right into Natasha’s arms as she rushes towards you.

Natasha pats you all over, trying to assess your injuries, but you hold her hand to stop her.

“I’m okay,” you tell her.

Natasha’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry.

“You’re so reckless!” She chokes at you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“But you’re alive...we’re both alive...” You tell her with a weak smirk, and Natasha rolls her eyes before leaning in to kiss you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Tony has the Quinjet ready by the time you come outside with Natasha supporting you with her arm around your waist.

You stand before everyone and can’t help but laugh that everyone’s at least supporting one bruise on their face.

“Ah, my little genius has made it out,” Tony says as he grins at you.

“Your genius?” Natasha scoffs.

“Uh, yes, Nat. Otherwise, both me and puny banner would’ve-” Tony uses his hand to swipe around his neck, gesturing death as he makes a noise to accompany it.

Natasha scrunches her brows together as she recalled what happened.

“What did you do?” Natasha asks as she turns to you.

You grin softly.

“Can Tony hack into camera systems?” You ask, and Steve snorts.

“That would be like taking candy from a baby for him,” Steve tells you.

“Alright...can you ask him to do this? Tell Tony to hack into the camera systems where he is discreetly. He needs to find the camera, which will be somewhere on the wall, and it can move. Ask him to make a feedback loop about a minute long of him and Bruce working to disengage the biotech. Make sure you tell him the feedback has to have it that his helmet his off.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded, putting his finger to his earpiece before speaking quietly.

“Okay, he’s asking why,” Steve turns to you.

“William is watching them, and he’s going to use the two of them as leverage when Natasha confronts him. The sprinklers in the room are filled with poisonous gas. If they inhale it, they’ll die. After the feedback loop is created, then Tony can keep his Iron Man helmet on if it has a gas filter, but Bruce can’t be in there in case.”

“Did you copy that?” Steve asks into his earpiece.

Steve nods to you, and you sigh.

Natasha merely shakes her head at you, and you know later on you’re going to get a lecture about danger again, but you don’t even care because she’s safe.

She leads you onto the Quinjet, letting you lay on her lap as she brushes your hair delicately during the flight.

“What now?” Steve asks as he sits across from the two of you.

Natasha merely shrugs. “I don’t know. A part of me wants to hide her away, where no one can find her. Not SHIELD, not anyone who knows about her gift and will want to use it.”

“You think SHIELD will want that?”

Natasha shrugs again. “She can see the future, Steve. Do you know how incredibly useful that gift is? Without her, this mission would’ve been a bust. This mission might’ve not even existed without her. Sure, she can’t control it now, but maybe with research and practice, she can. But I don’t want to put her through that as if she’s some...some lab rat.”

Natasha looks down at your sleeping face, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.

“I just want her to be happy. She deserves to be happy.”

“We’ll find a way,” Steve tells Natasha reassuringly, but his teammate merely half-smiles at him.

The rest of the ride home is quiet as everyone is trying to rest. When the Quinjet lands in SHIELD’s headquarters, Natasha briefly thinks about grabbing you and running off before anyone can see you, but when she feels your hand brush against hers as you wake up, she can only smile as you press a kiss to the corner of her lips.

The door opens to the ground as Natasha helps you up to walk out. She already sees Fury and Maria standing there to greet everyone.

They look at you, and Natasha feels tense, but you pat her arm to reassure her.

Maria walks up to you, and before anything can happen, you’re in handcuffs.

Shock appears on the Avenger’s faces as they look at the handcuffs on your wrist.

“What the hell,” Natasha seethes.

PART X

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow x reader #black window imagine #avengers #avengers reader insert #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #Marvel Imagine #marvel reader insert #Modern Avengers AU

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gamergirl929 · 4 years

Text

Full Time Wrestler/Part Time Nurse (Becky Lynch x Reader)

Anonymous Request: I dont know if you still take request but could you do something with becky lynch where reader is sick with the flue and becky becomes worried and takes great care of her?? (I was sick myself 3weeks ago and i would love to have becky lynch as my personal nurse 😂😂)

Becky woke in the middle of the night, her brow furrowed as she rubbed her tired eyes unaware monetarily of what it was that woke her.

It’s moments later that she hears the retching coming from the bathroom and slips out of bed.

“Y/N?” She asks again, the sound of hacking assaulting her ears.

“Ye-Yeah.” You growl into the porcelain throne tears streaming down your face at the exertion of throwing up.

“Don’t come in it’s gross.”

Becky completely ignores you, slipping inside to kneel down behind you and hold your hair back.

“It’s okay, let it out.” She whispers as you vomit the contents of your stomach into the commode.

