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deliciousangelfestival · 9 days

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Nothing Has Changed - 5

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , -

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

You left Bucky dumbfounded after you tried to hit him. You were so angry after hearing that you got fired and lashed out at him.

If he wants to report you, so be it. You don’t care. You have lost everything. You’ve got nothing to lose.

You went to see your dad, who was arranging flowers for the next family.

“Dad, I’m going back to the city today,” you said, your voice tight.

“What’s the result?” Tom asked, remembering today was the day for the investigation results.

You rubbed your nose with your finger and cleared your throat, trying to hold back tears. “They let me go, but I got fired instead. But hey, at least I got my money back.” Your bank account had been unlocked by the judge, and you wanted to go back to the city to get all your stuff and sell your penthouse.

Tom looked concerned. “You want me to go with you?”

You shook your head. “No. I will come back after two days.”

“I’ll drive you to the station,” Tom offered, his voice filled with worry.

You headed back to the car and noticed Bucky wasn’t there anymore. As you drove to the station, the silence between you and your dad was heavy with unspoken words.

When you arrived at the station, you saw Natasha again. She looked at you with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy. “You’re using the train? Why didn’t you use the car that Bucky gave you?” She felt bitter since Bucky never offered her his car, yet you, who had just come back, could use it.

You knew from her tone that she was jealous. You just said, “It’s too slow.”

Natasha scoffed, “Yeah right.” Then she left.

You rolled your eyes; she hadn’t changed at all.

******

You arrived back in the city. Once, you thought this place would be your home. Now, you just wanted to leave it behind.

You didn’t want to set foot in the company again. You told your secretary to throw away all your stuff. Besides, there was nothing important. You had already secured everything in your safe deposit box. That’s why you had to clear your name to get access to your bank account back.

Early the next morning, you went to the bank. All you needed was the pen drive. It held all the leverage you might need. If someone tried to put you in a bad spot, this would be your last resort.

As you entered the bank, you felt a sense of relief mixed with determination. You approached the safe deposit boxes and signed the necessary forms. The pen drive felt heavy in your hand, despite its small size. It contained all the proof of strange transactions and could clear your name or take down those who had wronged you.

After securing the pen drive, you took a moment to breathe. Once a place of dreams and ambition, the city felt like a battlefield you had barely escaped.

After that, you got into the taxi to go back to your condo. As the car stopped at a red light, you saw the tall building—the headquarters owned by the Drysdale family.

You used to come here every morning, even sleeping in your office sometimes. But now, it was all in the past.

It still left a bitter taste in your mouth. After everything you did, they just threw you away. You wondered who would replace you since you knew your skills were unparalleled. No one could match you.

What made you so upset was Ransom. Until now, he hadn’t replied to a single message or email you’d sent him.

To be honest, you saw it coming. The friendship between you two had long since deteriorated. There was a time you liked him, but those feelings vanished after overhearing a conversation at a party where Ransom talked with his friends.

One of his friends had asked, “What’s up with you and her? We’ve noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

Ransom scoffed, sipping his whiskey. “Nothing. I only see her as numbers. She’s the key to making me lead the company.”

“Wow,” his friend had replied, impressed.

You were heartbroken when you heard that. But part of you had expected it, knowing that Ransom was out of your league.

You arrived at your condominium and began packing. You had once thought your life was sad because your place was so empty. But now, you were grateful since it meant you could move out quickly.

You gathered everything into your luggage and boxes.

'Ding.Dong'

Then you heard the doorbell. You wondered who it could be. Besides your assistant, Ransom was the only other person who ever came to your place. Could it be him? But he never replied to any of your texts.

You looked at the camera by the door and saw Ransom on the screen. He looked a mess.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and confusion bubbling up. You hesitated for a moment before opening the door. Ransom stood there, disheveled, his eyes hollow and tired.

You were confused. Should you open the door or not? On the other hand, you needed answers too.

Holding back your anger, you opened the door. Ransom was taken aback. He didn’t seem to expect you would actually open the door for him.

You stood behind the door, opened your arms as if welcoming him, and said, “You owe me an explanation.”

Ransom, hesitating for a moment, put his hands into his coat pockets and walked into your condo. He noticed the luggage and boxes scattered around the living room.

“You're leaving,” he observed.

Ransom scratched his head, frustration evident, then put his hand on his waist and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You gave him a stern look. “Why are you upset? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He turned to face you, his eyes red and tired. “It's for the best.”

You scoffed, incredulous. “That's it? After years together, you just throw me away like that?”

You pointed your finger at him, anger boiling over. “I knew it was you who framed me for insider trading.”

Ransom walked past you, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He drank slowly, as if buying time to gather his thoughts. Finally, he opened his arms and leaned against the marble counter. “It's more complicated than you think.”

You crossed your arms tightly. “I'm not in the mood to solve a puzzle.”

Ransom sighed. “Three days before the FBI raided your office, my family heard Harlan’s will.”

After Harlan’s funeral, his will wasn’t read immediately. It was his last request to delay the reading.

“What’s that got to do with me?” you demanded.

Ransom’s eyes bore into yours. “Because Harlan chose you!”

You felt like the ground had been pulled out from under you. “Me?” you gasped, speechless. Now, it all made sense—why none of the Drysdales were willing to help you. They were angry, feeling like you had stolen their birthright.

“It was my mom and her siblings who contacted the FBI and got you fired,” Ransom admitted.

“And where were you?” you yelled, hugging yourself tightly. “You’re no different from them! You left me alone.”

Ransom took a step closer, placing his hands on your shoulders gently. “I was captured.”

You raised your head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Really?”

He nodded, his expression sincere. “They let me out after they finally got what they wanted.”

"For you to get fired," Ransom began, his tone sympathetic as he addressed the issue.

“Why? I also didn't know that Harlan chose me. If you had asked me, I would have refused it,” you expressed, your voice tinged with disbelief and frustration as you crossed your arms tightly, your body language mirroring your inner turmoil. Your brow furrowed, and your shoulders tensed as you spoke, emphasizing the weight of your words.

“I know. That's what I told them,” Ransom replied, pulling you into a hug, his embrace offering both comfort and reassurance as he wrapped his arms around you securely. You stiffened momentarily in surprise at his gesture before relaxing into the embrace, your body melting into his as you allowed yourself to be comforted.

“Their plan backfired though,” Ransom continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and exasperation at the situation.

“Huh?” you responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your body tense with anticipation as you awaited his explanation. Your arms remained crossed tightly over your chest, a defensive stance reflecting your skepticism.

“The employees made a petition for you to come back,” Ransom revealed, his tone tinged with amusement at the irony of the situation, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

You were left speechless, the news catching you off guard. You had always kept to yourself at work, never realizing your impact on your colleagues, your eyes widening in surprise as you processed his words.

Ransom chuckled softly. “You're the reason why we got triple profits and they got bonuses. Why would they want to lose you?” he remarked, admiration evident in his voice, his gaze locked on yours with a mixture of fondness and respect. You offered a small, hesitant smile in response, your body language softening as his words sank in.

For the last few years, the projects that you and your team worked on have consistently generated significant profits, earning you the respect and appreciation of your colleagues, a sense of pride swelling within you as you recall your past achievements.

