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writingsbymo-mo · 5 months

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And So, We Meet Again

Future Timeline!Rindou x Reader

Contains: fluff, mild angst

Note: this has spoilers for the end of the Tenjiku Arc for any anime only's or anyone who hasn't finished reading it yet

Summary

You and Rindou dated back when you were an exchange student. However, that time was far too short, leaving the two of you broken-hearted for years until you finally meet again.

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"I-I'm sorry R-Rindou *sniff* I have to go back home," you cried into his shirt, staining it with tears as you squeezed him tightly, never wanting to let go. "Please don't forget about me...I promise to see you again one day."

Those were the last words you spoke to him before you left to your home country the following day. It broke your heart having to leave him and your friends behind though, you knew it was inevitable you'd have to return home. Rindou knew too, but it never stopped that aching feeling in either of you.

You had each other's emails to communicate back home. For a while, you received some from him until one day, they stopped...the date Tenjiku fought Toman. You weren't sure what happened to him, and it scared you, though you never gave up hope. You would one day hear from him once more.

You never knew he was arrested and beaten.

You never knew what he was doing while you were away.

You never knew when you'd see him again.....

It wasn't until a few years after graduating high school that you were finally going to step foot in Japan. You applied to study abroad for the spring semester, wanting to see the delicate sakura blossoms dancing in the breeze. And maybe, just maybe, you'd see them with Rindou again like old times. Even after all this time, he still held a place in your heart.

When you arrived at the airport, you were met with the familiar smell of the sea. 'I'm finally back!' You thought excitedly. With a skip in your step, you grabbed your things and took a train towards your campus. Despite the jet lag, you were so excited to settle in and hope to see some old faces.

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A couple days later, you finally were settled into your dorm with the help of your roommate. You laid in bed, staring at the ceiling as you stretched your body. Everything was in its place. You sat up and yawned, "I should go out today. Maybe check out the gym on campus?"

You stood up and got dressed, grabbing your things as you waved at your roommate who's currently at their desk already doing some research.

The breeze was cool despite the warm rays from the sun baking the blacktop through campus. It was comfortable enough for you though. When you arrived at the gym, you noticed that you weren't the only one who had the same idea. And by that, most of the equipment was being used. "Damn it," you muttered under your breath, "maybe I should go off campus?" You took out your phone, searching for the nearest gym. It was a bit far. You'd have to take the train just to get close enough for a comfortable walk. You sighed as you slipped it back in your bag. "Well, guess I'll be getting a pre-workout today."

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"I'm gonna beat your ass at bench presses today Rindou!"

"Yeah, if you use those plates, bitch!"

It was just any other day of training for Rindou and Kakuchou or competitive training. It was always a competition. Loser had to pay up based on how many kilos used and how many lifts they did. Kakuchou had been on a winning streak lately. Rindou was determined to win today. They both laid on the flat benches and got started.

"Fucking finally!" Rindou cheered, "Alright, pay up Kakuchou."

Kakuchou shook his head with a smile and handed over the small stack of cash, "Alright, alright, you win this round, but I'm going to win the next!" Power lifts, chin ups, you name it. In the end, they ended with a draw.

After they left the showers and changed, Rindou noticed something or someone familiar to him but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen this person before. Then it hit him. His eyes widened to saucers as his jaw hung open, whispering your name. He couldn't believe it. He rubbed his eyes, almost tempted to take his contacts out to clean them, but didn't want to hassle with that now.

You're here, but how? Why?

Rindou's heart rate picked up. He couldn't even hear Kakuchou failing to gain his attention. He was simply entranced by you. Only you. Always you.

Rindou dated a few times after you left, though they never lasted. It's like he lost a part of himself. Ran noticed, too. He'd attempt to cheer his little brother up, taking him to their favorite clubs, buying new albums from his favorite artists, and even taking him to his favorite restaurants and cafés. Kakucho started hanging out with him at the gym more often, competing with one another; anything from bench presses to dead lifts was on the table. Rindou would recover his spirits, though that hole in his heart remained.

When he saw you before him for the first time in years, the world stood still, all except for you. As radiant as ever.

You hadn't noticed him approaching you, too focused on changing your weights for your next routine when your phone fell on the floor. "Shit...," you groaned.

Just as you crouched down to reach it, a hand holding your phone appeared before you. "Oh, thank you...R-Rindou?!" You gasped, jumping up as you wrapped your arms around him, happily grinning. Of all the possible places in Tokyo to reunite, you didn't expect to run into him at the gym near the college. "I didn't expect to see you so soon! Love your jellyfish cut. Looks good on you."

Rindou's face flushed crimson, stunned as his heart pounded in his chest. "Y-yeah, thanks," his voice cracked as he returned the hug. "How long have you been here?"

"Three days. Decided to do a few reps with some dumbells today. The gym on campus was too crowded...so I came here," you paused and let your arms fall to your side, taking a small step back to take in his features. His jaw was sharper, more defined than when you were teens. His muscles were toned more than before. You thought he was handsome before, but now, he's simply striking. If you weren't blushing before, you certainly were now avoiding his sharp gaze as you rubbed your arm. "I-I'm glad to see you again."

Rindou smiled and nodded.

"Hey Rindou—

"Oh, Kakuchou," his eyes widened as he turned to face him. You were in his mind so much, he almost forgot about his friend he came with.

Kakuchou folded his arms, darting his gaze between the two of you as a small grin appeared on his face. "So....are you ready to go or—

"You go ahead. I'll stay a bit longer," Rindou smiled reassuringly, knowing exactly what was going through his friend's mind. Kakuchou nodded and waved, "ok, see ya later then."

"Bye Kaku-chan! It was nice seeing you again," you waved back. He turned towards the door briskly as a blush crept up his neck at the old nickname you gave him. "Y-yeah."

As Kakuchou left, you grasped Rindou's hand. "Wanna join me, Rin?" His cheeks glowed pink, nodding as you lead the way back to the dumbells, choosing the weight you felt comfortable with. Rindou grabbed a couple of fifteen kilos for himself for a lighter workout.

After a few stretches, you were ready to go. You performed a few curls and squats, mixing them up with the weights in sets. Rindou gave you insight to work more muscle groups through your routine. You really noticed the ones you missed after a couple reps, feeling that tense almost jelly-like sensation. He'd always use his sweet voice, the one he only used around you the whole session. It was almost like you'd never been apart.

Almost an hour later, your body was almost too sore to lift anymore. "Hey Rin, I think I'm done for today. Wanna go again later this week?" Honestly, you weren't ready to end the day with him yet. The way he looked at you, it appears he felt the same. "Sure," he takes his phone out of his pocket, "I'll give you my new number then." You nodded, adding his new info and placing it back in your bag with a giddy look on your face. You could talk to him like before.

With your bag over your shoulder, you began to step to the exit with Rindou in tow. You were about to head your separate ways when he spoke, "are you hungry?" He asks softly and starts nervously rubbing the back of his neck, "there's a café nearby if you'd like to go."

How could you refuse? Your eyes sparkled as you grabbed his hand. "Lead the way Rin!" He grinned softly, returning your grasp.

The wind tunneled through the streets here, sending a chill down your spine. Rindou paused his steps, releasing your hand as you gave him a puzzled look. He took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. "Better?" You blinked your eyes at him, then giggled, "as charming as ever. Thank you." You wrapped the jacket closer to you, taking in the scent. He smelled just as you remembered, like sandalwood with musky undertones. His hand gently grasped your shoulder, leading you along beside him. Warmth filled your cheeks as you leaned closer.

You entered the café with his hand still on your shoulder. It was warm and cozy inside with the soft lighting and cushioned chairs. One of the servers approached the two of you. "Table for the lovely couple?"

Your face flushed crimson. You were about to speak but Rindou beat you to it. "Yes, is there one available by the window?" Your server nodded, "why yes, follow me."

He didn't say no...

Why didn't he say no?

Wait....did I miss something? No...that's not it...

Rindou, if you want to get back together just say so.

You sat at the table with the perfect view of the sakura tree that was beginning to bud. The natural lighting brought out Rindou's features. You picked up your menu, trying not to look at him, knowing you'll turn into more of a blushing mess than you were earlier. Still, you had to bring that up. "So....Rin, are we...you know...a thing again?" You darted your eyes between him and the menu, trying not to stutter.

Warmth caressed your hand as he laid his onto yours, "if you want to be, then yes, we are." He smiled tenderly at you, making you melt. "I've missed you so much, sweetheart."

You didn't realize the tears already forming in your eyes when he confessed. "I missed you too, Rin. I thought about you every day...I'd love to be with you again!" He slid his hand under yours, lifting it closer to his face and gave you a chaste kiss. "Then I'm yours."

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The sun was setting by the time you left the café with Rindou, holding hands and leaning into each other like old times. He offered to walk with you to the station, which you happily obliged. It didn't take much for some unanswered questions to appear in your mind.

"Say Rindou, what happened while I was away? Did something happen the day you fought Toman?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "to start with, I got humiliated being beaten by this crybaby from Toman...then got arrested..."

Your hands slapped over your mouth as you gasped, "Oh my gosh...I'm so sorry Rin..." He grabbed your waist, pulling you against him. "It's in the past now. Sorry I couldn't talk to you for so long..." You shook your head at him as you wrapped your arms around him, "don't be, you've been through so much."

You stood there unmoving for a while, just basking in each other's comfort. "We should get moving or else you'll miss the train." You didn't want to stop, but you knew it was for the best.

When you approached the station, something was off. Police barricaded the entrance with a few cars parked outside, paramedics at the scene, and some guarding the entrance, informing passersby of the situation. A man had apparently entered the station and stabbed two people. Not much else is known but speculations are leading towards the suspect knowing the victims.

"Shit...the next station is a long way from here," you paused to yawn, "and I'm getting sleepy..."

"You can always stay with me and my brother. Our apartment is much closer," he offered. "Oh yes, please! That would be great." Rindou hummed at that, guiding you along once more.

"Oh, one thing I need to mention. Ran will be pissed when he sees you," he sighed with a slight groan. "What?! Is it because I left?" He nodded in response, "I wasn't myself for a long time and he blamed you for it."

"I mean...he has a good reason to be mad at me." You shifted your gaze to the ground, tears glossing over your eyes the more you thought. It never was your intention for Rindou to become depressed with your absence. "I'm so sorry Rin," you cried, squeezing him tightly in your arms, "I'm so sorry...I wish I could've stayed here...then you wouldn't —"

"Shhhh, that's enough. It's alright," he whispered, rubbing circles onto your back and wiping your tears away, "I know I wasn't the only one who felt that way."

You hummed, "yeah...I'm glad he's always been there for you."

"Can't say I enjoyed all his ways to cheer me up..."

You furrowed your brows at him, "and that would be?"

"The bitches he'd always try to hook me up with," he groaned. "Sure, some of them weren't so bad but none lasted more than two weeks...should've just stuck with the clubs."

"He was still trying to be a good brother."

"Yeah...I know. Still, Kakuchou was much better at keeping my mind off you. The competitions and sparring matches were the best...just glad he didn't take me to a yakuza office to fight again...," he shivered at the thought, "never again..."

"Wait...he did did what?!!" Your eyes nearly popped out at how wide they got. "I must've forgot to tell you about that with you leaving soon and all...didn't want to worry you." He rested his head on yours to reassure you. "Mmm, fair point. Still gonna talk to him though."

Rindou paused his steps again as you arrived at the apartment. "Wait here," he whispered, "he should be asleep by now but...just in case." You nodded as he unlocked the door,opening it slowly. All the lights were turned off, save for the light near the bathroom. You heard him sigh in relief. "Ok, be very quiet. If he wakes up, there's no telling what he'll do."

"And what would that be, Rin-Rin?"

You both froze at the voice from behind you. "A-aniki...I—"

Ran breathed a sigh, "I already know. Kakuchou told me everything.

Ran breathed a sigh, "I already know. Kakuchou told me everything." His tired eyes darted to yours. "I swear, if you break his heart again," he leans down to your right ear and whispers, "I'll break you."

A chill ran down your spine. You gulped as your hairs stood on end. "I-I promise I'll be good to him."

"You better."

"Ugh, aniki," Rindou rolled his eyes, "don't scare them. I'll be fine."

Ran tussles Rindou's hair with his signature smirk. "Alright, I won't scare them too much...for now." He steps inside and whips his head back. "You lovebirds coming in or what?"

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Might be a part 2 so stay tuned for more

#i swear i almost gave myself cavities writing this #ran is a protective older brother #kakuchou and rindou be gymbros now 😅#tokyo revengers #haitani rindou #rindou haitani #haitani ran #ran haitani #kakucho #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tok rev #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers fluff

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minteyeddemon · 5 years

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Ko-Fi Commission for Allyssaleone

Thank you so much for your donation and for this wonderful request! It was so much fun to write honestly, and it made my heart both hurt and sore with the dynamic. I really hope this comes out to your liking!

***

This demon is different than the usual ones he has faced, he notes, dodging the on coming fireball aimed directly at his chest. The blaze of it singes the tips of his hair as he turns, the barrel of his gun pointed at the monster in retaliation. The shot rings out and the bullet makes contact with the flesh of its chest; but it seems to only infuriate the monster more than halt it.

"Gonna give me a run for my money, huh?" he snarls, holstering his gun as he draws his sword.

At his side, you grip his arm for a moment, the magical energy you store flowing through him to help ease his wounds before he lunges forward, the sharp edge of his sword aiming for the horned head of the demon. There is contact and a gushing of blood; but before he can withdraw, a clawed hand wraps around his arm bracing the sword, catching him off guard.

His arm is tugged and he swore he heard a snap from the pull, but his body is stilled when his eyes lock with that of the demon. The purple glow that takes over the entirety of is occipital cavity makes his body numb, and his own eyes glaze over, dulling the blue of his irises.

From your position, you see the entire scene unfold, panic making you bolt forward and make contact with the demons chest, palms outstretched. You give a surge of energy to knock it back, hard enough that it's clawed hand releases Dante; but he lands on the floor with a horrid thud right next to you. You're at his side instantly, hands on his chest to route the healing energy through his veins. You wince at the sound of his arm snapping back into place, but are thankful none-the-less that he looks how he did before the demon took hold of him.

Almost.

You help him sit up, and note he is unusually quiet, making your worry for him spike once more. "Dante! Hey, answer me, can you move?"

His head turns towards yours, clouded eyes hidden behind the curtain of white bangs. It takes a split second for you to realize something is completely wrong, and the growl he let's out does not sound human as he grips the wrist of your hand placed on his chest. You let out a cry at the pain surging up your arm; but the pain in your heart outweighs the physical, as you let another surge of energy blast his chest, sending him a few feet away from you and letting your wrist go.

You're on your feet immediately, running into the rubble scattered around the both of you, and you can hear his footfalls giving chase behind you. You turn down every alley you can to put distance between the two of you, your mind whirling for any option you have at your disposal to help the ensnared man. He's drowned in some kind of spell, chasing you as a beast would chase it's prey.

You aren't sure how long you have been running, but the last alley you bolt down comes to an end at a brick wall. Your hands splay on the cold, damp concrete before you turn to see the man standing at the end of the alley, looming over you like an all encompassing shadow. Your in a position where you can see the lightest purple swirls in his skin as he stalks towards you, his chest heaving each time he takes a breath. You wish to meld into the wall once he comes toe to toe with you, the hand that slithers around your neck making your last shred of hope snap.

He swings you around, throwing you onto the floor, and his boot makes contact with your sternum, taking all your wind. He grinds it down and for a moment you swear you hear the cracks in your ears. The pain is temporary, but horrendous; your body quickly tries to repair itself due to the magic in your veins, but his constant pressing makes it hard for the energy to keep up. He knees down with the other leg, the look on his face as he gets closer to your own absolutely feral. His blue eyes are still incredibly dull, glossed over by the spell, and you are sure he is not looking at you but at something else all together. The pressure of his weight makes the cracks in your ribs ring out once more, and you can taste metal swelling up in the back of your throat.

You reach out trembling hands, wanting to touch his cheek and brush the hair from his face, as you usually would when he would look at you. You wanted to call to him, bring him back from this edge he was dancing on; but would your words really reach him?

Before your hands could make contact with his face, he pulled back from you with an audible growl, pulling his sword forward. He held the blade point right over your heart, and all you could do was look up into his eyes once more.

That demon took him from you. The man who's side you had been by for as long as you could remember. Your heart ached at knowing that once this act was done and he would come back to his senses, he would hate himself for all of eternity. That thought alone brought tears to your eyes as you kept your eyes locked on his own.

You found your voice finally, letting your eyes slowly close to accept this fate you were dealt.

"I forgive you, Dante."

You let out a shallow breath, and heard his deep snarl as he reared back, the hilt of his sword gripped in both hands. He plunged it forward, and you braced yourself...

But all you felt was a knick against your cheek.

You opened your eyes slowly, and noticed the man was doubled over above you, head bowed towards your chest. His sword was at the side of your own, the edge only grazing your skin as he had plunged it into the ground. His shoulders were shuttering with each breath him took, and you cautiously reach other to touch his hair.

"Dante...?"

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest, and you gasped at the pain still numbing your ribs; but it was worth while to be in his arms once more. Your own arms weakly wrapped around his shoulders, as you cradled his face against your neck.

"I am so...so sorry, (Y/N)," he sobbed, his grip only tightening around you. "I couldn't control myself. I tried to fight it off, I tried! I am so sorry I hurt you!"

His words tumbled through his sobs, as he clung to you. You ran a soothing hand through his hair, a sense of calm washing over you as he relaxed slightly in your arms.

"You're back now," you whispered to him, "that's all that matters."

He didn't let go of you, your words making his core ache for letting himself get thrown as he had by that demon. He swore to you, and to himself, he would make it up to you, and get that demon back for what he put you through.

He paused, though, once he felt a warmth coursing through his being.