“I’m sorry.” You rasp as you wipe your mouth with a nearby rag, spitting into the water before closing the toilet and flushing.

“Don’t be sorry, yer sick.” She pulls you back against her chest and you sigh.

“Come on, let’s get ya back in bed.”

You’re just getting to your feet when you’re overcome again with nausea again, dropping back down onto the floor and vomiting again.

“Don’t worry, I got ya.” Becky again holds your hair back, her head resting just below the nape of your neck.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

***

You wake later that morning with a grimace, your throat sore from all of the unpleasantness the night before.

Just as you’re about to get up, the hotel room door swings open and Becky walks in, multiple plastic bags in her hands.

“No, yer stayin in bed.” Becky points at you and you pout, bottom lip trembling.

“Won’t work dis time.”

You sigh leaning back against the headboard.

“That’s my only weapon against you.” You rasp, grimacing at the pain in your throat.

“Looks like yer powerless, now open yer mouth.”

You sigh allowing the Irish woman to stick the thermometer in her had beneath your tongue.

After a few seconds it beeps, Becky looking down at the numbers with a grimace.

“102.3.” She frowns and you groan, cheeks flushing when the woman gently presses her palm against your forehead.

“Yer burnin’ up…” She mumbles, rifling through one of the plastic bags until she finds a bottle of medicine.

“Ya think you can keep anythin’ down?” She asks and you shrug.

“I’m still nauseous.” You frown, Becky nodding sadly.

Your eyes widen when Becky drops the plastic bags on her bed and slips in to yours, shuffling towards you.

“You’ll get sick.” You mumble, but Becky only shakes her head.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Becky pulls you close and you immediately curl into her, burying your face in her neck.

“Try and get some sleep... I know ya didn’t sleep well.”

You mumble tiredly, the Raw Women’s Champion grinning as she holds you close.

“Shhhh. Sleep.”

Becky whispers sweet nothings in your ear until you finally pass out, the warmth of the woman and the feel of her heart beat lulling you to sleep.

Becky’s brown orbs dart around your sleeping facing, grinning when you smile in your sleep, snuggling closer.

The Irishwoman runs her fingers through your hair until she too falls fast asleep.

***

Becky wakes abruptly in the middle of the night when you leap from her arms and run to the bathroom, a hand slapped over your mouth.

The red-haired woman follows after you, pulling your hair back away from your face as she drops down on her knees behind you, whispering softly in your ear as your body retches.

“I hate this.” You croak, shivering when Becky gently kisses the back of your neck.

Becky hands you a glass of water to clean your mouth and you let out a yawn.

“I know ya do, I’m here. I’ve got ya.” She whispers, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean back into her.

You feel yourself drifting off in her arms, the woman happy to carry you to bed. She places you gently on the bed’s surface before slipping under the covers herself, the sleeping woman shuffling towards her, her arms slipping around the Irishwoman.

You whine in your sleep and Becky frowns.

“I’ve got ya Y/N.” She whispers and you sigh, snuggling closer.

Becky soon falls asleep to, the rise and fall of your chest helping her drift off into the land of dreams.

***

You wake first the following morning, grimacing at the thin sheen of sweat covering your body.

You grunt as the pain in your head becomes prominent.

You attempt to shuffle backwards away from the woman, afraid of passing whatever you have to her, but Becky tightens her hold on you, the woman whining loudly.

“No.”

A smile spreads across your face as Becky pulls you back against her, the woman burying her face in your chest.

“But I'm all sweaty...” You mumble, Becky grumbling.

“I don’t care.”

“But you could get sick.”

Becky shakes her head.

“Still don’t care.”

You roll your eyes, your eyelids fluttering.

“Fine, but if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.” You mumble, and Becky snorts.

“Ya right.”

“You’re right, there's no way I wouldn't take care of you.”

***

Becky frowns, looking down at the thermometer with a sigh.

“101.0.”

You grimace, your bottom lip jutted out.

“Yer getting better, ya just need a little more rest.” Becky cups your cheek, her thumb running along your cheekbone.

You sigh, leaning into her touch.

“Let’s try and get ya to eat somethin.”

You whine, shaking your head, but when Becky leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead you realize you’d do just about anything she’d ask for.

“Let’s try.” She whispers and you nod, your eyes locked with her brown orbs.

“Okay.”

***

You’re surprised and incredibly happy that you were able to keep your dinner down, which meant you were finally able to take the medication you needed.

“Der... Let’s watch somethin’.” Becky whispers as she slips into bed beside you, immediately slipping an arm around you.