You nodded slowly, a sense of validation washing over you as you acknowledged the impact of your work.

“And I'm here to tell you that you're not fired,” Ransom declared, his words carrying a sense of relief and sincerity, his eyes searching yours for any sign of acceptance or understanding.

You were supposed to be happy when you heard that, but with your father's condition, you had second thoughts.

You pushed Ransom away, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

Ransom looked puzzled. “What?”

You struggled to explain, “The reason why I said no is because of my dad. He's got cancer.” And you're still hurt by the betrayal from the company you've worked for a long time.

Ransom's eyes widened. “You went back home and met your dad?”

You nodded your head.

Ransom couldn't believe this. He had never heard you mention your dad until now, and it was the first time he saw you being vulnerable.

“Alright. I can't stop you,” Ransom said resignedly. He knew you had to go, but he was going to miss you. It would be difficult to find a talented person like you.

“Wait. Does it mean you've met the people who made your life miserable?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You should show them the new you,” Ransom suggested. Having attended the same high school, he had witnessed what they did to you.

You looked at Ransom, considering his words. It was strange hearing him advise you like this, given your complicated history. But there was a sincerity in his voice that made you pause.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still uncertain.

Ransom nodded, his expression softening. “They don't know what they're missing out on. You've grown stronger, more resilient.”

You managed a weak smile, appreciating his attempt to boost your spirits. Despite everything, there was a flicker of gratitude for his unexpected support.

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ilguna · 5 months

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Can you do finnick odair with Marjorie by taylor swift for the piano sessions . Like finnick is grieving after reader dies in the sewers . I LOVE some good finnick angst

Ps I absolutely adore your work

☼ marjorie (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention.

wc; 1.7k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, Marjorie by Taylor Swift.

District Four is haunted by the ghost of you.

Finnick knew it would be hard coming back here, which is exactly why he’s been putting it off for so long. He needed more time to come to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be by his side when he did it. It helped that he wasn’t immediately released from the Capitol directly after the rebel’s victory.

There was a set time period for the victors from the Star Squad to recover from their adventure in the sewers. Whether it be from physical, emotional or mental wounds. In Finnick’s case specifically, all three. He nearly got torn apart by the pale slimy mutts if it weren’t for you, coming in to save him. Ultimately, losing your life for him.

It’s hard for him not to blame himself. He knows that’s not what you would want, it was your choice to jump in front of him. He wishes you hadn’t. He’s sure that he would’ve found a way to get out of there, and he’d much rather you be here, than him. You deserved to live.

The vote that Coin conducted regarding another Hunger Games with the Capitol’s children delayed his trip home further. In fact, it set off a whole domino lineup that he’s sure Katniss never thought would happen. She knew there would be consequences, of course, she just didn’t take the time to think about how severe it would be.

Finnick voted no to the idea twice. Once for him, because he would never subject them to the years of torture he had to go through, especially since they had no hand in the Games. And one more time for you, because you would never have entertained the idea.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because the vote went through. The same evening, Katniss was to execute Snow on live television, when instead she took the life of Coin for suggesting such a tasteless idea. This was when the dominos began to fall. Her actions caused another couple weeks of trial while they assessed her wellbeing. While that happened, an emergency election took place, where Commander Paylor took charge of Panem.

When Katniss was granted permission to go home to District Twelve, so was everyone else that was in Capitol custody. For the first time in Finnick’s life, he could go anywhere, do anything. Despite the fact that it should’ve felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, they felt heavier. When he imagined the light at the end of the tunnel, he always pictured it with you. Not by himself.

There were many people around Finnick that tried to support him. The most important of them being Johanna, who did tell him that he didn’t have to go back to Four if he didn’t want to. She wouldn’t mind it if he decided that he wanted to live with her for a little while, or even permanently.

With him being away for so long, he had to go home. He ached for it. The same way he ached for you to be in his arms, for you to kiss his face, for you to calm the rising grief in his chest for all the people you lost together.

Finnick’s never felt more alone.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he stepped off the train a month ago, but it wasn’t the flood of memories that hit him while standing on the station. All of the times you’d gone to the Capitol together to mentor for the Hunger Games. How he held your hand every time while you carefully stepped off, because of the one time your foot slipped. His promise for it to never happen again.

It didn’t end there. It doesn’t matter where Finnick goes. It doesn’t matter how far he runs. He’s gone to the beach, and relived the picnics and the sunrises and the stargazes. The way you’d brush the sand from his skin, the minutes that never seemed to end when he had his eyes on you.

The first day he went to the market, he was met with all the sorrowed faces that frowned in his direction. Every single one of them knew how much you meant to him. If you were out of the house, usually he wasn’t too far behind, going wherever you went. If it meant he was able to spend more time with you.

It got worse when he returned to Victor’s Village, where he was met with a cemetery of houses that belonged to the victors that used to live there. With the rebellion, almost everyone had been wiped off the map by the Peacekeepers. And if not by them, then the rebels, who were afraid of the loyalists.

Besides Finnick, the only other victor that survived is Annie, but she lives with Katniss’s mother now. It was too painful of an idea for Annie to return here, she likely would’ve broken down completely. She can’t handle the memories the same way that he can.

He wishes he could say that he escapes reality in his house, that he’s able to pretend that nothing’s ever changed. And you’re still across the street, baking cookies with the door wide open. But his house is haunted, too. Finnick knew that one day he would regret inviting you to live with him at his house, when you had offered for him to move into yours.

He thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Finnick never intended for the two of you to fall apart, he was going to hold you two together for the rest of your lives if you allowed him to. He never considered that an outside force would wipe you off the face of the planet forever.

He should have taken your offer, because maybe then it wouldn’t be so painful to stay here, in his own home. Maybe he wouldn’t be crying in his bed at night, clutching your pillow, begging for you to come back. For a sign that you’re still around, waiting for him.

You’re everywhere, you’re inescapable. Your favorite tableware is in his cupboards, the one that your family has been using for generations. The one that your kids were supposed to use as they grew up, and eventually take as they gave it to their own children.

Your favorite soaps are in his bathrooms, which he’s too afraid to use. He had to buy new hand soap to avoid using the one that you’d gotten. He doesn’t touch the shampoo and conditioner in the shower. He doesn’t even sniff the body wash that sits on the ledge of the tub.

Your decorations are carefully placed throughout the house. You brought life to his kitchen, his living room, his bathrooms, his hallways, his bedroom. Pieces that he never would have thought to grab in the past, because he couldn’t see the point of having them.

Your favorite smell is embedded in the blankets on the bed you shared. With your preferred perfume still sitting on the bedside table, waiting for you to come back. It would bother Finnick when you would spray his side of the bed, but now he would give anything for you to do it again.

Your makeup is on the vanity on the far side of his room, the jewelry box is propped open, the silver and gold collecting dust because he doesn’t want to close it. And your clothes are still taking up half of his closet, which he resists smelling every hour of the day.

Johanna told him to get rid of all of it. Or, at the very least, bring it back to your house, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s yours. For a brief moment in time, this place was yours too. Even if your belongings are gone, your feet are still imprinted in his wooden floors. In his mind.

You linger.