"(Y/N), don't waste your energy on me, please," he stated, pulling away just enough to see your face. He noticed the knick there beginning to close, and he sighed deeply, fresh tears threatening his eyes.

"I'll be fine," you offered with a weak smile; but you could feel the edges of your consciousness beginning to fade as you sapped yourself of energy.

The pain in your chest dulled as your magic took over, but your body became heavy in his arms, and the last thing you remember was the distant sound of his voice calling your name.

---

A light throbbing in your head forced you to rouse, and you winced at the light that assaulted your eyes. A dull ache wracked your body as you made to sit up, and you noticed quickly that you wore nothing but bandages binding your ribcage. Part of you knew it unnecessary to have a binding on you; but you appreciated the attention none-the-less.

Before you could move from the bed, a light snoring caught your attention. To the side of you sat the man in red, slumped in a chair with his arms crossed, his head bowed as he slept. You shifted slightly towards him, fingers lightly touching his cheek and taking in the scruff he had there. Subconsciously, he nuzzled into your hand and sighed, before his eyes slowly opened. Seeing you awake, he gave you a soft smirk, planting a kiss in your palm.

"Bought time you woke up."

You rolled your eyes, and reveled in the feel of his scruff nuzzling your palm.

"How long have I been out?"

"About two days."

You groaned, letting yourself back onto the bed. Each time you spent out your energy, it took longer and longer for you to recover. And usually as you were recovering...

You turned your head to look at him. "Have you been here the entire time?"

He gave you shrug, per his usual. "Any free chance I got. I wanted to be here when you woke up."

He shifted from his chair to the edge of the bed, and leaned over you slightly. The sorrowful look that over took his eyes made his heart sink.

"I am still so sorry, (Y/N). I didn't mean to put you in harm's way. I should have known, been more careful-"

You put a finger to his lips, shushing him softly. "How were you to know what that demon was capable of?" Your eyes soften as you take his features in, the finger at his lips now tracing his cheek. "I don't hold it against you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just thankful you were able to break out of its spell when you did."

He nuzzled your hand once more, the warmth of his breath gracing your skin.

"I don't know how to explain it, but I heard your voice through the fog. I don't remember anything but seeing black, and I could hear you saying my name. When I finally came to...the way you were underneath me..."

He bowed his head into your lap, not wanting to see that image ever again.

You carded your fingers through his hair, soothing fingertips gracing his scalp. You let him stay there for a bit longer, until you pushed him back up to meet your eyes.

"I forgive you, Dante," you said once more, as you said before. "We'll be more careful next time."

He smiled, finally, that same smile you adored to see across his face. You leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips, only for him to follow, seeking another. You sighed into his mouth as he shifted further to be atop you, and you gasped suddenly, feeling the fabric of his shirt graze your nipples.

"Wait-"

"Um, yeah, that was my doing. You looked far more comfortable...just being shirtless in my bed."

It registered that you, indeed, were sitting topless this entire time, while speaking with him.

You gave him a wicked smirk. "And you were able to keep your hands to yourself this entire time?"

"Hey, there was something serious I needed to talk to you about," he growled, his nose nestled to side of you own as he pushed forward, planting another kiss on your lips.

You allowed him to lay you back, as he carefully positioned himself between your thighs, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the side. His shirt soon followed, and you let a soft whimper escape when his scruff tickled the skin at your neck.

"I promise I will protect you," he whispered by your ear, as his hands came up to greedily knead at your breasts.

You sighed his name, melting into his hands, as he kept you wrapped in his arms for the rest of the day.

#devil may cry ns/fw #dmc ns/fw #dmc dante #dante x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #ko fi commissions

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writerlyhabits · 5 years

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Omg i never knew that is your ao3 account wtf those Ten fics are my absolute favourite on that platform! Like "a silly game" gives me life!!!! Now that i've found you here, can i request a ten x reader where they are in an established relationship and travelling with donna and she's really happy for them but is still the sassy woman we know and love. Idk i was thinking about 48 and 21 from the number list lol. Also if you could put there some kisses too you would really make my day 💕💕💕

Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you like them!! And I had so much fun writing this!! Now that my roommate is starting to watch Doctor Who she’s been kind of my proofreader all the way through, and I have loved every second of it. It’s nice to get reader input while I’m writing, I’ve never had that before 😅 Anyway, thanks for requesting this, I enjoyed myself! Hope you have a lovely day anon! ♥️

48: “You gotta stop doing that.” “What?” “Saying things that make me wanna kiss you.”

21: “Can you please go be stupid somewhere that’s away from me?”

Donna was beaming. She was following close behind you and the Doctor in a sort of alien bazaar watching how cute the two of you were being. Holding hands, pulling each other this way and that to look at something cool, and stolen glances that didn’t have to be hidden anymore. You and the Doctor had officially been together for a few weeks now, and Donna couldn’t remember a time when she saw the Doctor happier. Right now you were fiddling with some kind of gadget you had found at a stand the Doctor insisted on looking at to satisfy his need to take apart and mess with devices of his own.

“What’re you up to?” The Doctor asked as he walked up behind you.

“Trying to figure this out,” you stated, continuing to rotate the different pieces.

“Oh? How do you know you’re doing it right?”

“Well, it looks like a bunch of Rubix cubes that got stuck together, so I figure it’s probably not too different.” The Doctor chuckled and leaned down, head on your shoulders and arms wrapped around your middle.

“How long have you been at it then?”

“Since we got here … “ you trailed off, deep in concentration. You felt another giggle shake his body. “What? I think I’m doing good!”

“You are, just … here love, let me show you something,” he smiled. He ran his hands up your arms until he took the object from your hands. With a few precise movements, including some that definitely did not apply to a regular Rubix cube, the Doctor had solved the puzzle within a matter of moments.

“Okay, you don’t have to show off,” you rolled your eyes, turning to look at him.

“No no no, keep watching,” he muttered softly. You turned back to the object to find that it had a faint glow coming through the cracks. You watched in awe as it open to reveal a small cavity in the center that held a little wooden piece. The Doctor put the puzzle back in your hands, resting one hand over yours and taking the wood piece in his other.

“This is a Diskoid Hypertracer; it’s used to force children into sitting down and figuring out how to solve the puzzle, and when they do they get the reward inside,” he explained, gesturing to the wooden piece. “It’s supposed to work their intelligence. Parents can put anything they want in the center, and then when they’re done …” The Doctor closed the game, having put the wooden piece back into the center, and you watched as the whole thing gave off a light glow before revealing it had reset itself. “Then the child has a brand new puzzle to solve.”

“Okay, this is so much better than a Rubix cube,” you mumbled, fiddling with the pieces again. This time the Doctor gave a hearty laugh before planting a kiss on your cheek and watching you play with the device for a few more minutes.

“Of course you two are sitting around at a tech store, I swear he’s converted you into a science geek,” Donna mused as she approached the two of you. You giggled, the Doctor rolling his eyes and standing up to examine the rest of the table.

“Nah I just found a Rubix cube,” you explained, showing her the puzzle you were solving. As Donna began moving a few of the pieces, the Doctor gasped in surprise.

“Noooo, I haven’t seen one of these in ages!” The two of you turned to see the Doctor holding up a small, thin device in his hands. You sidled up next to him to take a closer look at it. “It’s a Systematic Hologram Magnification Matrix, it produces these little holograms out of the end that you humans are always so fascinated with,” he finished, beaming. You smiled and wrapped your arms around his middle, looking up at him.

“You gotta stop doing that.”

“What?” He asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Saying things that make me wanna kiss you.” Almost instantaneously he donned a smile, humming happily in response. He leaned down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss, allowing himself to get lost in the moment and forget about the device in his hands. He still wasn’t used to getting to kiss you whenever he wanted for no reason at all, and he hoped that he never would.

“Oi, can you please go be stupid somewhere that’s away from me? Honestly, I can’t take you two anywhere,” Donna sassed, bringing the two of you out of your daze. The Doctor did his best to compose himself before he turned back to the gadget he still had in his hands.

“Oh quit your moaning, just let me turn it on.” The Doctor began examining it closer, giving you a good view of it as well. The more he kept looking at it, the more you began to wonder if what you saw was true. “If I can just find the right switch…”

“Doctor-”

“Hold on I think I’ve got it,” he muttered stubbornly, looking at the same part of the device for the third time. You reached around his large hands to gently press down the button on the top. Sure enough, out of the other end came a small tip that was covered in ink. Donna tried her best to contain her laughter, which she didn’t do a great job at.

“It’s just a pen, love,” you muttered sweetly, trying very hard to keep from giggling. The Doctor’s face fell, pushing out his bottom lip out and furrowing his brows. His pouty face did it for you, reducing you to nothing but giggles and Donna already having lost it, which did not make the situation any better for the time lord.

“Well it’s got no business being here; who puts a pen next to a Diskoid Hypertracer?” he grumbled, dropping the pen back onto the table. He laced his fingers with yours and led you back down the street, clearly wanting nothing more to do with the little gadget shop. Having walked the entire market, the Doctor was happy to happen upon his TARDIS again and go somewhere entirely new. Somewhere he wouldn’t mistake a pen for something it wasn’t.

He shrugged off his coat and went directly to his console, contemplating where exactly to go next when he looked over at you and Donna having a small chat back at the front of the TARDIS. Something you had said made Donna laugh, and it brought that beautiful, radiant smile to your cheeks, one that the Doctor was sure could make the sun shine through even the grayest, gloomiest London sky. Donna put a hand on your shoulder before turning to leave the console room. When the Doctor realized you were moving to come his way, he quickly averted his eyes back to the monitor. You approached him slowly, coming to sit on the edge of the TARDIS console beside him.

“Hey there,” you said sweetly after a few moments. The Doctor turned to look at you, causing him to smile softly. He didn’t say anything, instead sliding his hand over slightly so that his fingers overlapped yours. “I’m sorry I laughed at you for the … the pen thing,” you stated, trying not to laugh again. The Doctor gave a light chuckle, and you deemed it safe to add: “It was pretty funny, you know you would have done the same to me.”

“I would not!” The Doctor lied. He knew he absolutely would have, he’d done it countless times before.

“Okay, if that makes you feel better,” you laughed. The Doctor stood upright and moved to stand in front of you, situating himself between your legs. With one hand at your waist, he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and took a moment to pause. He took in every little detail of your face, memorizing every feature and relishing in how you looked at him as if he was the one who put the stars in the sky.

The Doctor leaned down to press his lips against yours, feeling your hands move up his chest to sit around his neck, smiling to himself when you started to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. His two hearts started beating faster as your soft lips moved against his so fluidly, making the sweetest little sounds as he kissed you like he’d wanted to all day.

“How long, do you think, until Donna walks in and tells us off?” he asked as you paused for air, punctuating his question with chaste kisses on the corner of your mouth. You giggled almost mischievously.

“I told her not too.” The Doctor stopped his affection and moved back to look at you properly, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “I may have asked her for some time alone so that I could put an end to your pouting,” you said with a playful smirk.

“I haven’t been pouty since we came back into the TARDIS, I don’t know what you’re on about,” he defended.

“Right, okay, but Donna’s gonna stay out of the way until I give her the all clear.” You brought one hand down and started toying with the tie around his neck. The Doctor swallowed, his eyes following your slender fingers.

“Well, in that case, I think I’m still in quite a mood,” he sighed with a tilt of his head. You hummed in satisfaction, gripping his tie and pulling him back down towards you.

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor #Kam writes #My writing #prompt request #request #anonymous request #this was so fun #I loved every second of it #especially naming the gadgets #and the pen

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swiss-cheeze · 5 years

Text

Drunk natures || Roger Taylor x male!reader || soulmate au

Soulmate au: you are born with the words your soulmate will first say to you, HOWEVER, if they die the words on your wrist will swirl like water until a new person and sentence comes along, you get some sort of vision of how your soulmate died but not perfectly.

Warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, really bad writing

A/N: THIS IS MALE READER, he/him is used for the reader

———

“God damn” (Y/n) sighed as he placed the heels of his palms on the kitchen sink and put the rest of his body out behind himself, “been slaving here all day and I get nothing from it”

“You get the satisfaction of your house being clean” (B/f/n) said coming around the corner with a rag in her hands.

“Oh yeah, because that’ll last me what? A day? With you around? Maybe twelve hours?” (Y/n) said with a grin as he turned around to look at (B/f/n) and put his lower back to the sink and flicked the wet tea towel at the girl in front of him, small droplets of water hit (B/f/n)’s skin but she didn’t seem bothered besides the small chuckle.

“Shut up okay, I can’t help that I’m a naturally unorganised person, it’s just a part of me, and you have to deal with it” (B/f/n) said as she came closer to (Y/n) with a smirk.

“I’ve dealt with it since I was four, darling, I’m sure I’m used to it by now” (Y/n) said before turning back around and continuing to dry the dishes making (B/f/n) chuckle.

“Yeah well, it’s no better then you when we were in uni to-“ (B/f/n) started before being cut off by (Y/n).

“GODDAMN IT” the boy yelled as he looked down at his wrist, “THAT’S THE THIRTY SEVENTH TIME” he yelled in expiration, (B/f/n) sighed softly before walking to the other side of the room and grabbing a whiteboard marker and marking dash on the whiteboard labelled ‘how many times (Y/n)’s soulmate is unlucky’.

“What do you think it was this time?” (B/f/n) asked as she walked back into the room and stood next to (Y/n) with her arms crossed, (Y/n) held his wrist tenderly with the other hand while looking at the swirling black ink on his wrist.

“Dunno, I keep thinking car crash though, so” the boy said with a shrug before sighing, “it may take a while until I get a new sentence so I’ll just leave it” (Y/n) said sadly, the boy went back to drying the dishes, (B/f/n) came up and gave (Y/n) a side hug before crossing her arms and leaning against the sink.

“Ben and Jerrys?” (B/f/n) asked with a cocked eyebrow and small smirk.

“God yes please” (Y/n) sighed gratefully, “let me finish this and then we can sit on the couch” (Y/n) said, (B/f/n) nodded as she grabbed two tubs of the ice cream delight and two spoons before walking off to the lounge room, the sound of the TV turning on echoed through into the kitchen just as (Y/n) put the last plate away, the boy put the tea towel onto the kitchen counter and ran out of the kitchen. (Y/n) walked to (B/f/n), grabbed the outstretched tub of delight and ripped it open, making (B/f/n) chuckle as she turned through the TV’s channels.

---

“Okay, if a tooth has a cavity, what is it that you should do?” Brian asked, the guitarist sat in front of Roger at the small dining table.

“Fill it, but if it’s beyond repair I gotta pull it out” Roger answered.

“Correct! See, you’re gonna ace the test tomorrow” Brian said as he closed the dental book in front of him with a large grin making Roger shrug as the pair leant back in their chairs and cross their arms; at the same time. Brian chuckled softly at the motions while Roger shook his head with a smile.

“I swear, one day we’re gonna bump into each other in the kitchen and we’ll fuse together or something” Roger said, Brian shook his head as he picked up his drink and the book and walked to the kitchen before reappearing with only the book.

“I highly doubt that that would happen Rog” Brian grinned back as he leant against the dining table in front of Rog and crossed his arms again, crossing his legs over too.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking” Roger started as Brian directed his attention to the drummer.

“Don’t hurt yourself” Brian commented with a grin.

“Oh shove off poodle” Roger said with a smile, the blonde stood up from the chair and pushed Brian slightly as he walked into the kitchen, putting the rest of his now-cold coffee down the drain, “I’m gonna stop dentistry, and biology. Completely focus on music” Roger said, he put his lower back to the sink and crossed his arms as well as crossing his legs over one another and looking at Brian. The tall man simply shrugged.

“If that’s what you want Rog” Brian said with raised eyebrows.

“You’re not gonna give me some sort of motivational speech or something to stay in it?” Rog asked gingerly making Brian chuckle.

“Mate it’s your choice, astronomy isn’t anything like dentistry so” Brian said with wide arms and a cocky grin.

“Are you saying that dentistry is harder than space?” Roger questioned.

“Well, I’m just saying I’ve got it harder then you overall anyway so” Brian shrugged with his arms out and a smile, “just sayin’”

“Oh you cock” Roger said with a grin, he shoved Brian once again, unbalancing the tall man before his eyes connected with his wrist, “oh you have got to be kidding me” he mumbled. Brian got curious and grabbed Rogers wrist before sighing softly.

“I told you it wouldn’t last” Brian said as he let go of Rogers wrist, making the drummer sigh softly.

“I really though Jo would be it, she said it and everything!” Roger exclaimed as he threw his arms in the air.

“Maybe it just wasn’t right?” Brian more-so asked than said.

“I don’t know” Roger mumbled softly, he rubbed his face before running his hands through his hair, “I gotta find a way to tell Jo” the drummer said softly, Brian was about to say something when the landline started to ring.

“I have a funny feeling that’ll be for you” Brian said, Roger groaned slightly before walking to the phone and picking up the receiver.

“Rog?” a feminine voice asked.

“Yeah, it’s me love” Roger mumbled as he toyed with the phone cord.

“Your wrist changed too didn’t it?” Jo asked on the other end of the phone, he voice wavering slightly at the end of the sentence.

“Yeah, yeah it did love” Roger said softly.

“We can still keep in contact right? And stay friends?” Jo asked timidly.

“Of course doll” Roger said with a small smile, “thanks for understanding”

“No problem, I’ll uh, I’ll see you later tonight yeah?” Jo asked.

“Yeah, we’re playing at the same place, Freddie apparently has some new songs” Roger said with a small grin.

“Alright, sounds good, see ya” Jo mumbled.

“See you love” Roger replied before the line went dead, placing the receiver back in its place Roger let out a loud groan as he stood up, walked past a smirking Brian and hit his head repeatedly against a wall, “I want out, I want out, I want out” the drummer said continuously.

“Out of the house? Because the door is just there” Brian said with a grin as he pointed to the front door to their apartment.

“Let’s just get ready for tonight, I just wanna drown myself in the music right now” Roger said.