You snuggle close, feeling better than you had in the last few days.

“Thank you.” You whisper, Becky turning to you with a small smile.

“I couldn’t just let ya suffer.” She whisper, leaning down, her head resting on yours.

You let out a yawn.

“Sleep Y/N... Ya need it.” She whispers and you nod, nuzzling into her chest.

“I love you Becks...” You whisper, the Irishwoman’s eyes doubling in size. She looks down at you, her cheeks flushed red, grinning when she sees you’re fast asleep.

“I love ya too.”

***

You wake the later with a massive grin, quickly realizing that you’re still buried in Becky’s chest, the woman’s body wash clouding your senses.

You snuggle into her, pulling the woman closer.

“Y/N?”

You sit up with a yawn, quickly realizing that Becky’s tired brown orbs are now on you, her face scrunched up as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“Yeah?” You whisper, Becky turning to you worriedly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are ya okay?” She asks and you grin, nodding.

“I am.” Becky smiles.

“Ya think you could take a little more medicine?” She asks and you nod, the woman immediately sipping out of bed to head towards her, Y/N is sick kit.

You lay back, staring up at the ceiling with a massive smile.

“Wat are you smilin at?” She asks and you chuckle.

“I never knew you were a nurse.” You tease, the Raw Women’s Champion rolling her eyes.

“Full time wrestler, part time nurse. Now, take this.” She mumbles and you nod, taking the medicine with a grimace.

“Get back in bed?” You pout and the woman grins.

“Gladly.”

***

A few days later and you’re feeling at nearly 100%, Becky’s doting on you of course hadn’t ceased, and you couldn’t say you were complaining.

“I know yer feelin’ better, but ya can’t just get up and run around. Lay back down.” She pokes you and you smirk, falling back onto the bed.

“Fine, bossy.” You mumble, Becky rolling her eyes as she climbs into bed beside you, burying her face in your chest.

“Ey, you wouldn’t be any better if it wasn’t fer me.” She nudges you with her nose and you grin, your cheeks heating up.

“I know... And I can’t thank you enough...” You whisper, tenderly cupping Becky’s cheek.

The woman’s breath hitches as she pulls back slightly, her brown orbs locking with your Y/E/C ones.

You swallow hard, your eyes flicking to Becky’s lips before they snap back up, locking with her brown orbs.

“Just, thank you, for taking care of me.” You whisper and Becky smiles, sitting up.

Your heart ceases to beat in your chest when you realize Becky’s brown orbs are focused on your lips, and she’s leaning in.

The second your lips brush you’re left breathless, happy to reciprocate the tender, yet passionate kiss.

Your eyes remain closed, even when Becky has pulled back. You frown at the absence of Becky so close to you, but moments later your eyes flash open when the woman decides to spread your legs and climb on top of you.

Becky leans back in, her lips again meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

“Yer welcome.” She whispers against your lips and you grin.

Becky wiggles until her head rests on your chest, her ear just over your racing heart.

“Night Y/N.” She whispers and you grin, wrapping your arms tightly around the woman.

“Night Becky.”

#wwe #wwe imagine #becky lynch #becky lynch x reader #becky lynch imagine

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rosegoldannie · 4 years

Text

Tell Me no Lies - Chapter 20 Final chapter

Alright, here it is! The final chapter.

masterlist

Warm sunlight filtered in through the partially open curtains. Aelin let out a groan, shifting under the heavy duvet, and stretching her arms above her head.

Slowly, she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes and turned to glare fiercely at the cause of her lack of sleep.

Rowan was fast asleep, shirtless and on his stomach. One arm was thrown around her middle, holding her against him, and his mouth was open, silvery-white hair ruffled messily. She had half a mind to wake him, but decided against it, smiling to herself as she remembered the cause of their exhaustion. For as little sleep as she got, Rowan got far less.

Running her hands through his hair, and smoothing it down, Aelin sighed through her nose, remembering the long, arduous journey that had brought them here.

Their relationship hadn’t been easy.

After the events of that night three months ago, not much had changed. Arobynn had gone to jail, sure. But with them, it had been a long road. Because they were stubborn, and wouldn’t talk about their feelings if their lives depended on it.

Aelin couldn’t even count how many times in the last three months she and Rowan had had some sort of a fight, or how many times she had had to pry his words from him, because he simply didn’t share. He had always been rather quiet, but it seemed that their encounter with Arobynn had shut down any progress they had made together, towards sharing their emotions.