There’s a trace of you in every path you walked, in every object you touched, in every person you talked to, and in every breath of air that Finnick takes. This becomes increasingly obvious the longer Johanna stays with him.

“Maybe you and Katniss should spend some time together.” Johanna suggests, arms crossed over her chest. She looks over Finnick. “I heard that she’s not doing very well either.”

Of course not. Katniss lost more than she probably ever thought she would. She went through with being the Mockingjay to free Panem, but more importantly, to keep her sister safe. The whole reason why she ended up in that position was because she didn’t want her sister to go into the Games. Now that she’s dead, not even her own mother will return to Twelve. And the person she loved hasn’t stepped foot back, either.

When Finnick tears his eyes from the pot of fake greenery in the corner to look at her, the scowl on her face smooths out.

“No gossip.” She breathes, arms unfolding. “(Y/n) would’ve scolded me by now.”

Finnick presses his lips together, wanting to keep the growing pressure behind his eyes contained.

“You and Katniss got along though, didn’t you?” She asks. “I thought I saw you getting close while we were in District Thirteen.”

He nods. “We had a lot in common.”

“You still do.” She says, the expression on her face has changed once again. This time to concern. “Finnick, are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’m sure.” Finnick breathes.

If Johanna stays, then she’ll ultimately end up trying to erase the time you put into him. She’ll try to take his mind off of all the things he knows about you. How you loved the amber skies in autumn. The way you’d pull him into the freezing beach water, while he complained the whole time.

The song you’d hum on the way back to his house, holding his hand up until the very minute you got into the shower together. He should’ve asked you what you were thinking about, he should’ve listened to every word.

‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from him.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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leggerefiore · 5 months

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Holiday Memories

cw: pla ingo, fluff, Christmas celebrating

pairing: Ingo/Reader

As Christmas drifted in again, you wondered if Ingo could remember anything related to it now. Hisui had changed things in him by taking his memories. While he was almost certainly still the man you had fallen in love with, there was simply a period of readjustment that had followed his return to Unova. By the time that the winter season had begun to slither in, he had seemed mostly adjusted back to the modern day from the near past he had been in.

Yet, you could see his inability to recognise the sudden strings of lights that decorated Nimbasa this time of year or how he was simply stumped by the large tree in the middle of the Gear Station. It seemed to be yet another thing that you and Emmet would have to explain to him, and hope it clicked something in his head to recall even the smallest detail. He sat down and closed his eyes, clearly trying his best to remember. Certain things had come back, thankfully, yet many seemed to remain lost. Maybe Christmas would be one that left a lasting impression on him enough to remember.

Unfortunately, that had not been the case. Ingo shook his head and sadly told you both that nothing had come to mind despite his beat attempts. Emmet was obviously hurt by it, as he was with most things when Ingo failed to remember. But, there was another feeling that surfaced. Determination. A glance towards you was an obvious request for something. You sighed but felt an urge to help.

The two of you later pawned off Ingo onto Elesa while you both decorated the apartment to a frightening degree. Emmet did not favour traditional colours yet somehow managed to find endless monochrome holiday decor. Though, a few obvious exceptions seemed to be a Christmas train set and a few pokemon themed items that made their way out. In the end, everything was almost catered to what the two twins enjoyed.

Ingo was taken aback when he was returned to the apartment, clearly both intrigued and nervous by the sudden changes. He stepped in and eyed everything from the garlands to the train that ran along a railset on the floor. The twin froze as he attempted to process it all. Emmet stood beside you, almost vibrating nervously. There was a desperation for this to stir something within Ingo.

The older twin simply watched the train follow along its track. He was completely fascinated with how it moved. A small chuckle came from him as it went around the living room with ease. “… Did we… have something like that when we were younger?” Ingo eventually broke the silence and looked to Emmet for a response.

“Yep!” The younger twin eagerly nodded, “It annoyed our mom, but we wanted it verrrry badly.” Ingo nodded along and brought his band to his chin to stroke his goatee.

“Yes… Yes, I remember that,” he recalled, “You had it run over your foot one year and stared crying…” Emmet suddenly became flustered. The memory seemed to be a real one.

“You always bring that one up!” Emmet turned away from him. Ingo let out a chuckle. You felt yourself let out a laugh, too. A huff came from the younger twin. “You also had your foot run over! You nearly broke glass with how loud you were!”

Ingo pondered his words for a moment, clearly trying to remember the scenario described. You both watched as his cheeks grew pink, and he looked away from you both. “I was not that loud, Emmet,” he retaliated. Emmet began to argue that he nearly ruptured his ear drum. You watched them with a smile. They almost seemed back to normal during moments like this.

Later, you caught Ingo alone in the living room after Emmet had gone to bed. He was sitting on the couch observing everything again in silence. You tentatively took a seat beside him and leaned into his side. His arm came around you as you both just observed everything in silence. Last Christmas, all you had wanted was him back home. Now you had it, but he was not the same. He could never be the same again. You turned to him to find him staring at you. His silver eyes were filled with tender emotions.

“… I wondered why I felt so lonely around this time of year in Hisui,” Ingo suddenly said, “I see now that I was never truly alone until then.” You froze. “… There was a professor in Hisui... A Galarian. He offered to let me spend the holiday with him. It was nice, but… It wasn't this,” he continued as his other hand came to grab yours, “Dearest… Were you lonely, too? Was Emmet? I'm sorry that I allowed this to—” You shut him up with a kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pushed him down against the couch. Your head came to rest on his chest after you broke the kiss. His body was much more muscular than it had been when he left.

“I'm just glad to have you back,” you mumbled out. He remained silent as his hand rubbed at your back.

“... I'm glad to be back here as well…” he sighed.

It seemed that peace had returned once more.

Until Ingo suddenly shot up.

“I need to get gifts!”

You could only watch as he ran out of the apartment in a panic, forgetting his keys and wallet. Poor Ingo…

#pokemon x reader #ingo x reader #pokemon ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon ingo/reader

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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a/n: this is part 4 for the enemies to lovers lockwood x reader (out the window) that has been requested by quite a few people! thank you all for your continuing support i love you all <;3 @simrah1012 @wordsarelife @aislinrayne @helpmelmao @superpositvecloudshipper -> since you all were waiting so patiently :)

warnings: descriptions of blood and injury gn reader

full series collection: here

"Five jobs in the past week alone. I think you're starting to make all of these up to spend more time with me."

Lockwood grins at you from across the room. If not for the box of doughnuts he'd showed up with as bribery, you wouldn't have let him into your flat again. You're exhausted.

"I can promise you, they aren't being made up. Every case you help us with gets us more and more business. Which, speaking of, have you thought any more on my offer?"

You take a bite out of a particularly yummy-looking doughnut, taking a minute to reply. "And have this amount of work almost every day? Are you trying to kill me?" Another bite as he laughs. "But, yes, I've thought about it."

"And?" He looks eager, excited even.

"Let's see how this case goes today, then I'll make my final decision."

Despite not getting a straight answer, he grins. "You don't even know what it is you're being hired for."

"And?" You shrug. "Might as well. You'll only muck it up without me."