“Don’t you want to see your wrist? It looks pretty bold from here” Brian said quickly, in actual fact Brian was really curious to see what was on Rogers wrist, seeing as he had only heard of getting a new soulmate while still alive. Roger looked down to his wrist.

“’Unless you’re looking for cobwebs I suggest you stop trying to look up that girls skirt’” Roger cocked an eyebrow at the words he read, “I never would have thought I’d read a sentence like that out-loud” the drummer mumbled.

“Well at least you know you won’t get with whoever the other person is” Brian commented as he started rounding up his and Roger’s coats and shoes.

“But what if said person is good looking?” Roger whined softly as he grabbed the coat from Brian’s outstretched hand.

“Obviously not good looking enough for you to be with” Brian said with a cheeky grin making Roger chuckle.

“Let’s just see where the sentence takes us for now” Roger said as he started tying up his shoe laces as Brian waited near the front door.

“Hopefully not too far” Brian said with a grin as Roger walked out of the apartment and the pair started heading to their van.

---

“Who in the hell says ‘having you say that sentence out-loud was so much weirder then me’ for their first sentence!?” (Y/n) exclaimed as he slumped over the bar slightly and almost toppled his drink in the action.

“Well whatever you say to him must be a bad enough sentence for him to say it back like that” (B/f/n) said as she smirked over the rim of her glass of wine.

“Oh like you have shit to say, little miss ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you!’” (Y/n) said overdramatically as he waved his arms in the air.

“Don’t worry, the poor thing must have ‘sloths do a little dance when they come down from their trees to poop’ or something like that” (B/f/n) said half-heartedly, the look (Y/n) gave the girl meant she had to explain, “with a simple sentence like that it could be anyone, first impressions and all” (B/f/n) said with a shrug making (Y/n) cackle with laughter, (B/f/n) cocked an eyebrow and started to drag (Y/n)’s drink away from his reach, “me thinks you’ve hit your limit tonight” the girl said with a pointed look.

“Oh shut up I’m allowed this for tonight, I’ve been a good boy” (Y/n) said with a slight grin as he took his drink back and started to slowly drink again, the lights dimmed behind him as a few people started walking on stage, (Y/n) was immediately excited, “FUCK YEAH, ENTERTAINMENT” the boy yelled making the whole band laugh as well as the crowd, “thank you thank you” (Y/n) said as he bowed with a grin. The drink he had went up high as the other hand went around his stomach when he bowed resulting in half of the boys drink being spilled on his back and the floor, “aye what the fuck?” (Y/n) mumbled as he looked at his now almost empty glass, “where’d it all go?” he mumbled staring at the cup quizzically.

“Yes, you have most defiantly reached your limit, alright, come here let’s just enjoy the music” (B/f/n) said, the girl took (Y/n)’s cup, placed it on the bar, thanked the bar tender and walked into the crowd with (Y/n)’s arm over her shoulder. (Y/n) didn’t hear the introductions or whatever the frontman said, but as soon as the music started he immediately sobered up, smiling and giggling as he danced around with (B/f/n) to the beat before one of the men started to talk again.

“Alright! This is a little bit of an old one for us, it’s called Doin’ Alright!” one of the men yelled, the crowd cheered before the music started and (Y/n) was immediately swaying with the gentle tones.

---

Time passed and the band had to pack up, the crowd had fanned out across the bar and the smoking units as some random music played from the record player, (Y/n) and (B/f/n) danced together in a small haze of giggles and small talk; which was before someone bumped into the girl.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you!” a voice said, (B/f/n) turned around and was met with a puff of curly hair, (Y/n) watched with a smirk as she immediately went into ‘animal facts mode’.

“Sloths do a little dance when they come down from their trees to poop” (B/f/n) said quickly with a cocked eyebrow as she waited for a response, (Y/n) waited with a pointed look, even in the music jammed club everything went silent.

“You have no idea how many people have questioned me about that bloody sentence” the man said, (B/f/n) gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“GO GET EM TIGER” (Y/n) yelled before walking back to the bar, behind him he could hear the squeals, giggles and talking that (B/f/n) and the man were doing. Walking back to the bar (Y/n) saw a long haired man with a mirror trying to view a woman’s skirt, (Y/n) clapped his hands on the man’s shoulders and whispered into his ear, “unless you’re looking for cobwebs I suggest you stop trying to look up that girls skirt”, the man turned around almost like he had seen a ghost.

“Having you say that sentence out-loud was so much weirder then me” the man said making (Y/n) stop wide eyed.

“I’ve had that sentence on my wrist for the past like, five hours but since your pretty I’ll let you off” (Y/n) said cockily, the alcohol was starting to come back, the man cocked an eyebrow before looking to (B/f/n) and her man.

“I see my friend and yours found each other than” the man said with a smirk as he brought his beer bottle to his mouth, (Y/n) took a seat.

“I feel bad for the fucker, had to live with that sloth fact on his wrist his whole life” (Y/n) said with a grin, he took the bottle the blonde was hosting and took a swig, the man gave (Y/n) a questioning look before taking the bottle back.

“I saw you back when I was playing, you’ve defiantly hit your limit man” he said making (Y/n) groan.

“People have to stop SAYING that” (Y/n) said before he went pale, he held a hand to his stomach, “I don’t know you very well but I know you well enough to know you don’t want puke on your shoes” the boy said with wide eyes.

“OKAY, and that’s our limit for tonight. Come on, let’s get you outside” the man said, he put his beer down (thanking the bartender) and slung (Y/n)’s arm over his shoulders and shuffled through the crowd to the outside world. The cold ear nipped at (Y/n)’s flared body as the man took him outside and into the side ally for a little more privacy, the man dropped (Y/n) to the floor softly before sitting beside him and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

“Sharing in caring?” (Y/n) asked, slurring slightly as he held his fingers out.

“What if I don’t care?” the man asked with a cocky smile.

“You must care a little if you brought me out here” (Y/n) answered with a grin, “that and the fact that we’re soulmates”

“I never thought myself as gay though” the man said as he handed (Y/n) a cigarette and lighter, the boy lit up.

“Gotta try everything once doll” (Y/n) said as he took a drag and let the smoke billow out from his lungs into the night sky, “plus it isn’t so awkward in the end anyway, your best friend, my best friend, you, me” (Y/n) making a contorted face, “okay maybe that is a little awkward” he mumbled as he blew out some more smoke making the man chuckle.

“No, I think we could make it work, it’s good, I…” he paused, (Y/n) looked over to the man with a cocked eyebrow, “I kind of like you already, I want to make it work” the man said softly, a small blush crawling over his neck and cheeks, painting him a rose gold colour. (Y/n) chuckled.

“Hey” he nudged the man, “first steps” (Y/n) held his hand out as the cigarette stuck between his lips, “(L/n), (Y/n)” he said, the man put his hand into (Y/n)’s.

“Taylor, Roger” Roger smiled and shook (Y/n)’s hand, (Y/n) was the first to take his hand away and took another drag of the cigarette.

“Well Mister Taylor” (Y/n) said, the boy took another puff of the cigarette and blew it in Rogers face jokingly, “where you in the band tonight or the crowd?” Roger chuckled as he took a drag of his own cigarette.

“I’m the drummer in a Rock and Roll band” Roger said with a grin as he blew the smoke out and at (Y/n)’s face, the boy chuckled softly at the gesture.

“You were good tonight” (Y/n) said, “either that or it was your singer covering you that was good” he said cockily.

“Why you little-“

“(Y/N)!” a voice yelled.

“ROGER!” another voice continued. Two people started walking down the alleyway towards Roger and (Y/n), (Y/n) stood up and smiled.

“We’re okay!” (Y/n) said as Roger stood up after him, “Roger took me out here cause I started feeling sick”

“Oh thank fuck” (B/f/n) said, the girl hugged (Y/n) as the man from the dance floor came up from behind her.

“Made a new friend Rog?” the man said.

“W-well” Roger stuttered, the blonde scratched the back of his neck as he played with the road with his foot.

“I found the owner to ‘having you say that sentence out-loud was so much weirder then me’” (Y/n) chuckled nervously.

“OH DARLING THAT’S BRILLIANT!” (B/f/n) exclaimed, she brought (Y/n) in for a tight hug (electing an ‘oof’ from the boy) before turning to Roger, “you hurt him and I kill you” she said defensively.

“I don’t plan on it” Roger said with a dry chuckle as he held his hands up defensively.

“How about you though!” (Y/n) cut in to (B/f/n), “you found your guy!” he said pointing to the man from the dance floor, he held his hand out.

“Brian May” the man said, (Y/n) took his hand softly and smiled.

“(Y/n) (L/n), you where the guitarist from tonight weren’t you?” the boy asked, Brian smiled sheepishly and nodded, “ah, well, your singer was covering and dancing around the bad so” (Y/n) said jutting his thumb out behind him to roger at ‘bad’ with a smile.

“Bad?” Brian asked, “Think we could improve our drummer?” he smiled.

“Don’t see why not” (Y/n) said with a shrug and a large grin.

“Oi, watch it you two” Roger said from behind (Y/n), giving the boy a little playful shove making them both laugh.

“Well, I don’t think you can improve but I do think you guys could do better than this dump” (Y/n) said, curling his finger around on ‘this dump’.

“What do you envision for them then hmm?” (B/f/n) asked, “(Y/n) has always had a good knack with the whole ‘vision’ seeing thing” the girl said with a grin.

“I see crowds, cheers” (Y/n) started to label off some things, “money, girls” he smiled, “I think you guys are good enough for Wembley” he said with a grin. Roger chocked a laugh and Brian grinned slightly.

“You really think we’ll get there?” Brian asked.

“Of course” (Y/n) said, he started walking out of the alleyway and turned around to look at the group trailing behind him, walking backwards he said “I believe you can do anything”

“You’re just sucking up to your boyfriend now that you have him aren’t you?” (B/f/n) said with a grin.

“That!” (Y/n) exclaimed, “is one point, the other point is that I am shitfaced drunk and wanna go home, eat pizza with you guys, watch crap telly and then go to sleep”

“And that!” Roger said jogging to catch up with (Y/n) and standing beside the boy, “is a perfect idea, double first date?” he asked to (B/f/n) and Brian.

“Wouldn’t miss it” (B/f/n) said, her hand slipped into Brians as she smiled up at the man, he smiled back.

“I would love to” Brian said, (Y/n) nodded and turned so he was facing the right way.

“Great, our apartment is only three streets away” (Y/n) said, “RACE YA” the boy exclaimed, he ran off, (B/f/n) grinned and started to run too before turning around and looking at the pair of boys behind her.

“COME ON, HE’S DRUNK AND WE WANT PIZZA” (B/f/n) yelled, Brian and Roger laughed slightly before quickly running and catching up with (B/f/n) who guided them to the house. (Y/n) was already at the house by the time they turned the corner to get there.

#bohemian rhapsody #brian may #queen #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #ben hardy #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #soulmate au #roger taylor soulmate au #bohemian rhapsody soulmate au #brian may x alrernative character #x male reader #x male!reader #roger taylor x male!reader #roger taylor x male reader

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fandom-blackhole · 6 years

Text

In Due Time (Peter Parker x Reader)

AN: Okay ao this story took me a lot longer than I thought it would. I knew Where I wanted it to go but I was having trouble getting it there. So, this isn’t my proudest work, but I still like it. Once again I’m slacking in the editing department so just tell me if you notice any mistakes. Thanks for reading and please give a like and/or reblog if you feel generous! XOXO Queen Hannah of the Fandom Hell Blog

Fandom: MCU

Request: Yes! @ stupidlysarcastic : Hi I was wondering if you could write an mcu fanfic with the reader as Stephan’s daughter and dating Peter, just some protective dad in there.

Words: 2329

Warnings: ansty (just a bit) and like one cuss word

Summary: The reader and Peter meet by chance one day and exchange phone numbers and as time goes on they get closer until they start going out. Little does reader know just who Peter is and Peter doesn’t realize just who the reader’s dad is, and his views on how he wants his daughter to live.

We first met when we both reach for the same book and our hands brushed against each other. He stammered out an apology and I just turned and smiled at him with pink dusting my cheeks. It had turned out that, even though we didn’t go to the same school, we both had gotten a project in a class, mine was History and his was science, that was almost identical. So, we had ended up sharing the book while we stayed at the public library for the rest of that afternoon, and by the time it was time for me to start heading back to the sanctum we knew each other’s names and phone numbers. A few weeks passed before we met up again, but in those long weeks we had texted each other almost nonstop. It was just pointless texts but they felt like something, it allowed us to get closer. Allowed us to learn more about each other by way of just the random little texts. Like I learned that Peter really liked chemistry and had a two really cool sounding friends name Ned and MJ. Peter was also aften really busy- something about classes, an internship, and a Decathlon team. When we finally found a day that we could meet up and hang out, we were estatically overjoyed.

It was a saturday and you both had decided that there was a classic movie playing at a theater that was situated between where both of you guys lived. I left that a little early leaving a note for my dad. I want to stop by a convenience store on the way and grab some candy so that I didn’t have to pay the ridiculous prices at the theater- who actually buys the candy there anyway?

When I finally arrived at the theater, still pretty early and not expecting to see Peter, yet there he was standing over by himself being fidgety. He kept running his hands through his hair and tugging on his shirt, as if trying to fix his appearance even though in my opinion he looked cute- though the fidgety, nervousness made him seem even cuter. After watching him for an amount of time that would seem creepy to anyone else, I finally walked over to him and once I was about a foot away I smiled and murmured out a quiet, “Hi, Peter.”

I guess I was just loud enough for him to hear me, because as soon as the words left my lips he looked over at me and gave me a smile that I swear shined so much that it put the sun to shame.

“Hey...Hello, (y/n), you...you look amazing. I...I got here a little early, just wanted make sure we got our tickets,” he stuttered out nervously, and held up the two tickets for the movie. I just couldn’t help the large smile, and slight blush, that came on my face after he got those words out. I gave a quick glance at what he was wearing smiled. From my guess, which isn’t much, he is wearing some of his nicer casual clothes, not like the ones he was wearing when we met at the library.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Hasselhoff,” I shyly force out, “and thanks, don’t want to come all this way only to not be able to see the movie.”

We end up standing in silence for a few minutes before the theater opened up the screening room that was playing your movie. He smiled and lead me to the room and even talked about how he knew the best spot in this room, and that him and his friend Ned come here all the time for their classic movie showings. As he lead me down the middle row he sat me right in the middle. He gave me that large smile again, and it was then and there that I knew that I was falling for this boy that I had only met twice in person, and I was falling hard.

After the movie we both ended up setting up a schedule for our meetings. We ended up always meeting every two weeks on a Thursday night to do whatever. We have found ourselves talking in coffee shops, going to parks, and just odd end almost dates. It wasn’t until two months after the movie that Peter finally asked me out and I really thought the smile that appeared on my face was never going to disappear. Our first date was awkward and tense until we both seemed to realize that nothing had really changed from what we had been previously. Peter had taken me to a small Thai place, and then to a park for the date, and if I can say so myself it was the perfect date. Peter was such a gentleman that I don’t think anybody else in the world could ever compare, not to mention just how sweet he was, I could have sworn I got a cavity from it all.

It was all perfect until my dad, the Sorcerer Supreme, decided that he wanted to meet the boy I had been, and I quote, “gushing about nonstop for the past two months.” He wasn’t thrilled when I had told him I had gotten a boyfriend. I swear he would have done a background check if I would had told him Peter’s full name. But no, I was to smart for that, I knew how he could be. Hell he wouldn’t allow me to read any books at the sanctum or watch him while he taught the students, he wanted me to have no part of the mystic arts and the dangers that came with the power. He wanted me to be normal, or as normal as I could be with him as my father. So, when he decided that he needed to meet Peter, I told him I would talk with Peter and see if he had time the following Thursday to go to dinner, for obvious reason we weren’t going to have him over to the sanctum.

Instead of texting Peter I had decided that I would just go over to his, aunt May’s, apartment. Peter had said that he had a Chemistry test coming up so he was spending the night studying, so you figured you’d be able to stop in long enough to talk to him and then let him get back to studying. Well, it didn’t exactly go that way. As I was walking, I started getting the feeling that someone was watching me. So, like any sane person, I sped up my pace, but that was when I heard the footsteps behind me, not being able to react quick enough I ended up getting pulled into an alley as I was passing it. The man didn’t give me the time to see his face as he pushed me against the wall. My head crashed against the bricks causing my vision to blur and my head to start processing what was happening at a slower rate, meaning I didn’t even realize when the man behind me pushed a knife to my throat and started inching his hand under my shirt. When I did realize there was a hand under my shirt it was ripped away quickly, and so was the body of the man that had been there. In the next few minutes I recognized the sound of struggle, but all I could do was fall to the ground and curl into myself just waiting for it all to end.

When everything went silent, I looked after noticing that a shadow had fallen over my curled figure. Standing there, in all of his red and blue glory, was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He knelt next to me and what happen next had my blood freezing in my veins. Given all that happened was that the hero had spoken four small words, but it wasn’t the words, it was his voice.

“Hey, are you okay?”

All I could do was stare at him with my mouth falling open. That voice, I know that voice. I think he realized I had recognized his voice because in a blink of an eye He had me standing and he was carrying the both of us to the top of a building a few streets away from the alley we were previously in. Once he knew I was safely standing he whipped off his mask and looked at me. I was still speechless and he just looked at me worriedly. We stood there in silence for a few minutes before he finally found his voice.

“(y/n), listen I was going to tell you eventually. I...I just didn’t want you freaking out, and...and I really like you, you know, and I just, I just didn’t want to ruin what we had going, and...and,” he gave me a pleading look taking a step closer, raising his hand like he was going to touch me before deciding against it and lowering it, “just please don’t leave, please.”

It takes me a couple of minutes, and more than a few deep breaths before I reach forward and wrap my arms around him. It was then that I my emotions finally caught up with me and tears starting falling from my eyes. I felt him relax slightly and wrap himself around me, pulling me as close as he could possibly get me.