And after that night, it was like they had hit a roadblock in their relationship. It felt as if they were strangers. Sure, both of their feelings were out in the open, but that almost made it worse. And Aelin had despised it. Hell, she had found herself regretting that she loved him, and it scared the hell out of her. Because it felt like she was drowning, and Rowan was her lifeline, but he was always just out of reach from her.

It had taken Lorcan - Lorcan - of all people, to sit them down, and tell them that, and Aelin chuckled softly, remembering his harsh words, ‘Our whole group didn’t watch you both pine miserably after each other for months just for it to all go to shit now. So you two are going to talk. Actually talk.’ And then, like magic, a switch had flipped, and the dam had broken.

Lorcan had taken one look at their misty eyes and quivering lips, and excused himself from the room, mumbling something about leaving his sink on. No sooner had he escaped, than Aelin had flung herself across the sofa, and into Rowan’s arms.

He had been crying softly into her neck, dampening her hoodie. She had simply held him all that much tighter, murmuring “I know, I know.” into his chest.

Rowan had let out a hacking cough of a sob, pulling her impossibly closer. Her chest ached from the force of her tears. He began babbling something to her, but she could barely hear him over his sniffles, and her own hiccups.

At last, she had pulled away from him, cupping his face in her palm. His face, normally so cold and distant, was open, and blotchy with tears. Those green eyes that she loved, were closed, preventing more tears from escaping. She simply swept them away, then slowly leaned forward, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry.” She murmured, taking measured breaths, and trying to judge his reaction. His eyes flew open, finding hers. “I’m so, so sorry that I dragged you into all of this.” She wasn’t looking him in the eyes, instead focusing on getting the words out without breaking down. “I’m sorry, and I want you to know-” Aelin’s voice broke, and she had to clear her throat several times before she could speak again. “I want you to know that if this has all been too much, I get it. I’ll completely understand if you hate me, because I nearly got you killed.”

Something in him started glowing. “No, no. No, That-” He stopped, taking her face in his hands, “-I was so scared, princess. When he had that gun to your head, all I could think was just that I couldn’t lose you, over and over and over. I-I couldn’t move, just watch.” Rowan studied her, eyes moving across her face. “You…. got me to feel something again, Aelin. For the first time in years, I was genuinely happy. And when we were in that car, all I could think was that no matter what, whatever I had to do or endure, I was going to make sure you lived, because…” He stopped, pausing to wipe away the tears now streaming down her face. “Because, Aelin, you are the light of my life.”

Aelin smiled happily at the memory, one finger tracing down Rowan’s spine. He twitched in his sleep, letting out a quiet snort. She was beaming, and biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Slowly, she began trailing a teasing finger up the back of his neck.

Again, he twitched and snorted.

She chuckled quietly, continuing her teasing.

They continued like this for a while, her teasing him until he almost awoke, then allowing him to fall back asleep.

Until he snapped.

There was a rush of air, then Aelin found herself caged between his arms, his knees braced on either side of her hips as he glared indignantly down at her. That glare sent a bolt of joy through her, and she began giggling, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Rowan shook his head, a grudging smile tugging at his lips. “You’re absolutely insufferable, you know that, right?”

At last, she regained her composure, and braced her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve been told,” She mused, looking up at him through her lashes.

His eyes darkened. “And why did you decide to wake me?” He murmured, one hand beginning to stroke down her arm, as he lowered himself to his elbows.

She only gave him a smirk, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Rowan tried to chase after her lips, but stopped, and let out a low groan. “What time is it?” He murmured, his eyes glued to her lips.

Grinning, she whispered, “Early enough.”

He grinned right back, kissing her with a passion that set her on fire, as his hands roved up and down her arms and sides. His tongue traced her lips sweetly, as his hands became sinful. Unable to help it, Aelin let out a loud moan.

They both froze, eyes widening in alarm.

Down the hall, a door creaked open, followed by the pitter-patter of several sets of little feet.

Sighing, her husband rolled off of her, and gave her a resigned smile, brimming with joy. “Early enough, hmm?” He teased, just as their door burst open, and they were swarmed by their children.

Aelin laughed, stroking the hair of their youngest, as the older two became little balls of fire, jumping up and down on the bed, singing nursery rhymes, before collapsing and grinning fiendishly.

“Mama,” They chorused sweetly, “can we have breakfast, now?”

She faked an annoyed sigh, but slipped from the bed, and began to lead them from the room. “Alright, what would you like?”

They all began to call out their preferences, jumping up and down.

Rowan caught her eye as she slipped from the room, quietly saying, “I’ll do the dishes.”. It was something he had said for years, a simple sentence for most, but with the light and joy in his face, no longer cold and harsh, she saw it for what it was: I love you.

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