Leaning back against your kitchen counter, you watch Lockwood carefully. In the past few weeks, something about the dynamic between you two has changed wildly, though it's perhaps not the worst thing ever. Within a month alone, you've gone from hating his guts to being able to joke about with him, which is progress, but there's something else hidden beneath it all, a greater motive your soul is striving for.

It's easier to understand his mannerisms now, too, which makes working together a little easier.

Like, now, for example: he's tapping his fingers against the handle of the mug that has now been designated his, which is the only inclination of his anxiousness. It's not as strong as it would be if he were donning that big grin of his while shaking his foot with his legs crossed.

"So?" you say. "What's it this time?"

"Haunted school."

"Ooh, exciting. Haunted by who?"

Lockwood smiles. "A bunch of angry Catholic nuns."

"How many are we talking?"

"Well, the local kids - this is just out of London, by the way - can't seem to agree on a number, but we're thinking at least half a dozen. Some seem to be Type Ones, so easy enough to handle, but there might be a couple of Twos."

Nodding, you take a sip of tea. "Sounds like fun. George at the Archives?"

"He and Lucy," Lockwood says. "They'll meet us at the train, so, if you wouldn't mind coming back to Portland Row with me to get their gear, too, that would be great."

"Oh, so it was already assumed I'd be joining on this case?"

His smile only widens. "Would you really have turned it down?"

"No," you say with a grin.

You grab another doughnut, holding it between your teeth as you grab your duffle bag, and fasten your belt with your rapier and mix of salt bombs and magnesium flares around your waist. The entire time, you can feel Lockwood watching, but, strangely enough, it doesn't leave your skin prickling with unease. Slinging your duffle bag over your shoulder, you turn to him, taking a bite out of the new doughnut.

"Want one before we go?"

"I'd never turn a doughnut down."

The train is cool, and you believe the air conditioning deserves a raise. Outside, it's sweltering, and you were sweating by the time you reached Portland Row with Lockwood, never mind the station.

George, within minutes of sitting down, has his notebook and some newspaper clippings sprawled out on the table. Lucy sits beside him, setting things out in a way that makes it make a little more sense - at least to her - and sips on a milkshake you're both sharing.

"The nuns were murdered a hundred or so years ago," George starts. "They had been killed upon finishing the day teaching the schoolkids, but the killers were never identified. Brutal murders: some slashed at the throat, some stabbed, some were even -"

"We get the idea, George," Lockwood says. "What else do we know?"

He barely looks at his notes. "The school is relatively unchanged. Since the start of the problem, they've hung up a few iron and silver crucifixes and crosses, decked the place out with lavender. All the seats and tables have been replaced with iron ones, but the layout is essentially the same. The nuns were killed in the classroom, and that's where they've appeared, according to the locals. A few kids have been hospitalised or killed by ghost touch, along with one of the few teachers."

You frown, looking down at one of the newspaper clippings. "Says here that there were eight that died. That's a lot of Visitors to go up against."

Lockwood waves a hand nonchalantly. "We've dealt with worse, Haven't we, guys? The three of us once took down fourteen Wraiths."

"Kipps' team saved our asses, you mean," Lucy says, taking an angry sip of the milkshake. "Are we sure this isn't more than what we can handle?"

"A few of them sound to be Type Ones," George says, confirming what Lockwood said earlier. "My thinking is that the one in charge, Sister Something-or-Other, will definitely be a Type Two. She has the most reason to want revenge - it was her that was in charge, and it was her fellow nuns killed."

"This is why we've brought extra chains," Lockwood says, and you don't miss how his knee brushes against yours. "Plus a stockpile of spare salt bombs, and we have magnesium flares if we end up needing a last resort. I wouldn't have agreed to this case unless I knew we were capable."

You take the milkshake from Lucy, sipping from your straw. "I don't know... I mean, do we have any clue what the source could be? It's not like there will be anything left of them if it was a century ago."

"Could be an old floorboard left from back then," George suggests. "Or a Bible. That seems likely."

"I still don't feel good about this," Lucy says.

"We'll be fine," Lockwood insists. "Just a few harmless nuns."

Spoiler: it is not just a few harmless nuns.

Upon reaching the town, a crowd of locals rushes up to meet you and the members of Lockwood and Co, showing you the way to the school while recounting stories of what has happened so far. It's a lot of noise, and someone shouts in your ear at one point or another, but it takes only a short amount of time to reach the school.

It looks like the kind of Catholic school you'd see in the movies: almost like a church, made out of dark stone, a cross embedded in the large front door. A fence - this one modern and made from iron - surrounds the playground, which has been deserted for a short while.

A woman stands at the foot of the stairs leading to the school. She's maybe in her forties, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a pretty blouse, but the look on her face is enough to make you even more uneasy than you already were. Horror.

"Lockwood and Co!" she says brightly, but her voice trembles. "Thank you so much for coming."

Lockwood flashes her that ridiculous grin of his and, sure enough, she relaxes a little. "It's our pleasure, Mrs Garrett."

She tries for a grateful smile, but it looks more like a twitch. "The school has been closed for the past week since the last incident of ghost touch. No one has been inside lest the ghosts kill us all."

"That won't be happening, I assure you," Lockwood says. It's infuriating how confident he is. "We'll be rid of these ghosts in no time. For now, I suggest you all start making your way back home; curfew will be soon, and we work best when we're not worrying about your safety, too."

"Thank you, Mr Lockwood," Mrs Garrett says. She can't get off the steps quickly enough.

Soon enough, the playground is emptied of locals until it's just the four of you. The sun is making its slow descent in the sky. Even though it's still bright, ghost lamps begin flickering on. Four are posted at each corner of the playground and, distantly, you can see some on the street of houses, barely working.

Lockwood claps his hands together, startling you. "Right! Shall we get started?"

You want to say absolutely not, but you follow him up the steps regardless.

The inside of the school is chilly, but you don't think it's because of ghosts yet. The entrance hall is small, with pegs on the two side walls with little nametags above each for jackets. Silver crosses hang at random intervals, between boards full of poems and drawings that are too hard to see in the growing darkness.

"Sixteen degrees," George says. "Steady temperature, no malaise or miasma. Who has the gum this time?"

"Me," you say, and your voice echoes slightly.

The classroom itself is moderately sized, packed with tables and chairs, but it's the only one, judging from the only other rooms around being a staff room, a small canteen area, and toilets. Small town, small school.

Lucy calls from one corner of the room, "Fourteen degrees."

"Sixteen," Lockwood says from over near the entrance to the classroom.

"Sixteen," George says parallel.

"Ten," you shout in the final corner, close to the staff room door and the teacher's desk. "Little bit of miasma."

You chew on a piece of gum to keep the bitter taste out of your mouth and wish, despite the summer heat, that you'd brought a coat with you.

"Death glows near where you're standing, (name)," Lockwood says. "At least eight."

An iron circle is set up close to your corner after pushing tables and chairs out of the way, and George places a dim lantern inside it, along with the duffle bags. For extra precaution, another layer of iron chains surrounds the circle.

"Hear anything, you two?" Lockwood asks, glancing between you and Lucy.

"Nothing yet," Lucy says, and you shake your head in agreement.

The silence makes you uneasy as you slowly patrol the area, flashing your torchlight over everything, trying to find out what the source could be.