“Thank you,” I whisper out through me tears, “that needs to be said before anything else. Thank you for saving me from that...that disgusting excuse for a human. Next, I…I don’t care about your hero stuff, and I don’t care that you didn’t tell me, you had your reasons, I know now that’s what matters. Lastly, we can not tell me dad about who you are though,” I look up at him and he looks down at me, “he’ll definitely freak.”

Peter nods and then his eyes wander to your forehead and head raises a hand to your head and he lightly pressed against whatever he saw and I made a slight hiss out of discomfort. He pulled back and grabbed me hand, “Come on, we need to clean that up.”

“Peter,” I smiled and he turned to me with a questioning look, “you’re still in you suit.”

He looked down and then gave a sheepish smile before giving me a quick, one second, and running off somewhere on the roof. It was then that I noticed that he had actually dropped us off on the roof of his apartment building. When he got back he was wearing a t-shirt and some jeans.

“I have clothes stashed here for this reason exactly. Now come on, we need to fix you up and get you home.”

He then lead me down the stairs and to his apartment in relative silence, only saying a quick hello to May as you guys passed the living room while heading to the bathroom. As soon as the door was shut and he started and cleaning your wound did he speak.

“So what were you doing walking at this time at night?”

“I was coming to see you actually, um, dad he wants to meet you. So, I was coming to ask if this Thursday you could go to the nice diner for dinner. You could bring May if you want too, I’m sure dad will want to have a talk with her too.”

Peter smiled and nodded, “Yeah I can do dinner Thursday, and hey you know-”

It was at that second, as Peter was applying the bandage to your cut that you noticed the tell tale glowing circle forming behind Peter, in his bathtub to be exact. Peter must have noticed because he turned around just in time for my dad to come rushing through the portal saying my name quite frantically. Peter froze while holding the trash from the bandage in one hand and an antibiotic ointment in the other. My dad saw me before he saw Peter and he started forward before he noticed he was in a tub and then he stopped.

“(y/n) I heard sirens and you wouldn’t answer my texts. I got worried.”

I looked at Peter in a questioningly worried manner, and that was when my dad noticed he was there.

“I called the police to tip them off on what happened before I left the alley,” I nodded my head before looking towards my dad, only to see his eyes had darkened. Peter looked back at my dad and smiled sheepishly.

“He...Hello Dr. Strange, sir.”

“(y/n) is this the Peter you’ve been talking about,” I could only nod, holding my breath. If Peter knew who my dad was, my dad most definitely knew who Peter was, too.

“We are leaving, now.”

“But, dad we ca-”

“NOW, we are not doing this now. You know what I want for you, so you just had to date the one hero your age!”

I glared at him and crossed my arms not moving, “In my defense I didn’t even know until tonight either!”

“(y/n) you aren’t to see Peter again, now come on,” he said through clenched teeth and grabbed my arm pulling me to the portal. I grabbed Peter’s hand as I was pulled past him and gave it a squeeze and a smile, before I let go and was dragged through the portal.

Later that night after my dad had finally finished his lecturing and I had locked myself in my small room in the sanctum, I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message to Peter.

Hey Pete, I’m fine and don’t worry about my dad, he’s just being an ass and over protective. I’m not leaving you Pete, he can’t make me. Once he realizes just how much I care for you, and how happy you make me he’ll come around. He’ll come around in due time <3

Tags: @knowledgeisthebomb

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #reader is Doctor Strange's daughter #Aunt May #overprotective dad #movies #texting #books #school projects #fluff #angsty #reader doesn't have any special powers

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pengychan · 6 years

Text

[Coco] The Bedside Ghost, Ch. 12

Title: The Bedside Ghost Summary: The bell falls but, instead of waking up in the Land of the Dead, Ernesto de la Cruz finds himself with a broken spine - and an unwanted guest at his bedside who claims he can let him have the sweet release of death, if he gives back what he took from him… Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Julio Rivera, Imelda Rivera. Rating: T Status: Complete [This is the fic’s tag for all chapters up.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: here's the epilogue. Hope you guys enjoy it because a) it would suck if you'd read this far only to be let down and b) I think I gave myself a cavity writing it.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1947

“Ow!”

“Hey!”

“What’s the rush, idiota?”

“Watch where you’re going!”

There are yells and protests, and Héctor hears precisely none of them. He’s been running since the instant he made it through the checks, across the entire bridge, through the small cemetery of Santa Cecilia and now through its streets.

His hometown has changed in the twenty-six years he’s been dead, but not enough not to be recognizable, or so it looks like to him at a glance; it will have to do, because a glace is precisely all the spares to his surroundings. The streets are still familiar, but even if they were not it wouldn’t matter: there is a path of shimmering marigold petals to lead him home and he follows it – faster, faster, he can’t waste one minute, he needs to be with them every second he can, he needs to see them and hear their voices.

And then, suddenly, he’s home.

It’s bigger than he remembered; Imelda must have expanded it to accommodate the business, and the growing family. There is music and light and laughter coming from the yard, and the gate is just ajar. From up the wall, a gray cat is staring intently down at him. An alebrije, maybe? Just a random cat being both perceptive and creepy as cats can be?

Héctor wonders about it briefly, but he finds he doesn’t really care. He hasn’t come this far to watch a cat, after all: he’s here to see his family. So he draws in a deep breath, and steps in.

The first person he sees is a man he doesn’t recognize, meticulously arranging the food on the table. He’s tall and lanky, with a mustache and glasses; Héctor has just enough time to wonder if this is Coco’s husband when another man steps out of a door into the yard – an identical man, and Héctor suddenly knows who he’s looking at.

“Óscar! Felipe! Should have known from the glasses,” he exclaims, laughing. Last he saw them they were only boys, just turned sixteen, and now he’s looking at grown men… and with thinning hair to boot. Héctor wonders if they still like to mess with people by pretending to be each other – they used to confuse the crap out of him, too, and they did the same with little Coco. He wonders how many times she fell for it.

“Red sauce!” Óscar - or is it Felipe? - announces, passing right through him. It feels uncomfortably like stepping through a very cold shower, but Héctor is too elated to be there to care. “Your favorite!”

That causes his twin to roll his eyes. “You know my favorite is the black one,” he protests.

“Nu-uh, definitely the red one. Everyone says so.”

“Because you keep pretending to be me and tell them that. I swear that if someday I die--”

“ If.”

“Oh, right. Well, when I die, if I get red sauce on the ofrenda I will blame it on you personally and haunt you from beyond the grave!”

“Assuming you’re going to die first.”

“Of course. I was born first, after all.”

“By ten minutes.”

“Then by all accounts I should die ten minutes earlier.”

“That’s not a lot of haunting from beyond the grave...”

“Now, now, stop arguing!” Someone chides them, and Héctor turns to see a woman walking up to them, a tray with yet more food in her hand.

Must be Coco’s sister-in-law, the one Ernesto – the mere thought of him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth – has mentioned. There is a man as well, in his thirties, with a thick mustache and a meek smile… and, at his arm, there’s Coco.

Héctor’s jaw drops, and he needs to catch it in mid-air before it hits the ground, fumbling so much that it almost flies out of his hands. He reattaches it, and it stays hanging open for several moments. He left behind a beautiful little girl; he’s not looking at a grown woman with his same smile, the same cheekbones, the same tilt of the head as she laughs.

If it’s a girl, I hope she takes after her mother, Ernesto had taunted him with a laugh so many years ago, when he’d quite literally tackled him on the ground in the plaza to give him the news he was going to be a father. And there is something of Imelda, yes; to Héctor, she seems just as stunning… but she looks like him. How could his features be arranged to make something so beautiful, he’ll never know. Héctor reaches to bring a hand to her cheek and there it is, that sensation that is almost like touch. It will have to do, until her time comes.

Until you’re in my arms again.

“Hello, pequeñita,” he manages, his voice shaking. “Papá is home.”

Coco pauses mid-sentence and turns; for one long, heart-stopping moment, Héctor can almost believe she’s looking straight at him… but of course she isn’t. She’s looking through him, towards--

“I’ll see if mamá needs help with the ofrenda,” she says, and lets go of her husband’s arm – not without giving him a kiss on the cheek, something Héctor wishes more than anything he could steal right now – to walk past him, towards the ofrenda room. He follows her slowly, follows the path of marigold petals that shine at his passage, guiding him to his picture.

Guiding him to Imelda.

She’s as beautiful as the day he left her, that accursed day he would take back a million times over. The passage of time has marked her, but taken nothing away from the woman who could make his heart leap in his throat and his legs weak as jelly. She’s placing an envelope among the flowers and offerings in front of a picture on the ofrenda, Héctor’s own, the one he had on when he-- was murdered -- died. It is not the only one, either: he sees another envelope there.

“Did you write to him, too?” Coco asks, quietly, and Imelda nods. It is a small, dignified, almost regal movement; Héctor remembers it so well. He aches to take those letters and read them, and he will, but not right now. He has time to do so when it’s time to leave; he can read those letters in the Land of the Dead. For as long as he can be here, he will not lose sight of them for a moment.

Coco reaches to put a hand around Imelda’s shoulders, and they lean on each other. “I miss him,” Coco murmurs, and Imelda sighs.

“Me too.”

Something in Héctor’s chest cavity aches terribly, and he almost steps forward to hold them both, but he has no time to: suddenly something – someone – barrels into the room and through him, her voice shrill. “Mamá! Mamá! Come dance with me and papá!”

Victoria, his granddaughter. The notion that he knew of her existence from Ernesto of all people – he should have been there when her existence was first announced, when Coco needed as much support as she could get as a new mother – leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but that his quickly forgotten when he looks at the little girl pulling at her mother’s dress. He can see both himself and Imelda in her, and his face splits in a grin.

“Please? We can dance now, right, abuelita?”

Imelda gives a faint smile. “Yes,” she says. “You can dance.”

With a cry of triumph, Victoria drags a laughing Coco out of the ofrenda room, leaving it empty save from Imelda, and himself. Imelda’s smile fades the same moment Héctor’s does, and she turns back to the photo on the ofrenda, wrapping her arms around herself as though cold. Héctor catches sight of the wedding ring at her finger; it causes something between his ribs to hurt, and he reaches to wrap his arms around her the best way he can, leaning his chin over her head as he used to do when they were alive.

I love you, I thinks, hoping more than anything that she can somehow feel his touch, the unspoken words hanging between them, all of the love he’s capable of feeling. I’m so sorry, I should have never left. Te amo, te amo, te amo.

Her frame seems to relax, and she lets out a long breath – as well as a murmur that would make Héctor’s heart skip a beat, if he still had one.

“… I love you too, idiota.”

The night is over soon, too soon. When dawn approaches, he has to do the one thing he would never wish to do again: he leaves, with the letters they left for him on the ofrenda tight against his ribcage, to cross back to the Land of the Dead. But every moment of that night is seared into his mind, to be treasured and dreamed about for months to come, when he’ll read the letters over and over and think of home.

Until next year.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1948

Coco is holding a baby girl.

The sight alone is enough for Héctor’s face to split in a huge grin. He knew, from the letters, that Coco was expecting a baby, but seeing her is another matter entirely. Elena, they called her, and she’s by far the most perfect baby he’s seen since Coco. It stings a bit to think that he never got to see Victoria that age – Victoria, who’s serious and solemn-eyed, now wearing comically tiny round glasses, holding onto her mother’s dress, pointing at the picture on the ofrenda.

“And that is Abuelito Héctor. He died far away but mamá found him and brought him back, and he can visit us every year,” she’s saying. Elena follows her gaze to the picture, gargles at it, and then turns to look over Coco’s shoulder – right at him.

And she giggles.

Héctor has heard tales that little babies can see the visiting dead, and lose that ability as they grow into toddlers, but he’s never been sure whether there is any truth to it. Now, as he makes a face and watches Elena burst in another fit of giggles, a tiny pink hand reaching out for him, he is. He’s absolutely sure.

“Hola, nenita,” he says, reaching back for that hand. It passes through his fingers, of course, but there is a lingering sensation that is almost like touch. “Welcome to the family. Be good for your mamá and abuelita, sí?” he adds, and grins back at her toothless smile.

Next year she won’t see him, but he’ll make that smile be enough until her time comes to cross the bridge.

On his way back – leaving is just as painful as it was last year, but those who are caught at the wrong end of the bridge when the sun rises are destined to fade away, and Héctor has no intention to risk it; he’ll never get to be with his family again if he lets himself disappear – he pauses at the cemetery.

He didn’t stop to look for his grave the first year he visited, but he does now. It’s hard to find at first: there are so many flowers and tokens on it the tombstone is almost entirely covered. It feels odd, looking at it. Since getting credit for his songs, his standing in the Land of the Dead has definitely improved; he’s even gotten a few apologies for people who mocked him when he insisted he used to play with Ernesto de la Cruz.

He also began feeling more alive, so to speak, than he had in years – something he could put down to millions of people knowing about him; his bones have never been whiter.

Still, this is the first time he sees how much respect he’s getting from the living outside his own family, and it is staggering. There is something bitter about it – he’d give it all away in a heartbeat just to have his life back – but he has seen the fate of those forgotten, and he’s only recently realized how very close he was to end up down the same path.

He never wished for fame, but at least it means he’ll be remembered, and will get to be with his family for a long time once they die as well; there is so much they’ll need to catch up with. That, at least, is something Ernesto wasn’t able to take from him. In an ironic twist of fate, his last act as a living man was granting him as much.

The thought feels like a stab in his non-existent gut. Héctor finds himself turning without thinking, gaze scanning the small cemetery. And, not too far away, he finds Ernesto’s grave.

It is not the grandiose thing he may have gotten if truth hadn’t come out - if he hadn’t made the truth known - but it’s still a nice one. There are marigold flowers on it, too, tokens and offerings; not as many as on Héctor’s, but still a pretty good amount.

His reputation took a hit when the truth about the songs was made public, of course: that much had quickly filtered in the Land of the Dead, too. In other circumstances, or had the entire truth become known, it would have meant a truly disastrous fall from grace; but the awful circumstances of his last few years, along with the fact he’d told the truth from his deathbed, had gotten him plenty of sympathy and softened the blow.

It is more than he deserves, but Héctor finds he can’t bring himself to care; he can’t bring himself to waste a single minute thinking about him, let alone being mad about it. He doesn’t understand how could he come to do a such thing to him, and doesn’t want to understand.

It didn’t take too long for folks in the Land of the Dead to understand that he doesn’t want to talk about Ernesto de la Cruz - and oh, isn’t everyone curious to find out where he’s gone. As more and more nearly deceased arrived, confirming that he was dead, the question of why had he never showed up was soon on everybody’s mouth.

There are conspiracy theories that he actually faked his death; others have guessed he might be hiding away and there have been a few sightings, but each time a brief description was enough to tell Héctor none of them was Ernesto. He is the only one, as far as he can tell, his old friend has shown himself to - the only one who knows what he looks like now.

Héctor could expose him, of course. He could say they have met, give a full description of what his facial markings look like, what kind of alebrijes follow him around. Revealing him to be a murderer would get authorities looking for him and he would be caught quickly, he's sure of it.

But he never does. He doesn’t care to see what he did exposed; he doesn’t want to deal with the subsequent mess. He just wants to forget all about him, so that maybe one day his betrayal will stop hurting.

Héctor turns away from the grave stiffly and, avoiding to look around - that cemetery had been their playground as kids; all of Santa Cecilia had been, and every corner of it except for his home feels tainted by those happy memories - he marches back towards the bridge.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1955

“Look, I’m not saying that I was right all along. But the fact stays, I was right all along.”

“Cut it out, Jorge.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of me being on the right side of the revolution.”

“That has nothing to do with getting to the wrong cemetery, and it was over forty years--”

“Right. Wrong. Right. Wrong. Repeat with me, hermanito. Right, wro--”

“Griselda, say something!”

“Cut it out. Both of you,” Griselda says, trying with all her might to sound annoyed, and she must sound convincing enough, for they both fall silent with slight pout. Truth be told, she’s mostly amused; even though she did end up getting to grow older than either of them, she was their younger sister - and yet, much like in life, she has to be the one to show maturity.

Not that she minds: being with them again feels like a blessing, minor annoyances aside. This may not be the afterlife she had been expecting - there better be pearly gates beyond this mysterious final death, or else she may put in a claim to have back every single Sunday morning of her life - but as long as Jorge and Matías are there, she finds it’s good enough.

“What’s-- oh, there’s that basket by the door. Again.”

Griselda knows what Jorge is referring to before she even sees it; a basket full of tangerines, one of several they keep receiving from time to time. One of several she keeps receiving.

“There’s a note in here - your name, again.”

“No sender?” Griselda asks, but of course she already knows the answer. He hands it to her.

“No sender, as usual. Are you sure you don’t have secret admirer, hermana?”

The mere notion makes Griselda laugh as she picks up a tangerine and brings it closer to her face to breathe in its scent - something they can somehow still do, even or without nose.

“Oh, no. It’s no admirer. Just an old friend, I suppose,” she says, and picks up the basket. She doesn’t glance around: she knows that he must have left quickly, after leaving that gift at her door. She can’t imagine him lingering for long. “Letting me know he’s around.”

Her brothers will prod some more, but to no avail: she won’t tell them anything more. If he wants to keep anonymity, it is not her place to take it away. Should he ever decide to make himself seen she won’t hesitate to welcome him, share those tangerines with him, and listen.

But until then she just accepts his gift, and hopes he found the peace he was looking for.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1965

Every year when he crosses the bridge, Héctor is prepared to find out Imelda has married again. She is, after all, now officially a widow, and he can’t imagine any man in his right mind who wouldn’t want to be with her. He wouldn’t blame her at all if she found herself someone else – and yet she never does.