For a while, the four of you sit in the iron circle, drinking your melted milkshakes and tea, munching away on the snacks you made sure to pack. The room grows darker and darker until there's only a small circle of light from the lantern, kept low to encourage the appearance of the Visitors.

Suddenly, Lucy's head snaps to the left. "Do you hear that?"

You stop eating, focusing on using your Talents and, sure enough, a faint sound creeps into your ears.

"- Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven -"

"Prayers," you murmur. "It's the nuns. They're here."

"Apparition appearing," Lockwood says.

A faint glow appears on the other side of the room. You all stand, turning to look at it. A nun, only a few years older than you, hovers between the desks, careful not to touch them, praying softly as she cries. She pays no attention to the four of you, focused solely on her prayer.

George points. "Another one."

Over to the left of the first, another nun appears, looped in the same situation as her sister, praying and crying. Slowly, the voices become louder, and their crying becomes clearer as more and more appear all across the room.

"Six of them," Lucy says. "But, where are the -"

A scream only Lucy and you can hear deafens you, and you stumble backwards. Your foot catches on one of the chains, and you trip over it, falling out of the circle. Before Lockwood is able to grab you and hoist you back inside, the sounds increase by tenfold, even more horrific than before. You can hear their sobs, their screams of agony, their desperate prayers to be saved that go unheard and then, finally, one more death loop.

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive others," an ominous, scratchy voice says, soon joined by a second.

You latch onto Lockwood when you regain your footing, unable to let go as you stare at the two apparitions slowly approaching the iron circle.

Two more nuns, their robes rustling in a non-existent breeze. One wears a cross around her neck. Her face would've been beautiful, once, but it's hard to tell with the blood covering it. With a start, you realise that one of her eyes is missing, and a number of scars cover her face. The other nun is free of blood, but her neck is bent at an awkward angle, and her head lolls slightly as if her neck has been broken. Her eyes are unseeing, but you can still feel her gaze.

"Wraiths," you say. "You said you fought of fourteen once, right?"

"Well, sort of," Lockwood says. "Lucy was right. Fittes may have come along and held them off."

"It shouldn't be too bad," George says, but he doesn't sound too confident. "Only two of them. The rest are Type Ones."

Lucy swears. "Type Ones who have the room surrounded."

It's a struggle to quench your fear, but you manage, slowly letting go of Lockwood's arm. "Plan? And don't say improvise."

He smiles. "You know me too well, (name)."

"Plan?" Lucy repeats, a little more urgently. The Wraiths have come even closer, a mere foot or two away from the iron circle.

"George and (name), you find the source. Lucy, you think you can communicate with these things?"

She scowls. "I'll try."

"It was nice knowing you guys," George grumbles.

You look at Lockwood, clutching his hand without even meaning to. "Don't be reckless."

He grins, squeezing your hand softly, and it gives you confidence. "When am I ever reckless?"

Before you can say always, he leaps out of the circle, drawing the attention of the Wraiths. Lucy follows shortly after, and they make their way over to the other side of the room, shouting and throwing salt bombs to keep them distracted.

"See if you can hear anything," George says. "We might have a better chance if you can get any clues from that."

Eyeing the Type Ones nearby, you drown out the sounds around you. The screaming arises again, but you force your way through it, searching for anything else. You're vaguely aware of the sound of fighting a little bit away, and the quiet crying and prayers still continue. And, then, there it is. Someone speaking, her voice filled with confidence and vigour.

"Sounds like... like a Bible verse. Lamentations - that's a verse, right?"

The sound of George's feet scuffling brings you back to reality, and you see that he has darted over to the teacher's desk. He flings papers off the table's surface, throws drawers open and scavenges through them.

Meanwhile, you draw your rapier. The Type Ones are drawing ever nearer, curious. Over at the other side of the room, Lockwood and Lucy are holding off the Wraiths, but it seems to be proving hard - the Type Twos' attention is wavering, flickering over to George.

"You might want to hurry up," you say over your shoulder. "You're starting to draw a lot of attention."

"I'm trying!"

With a grumble, you rush around the desk, crouching down to help the search.

Not even a minute before Lockwood yells, "(name)! George!"

All of a sudden, the table flies backwards, slamming you both into the wall. You can't help but cry out in pain, stuck underneath the weight of the wood. What business does a teacher have needing such a heavy desk?

But, then, there it is.

"The net!" you shout, more winded than you realised. "We need the net! Throw it!"

George's eyes catch where you're looking, and he starts trying to push the desk off you both. With it on top of your legs, it means you can't get into the last drawer - the one holding an aged copy of the Bible.

The sound of metal links hitting the wall sounds above you and, as dual screeches of rage fill the room, you grasp the net tightly, using all your strength to push the desk up, and shove the net into the drawer.

All sounds fade away, and the room becomes dark once more.

Shoes squeak on the floor, and then Lockwood's and Lucy's faces appear, dusted in salt. Together, the four of you manage to stand the desk back up.

With help from Lockwood, you stand on shaky legs, breathing hard. George is not better.

"What took so long?" Lucy asks, but there's no anger in her voice, just relief.

"You know when you're looking for something and it shows up in the last place you check?" you say. "That."

Lockwood still hasn't let go of you, and the warmth of his hands is a welcome feeling. "Well, they're gone now. Are you both alright?"

"Sore," George grumbles. "Stupid ghosts."

Unsure of whether it was George's words or the relief of being alive, you all laugh, the sound reverberating off the walls. You find yourself leaning into Lockwood's side, either for his warmth or the comfort of a living body, but you don't mind. Actually, you quite like it.

"So, have you made your decision?"

You open your eyes, trying to make it look like you weren't just falling asleep on Lockwood's sofa. The fire is just so warm, and the tea you drank in seconds was awfully calming.

"I have."

"And?"

Looking at him, you have to suppress your smile. Something about his smile, the subdued excitement of it, and this unpolished look of his - his tied loosened, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and his hair slightly ruffled - has your stomach doing flips.

"I'll join Lockwood and Co."

The grin that splits his face lights up something inside of you. In the year or so you knew him before 'The Incident', as you call it, and then the past month spent working with him, you've never seen such pure elation on his face.

"Really?" he says.

You nod. "Really. Figure I might as well. Business is slow otherwise and, I have to admit, cases with you lot are quite fun, even if I'm getting accosted by tables or thrown out of windows."

As you sit up, he moves so that he's sitting beside you. You can feel the warmth and happiness radiating off of him, and it makes you happy, seeing him that way. His hand closes around yours, calloused and strong, but his grip is gentle. It sends sparks coursing up your veins. No one but him has ever touched you so carefully, so intimately.

"You won't regret this," he promises. He's awfully close.

You grin. "I better not. I don't really fancy becoming a freelancer again. Terrible pay."

He laughs, and your heart skips a beat, strangely enough. "I'll make sure you're awarded the correct pay for someone of your high status."

Now you're laughing, too.

Slowly, you turn your hand in his until your palms are facing, and you feed your fingers between his. The touch is enough to have your heart hammering in your chest. His eyes, so dark as they look into yours, sparkle, and it's something you don't think you'll ever tire of seeing.

Well, in all reality, you don't think you'll ever tire of seeing him.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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thislovintime · 2 months

Photo

The Monkees with CFUN DJ's Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner in Vancouver, April 1, 1967.

“Regina: CKCK’s Terry David Mulligan claims to be the first Canadian air personality with an interview with the Monkees and he has a tape to prove it. Anyone wishing a copy can take Mulligan up on his boast by sending him a blank tape and he will return a dub to sender. Terry also did a 30 minute Christmas show with Peter Tork, his sister and brother. They sang cuts from the Monkees new LP (Mulligan sings too)[,] sang a few carols and just chit-chatted in a relaxing mood.” - RPM Canada, January 28, 1967 (this Christmas 1966 anecdote was previously posted here and more about Christmas 1967 here)

“History records that The Monkees played their first Canadian concert in Winnipeg on April 1/1967. What never gets mentioned is that the first time all four Monkees set foot on Canuck soil was many hours earlier, in Vancouver, while en route to Manitoba’s capital city. Top 50 radio station CFUN assigned two deejays—Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner—to meet Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork at Vancouver International Airport. A photo op ensued in a private waiting area as the lads waited, shortly after sunrise, to board a connecting flight. 'If you study that picture, you could tell two of the guys (Davy and Peter) were really into it and the other two (Micky and Mike) didn’t really want to be there,' recalls Mulligan (second from right in photo). 'They weren’t pissed off at us. They were just tired and weren’t particularly into having their picture taken that early in the morning.' Nevertheless, all six exchanged pleasantries. Despite the early hour, Davy Jones seemed friendly and 'Mike Nesmith was so whip smart, while Micky Dolenz had this interesting Hollywood vibe about him,' remembers Mulligan. Terry and Peter got the opportunity to renew acquaintances. The previous year, when Mulligan was spinning discs at CJME Regina, 'who should walk in but Peter Tork. Of course, I asked: "What are YOU doing here?" And Peter answered: "My dad (Halsten John Thorkelson) teaches at the University of Saskatchewan and I dig your radio program."' Peter would take a couple of additional breaks from Monkees commitments to visit his family. Each time, he’d visit Mulligan at CJME. 'We’d always have really good off-air chats, in between as I was playing records.' For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner (second from left in photo) boarded the plane bound for Winnipeg with The Monkees. 'I remember being at the tail of the plane while The Monkees and their entourage were much further forward. I walked up there at one point and noticed some of them were sleeping. So I went back to my seat as I didn’t want to bother anyone.' Prior to the late afternoon Monkees concert at the Winnipeg Arena, Tanner said he killed some time walking 'what seemed to be the coldest streets in Winnipeg.' Indeed, band insider David Price would mention the frigid 17 degrees Fahrenheit daytime temperature when he subsequently wrote a four-page article titled My Life With The Monkees—That Wild Canadian Weekend for 16 magazine that detailed the April 1 concert in Winnipeg and the ensuing show in Toronto on April 2. Price, who also served as a decoy for Davy Jones (in addition to other band duties), claimed The Monkees came to Canada aware of rumours that attempts might be made on their lives during the two concerts. In the 16 magazine piece, Price wrote: 'Mike asked me and his friend Charlie Rockett and Mike’s wife Phyllis’s brother Bruce Barbour to make sure that any packages that landed onstage were thrown off again, because one of them might contain a bomb.' In the end, the only ‘bomb’ at the Winnipeg show was a water bomb hurled at Micky Dolenz atop the seven-foot high stage just before opening song Last Train To Clarksville. Seconds before, the four Monkees burst out of phoney amplifiers on either side of the stage, with the boys having hidden themselves within when the house lights were momentarily turned off. Likely backing up The Monkees onstage was Candy Store Prophets. If so, that band’s members—including guitarist Tommy Boyce and keyboardist Bobby Hart—had played on many early Monkees studio tracks that Boyce and Hart produced. Winnipeg-based Electric Jug & Blues band opened the show. Press reports later revealed that before the concert, rambunctious fans charged past about 30 police officers as the band left the Hotel Fort Garry for the arena. Monkees publicist Don Berrigan described the incident as a 'near riot' adding 'Mike and Davy were knocked down. It was really nasty.' There were apparently well over 400 police and security inside the arena. Perhaps it was the security concerns that resulted in Winnipeg and Toronto fans receiving slightly shorter concerts than about a dozen previous American shows in late 1966 and early ‘67—13-song setlists, three less than south of the border. The Winnipeg concert marked the first time Peter Tork-sung Your Auntie Grizelda, was played publicly. 'He really dug it, and so did the audience,' wrote Price. [...] Back in Winnipeg, after final song I’m A Believer, the band rushed to limos to return to the hotel, before taking an evening flight to Toronto. A subsequent Canadian Press article noted that one policeman was taken to hospital after a wire retaining fence collapsed on him when 'thousands of fans surged towards the rear exits in an unsuccessful bid to catch a glimpse of their departing idols.' The officer was treated for cuts and abrasions and released. The official capacity of Winnipeg Arena was 11,800. But Price claimed that several hundred additional tickets were sold just before showtime, resulting in an attendance closer to 12,500. Later that Saturday night, The Monkees checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport in what Price described as near-blizzard conditions. For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner got a kick out of the 'wild and crazy' show he had just witnessed. 'It was kind of a thrill being there.' The photo taken back in Vancouver earlier that day would be published in the April 8 copy of the C-FUNTASTIC FIFTY survey given away at Greater Vancouver record stores. Part of the photo ID read 'They said it couldn’t be done' — likely a veiled reference to doubts that The Monkees would trek north for concerts so soon into their existence.” - Richard Skelly, Facebook, April 1, 2022 [x]

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rosewaterraindrops · 9 months

Text

Nandermo Blocking and Season Finales

In past seasons, people more knowledgeable than me have written meta on the way Nandor and Guillermo are positioned at different levels in relation to one another, and I found it super interesting! Every previous season finale has left us with a very specific image of Nandermo that we've carried with us to speculate about what their relationship will be like in the next season. So I wanted to do an analysis on Nandermo's relative levels/blocking in the two-part finale of S5 and see how it compares to previous season finales.

Here’s a rundown of the previous season finales.

S1 (top left): This one is sending mixed signals. Guillermo is looking down at Nandor, but it’s in an act of servitude. Nandor’s scolding Guillermo, thinking he’s the one in charge, and he has no idea that Guillermo is beginning to discover his vampire-killing powers.

S2 (top right): Guillermo is elevated, looking down at all four vampires, and this time he’s very clearly the one in charge. Nandor is literally tied up and helpless and forced to confront how powerful Guillermo really is - and we know that Nandor defends him and respects his power in S3.

S3 (middle row): This time, Guillermo is looking down at Nandor, who’s kneeling on the ground, and they’re both happy about it. Guillermo has just passed Nandor’s “test” and they’re about to embark on their journey, which will end with Guillermo becoming a vampire. Nandor even happily agrees to take Guillermo’s bag to the train station. This is the most equal we’ve ever seen them be (up to that moment).