She grows older, the passage of time marking her face; at each visit, Héctor finds her more beautiful. Every year, she sees her wearing the wedding ring he put to her finger so many years ago and no other. She stays unmarried. Or, rather, married to him; her business is growing, the house is full of family, but the spot beside her in the bed remains empty.

It makes Héctor feel absurdly happy, and humbled and grateful because a tiny voice in his head keeps telling him she deserves better. When he returns to the Land of the Dead that year, he swears to himself he’ll learn how to make shoes, and make her a pair with his own hands to give her for when she passes on, to ask her if she wants to renew their vows.

He proposed with a ring once already, anyway. Time to up his game and propose with a pair of good shoes.

***

May 1971

That day so far had been nothing but a string of absurdities.

Waking up in some kind of bare room with a skeleton looking down at her, while she remembered very well falling asleep in her bed, had been absurd. Being restrained and reprimanded by more skeletons for hitting their ‘colleague’ had been absurd. Being told that she was dead, and asked for her name, had also been absurd; looking down at her hands to see bone had been even more absurd. Staring into a mirror to see that her face - her skull - looked like a child had scribbled on it with a crayon had been the peak of all absurdity… at least until she’s made to sit in a waiting room, and a woman calls out her name.

“Imelda Rivera? Your husband will be here in a few minutes.”

“... Qué?”

It takes a moment for Imelda to realize that confused croak has come from her own mouth, which is somehow capable of articulating words despite the complete lack of a tongue, or vocal chords, or anything that would normally be necessary to speak. Somehow, that notion - Héctor is coming for her - is what finally, truly drives the point home: she’s dead.

The realization is staggering, and something sinks in the emptiness of her chest cavity. Has her family already awakened for the working day? She’s usually the first one up, they will notice her absence right away. Who will go to knock at her door? Who’s going to find her lifeless in her bed? Coco, Victoria or Elena, most likely. The mere thought makes her shudder. This isn’t right, it can’t be right, she has to go back to her family somehow.

But Héctor. Héctor is here. Fifty years dead, and he’s here.

There is something gripping her where her throat should be, and it’s hope and dread at the same time. So many years have passed, he was barely a man when he left; she’s had a full life and he has not. What will he say? Has he visited them on Día de los Muertos? Has he read their letters, watched their family grow? Or had he given up long before then, after years without an ofrenda? What if--

“Sorry, sorry-- I’m in a rush, lo siento-- let me through, come on, move it!”

Imelda looks up just as the door is thrown open and a skeleton burst in, so fast that he skids across the floor. He tries to stop, but the momentum is working against him and, under her stunned gaze, he flies right past her and crashes against the opposite wall.

All right, so it is Héctor for sure. He always knew how to make an entrance.

She stands as the skeleton turns, rubbing his head; their gazes meet, and they both still.

God, even like this he looks so young - there’s no gray in his hair. The wide-eyed look he’s giving her makes him seem almost a boy… and so does his grin, the one she recalls so well.

“Imelda! Ay, mi amor!” he calls out, and next thing she knows she’d holding her in a tight embrace, causing her to stiffen. That is not how she remembered it; there is no flesh, no skin. There is warmth, but it is a different kind from anything she has experienced before.

“I’m so happy to see you! I mean, I’m so sorry you died! But I’m so happy to see you! I missed you so much! Coco, how is she?” Héctor pulls back, hands on both of her shoulders, that smile impossibly wide. “And Victoria, and… oh, and Elena! Has Franco proposed yet? I mean, he’s there all the time, he should just go for it - I’ve seen how he looks at her! I kept your letters, all of them! And I’ve been learning to make shoes, I’m not so good yet but I’m getting there! Oh, and I wrote so many songs for you! I’m so, so sorry I never made it ba--”

Imelda pulls back suddenly, a hand already reaching for her boot, and Héctor lets out a yelp when it cracks against his face, causing his skull to spin in place briefly before he grabs it.

“This,” Imelda hears herself saying, voice shaking already, “is for leaving in the first place.”

Héctor immediately nods, rubbing his head. “Sí, sí, you’re right. So right. I missed you so--”

Somehow, the plain adoration on his face cuts deeper than a scowl would have. There is something boyish about it, a reminder than he never grew any older than twenty-one. “Idiota,” she cuts him off. “I thought you’d-- we thought you’d--” she chokes out, and her voice breaks, and she hates how weak it makes her sound.

Héctor returns her gaze, and that is when she sees it - the sorrow etched in his features, the pain, the regret. She sees that no, she is not looking at the young man who left her with the promise of being back soon. Time has stopped for him in the Land of the Living, and the Land of the Living only. Here, on this side, he’s endured more loneliness than she has; she can see now that it aged him, too, well beyond his mortal years.

He sighs, and looks down, shoulders hunching. “I’m sorry, Imelda. I should have never left.” Imelda shakes her head, suddenly sorry for her outburst. “It wasn’t you. Ernesto, he--”

“I know what he did,” Héctor says, his voice beyond bitter. “He told me to my face.”

Anger rears up its head, boiling and bitter, and Imelda clings to it. It is comfortingly familiar. “Him! He’s here? Where? Once I get my hands on him, he--”

Héctor shakes his head. “No one knows where he went. I don’t care to know, either. I’m just happy you’re here. You’re right, I should have never left in the first place.”

Imelda sighs, her anger already sputtering out. There she is, looking at her husband for the first time in half a century, and what is she doing? Wasting time thinking about de la Cruz of all people, someone she’d be better off forgetting all about. “No. You shouldn’t have,” she agrees, and throws her arms around his neck. “You should have stayed.”

She feels him stiffening for a moment, then his arms are around her and his cheek is leaning on top of her head. “Lo siento. I am here now.”

“There was so much we should have done.”

“We can still do it,” Héctor says, and suddenly he pulls back, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Oh! Right! I meant to ask - will you marry me?”

Imelda blinks. “We’re. Already married,” she mutters. She’s not too sure, though - are they still married? How literal is that ‘till death do us part bit of the wedding vows?

“Yes, but I mean - again? We can renew our vows! A lot of people do when they reunite on this side,” he adds, and before Imelda can say anything he kneels, pulling something from under his jacket - a pair of shoes. Or rather, the saddest excuse of shoes she’s ever seen.

“As I said, I’ve been learning to make shoes! These need, huh. Some work? But you can teach me to do better,” he adds, and holds them up towards her like, a long time ago, he held up a ring. “Will you marry me? Again?”

“No,” Imelda says, and immediately corrects herself when he recoils. “I mean… not yet. It’s. It’s been a long time, Héctor,” she adds. They spent so much time apart, after being married only four years a lifetime ago. She cannot give him the answer he hopes for, not just yet. And he knows it: she can see his hurt expression melting away into comprehension.

“Right. It has been a while,” he says, and clears his throat. “So, uh… will you teach me how to make shoes, ‘till I can make a pair you’ll be happy to walk in for the rest of our non-lives?”

There is something aching in her chest cavity again, but it is a sweet ache. “Are you asking for permission to court me?”

Héctor grins up at her. She’ll have to ask about that golden tooth, later. “Yes!”

Imelda’s mouth curls in a smile. “Permission granted,” she says, and takes the shoes from his hands. She wears them as they walk to the home he's been preparing for them, limping all the way and categorically denying she’s uncomfortable in the slightest.

***

September 2018

Coco can’t breathe.

Not that she thinks she needs to breathe, with the complete lack of lungs and whatnot. But if she did try to draw in breath, she’s rather sure she wouldn’t be able to: her papá’s arms around her are too tight to let her ribcage expand even a fraction.

And she’s very much all right with that.

“Coco,” her papá is choking out, and his grip tightens. Something there is definitely creaking and, again, she doesn’t mind at all. “Oh Coco, Coco, Coco, I missed you! Your papá loves you so much, I’m so sorry. I tried to come home. I kept trying. I was there every year after you put my photo up, every year, always!”

Coco laughs, and reaches to hug him back, just as tight. She’s aware that the rest of her family is there, too - her mother and her uncles, Julio and Victoria and Rosita - and she hears more than a couple of sniffles, too. She will hold each of them just as tight as soon as she can, but this one hug has been ninety-six years coming, and she means to enjoy it.

“I know, papá,” she replies, her own voice tight. “I always knew.”

“I just wish I could have always been there for you. I really do.”

“But you were,” Coco says, and smiles. “Each time I heard a sad guitar.”

***

Día de los Muertos, 2018

“Rrrr! Ruff!”

“Wha-- oh, come on. Oye, Estéban! One of your dogs stole my taco. Again!”

There is some laughter from patrons as a tiny chihuahua alebrije trots across the cantina, back to the table his owner is sitting at, staggering a bit under the weight of its prize… which is, really, almost as big as the dog. As three other chihuahuas begin a scuffle to get a bite out of it – another familiar sight for patrons – there is a chuckle.

“My apologies,” Estéban says, shuffling a deck of cards. There is a still untouched glass of mezcal on the table in front of him, and he doesn’t even look up. “Alfonso, can you make him another and put it on my tab?”

“Sure, sure. Your mutts are always such a nuisance.”

Estéban shrugs, dealing the cards to the man sitting across him. “They’re purebred and you know it.”

“Purebred thieves, is what they are. I should kick you out of here, you know?” Alfonso adds.

“Ay, and deny yourself and your patrons the pleasure of my company?”

“Pah! Keep that up and I will kick you out,” he mutters, but of course it’s an empty threat. It’s no mystery that he likes the guy; all of the patrons do, too. He’s been a regular for a long time, and he’s good company, always up for a card game, a chat or a laugh over a drink. If he was like this in life, too, it’s not hard to see why plenty of people remember him well, making his bones whiter than almost any other skeleton Alfonso has ever seen.

He’s got his quirks, sure, but they’re the fun kind. Sometimes he has very long conversations with his dogs, and will come up with different tales on how he died, each more outlandish than the next; the first time Alfonso asked, he’d looked at him dead in the eye before quietly saying ‘pirañas’. There had been a brief horrified silence before he’d laughed uproariously at his own joke and said that no, actually he was hit in the head by a shoe.

Hardly a week goes by without someone asking him how he died, or what he did in life, and each time there is a new one. He was eaten alive by the same chihuahuas now napping at his feet, hit by a plane, fell off a pyramid, stabbed by a nun, fell off a window to escape a lover’s husband, stepped on a high-voltage cable, got into a drunken argument with a donkey and lost, got into a drunken argument with a train and lost really badly.

He was a postman, a carpenter, a farmer, a priest, a forger, a miner, a smuggler, a magician, a bartender, a bandit. One time, when a laughing man had told him he made up very convincing stories for such a chronic liar, Estéban had grinned.

“Oh,” he’d said, “maybe I was an actor.”

Alfonso doesn’t know if there is any truth to any of those claims, but if not an actor he certainly is a good entertainer; he’s fairly certain that a chat with Estéban is what keeps several people coming. A chat, and getting a shot at playing cards. So far no one has beaten him, and Alfonso hears variations of the same conversation on a weekly basis.

“You’re cheating.”

“Am not.”

“You’ve got to be cheating!”

“I’m just that good. Don’t be a sore loser.”

There’s some grumbling, but he’s too well-liked for it to turn into an argument. He’s good fun and always ready to lend a hand if needed, and offer a drink. Just not tequila, never that.

Estéban really hates tequila.

***

“Your photo is up! Enjoy your visit home!”

Coco lets out a small sigh of relief - of course she knew her family would never forget to put up her picture, but she was unable to ignore a stab of nervousness either way - and walks past the checks, into the busy departure station.

“Coco!”

“Over here, mamá!”

Julio and Victoria are only a short distance away, and Coco walks up to them quickly. She’s been dead a couple of months now, and she has gotten used to many things, but sometimes she still finds herself staring in wonder at her husband and daughter, lost to her years ago.

Losing Julio had been a terrible blow; Victoria’s own death only a few years later had almost torn her heart in two and if not for Elena, Franco and their children, she may have not survived her grief. She could bury her father, and her mother, and her uncles and sister-in-law and husband, but it isn’t right for a mother to bury her child. It isn’t fair.

But now she has everyone back.

“Where are the other… oh, there!”

Only a short distance away, her mamá and her papá are talking; or rather he’s doing the talking, probably describing how the two of them escaped a crowd begging for his autograph earlier that day, while her mother laughs. Coco saw her laughing like that only on special occasions in life. It is a common occurence, now.

“Ah, Coco!”

Her papá turns to hold her, and lifts her up in a clumsy twirl that almost sends them both tumbling. It makes her laugh.

“One of these days you’ll both fall down in pieces,” her mamá mutters, but she’s smiling. She turns to wave for Tío Óscar and Tío Felipe, who are just past the checks, to join them.

Rosita gives that giddy smile of hers Coco remembered so well. “Your first crossing! Ready?”

Coco smiles, a hand grasping her papá’s own. She left her living family behind only a short while ago and she already misses them all so, so much. She’s filled in the rest of her family on what happened since the previous Día de los Muertos - how Luisa gave birth to a beautiful baby girl they named Socorro after her, what a good big brother Miguel is, how he and Rosa and Abel make everyone so proud with their skills as shoemakers and musicians, and how Benny and Manny seem inclined to pick up trumpets and complete their little band.

It was amusing, seeing the reactions: her papá is partial to Miguel - “Just like me when I was his age!” - while Rosita has a soft spot for Rosa. Julio sees a lot of himself in Abel and her uncles are all over the twins. Her mamá claims to be neutral, but she did mostly ask after Miguel. Coco can’t wait for them all to meet little Coquito, too. He’s sure they’ll love her.

“Ready to go,” she says, and they step all together on the bridge towards home.

***

Halfway through the night, most patrons are drunk and singing.

Hardly a surprise, especially on Día de los Muertos, with most of them coming over after a visit to their ofrendas, bringing their offerings with them to eat and drink and trade. Alfonso usually has a very strict policy about bringing in one’s own food and drinks, but well, tonight is an exception. It always was, always will be.

And, speaking of exceptions, Estéban is not joining in. He never sings, even when everyone else is and someone yells for him to sing with them. He just holds up his hands, shrugs and says something on how he’s not so cruel he’d subject them to his singing.

“You don’t want to hear it. Trust me. It’s not an experience you would forget,” he says with a laugh, and that is it. When voices rise singing, Esteban’s never joins them - although, sometimes, Alfonso has heard him humming to himself. Now he’s putting his deck of cards away before stretching briefly in the chair. He gulps down the last of his mezcal, pushes the chair back, and stands. He walks up to Alfonso and puts down money to cover his tab - plus a generous tip.

“See you next week, Alfonso.”

“Sure, next week. You’ll be back by Friday. Like my company that much?”

“You’re almost my type, but no. I like your mezcal. And your patrons are terrible at cards.”

Alfonso snorts out a laugh. “Hah! Hope someone beats you sooner or later, I really do,” he mutters, taking the money. “Plans for the rest of the night?”

“I’ll be watching the firework display.”

“As every year. Have a good night, you cheat.”

That gets him a bright smile. “Every night is a good night,” Estéban says, and turns to leave, the usual spring in his step, calling his alebrijes to him with a brief whistle. They follow him like little soldiers, through the cantina and to the door.

“Hey, do I know you?”

A patron - someone fairly new to the place, Alfonso only saw her once or twice before - calls out suddenly, just as Estéban pushes the door open. It causes him to pause in the doorway and look back over his shoulder. He tilts his head as though considering the question.

“No, I don’t think so,” he finally says.

“You look kind of familiar. Are you… uuuuh… Nando’s brother, maybe?”

A shrug. “I’m afraid not. I had a brother, once, but that wasn’t his name.”

“Ah, sorry. Maybe...” the woman mutters, still frowning in thought, then she shrugs as well. “No, I got nothing. Sorry, amigo – I just thought I had seen you before.”

Estéban gives the good-natured laugh Alfonso knows well, and shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, and walks out of the door, his alebrijes at his heels. His last words drift in just as the door closes behind him.

“I get that a lot.”

***

"A brief epilogue", I whisper as I get to 6,500 words. But at least it didn't get dramatically long and I'll count that as a win. Thanks a lot to everyone who read/liked/reblogged/commented this, I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did!

(All right, I'm going back to this thing now. For real, this time.)

***

[Back to Chapter 1]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #coco #bedside ghost

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allitalksfandom · 6 years

Text

Happy belated Nagamas!

Happy @nagamas to @siegmunds! Pretty cool to write for one of the first people I met in the FE fandom, huh? Anyway, the prompt was for EphraimxLyon AU fic, so here’s a tale of baking, finding independence, and confusing introspection on one’s sexuality.

“You may kiss the groom,” says Eirika.

“Ew, but he has cooties!” Ephraim sticks out his tongue.

“No I don’t! You do!” Lyon stares at them in a panic.

“Lyon doesn’t have cooties, you weirdos.” Eirika sits behind a small folding table. “Now I’m going to sell you a house.”

Ephraim doesn’t mind pretend-marrying Lyon. His father told him that it was okay for men to love men, and there is a couple with a huge dog down the street. It’s just that everyone knows that girls have cooties, but Eirika says that boys have cooties. So that means that everyone has cooties.

“We can’t buy a house. We don’t have money,” says Lyon.

“Then buy a fort,” Eirika replies.

“Okay, bye!” Ephraim moves the pillow that is serving as the door to the pillow fort in his room, and he and Lyon enter.

“It’s dusty,” says the purple-haired boy.

“Well, we can’t afford anything better. We need jobs.”

“Let’s be bakers like our dads,” suggests Lyon.

They leave the fort and head over to the kitchen playset.

Eirika is still sitting at the table. “Ooh, I want to be your customer!”

“Sure,” says Ephraim. “What are you going to make, Lyon?”

“It’s a cake with salted caramel frosting,” he replies.

Ephraim licks his lips. “I wish we were old enough to bake for real!”

“We’re eight. Father told me that I’ll burn myself if I get too close to the oven.”

Ephraim huffs. “You don’t have to listen to your dad all the time, you know.”

“But he’s the smartest person I know.”