S4 (bottom right and left): They’re on the same level, both sitting down in chairs, and I don’t think either one of them is fully clear on where their relationship currently stands. Guillermo slips back into his familiar role after Freddie is gone, but something feels off. They don't even appear in a frame together, which is why I had to get two different screenshots. It’s not very companionable, it’s awkward, and it sets up a tense dynamic in S5.

By and large, these finale images have given us hope that Nandor and Guillermo will be on more even footing in the following season. The blocking never reinforces Guillermo as a servant, but rather elevates him in relation to Nandor and aligns with each finale’s sense of anticipation - how will the two of them respond to the latest change in their power dynamic? How will Guillermo assert himself further next season, and how will Nandor react?

That brings us to the end of S5. We get some really pivotal moments in which the dynamic is shifting yet again, starting with the scene in S5E9 in which Nandor has found out about Guillermo’s turning.

I think they made a deliberate choice to have the cages be elevated here. They could have made it so that the Guide and Guillermo are looking down at the prisoners somehow. But instead, even from his cage, Nandor is the one fully looking down at Guillermo. It’s emphasizing the emotion of the current moment: Nandor is angry and ready to enact his revenge on Guillermo for his “betrayal”, and Guillermo is full of regret.

Then in S5E10, they reconcile, Nandor has Guillermo drink human blood, and we get this moment.

Guillermo literally rises up to be above Nandor as he embraces his vampirism, and Nandor is looking on with wonder. It’s reminiscent of the S3 finale, in which Nandor was happy to be looking up at Guillermo - and that time, Nandor had just promised to make Guillermo a vampire. When it comes down to it, Nandor wants Guillermo to embrace power and vampirism, and when Guillermo takes joy in his power, Nandor does too.

So what’s the last Nandermo image we’re left with until S6? It’s this:

We have never, not once, had a season finale that ended with Nandor looking down at Guillermo - until now. Their dynamic has been constantly shifting ever since S1, but the consistent thread has been that Guillermo gains power and confidence, while Nandor gains more respect for Guillermo as a companion and a warrior.

But now? Guillermo has just rejected power, rejected vampirism, in favor of being human, and seconds later he’s on his knees, looking up at Nandor, being ordered by Nandor to clean up Derek’s corpse. Nandor isn’t surprised or awed, he’s not happy, he’s not confused or pensive - he’s just sympathetic and probably very disappointed. He likes when Guillermo embraces power and Guillermo just did the exact opposite of that. This is a clear image of a servant and his master.

I’m sure this isn’t a full regression to their S1 dynamic, and I assume the show will find a way to make it new and interesting. But this is a striking last image of Nandermo that we’re left with until the next season, and when compared to the previous finale images of Nandermo, it really stands out in an unsettling way. Let’s hope that in S6, Guillermo doesn’t take too long to embrace power again - because we know that that’s what he and Nandor really want.

#wwdits #wwdits spoilers #wwdits s5 spoilers #nandermo #wwdits meta

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yril-writes · 11 months

Text

— NEVER AGAIN

synopsis ; they say promises are meant to be broken, maybe they are right. But this glimpse of hope inside you says it's okay to push through, and who knew that trusting your gut would just put everything into flames and turn to ashes the next day.

scenario ; reincarnation?! Wherein Sukuna choose the life of being a yakuza?! And you choose a normal one, to be able to live peacefully but there comes a time that you have to move into the city one day.

type ; drabble

include/s ; ryoumen sukuna

pairing/s ; yakuza character x fl! reader

genre ; angst and a mountain full of sad corn

Promises are meant to be broken, is what they say. But that is not what you wanted to believe. Some may say you are naive which is true, but you see the world like it is something that's pure and full of opportunities without even having thoughts about what's bad about it. Now that you are moving in the city, you didn't even bat an eye about the decisions you are making, you only thought that this was a great idea for your flower shop business nothing more nothing less. The reason why you were on your way into the city is because your grandmother felt ill and there is no one able to look after the shop while your grandmother is in the hospital, so you the lovely granddaughter offered a helping hand, and immediately went there.

"City! Here I come!" dragging your suitcase and carrying a bag behind your bag you made your way to the train station. The trip wasn't all that hassle or anything, in fact it was fast. Since it was in the bullet train. Upon arriving at your destination, the breeze immediately filled your nostrils, you thought that the air in the city is completely different back home, of course it is. The moment when you set your foot out of the train it felt different, everything is different how they wore their clothes and even lifestyle here looks different, and here you are a bumpkin girl from the outskirts of nowhere. Seconds later you received a phone call it was your grandfather, immediately answering you were greeted with cries of worries and you quickly reassured them it didn't take too long for your aunt to come and get you from the station.

She immediately directed you towards the flower shop and toured you around, the second floor of the shop looked like a normal mini house and your aunt told you that you can stay there until your grandmother recovers. Going upstairs the room took you by surprise because it was perfect and cozy, unpacking your things and you hear the bell of the shop down stairs chime. Running down the stairs you immediately greeted the customer who came in without having a look at them first. "You're not the old lady who owns this shop." with a low deep voice, you were stunned to see a tall figure in front of you, wearing white fitted polo enough to see every curve and muscle this guys had to offer and a black slightly fitted slacks and a pair of black shoes to pair the outfit up. "My grandmother is in the hospital and I was asked to run this place starting today! So Mr. Hot Man, I MEAN! Mr. Scary Hot Man! What can I get you?" slamming both of your hands on the counter top, and giving yourself a little kick on the other leg you had, you feel your ears and the back of your neck turning red from embarrassment.

(Oh! Please kill me now!!!) you were dying inside while holding up a grin in front of the scary looking guy. "I'd like to have some white roses turned to a bouquet and a nice presentation would be nice." he said in a low tone and sat in the waiting area beside the counter area where you were standing, staring at nothing. You were completely frozen, taken back from the request and demand of the man. (SIR! I DON'T KNOW HOW TO! AT LEAST GIVE ME A BREAK! A simple one might be good for me but a bouquet?...this guy...) screaming internally you wished to be swallowed whole by the floors you were stepping on. The man didn't move an inch from his seat, not even paying attention to what you were doing in the counter, those eyes of him seemed somewhat sad and empty you thought. "So, Sir, these flowers...I bet you are giving them to someone who's special to you...!" he stood as if frozen into place, he only looked at you and shrugged, "I bought these because I wanted to let go of that person.

This is a farewell gift." he shrugs and gives a sad grin, though his eyes look as if it was going to burst any seconds now. "It was nice to see you again, I hope that we never crossed paths ever again." he utters those words under his breath with you not hearing those words clearly. After he buys and pays for the bouquet he leaves, like the breeze this summer, it comes and goes as it pleases.

a/n ; I think I'll be having angst stuff to put out for today lmao, enjoy the sad corn.

taglist ; @sammushy @jasugoi @ryuuudesuwa @gcj-doesart

content/s ; part one | part two

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necroromantics · 5 months

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🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 12. // (masterlist)

After a drawn out goodbye from his family, Toby had once again made his way back to his new home in North Dakota. He never stayed long in his childhood home, as if every time he set foot in that place, there was a scorching feeling within him that beckoned him to escape. On the way to the train station, he had stopped by an old antique store hidden in the recess of downtown Denver, a hidden gem it seemed only he knew about; his own corner of the world. In that little shop, Toby had spent his last trip savings on a small pocket watch for Natalie. He couldn’t seem to get the hands to move, but decided to tell her it was a deep metaphor for time, or something of the sorts.