“And one day you’ll be smarter than him. Now c’mon, Eirika’s waiting.” Ephraim grabs his plastic mixer and stirs an imaginary mixture.

++++++

Valentine’s Day is in a week.

“So because we’re in middle school, there isn’t a class party, so no candy,” complains Ephraim. He sits at a table inside Renais Bakery, owned and operated by his family for seventy-two years.

“You kids get enough sweets from coming here every day,” his father replies.

“That’s not true! Eirika and I don’t have cavities, so we must not be getting enough!”

The bakery’s new employee walks into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Renais, but the mayor’s office is the phone about catering an event.”

“Thanks, Seth.” Fado goes behind the counter and goes into his office.

Ephraim slips behind the counter and stands next to Seth, who takes an oval bowl out of the microwave. “What are you making?”

“It’s called ‘indoor s’mores,” says Seth.

“Don’t you need a campfire for that?”

“Not for this type of s’more,” he explains. “You melt a chocolate bar or two in the microwave, and then mix the melted chocolates with mini marshmallows and pieces of graham cracker. After that, all you have to do is scoop the mixture into cupcake wrappers.”

“Oh, I can help!”

Eirika runs around to join them before Seth can respond. “I want to help, too!”

“I asked first!”

“Well, I finished my homework, and you haven’t started yours yet.”

Their teenaged companion interrupts them. “I don’t see any reason why you both can’t help,” he says.

They make twenty indoor s’mores, and Ephraim only licks his spoon three times.

“This is cool, but if I were in charge, I would use regular marshmallows and roast them first,” he says.

“That’s a great idea, Ephraim.” His father has returned to the front of the bakery without any of them noticing.

“Mr. Fado, I-”

“Don’t apologize, Seth.” Fado turns back to Ephraim. “I wish your teachers knew how creative you are.”

Ephraim rolls his eyes. “They don’t know anything. Anything I care about, at least. Why do I have to go to school, anyway?”

“You have to either go to school or be homeschooled because it’s the law, Ephraim. And I don’t have the time to teach you myself.”

Ephraim glances at Seth. “You’re so lucky that you’re almost grown.”

++++++

“Well, at least we have lunch at the same time, Lyon.”

Ephraim starts high school next week, and Magvel High School buses kids in from all over the county.

“I can’t believe that we’ll finally be going to school together,” says Eirika.

Lyon lowers his voice. “I wanted to ask you two…You’re pretty popular, right?”

Eirika shrugs. “I mean, people seem to like us at school. Why do you ask?”

Lyon stares at the table. “I was hoping that you could help me meet people. You know, make friends.”

“Of course, Lyon!” Ephraim grins. “And hey, if anyone tries to shove you in a locker, I’ll stick their head in a toilet.”

“I don’t think that sort of thing happens in real life,” says Eirika. “At least not at Magvel High School.”

“Yeah, that sounds fake,” says Lyon, but he seems happier when their fathers walk over to the table and the subject changes.

“All right, you three,” says Fado. “Here lies the ultimate test. What’s better, my unbaked brownies or Vigarde’s black bean brownies?”

“Black beans?!” Ephraim groans. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s better than it sounds,” replies Vigarde. His tone of voice is normal enough, but he always sounds stern to Ephraim. “Your father’s concoction has dates in it, of all things.”

“Well, we’ll see whose dish wins,” says Fado, smirking.

Their fathers leave, and the trio enthusiastically tries the brownies.

“They’re so soft,” says Eirika dreamily.

Lyon taps Ephraim on the shoulder. “You have chocolate on your face.”

“Where?”

Lyon grabs a napkin and wipes his face. “I got it,” he says, blushing.

Ephraim stares at the napkin, saying nothing.

++++++

“I don’t want to be a baker.”

Ephraim drops his pizza back onto his plate.

Eirika is looking intently at their father.

Fado’s voice is calm. “Why not?”

“Well, being a chef is still a male-dominated field, right? I can’t imagine it’ll be a lot easier to find acceptance in the baking world.”

Ephraim’s jaw drops.

Fado nods. “Okay. What do you want to do, then?”

“Oh, I still want to work at Renais Bakery, but I want to manage the books and things like that.”

Their father chuckles. “All right, then. Ephraim can bake and you can handle the money.”

Ephraim frowns. “Wait a minute. I like baking, but I’m supposed to be the rebellious teen! Don’t take that away from me, Eirika!”

“Just sneak another beer from the fridge, and you’ll be good for the week.”

Ephraim pales. “How’d you know about that?!”

“The only people that have keys to the house are Eirika, you, and I,” says Fado. “Process of elimination.”

“Well, I don’t want another one of those for a while. I thought I was gonna vomit after I took a couple of sips.”

That makes his father laugh again.

The twins look at each other and shrug. Sometimes adults don’t make sense.

++++++

Now that they’re sixteen, the twins are officially on the payroll at the bakery.

Eirika gets to double-check all of their father’s books. She keeps her copies in a red notebook that she keeps near the cash register. Ephraim notices that she sometimes has a yellow notebook, too, but he’s never had a chance to look in it.

Right now he’s making an Oreo cookie cake. He’s used about twenty containers, and it’s taken five hours, but he’s finally done.

He flops dramatically onto the counter. “I’d like to thank Adderall for its contribution to my cake.”

“Speaking of, we’re due for our afternoon pill.” Eirika gets two pill bottles out of her bag and hands one to him.

Ephraim stands up and swallows one with water. He was diagnosed with ADHD in middle school, but Eirika wasn’t until last year.

She smiles at him. “Your cake looks great, Ephraim.”

Forde removes a cake from the freezer. “Wow, Ephraim, how did you make that?”

Ephraim folds his arms behind his head. “Years of perfecting the removal of frosting from Oreos.”

Forde wags his finger at him. “You’re lucky I’m so chill, otherwise I’d be offended at your not taking my question seriously.”

“Forde, could you stop chatting for a second and help me?” Kyle is working on the icing for a chocolate espresso cake.

“I swear you’re going to get the reputation for a nag, Kyle.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get in trouble.” Kyle’s voice is weary, like they’ve had this conversation before. Which they have.

“My father wouldn’t fire you guys, you know,” says Ephraim.

“That’s right,” adds Eirika. “No great baker works alone, after all, and you’re part of his team.”

The conversation continues, but Ephraim slips away when his phone vibrates.

Lyon’s name appears. Are we still on for your tutoring session tonight?

Ephraim smiles when he sends his response. Only you can make tutoring sound even a tiny bit non-sucky.

I suppose I should take that as a compliment?

I suppose so.

++++++

“I can’t believe that prom is in six weeks,” says Tana, sighing.

Ephraim is taking her to prom, mainly because their school says that you have to bring a date, she’s his closest female friend, and it will annoy Innes.

Tana is showing him pictures of the dresses that she’s considering, and he’s pretending to pay attention.

It isn’t working.

“I wish you’d stop texting Lyon long enough to hear me say that your father’s on fire.”

“Wuh?” Ephraim nearly throws his phone on the ground.

Tana giggles. “Got your attention? Good! So I know that I want this color, it’s called shocking pink, so I’d like if your bowtie matched. And I’ll have flowers in that color, and your cummerbund will be pink, too.” She stares at him for a moment. “You’re not one of those guys who hates pink because they’re afraid it’ll make them feminine if they wear it, so you’re all set.”

Ephraim bends down to pick up his phone. “If it’s that easy, why all the fuss? I’d just wear what you picked out.”

“Honestly?” She blushes. “Until freshman year, I had a huge crush on you.”

He gapes at her. “Really? Like when we were kids?”

She nods slowly. “Yup. And then I realized that you wouldn’t feel the same way, so I gave up on you. I’ve always wanted to go to a dance with you, though, so think of it as a celebration of my moving on three years ago. And talking about my dress to you is part of that fantasy. That’s why.”

“Not that I want you to be pining after me like a lost puppy or anything, but what made you so certain I wouldn’t feel the same?”

She tilts her head. “Well, Eirika told me a theory of hers last week.”

“What do you mean?”

“She thinks that you might not like girls. And that you like guys.”

Ephraim blinks.

“And honestly, I think it makes sense.”

“Uh, why? I mean, I’m not offended, but me, gay?”

“Well, maybe you’re bi and just don’t like girls. Nonbinary people exist, right? And Eirika noticed that she never found smut in your family computer’s history.”

��Why was she checking the history?!”

“To clear things.”

“What, is she looking at smut?”

“Her, definitely not. But she also said that you never seemed to find any female celebrities cute, but that you’re close with Lyon.”

“So she thinks I’m dating Lyon?” Ephraim huffs. “Who knew she was so invested in my lack of a personal life?”

Tana holds up her hands. “I’m just telling you what she said.” She bites her lip. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”

Ephraim shakes his head. “I just wish she wasn’t gossiping about me, that’s all.”

++++++

He confronts Eirika about it that evening when he’s making a zebra layer cake.

“I’m sorry for talking to Tana about you, Ephraim.”

He puts down the baking soda. “I just want to know why you’re making assumptions about me?”

She scratches her chin. “I wanted to help you figure out your sexuality, because I’m starting to figure out mine. It’s been confusing, so I wanted to spare you some of that. And spare Tana from misunderstanding why you wanted to take her to prom. But that doesn’t make what I did right.”

He sighs. “I’ll forgive you.” He rests his elbows on the counter. “So, you said that you’re figuring out your sexuality? Come on, you can’t just mention that and expect me to ignore it.”

She blushes. “Well…I think I might be pan. And somewhere on the asexual spectrum,” she explains. “I want to date someone, but I never really thought about what gender they’d be. And I can’t really imagine myself having sex, so…”

“Is that so? And yet you don’t want to be a baker. Way to bust asexual stereotypes, sis.” He gives her a hug.

“Ephraim, you got baking soda all over me!”

He grins. “I know.”

Eirika rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.” She pauses. “But about being a baker…Can I show you something?”

“Sure thing.”

They go into her room, and Eirika pulls out her yellow notebook. She hands it to him.

“It’s a journal?”

“Look closer,” she says.

He reads some of the entries. June 2, 2013: Local honey has been pretty popular lately, so Kyle went and bought honey from a farmer’s market a few miles away. The guys are using it to make popsicle-like treats…

Ephraim looks up at her. “You’ve been writing down what we’re making at the bakery?”

“I know it sounds creepy to be watching the guys work, but at first it was because I wanted to see what’s the most popular of our special products. But then I started to notice little things, like how delicate Forde’s pipette work is, or the way Kyle transforms when he sells something, or how Seth makes some of the best damn cookies I’ve ever eaten. And… I think I want to be involved with everything at the bakery, not just the business side of things.”

“Wow, Eirika.” Ephraim runs his hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us.”

“I never left, silly.”

“You know what I mean.”

She smiles. “I’m still hoping to get a business degree from community college, though.”

“Then they’ll be lucky to have you.” He hands back the notebook. “And I won’t mention your notes to the guys.”

“Thanks, Ephraim.” They hug, baking soda and all.

++++++

Ephraim sees a food truck for the first time when he picks Eirika up from one of her classes.

Four food trucks are parked in a row, each with a handful of people clustered outside of them. Regulars chat with the owners, people greet friends on their way to class, and clumsy students pick up dropped change.

“Hey!”

Ephraim turns to see Eirika walking towards him. “Hey.”

“Hope I didn’t leave you waiting too long.” Eirika stands next to him and adjusts her backpack.

“Nah, I was just checking these out.”

“The food trucks? They’re pretty cool, I suppose. Some are better than others, of course. And there are some specialty ones that serve macaroni and cheese or sandwiches.”

“Huh.”

“What is it?” Eirika tilts her head to look at him quizzically.

“I’ll tell you later. Don’t want you to steal my idea.”

“Is this about my notebook? I don’t ‘steal’ ideas!”

Ephraim laughs, and together they walk to the bus stop.

++++++

At this dinner, it’s Eirika who drops her pizza to her plate.

“You think a bakery food truck would be a good idea, Ephraim?” His father looks at him with scrutiny.

“Not a food truck, exactly. More like a mobile version of our bakery.”

“We have a van for deliveries, Ephraim.”

“But this would be different. We’d serve specialties from the bakery and travel around the county.”

“I just don’t think it’s feasible.”

“Well, there’s nothing preventing me from saving money to buy a food truck and any permits we need, right?”

Fado stares at him for a moment. “I suppose not.”

Eirika says nothing but frowns.

After dinner, he texts Lyon to tell him about his idea.

I think it sounds swell, Ephraim.

Ephraim laughs. “Swell?”

Don’t tease me. But really. I’d love to visit your food truck. What do you think you’ll call it?

I don’t know. Something cool. Like “Reginleif.”

Are you referencing a Valkyrie or speaking German?

Neither. Just think it sounds cool.

You never fail to amaze, Ephraim.

Ephraim stares at his phone. I suppose I should take that as a complement?

Lyon remembers. I suppose so.

++++++

It takes four years, but Ephraim saves up the money to buy his truck and move out of the house.

Father said that he understood that Ephraim wanted independence. Eirika doesn’t.

A few weeks after he’s moved into Kyle’s apartment, she calls Ephraim over FaceTime.

“How’s it going, sis?”

“Oh, great,” she chirps. “Dad, Seth, Franz, and I have settled into a nice routine. Seth and I handle the morning rush, I help Dad with the business side of things around midday, Franz comes in after school and helps us bake, we’re done by five. I go to the gym or out for a run after dinner, and then I relax for the rest of the night.”

“Okay,” he says, frowning. “But really.”

Her expression matches his. “How could you tell that I was lying?”

“We shared a womb.” He sips from his beer.

Eirika laughs, but it sounds like a sigh. “We’re managing. Having only two full-time employees has put a lot of stress on Dad. He’s had a cold for a few days, so that’s not helping.”

Ephraim raises an eyebrow. “Dad never gets sick.”

“It’s a weird one. He seems really tired. He’s having trouble sleeping at night, too, and he’s out of breath after one flight of stairs.”

“Well, I’m not a doctor, but that sounds weird all right. Have you talked to him about going in to one of those urgent care centers?”

“Ephraim, our family’s picture is next to the word ‘stubborn’ in the dictionary. Seth and I spent the entire day trying to bribe him with that chocolate cake we make with the slow cooker. I bet if you asked him, though, he’d reconsider.”

“Wow, Eirika, you’d make a great spy with how subtle you are. Dad and I are barely texting as it is.”

Eirika is silent for a moment. “I really miss you. Not in a codependent way, but with you around, life just-”

“Makes more sense. Yeah, I miss you too. And I’m not sure how much longer Kyle can put up with me sharing an apartment with him.”

Eirika nods empathetically. “Exactly! And think about poor Franz. He and Forde are still living with their aunt, and I’m sure he was looking forward to working with his older brother, but now he’s working with you at the food truck. I get that you need to sow your wild oats or whatever, but the timing’s all wrong. ”

“The timing will never be right, Eirika. I need to try this now, while Dad’s still working.”

“But you’ve always loved the bakery.”

“I’ve always loved baking. That’s something very different. And I still get to do that!”

She sighs. “Can you at least come to visit soon? Just because you’ve moved out doesn’t mean that you’re not welcome home.”

“I’ll have to check with my boss.”

Eirika rolls her eyes.

++++++

Hey.

Leave it to Lyon to use proper grammar when he texts.

Ephraim picks up his phone from the arm of the couch and fires off a reply. Hey! I haven’t heard from you for weeks, man. Are you all right?

I’ve been busy. Then another message. I was thinking about you.

Ephraim’s heart skips a beat. I’ve been thinking about you, too. He pauses to think for a moment. We should get together soon, just the two of us.

No response.

He keeps texting. We can get something to eat or see a movie. We can do both, maybe?

Still no answer.

Ephraim curses. That sounded like I’m asking you out, but I’m not. Unless you want me to ask you out or something.

Nothing.

“Seriously?!” He groans and puts his phone back down. He closes his eyes. Maybe when he wakes up he’ll feel like less of a tool.

His phones starts buzzing, of course.

It’s Eirika.

He instinctually answers. “Eirika?”

Her voice is stiff. “It’s Dad. We’re at the hospital.”

“Oh my God. What the hell happened?”

“He coughed up rust-colored mucus, so Seth and I begged him to go to the doctor. We took him to the urgent care center that I took Seth to three days ago.”

“Why did Seth need to go the urgent care?”

“Well, he had to get transferred to the hospital, too. He broke his arm and collarbone.”

Ephraim wants to ask the story behind that, but he has more pressing concerns. “So what did the doctor say?”

“They sent him to the hospital to get a chest x-ray. They’re thinking pneumonia.”

Ephraim lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Eirika’s voice is shaky now. “We need you, Ephraim. Come home.”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital. Let me tell Kyle, and I’ll be right there.”

“Love you, bro.”

“Love you, sis.”

He rushes around the apartment in a daze. “Where the hell are my keys?”

He leaves a voicemail on Kyle’s cell. “My dad’s in the hospital. They think it’s pneumonia. Talk later.”

He hears something jingle. “Of course they’re in my pocket. Of course.” He runs out the door and is locking it when his phone vibrates. “Oh, what now?!”

Lyon.

Hope to see you soon, Ephraim.

#Alli Originals #Ephraim #Lyon #Eirika #FE8 #Alli's Fanfiction

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hencethebravery · 7 years

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Title: “Beloved,” (1/1) Summary: David Nolan is in love with Killian Jones. He just doesn’t know what that means. Notes: I’ve been wanting to write a modern Captain Charming college AU for a hell of a long time. Last week’s episode really sealed the deal. This is very much an explorative fic, in the sense that the meat of it really lies in David’s perspective and his feelings about love and Killian Jones in particular. It is not an end-game CC fic; it’s more so about how these two characters might be important to one another. It is not at all intended to be a valorization of heterosexual love over homosexual love or vice versa. Also on Ao3. Because I told them they would be tagged and/or they assisted me: @abbadons-little-witch @seastarved @the-reason-to-sail-home @captainwiley @zengoalie @mahstatins @mossandmushroom xo

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. -- Raymond Carver, “Late Fragment”

+ When David Nolan met Killian Jones, it had taken nearly every inch of his rather considerable will to keep from socking the guy across the jaw. He had seemed the infuriatingly smug, disreputable type, and what was worse, seemed to have an uncanny knack for trailing longingly after his sister. Emma Swan wasn’t his sibling by blood, but they had grown up together. His father had simply brought her home one day, and although David could sense an implicit attempt to replace the brother his parents had lost, they had all grown to love her regardless.

David had been able to see it in her eyes sometimes, this desperate, pleading feeling to live up to James’ absence—and while David would have never mentioned this to his parents, he had never really known his brother, but he had known Emma. He had seen her in clumsy, pre-pubescent limbs, all twisted up on the ground, scraped knees, red cheeks, lost teeth. He had seen her in the grips of nightmares he couldn’t imagine, had held her tiny frame with his own gangly limbs, and he had told her, so many times now, had tried to explain to her that she was more a sister to him than his dead brother had ever been. That she had nothing to live up to—that their parents were trapped in their grief, no matter how much they insisted that they were free of James’ echo.

And he didn’t blame them for it, David; he was an almost irritatingly wise, patient child, and he didn’t fault them for their sadness. But he harbored some degree of anger for the anguish in his sister’s eyes—because she didn’t ask for this, their family, they had brought her here and they didn’t think. They didn’t treat her as if she were this separate person who had lived a life before them. She had been broken when she arrived, and they should be stitching her together, not keeping all those pieces mismatched and ill-formed; rubbing against one another in a harsh kaleidoscope of painful memories and feelings that all children know but can’t understand, won’t understand, for too many long, confusing years.

So when Killian Jones, mysterious, charismatic, handsome, Killian Jones had wormed his way into their tight-knit circle of friends, he had been understandably concerned. He wore a lot of black and well-worn plaid, kind of like a malnourished extra in a Nirvana video—and his hair was always carefully disheveled (David suspected he spent hours in front of the mirror trying to get it that way). He swore a lot, like an old, gruff sailor on leave. More than Emma, even, and she had developed an extraordinary affinity for swearing, despite his mother’s sweet, but naive, attempts to dissuade her otherwise.

Killian Jones was in love with David’s sister from the very moment he saw her. Everyone could sense it, but David felt it, like a hard blow to the body; a hard-knuckled fist to the kidney. The jewelry, the make-up, it all fell away in the softening of his features, the genuine smile in her presence that revoked all that harsh, predictable cynicism of the “angry young man.”

“I wish you’d just give him a chance,” she had quietly pleaded during a late-night study session. Their books had been scattered between the two of them, empty coffee cups, candy wrappers, apple cores; all the basics. “He’s just lost.”

Like me, was the silent follow-up, the remark that left his heart soft, like a fresh, newly-fluffed cushion waiting for a new shape to form in all that willing potential. Emma hadn’t even wanted him then, not in that way at least; she had simply wanted a friend that was hers.

“Okay,” he had conceded gently, his heart tightening at the look of relief that crossed her features, “I’ll give him a chance.”

David gave Killian Jones the same amount of chances that he would afford anyone else; only Killian Jones met those expectations with a passion and a fury that David had rarely seen or felt. And it wasn’t even as if he were only trying to deserve Emma, which he was, of course, but there was also a sense that he pushed forward, made the difficult choices, did the hard things, for himself. It wasn’t an improvement of self merely to satisfy the expectations of someone else, but to be at peace with who he was and who he had become because who you are is all you have.

Never in a million years had David Nolan thought he would arrive at the seemingly inevitable point of admiration for the man he had sworn so vehemently against a few years before. If he had been able to ask his younger self, How do you envision your relationship with this man? It would be almost certainly true to imagine that the reply would not be anywhere along the lines of, laughing with, talking with, drinking with, finding comfort with—learning who you are with. Like Emma, Killian Jones had found his way into their lives and changed them for the better. Unlike Emma, who had been given little choice in the matter, as she had been small, vulnerable and directionless, Killian had been almost nearly grown on their metaphorical doorstep. He had somewhat loudly arrived, had been made to feel unwanted, could have just as easily left; only he had clung to their obstinance with all the strength of a man at the edge of a cliff.

He had fought for them, just as Emma had fought for him to stay. Just as David had fought, to his own, subdued surprise, for the tense cords of Killian’s deceptively vulnerable heart, wrapped and knotted around his sister’s own strong, formidable hands. They were perfect for one another. Similar enough to understand the cracks in one another’s foundation, but different enough that they could force the other to grow, to evolve into and around the other.

“When I asked you to give him a chance,” Emma playfully began, her lips resting against the tip of a bottle, “I didn’t mean ‘fall in love with him yourself.’” She’s joking, clearly, the gleam in her eye, the chuckle in her voice. And he’s knocking his shoulder against hers, and laughing easily along with the idea of the golden-eyed star of the wrestling team, buttoned-up and broad-shouldered falling in love with the lithe, wild-eyed literature major with a tendency to fall on the black leather side of the fashion spectrum, but he can feel the tightening of the knot somewhere deep in his chest as they laugh together.

There’s an uncomfortable pressure there, deep within the cavity of his chest, because Emma is clearly in love with Killian, just as he’s clearly in love with her. There’s a tightness because, no, Emma had never suggested that he fall in love with this lost, black sheep with a penchant for sad, Irish sea ballads; and there’s a strange, unknowable tightness because he doesn’t fully understand what this love is. Because it is love. And it might be an “in love,” but he doesn’t know with what, and he doesn’t know for how long, and he knows it’s a little different than the norm, and he knows he doesn’t want to lose it.

He knows that it’s Emma and Killian, that it always was and it always will be, and he knows that he’s also in love with an absurdly small, fair-skinned, pixie-haired, elementary education major with a rough-and-tumble streak that ended with a raised scar somewhere along his otherwise untarnished jawline. He knows all of this. What he doesn’t know is what to make of that Saturday night in late February, still cold, still snowing; all of them falling back into the familiar habits of the post-break college student.

There had been booze that night, of course, copious amounts of it, given the fuzziness of his memory the following morning. From what he could remember, it had been one of those nights devoid of any sense of unpleasantness. They were all stressed, over-worked, underpaid, cold and tired, but they were together. They were full of greasy bar food, they were wrapped in one another’s scarves and sweaters and arms. They were honest and playful, and all of their insecurities about themselves or one another had been forgotten, at least temporarily, in the warm nest of Killian and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment.

It had been late, he remembered that much. Emma and Mary Margaret had, at some point, slunk away towards Killian’s bedroom to crash, their arms threaded through each other’s in order to steady their drunken, lumbering steps. Robin was awake but just barely, his head thrown back over the couch, various limbs askew—Killian had dropped a blanket over his still, quiet form, and Ruby had made some crack about being a mom, to which Killian had tossed a pillow at her smiling face.

“I’m not tired,” Belle mentioned offhand, her stockinged feet resting in Ruby’s lap, “Can we play a game?”

“No more drinking,” Robin mumbled from beneath the quilt, one eye cracked open, “The drinking is over.”

“Agreed,” David answered, his own head slightly gummy from all the scotch ale that Killian had kept insisting he drink, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get up for practice in the morning.”

“That’s the trick, Dave,” Killian spoke from over his shoulder, his voice growing louder as he took a clumsy seat at his side, another cold beer in hand, “You don’t.”

“Don’t get up or don’t go to practice?”

“Either one, I’m sure,” he answered with a wink, his dark eyeliner long since smudged and faded beneath impossibly blue eyes.

“What kind of game, babe?” Ruby asked Belle gently, running a hand through her thick, tangled hair. “Nothing that requires too much effort, please.”

David must have lost track of the conversation at that point, because the only thing he could remember following Ruby’s soft question was a large, empty wine bottle spinning wildly in front of him, lots of giggling, and the sudden, indescribable feeling of Killian Jones’ mouth pressed against his own.

“He’s bi,” he can remember Emma casually explaining, her cheeks round with donuts and hot chocolate, “No big deal.”

It’s not like he had been offended at the thought of Killian being romantically involved with a man, it had just been unexpected, what with his being in love with Emma and all. But he supposed the guy couldn’t wait around forever, eyes the size of dinner plates, heart thumping comically loud whenever she was in the room.

He had seen him loitering outside the Humanities building, per usual, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his fingers, all normal, until he followed Killian’s familiar, charming gaze to the enamored, upturned face of a guy in his fiction-writing class—Merlin, possibly—a quiet, polite student by all accounts. They made a strange picture, the two of them. Merlin dressed in his usual buttoned-up flannel and woolen cardigan, square frames perched on his nose. And then there had been Killian, adorned in the usual black leather jacket, dark, well-worn denim and boots. Despite being fairly thin and of average height, he certainly knew how to take up space.

There was something enticingly dangerous about the whole thing, the way Killian had rested his arm near Merlin’s head, a flirtatious smirk cutting dangerously across his face. David had known Killian pretty well at that point, not well enough to know about his other proclivities, clearly, but well enough to know that most of… this? Most of it was an act. A way to throw people off the scent of his softer, “weaker” parts.

Maybe it hadn’t been the fact of Merlin’s maleness that had thrown him off. Maybe it had been the performance; maybe he didn’t realize how well he knew Killian until he had been forced to see the act again, to see the rough facade of a boy with a too-fragile heart so expertly put forth in the face of those he did not know.

“No big deal,” David had reassured his sister, smiling at the small dollop of whipped cream on her nose, “Just wondering.”

He tasted like scotch, but that wasn’t very surprising. He smelled vaguely of sweat and the sweet, cloying scent of a cologne that only men of a certain age seemed to wear. He was patient, and soft, and it lasted… seconds. It was brief, and chaste, and somehow both exactly like he expected and nothing like he had ever imagined. Which wasn’t to say that he had spent hours thinking about what kissing Killian Jones might be like, only he had spent a good deal of time wondering what being loved by him might be like.

Because he saw the way he looked at Emma, loved Emma, and David knew that it was exactly what she deserved. To be loved, unconditionally, to be seen and known for who she is, and not what Killian or David or his parents wanted her to be. David knew he was a fairly simple guy—he hadn’t had it too rough growing up, had met most, if not all, of his parents expectations. Got good grades, performed well in sports; practical, patient, kind, all the things that they had hoped he would be.

Killian Jones was nothing like what anyone thought he could be. His parents hadn’t expected much of him (seeing as how they had abandoned him as a child), his brother had wanted grand, great things for him, but, as Killian had explained, “Bloody well buggered that up, didn’t I?” David had anticipated low, incorrigible things from him. Had seen the potential for his corruptive influence on Emma, Robin, Mary Margaret, all of these people he had come to love as he did his own family—Killian Jones would ruin all that, just as he had his own life.

Only he wanted so badly to be loved.

And David knew how to love. So well, in fact, that it was often too much and too hard, and it only left him feeling disappointed. And suddenly there was this boy, who became this man; this man who could live in a way that David never could, but who seemed to walk around as if there was an emptiness inside of him that he didn’t know how to fill—and it made David want. It made him want things for himself that he might’ve never tried to obtain for himself otherwise.

It had made the taste of Killian’s lips all the more sweet in the brief moment of time in which they touched. It happened so fast he almost missed it. But lying on top of Robin’s empty bed the next morning, the sound of Ruby and Belle lightly snoring from their place curled up on the floor, the briefness of their kiss had been charged and slow. In his memory it is warm and rough from the unshaven hairs of Killian’s chin. It is masculine and delicate in a way that only Killian Jones would know how to be.

“Wow,” Ruby seems to sigh from somewhere to his left, his eyes closed because his lids have become impossibly heavy in the last few moments (and a little bit because he’s too afraid to open them).

“Um,” David eloquently tries to begin, his mouth falling slightly open in somewhat of an awed expression. He can’t help but think he looks a might similar to Merlin in this moment, his own facade, that of the popular, well-liked, polite jock thrown carelessly to the breeze by the mere fact of Killian Jones and the gentleness of his scotch-flavored kiss.

“Don’t be so quick to offer critique now, Dave,” Killian says quietly, laughingly, his own arm coming up to swing around David’s shoulders, “I’ve had a bit much to drink tonight and it would be poor form to judge my performance based solely on the one-off.”

“No, uh,” he tries to reassure him, slowly, in a meandering voice that he’s having a hard time placing despite the fact that it’s his own, “I would never.”

“There’s a good man,” Killian replies happily, tugging him closer in order to place a wet, sloppy kiss against the side of his head, “So bloody charming, this one.”

#ouat ff #cc ff #cc fanfic #captain charming #cc: saved my life #@hencethewriter #another case of #how the fuck #do i tag this #i know it's not technically cs #but idk how else #to get people to see this #a note #this has nothing to do #with last night's ep #i can't beilieve #how little it has to do with #the thing #so enjoy it anyway

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alamble23 · 7 years

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Roommates, a Timeless fanfic

I swore many moons ago that I wouldn’t get back into writing fanfic, but @officerparker’s Timeless prompt for this week just WOULD.NOT.LET.GO. This is fluff at its absolute cavity-inducing silliest. Enjoy.

Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus stumbled blearily out of the back entrance to Mason Industries' warehouse, marching single-file like zombies towards the darkened parking lot. They'd just spent three days at Woodstock for what ended up being a wild goose chase, and the Time Team was exhausted. Lucy, muttering to herself and distracted by a frantic search for her car keys in the bottom of her purse, runs smack into Wyatt, who has come to an abrupt stop, senses on high alert.

mew, mew

“Do you guys hear something?” he whispers.

Rufus turns around, incredulousness mixing with exhaustion. “Dude, I think you're hearing things.”

Wyatt shakes his head, gesturing for Rufus to be quiet, while simultaneously reaching behind him to still the insistent shaking of Lucy's purse.

The sound gets a tiny bit louder, amplified by the stillness of the pitch-black evening.

mew, mew

Rufus stills, realizing that the noise can only be a cat somewhere on the premises. “Okay, I definitely heard that, but where is it coming from?”

Wyatt closes his eyes, concentrating. “No trees for a cat to get stuck in, must be coming from somewhere in the warehouse.” Reaching into his pocket, he flings his car keys to Rufus, who deftly catches them in his left hand. “There's a mini flashlight in the console in my truck, can you grab it for me?”

As Rufus jogs off toward the parking lot, Lucy and Wyatt start feeling along the wall of the building, trying to find any gaps that might conceal a small animal.

“I never would have pegged you for a cat person, Wyatt,” she teases. She can barely see his trademark smirk in the dark as he chuckles ruefully while systematically patting the stones.

“Cats were the only pets I was allowed to have as a kid. My mom was okay with them, because she thought they were easier to care for than dogs.” The meowing gets slightly more insistent, and Wyatt realizes that the noise is coming from closer to the ground. He drops on all fours, running his hands along the base of the building, when he comes across a hole.

“Wyatt, catch!” Rufus calls as he tosses the flashlight at Wyatt's now-prone form.

He beams the tiny light in the hole in the stones, and is greeted by a pair of round blue eyes. Peering closer, he determines that the kitten doesn't appear to be stuck, just scared. “Hey there, kitty,” he croons softly, “were you hiding out in there when it was raining the other day? It's okay, you can c'mon out here, it's nice and dry now.” All he gets is another faint “mew” for his troubles, and he can't see Lucy and Rufus exchanging amused grins behind his back at this unexpected side of their friend.

“Damn, she's backed herself all the way into the hole and it's too small for any of us to reach in and grab her. Lucy, can you check the breakroom and see if there's anything in the fridge we can use to coax her out? I think I remember someone leaving a stash of string cheese in there, they won't miss one.”

“Sure thing, be right back.”

Rufus drops to the ground, his back against the wall, watching with amusement as Wyatt becomes increasingly frustrated by his inability to coax the cat from her hiding place. “No offense, man, but I always pictured you as a dog kind of guy.”

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. Cats were more manageable. Haven't had a pet since I was a teenager and I moved in with my Gramps, though. As it turns out, I'm allergic to dogs, and Jess was allergic to cats. No pets for us.”

Rufus crumples at the realization that he might have inadvertently struck a sad memory. “Seriously? That sucks.”

Wyatt pulls himself off the ground, resigned to the fact that Operation Rescue Kitten will not resume until Lucy returns, hopefully with something tempting enough to bring the kitten out of her hiding place. He decides not to examine why, all of a sudden, rescuing this cat has become the most important item on his to-do list for the day, and sighs as he leans up against the wall next to Rufus, mental and physical exhaustion washing over him.

“I didn't find out about the allergy until after I enlisted, strangely enough. It came up in my physical and was a red flag when they tried to assign me to an IED disposal unit. Turns out I'm especially sensitive to German Shepherds.”

They can hear the slamming of the warehouse door in the distance as Lucy jogs over to where they sit, a package of string cheese in her hands. Wyatt flicks the light back on as she lines up small chunks of cheese on the ground. “Come on out, sweetie,“ she coos, “aren't you hungry? There's more where this came from if you come out of there.” She sets more small chunks of cheese further away from the hole as the cat's whiskers peek out from the gap, tentatively nibbling on the cheese.

As soon she's emerged halfway out of the hole, Wyatt wraps his hands around the cat's middle and slowly works her out from inside the building, lifting her close to his face to examine her. It's hard to tell with only the weak light emanating from the parking lot, but he thinks she's a ginger, and as she swats ineffectually at his face, he's charmed by her tiny face and oversized paws. Rufus reaches over to scratch her head and peers at her more closely.

“What happened to her ears?” he asks.

Wyatt traces his fingers gently over her head to find that yes, her ears are almost completely folded over. “She must be a Scottish Fold. It's a genetic thing.”

Lucy, of course, is the one to dump cold water on the cuteness by addressing more practical matters. “I'm guessing she doesn't have a collar or tags?”

Wyatt sighs. “Nope, no collar. Based on her size, I'd bet she's no more than twelve weeks old or so? Old enough to be away from her mama and siblings, at least.” The kitten gives up on her unsuccessful attempts at using his face as a scratching post, and starts purring loudly as he cuddles her tightly to his chest.

Rufus grins knowingly. “Looks like you've got a new friend there, buddy.” Pulling out his phone, he makes a show of checking the time, but the three of them all know he's expecting a text from Jiya. “I need to get home before I drop dead of exhaustion, so I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds here. G'night.”

“Night, Rufus,” Lucy and Wyatt respond in unison to his retreating back.

“Are you gonna keep her?”

Wyatt's hands still, and the kitten, annoyed that he is no longer scratching her belly, swats at him again. “I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead, but yeah, I think I might. My building allows small pets, so it should be fine. There's a Target that's open 24 hours near my place, we can pick up some supplies right now.”

“How about we drop her off at your apartment first? I think we're probably not going to be allowed to bring her in to Target.”

“Probably right. Do you mind driving my truck? I'm afraid if I take her home by myself I'll get too distracted trying to keep an eye on her. I promise we'll come back for your car first thing in the morning.”

She sticks her hand out expectantly for his keys. “It's fine. Let's get you and your new roommate home.”

The ride back to Wyatt's place was swift and uneventful, though Lucy could swear that Wyatt fell asleep briefly and started snoring. Getting the kitten settled temporarily proved more problematic, as she was wary of her new surroundings, digging her tiny claws into Wyatt's shirt and yowling pitifully as Wyatt tried to settle her in his guest bathroom with a small saucer of milk. Twenty minutes later, Lucy successfully dragged Wyatt out the door, meows still ringing in their ears. She was just thankful that most of his neighbors were out for the evening, and therefore probably wouldn't notice the din.

“C'mon, Wyatt,” she pleaded as she hustled him out the door, “the sooner we get to Target, the sooner we get back and she'll settle down.”

The 24-hour Target near Wyatt's apartment was all but dead at 11:45 on a Friday night, allowing them to snag a cart easily and head straight to the pet supplies aisle. They picked out a collar, litter box and food and water dishes quickly, but when it came to food options, Wyatt stopped to evaluate every bag of dry food and most of the cans of wet food, before deciding to pull small bags of several different brands to try. As he dumps the bags in the cart, he catches Lucy observing him with a raised eyebrow, an expression he's almost certain she's picked up from him.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“You just gave more thought to those bags of cat food than you give to what you feed yourself most of the time,” she replies with a smile.

“She's just a kitten,” he huffs, slightly defensively. “Someone's got to look out for her.”

She steers the cart further down the aisle towards the toys and beds. “Anything else you want to get while we're here?”

Wyatt rubs his eyes tiredly. “Nah. She'll need a bed and some toys, but there's a pet store not far from here. I can get more stuff tomorrow when she's settled.”

They check out, load the goodies into the truck and head back for home, where the kitten is still meowing her lungs out before she's released from her temporary prison. Wyatt sets up her litter box in the laundry room and sets out her food and water dishes in the kitchen, which she attacks enthusiastically. He swoops down to pick her up before she's able to finish off the entire bowl, rolling her to her back and tickling her tummy.

“Whoa there, tiger, slow your roll a little bit. Don't want you to get sick and start puking your guts up on your first night home, do we?”

Lucy peeks her head in the kitchen doorway. “She is pretty darn cute, I have to admit. I don't think 'Tiger' quite suits her, though.” She reaches over to tickle the kitten under her chin. “What should Wyatt name you, hmm?”

“I think she looks like a Sadie.”

Lucy nods approvingly as Sadie's tiny, sandpapery tongue swipes over her fingertips. “She seems to like it. Nice to meet you, Sadie.”

As Sadie swats Lucy's hands away and wriggles so she's cuddled closer to Wyatt. Lucy chuckles knowingly. “Okay, I see how it is. I'm gonna crash in the guest bedroom. I'll see you two in the morning.”

Wyatt holds Tess up, waving one of her paws. “Good night, Lucy,” he squeaks in a comically high-pitched voice.

9:00 A.M, Saturday morning.

After waking up much later than her usual on a Saturday, Lucy dresses for a morning run, to be followed by a stop at her favorite bakery just a few blocks away from Wyatt's apartment. She;s stopped short in her attempt to tiptoe out his front door quietly by the sight in his living room.

There, flopped on his couch where he must have fallen asleep the night before, is Wyatt, still dressed in last night's clothes. Sadie is stretched out across his chest, also asleep and purring loudly, her head tucked up just under his chin.

Lucy stealthily opens the camera app on her phone and takes a couple of quick snaps. Flipping through the pictures, she selects her favorite and texts it to Rufus and Jiya with the following caption:

Meet Wyatt's new roommate, Sadie. I think this may be the start of a beautiful friendship.

#nbc timeless #timeless fanfiction #weekly challenge #wyatt logan #lucy preston #rufus carlin

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fundeadasylum · 7 years

Text

All the Silverware and Dishes are Poisoned

I am literally the worst for writing this.

Teslaverse. Definitely not canon. Alternate ending for the Severance Contingency thread. This is not a happy one shot.

Warning for suggestions of violence, gut spills, guilt trips, vivisections, and a slow spiral into madness.

EDIT: I wrote this five hundred years ago and I still hate myself for it. And for some reason you psychos wanted to see it, so here it is.

———

He tried keeping track of the days and he managed it for almost a month.

Then they did something and he lost heaven only knows how much time and after that he gave up and just let the hours pass.

They were much more careful with him this time. Maybe careful wasn’t the right word. They certainly didn’t treat him nicely but they didn’t treat him as a child either. He was an object to be contained and studied again. The thought chilled him to the core and made him feel sick.

When he ran screaming at the door, pounding and scratching at it, calling for his friends, they shackled him to the wall.

He had no idea where Simon was.

His mind unhelpfully provided him scenarios about just what they were probably doing to Simon.

He threw up against the wall until there was nothing left in his stomach and then dry heaved until he thought he’d choke to death.

****

He fought back when they came for him. He scratched and bit and hit and kicked anything he could reach. Then they tasered him and he woke up sore and teary-eyed strapped to a chair in that horrible, bright orange straight jacket.

They had to wait for him to calm down before they could get a word out of him.

“It was Agent Kass! He said—“

“We know what happened.” They interrupted him a lot, talked down to him. Dib didn’t think it was just because he was a kid, “What we want to know is where the scip you and your…associate stole is.”

They wanted Zim. Of course they did. Dib felt a flare of protective jealousy—Zim was his project—before he settled for glaring at them. Panic clawed at his chest and he couldn’t stop the quivers shaking his frame. There was no way to get out of this, not now. They’d be watching him too closely.

When they put him back in his cell, chained to the wall by his ankles and a length of steel cable, he shouted a swear word at the closed door.

Kass would have been proud.

****

“Pathetic.”

Dib jolted and stared around the room, eyes wide, chest heaving.

He could have sworn—

But no, that was silly.

He put his head back in his knees and closed his eyes again.

He tried to remember how to breathe.

****

The room looked smaller. He knew, rationally, that it was not. But it felt like every time he sucked in a breath, the walls moved in a little closer.

Dib held his breath to see if it would stop the walls from shrinking in on him. It didn’t work mostly because he couldn’t hold his breath from that long. He decided to stop looking at the walls and went back to trying to worm a finger under the cuff on his ankle. There was an itch under there that was driving him crazy.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s only that driving you crazy. Just an itch you can’t scratch.”

Dib looked wildly around the room, panic making him shudder.

He’d heard it that time, he knew he had.

He knew that voice.

“I’m a little hurt, kid. I thought you’d be happier to hear from me. I mean, at least I’m someone to talk to, right?”

“No,” Dib blurted, eyes wide, still looking around for the source of the voice. A source he knew, he just knew, he wouldn’t find, “Because you’re not—you can’t be—you—we l-left you—“

“Left me out in the Void.” Future Dib’s voice finished for him. It was a sneer, a curl of disgust and hatred that made Dib flinch,

“I really should find a way to thank you for that.”

“N-no, no! You’re not really here! This is—this is some kind of trick!” Dib shouted at the ceiling, at the locked cell door, standing on a shaky soap box to try and convince himself, “Y-you guys think I’m gonna f-fall for your—your mind games!? Or whe-whatever! Not happening! Let me out of here! Let me go! LET ME OUT!”

“That’s funny,” Other Dib’s voice chuckled coldly from nowhere and everywhere at once,

“I said the same thing.”

****

“Where’s Simon?”

“—about where you’ve been these last few—“

“Where. Is. Simon.”

“—really don’t think you’re in any kind of position to be—“

“Where’s Simon!?”

“—if you don’t calm down, we’ll—“

“WHERE’S SIMON!? WHAT’VE YOU DONE WITH HIM!?”

“—containment breach! Just—“

“IF YOU’VE HURT HIM I’LL KEH—I’LL KILL YOU! WHERE IS HE!? WHERE’S SIMON!?”

“—someone get this kid under control—“

“—holy shit! He’s—“

“WHERE IS HE!? WHERE IS HE WHERE IS HE WHERE IS HE WHEREISHEWHEREIS—“

****

The new cell was smaller but the ceiling was higher. The walls were padded and there were cameras high up in every corner of the room. Dib tried to reach them but he kept falling and eventually decided it wasn’t worth the bruised tailbone.

He was no longer allowed out of the cell without a straight jacket.

It had been oddly satisfying to bite that agent hard enough to break skin.

“This is just rich.”

Dib flinched and backed up against the wall, gaze darting around the room. The tracking bracelet on his ankle rubbed his already raw skin. That had been added after the fifth escape attempt. Well, they called it an escape attempt, Dib called it trying to find Simon and get the fuck out of this place.

“Look at you, you’re a mess. See what happens when you don’t follow your destiny, kid? You should have listened to me. You should have become me.”

And there he was, lounging against the locked cell door as if this were a palace. That winning smile was a twisted sneer of victory, his arms crossed across his chest, head cocked at an angle that spoke of observation and scorn. The harsh lights of the room caught the blue of his goggles and splintered it.

Dib make a dry squawking sound and flatted himself against the wall. He wished he could sink through it.

The Other Dib, the one from that hoorible future, the one they’d left trapped in the Void, pushed himself off the door with his shoulder and walked slowly across the room. He owned the space he moved across, exuding an air of confidence that was nearly tangible. Dib wanted to be sick but all he could do was slide to the floor to try and keep as far away from his alternate future self as possible.

“Yh-you’re not real.” He said, trying to sound firm, trying to believe himself. Other Dib’s sneer widened, “You’re not real! They’re s-still trying to get information out of me! This is a trick! Where’s Simon you slimy bastards!”

Other Dib let out a low whistle, stopping a few feet from Dib, “Wow, what a potty mouth you’ve become. Picked that up from Agent Kass, did you? Hey, what happened to him anyway? He was tied up with you in that van, right? Do you think he’s dead? I bet he’s dead.”

Dib pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He would not give in to their taunting. He was stronger than this! He would get out of here! He had to! He had to find Simon! He’d find Simon and they’d get out and they’d go back to 1 Tesla Drive and back to Dee and back to Mab and back to home cooked meals and Zim screaming at him. Back to adventures through fizzling portals and shady pasts, back to too many cans of Black Plasma and a fridge that stole eggs, back to ghost hunting shows hosted by idiots with fake equipment, inventions that half worked, the smell of sulphur and burnt wood.

Back home.

“I wanna go home…” Dib whimpered into his knees as he curled up, trying to shield himself from the Other Dib’s onslaught of verbal abuse, “I want to go home…”

****

Light in his eyes.

He squinted and half turned his head away.

Hands on him.

“Suh…”

“SCP-7772 is awake.”

“Sih…”

Something cold in his mouth. He spat it out instinctively. It was forcefully jammed back in and he realized dazedly it was a thermometer.

Why was it so hard to think straight?

“Temperature: normal. Heart rate: slower than normal but that might be the sedatives.”

“Si…”

Metal? Metal. Metal! There was metal!

He jerked. It held fast. A strangled sob shook his voice as he tried to speak,

“Si…mon…”

“Fuckin’ nutcase. Keeps crying.”

“It is a kid.”

“From another dimension, yeah.”

“Still human.”

“Apparently.”

“Simon…!” His voice was hoarse, shaking. Was he crying? What was happening? He felt sick, “Simon! Where’s S-Simon!?”

“Not this again…”

“Shit, kid’s like a broken record. First that Keter and then that humanoid with the weird heart.”

“Think it actually cares?”

“Simon! Simon! Where are you!? Sh-S—h-help! Somewh-one! Simon!”

“Someone shut it up before it gets hysterical.”

Ice. Thin. In his arm. Metal. Heard to breathe. Hard to think straight.

“Pathetic, really. Could have been something. Now look at you.”

“We should just put it out of it’s misery…”

“You almost sound like you give a shit.”

“Hey, bro, why’re you given up so easily?”

…Simon?

****

He tried keeping track of the days.

He tried making plans to escape.

Nothing stuck.

They started leaving the straight jacket on.

It was driving him crazy.

“Oh, is that really the only thing that’s driving you crazy?”

“Why didn’t you ever come find me?”

Other Dib was a regular. Dib had given up trying to get them to stop tormenting him with whatever they were putting in his cell to make him see these things.

Sometimes there was someone else.

Dib refused to look at them.

They had a gaping chest cavity and jagged cuts and there was something important missing from their dripping mass of internal organs.

He’d looked once.

They’d had to sedate him for a while.

“Hey Dib, when you get out do you think we could make a detour to look for my heart? I think they’re keeping it in a jar somewhere.”

He dry heaved on a painfully empty stomach and tried to remember how to breathe.

****

“I wonder if Dee’s okay…”

“She’s probably dead.”

“….nuh-uh. Mab woulda taken care of her when I never came back. Zim’s probably okay too.”

“Just keep telling yourself that.”

****

“I’m sorry, Simon…”

“That sure amounts to a lot, doesn’t it.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

****

“SCP-7772 is mentally degrading at an alarming rate.”

“You want to do something about that?”

Dib kicked his foot off the edge of the exam table so his tracking bracelet banged against the metal edge, glaring at the two men in the room with him. They were all talking about him like he wasn’t there, ignoring him, treating him like something inhuman and not worthy of their attention.

He could see Other Dib in the corner, leaning against the wall and sneering at the room as a whole.

“We’re supposed to keep going until we find out where SCP-7771A and B are.”

“Think it even knows what we’re talking about anymore…?”

“I’m right here, you know.” Dib spat, banging the tracking bracelet on the edge of the table again. It sent a jarring sensation through his leg to his bone, “You could just talk to me.”

They shared a significant look that made Dib’s mouth taste sour. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of dripping red and a hole where a heart was supposed to be. He swallowed the churning in his stomach.

“All right, 7772. Where did you hide the Keter?”

Dib rolled his eyes, “Not tellin’. Besides, he’s probably not even there anymore so even if I did tell you, it’d be pointless.” He sagged back against the exam table, squirming in the straight jacket, “Why don’t you just ask Agent Kass, I bet he’d be more than happy to spill his guts.”

One of them laughed,

“He already did. They’re all over one of the basement containment cells. Amazing how much honey was inside him…”

Dib nearly fell off the exam table as he tried not to be sick. The men started laughing. Other Dib was laughing too.

It sounded like Simon might have been crying.

****

“I’m never getting out of here, am I?”

“Probably not.”

“Maybe if you tried a little harder, you could have saved us both, bro.”

“I…I’m going…to die here…”

“Now wouldn’t that be an ironic ending.”

****

He thought time was going in reverse.

Not going backwards but just. Not flowing the right way.

Because while the hours upon hours of interrogation and threats and physical pain seemed to drag, the time between them was endless. Nothing but limitless spans of time where nothing was happening. There was no one in the room except for him.

Well, him and those phantoms.

Always, always, always the mocking phantoms.

At least they were familiar.

****

The door to his cell was nearly ripped off it’s hinges by the force that threw it open. Dib watched it through a haze of sedatives as it bounced off the wall and nearly slammed shut again. He figured this was probably a dream of some kind, brought on by drugs and exhaustion.

Mab strode through the door, all fury and elegance, grace and danger, her hair wild about her in a cloud.

Oh yeah, definitely a dream. No way Mab would come to a Foundation site for him.

“Oh Dib…” Her had was warm on his cheek and he chuckled weakly. What a realistic dream this was, “I’m so sorry it took this long to get to you. But with only ZiM and I…”

“Wait until she finds out what you let happen to Simon.” Other Dib said in his ear, “Not that Simon didn’t deserve it, but I mean…”

“Hey! I did so not deserve this!” Simon had his hands on his hips behind Mab, scowling. Blood oozed with syrupy slowness over his fingers, “Sure, it’s Dib’s fault but I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Dib closed his eyes and ducked his head with a whimper.

“Dib? Look at me, please. We need to get out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.”

“Sah—Simon.” Dib wheezed into his chest.

A hesitation.

“I know, darling.” Mab swept him up into her arms and headed for the door, “I know. It will be all right. No one is angry with you. We will all be all right.”

****

There were scars.

Marks on wrists and ankles from struggling. Jagged lines from needles ripped harshly away. Raw red cuts never treated properly because someone had gotten mouthy. A sickening set of stitched together lines that no one talked about.

Those were nothing compared to what happened inside their heads.

****

He tried keeping track of the days.

It was easier when he could see the sun moving across the sky.

Mab helped. She helped them both.

Simon didn’t move like he used to.

ZiM yelled a lot. That helped too, in a weird way. Dib thought ZiM was angry. He never asked.

Time felt like it was moving normally again.

None of them returned to 1 Tesla Drive.

They moved on. And closed the portal behind them.

#angst with a somewhat happy ending????#idk i just skimmed this again it's not terrible i guess tweaked it a bit here and there #im the worst #time to eat the rest of my candied popcorn and watch shit go down b y e #teslaverse

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