The excitement of Christmas lingered, frost flushing the boys pale cheeks as he hurried through fields of snow, eager to arrive at his warm destination. The only ounce of color that painted the winter-blanketed countryside was Toby’s wild brown hair, which too had been dusted with falling snowflakes. As he ran up the creaky steps of the front porch, and fumbled with the house key, the boy could already feel the glow of the lit fireplace. He had hoped he left enough wood when he came back home, and to his luck, it seemed he did.

Natalie sat on the couch in the living room, leaning into the crackling flames, a sketchbook propped up on her raised knees. She turned her head up to look towards the noise of Toby walking into the room, and raised her eyebrow at him as he began to dig into his backpack.

“Here, I got you a little something on my way back,” He said as he pulled out a small box, and handed it to the girl who looked entirely indifferent, maybe uncomfortable.

“Hey, welcome back. And I thought we agreed on no gifts.”

“Yeah, well, I just saw it in passing and thought might as well. Don’t be a bitch Nat, just open it.”

Natalie rolled her eyes as she awkwardly dug her fingers under the lid of the box, and pulled it open. She stared down at the pocket watch for a moment as Toby eyed her blank expression. He thought he may have seen a hint of happiness in that typical glare of hers, or maybe it was disgust. The same type of look she’d always give him.

There was a tense silence for a moment before Natalie took the clock out of the box, and examined it closer, before putting it on the coffee table beside her and picking up her pencil once again.

“You really shouldn’t have wasted your money,” She said quietly as she avoided his gaze, continuing to work on whatever it was she had been drawing. Toby tried to choke back his anger, and took a seat next to her.

“I guess I shouldn’t have,” he sunk into his seat, “when’d you get back home?”

“Really early Christmas morning.”

“I got back to my mom’s place early. I think she was happy to see me, I scared the fuck out of Lyra though.” Toby smiled to himself as he sat himself up straight, and tried to lean over to see what Natalie had been working on, to which she turned her sketchbook further out of his view.

“But it was nice to see them regardless. It’s weird being able to visit my mom anytime I want, like actually go up and see her. And on Christmas I get to hangout with my sister, not just visit her gra-”

Toby trailed off with his words as they caught in his throat. He shook off the bubbling feeling he didn’t have a name for, and tried not to think of all the Christmases he had spent in the old world standing over his sister's grave, placing little trinkets he’d found down alongside flowers. Natalie glanced over at the boy, and noticed a strange type of sorrow settling itself on his face. A grief for something he hadn’t lost. A love for something that had only left him once.

“So you had a good time?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, great time. Last night was just spent with Lyra and I arguing over what movie to watch. Obviously I won, so we watched Die Hard. And apparently my mom was actually planning on surprising me by coming up here, but I got to her first.” Toby rambled on as a smile crept back onto his face. Though relieved at his returning excitement, Natalie couldn’t stop herself from ruthlessly beating down any feelings of envy for what her best friend had. Even in a world where nothing was wrong, her family was still a mess. She couldn’t seem to feel as happy as she should’ve been for him. There was only the sense that he was leaving her behind; that he was going where the grass was greener, while she was stuck with graveyard dirt and rot.

Natalie gripped her pencil a bit too tightly, and stood up.

“I’m going to go make a pot of coffee.”

Toby held a large bunch of freshly chopped firewood in his arms, his hatchet remaining in his free hand that draped around the wood. He dropped the lumber down onto the ground outside the backdoor, and took a deep breath in. He stared down mindlessly at the wood for a moment as the cold outside air danced around him. It was a chilly afternoon, and he could feel the frost build a home on his calloused hands. Toby continued to stare as time passed by him, slowly tightening his grip on his hatchet. The boy took another deep breath and the windchill overtook his tired lungs. He shook himself off, snapping himself back into the moment, and left to go back inside. Toby made his way into the bedroom, slowly opening the door so as to not wake his friend who had once again been sleeping in. Natalie had been sleeping so much that she was almost only awake for work, going back into her room as soon as she got home. The Christmas excitement had worn off, and had left them both miserable and bored. There was no more holiday cheer, only a cold, dead winter that surrounded them. Toby quietly closed the bedroom door after watching the sleeping girl for a moment, and sighed to himself.

Later that winter, Toby had begun to hunt animals as well, selling the meat to the local butcher shop which processed it for him. There was a rich population of deer and rabbits in the area, and Toby bought himself a shotgun off of Hank, the owner of the bar Natalie had been working at. The boy would often make the impulsive decision to leave the gun at home; he enjoyed the thrill of the chase when he used a close-range weapon like his hatchet. He always pushed his body to run as fast as it could to catch up to the prey. And a sick satisfaction that added to it when he finally caught it, holding the squirming animal down to cut its head off in one quick swing. To him, that was what made hunting so fun. To him, that was what he was built for.

He would often stay out late at night in that forest. Natalie never bothered to ask what he was always up to in his midnight lonesome. Toby would typically come home to find her fast asleep, or on some nights, still awake in that quiet farmhouse watching cable TV. When she saw how blue his hands had become, how red his cheeks, she would scold him for nearly getting frostbite, and Toby would brush her off as he crept up close to warm himself by the fireplace.

The afternoon sun glistened off the snowy fields as Natalie stared out of the kitchen window, a warm cup of coffee held in her hands, her eyes heavy with residue from her long sleep. She took a long sip before turning around and heading into the livingroom where Toby laid, lifting his head up to look at the girl entering the room, dropping it back down as he caught a glance.

“My mom called me again the other night,” he said.

“What’d she say?”

“I dunno, I didn’t pick up. I have a hard time talking to her.”

Natalie looked down at the boy sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Before all of that proxy bullshit happened, I was only her son. I keep forgetting that.” He sighed to himself as he sat up, bringing himself to his feet.

“I’ll go call her back.”

Toby pushed past the girl as she stared at him with an awkward sort of sympathy. There was a part of her that still wished she too could be lucky enough to be able to call her mother. There was a strange feeling that Natalie only lived in Toby’s shadows. That he had the luxury of family, connection, life, while she only had her morning cup of coffee that she held in her charcoal stained fingertips.

Once Toby had finished with the call his mother kept dragging out, Natalie suggested they go for another one of their walks around the forest near their house. She noticed that Toby would always have something new to share with her about the area. Some strange facts about the trees he cut down, some casual stories of a random happening. He always had something to talk about, and she always had time to listen. It had gotten dark out early into the evening, as the nights typically did that long winter. The two strolled down into the abyss that engulfed the gravel roads near the decaying farmhouse they lived in, heading towards the lights of the town in the distance. The birds had all flown south, and no deer dared to cross their path. It was another quiet night, only the sound of the pairs passing laughter and chatting filled the chilly winter air in the dead darkness.

“You seriously broke the hands?” Natalie said, holding the pocket watch Toby had gifted her in her palm. She had made it a habit to carry it around with her everywhere.

“I didn’t break them! I just couldn’t get them to work,” He replied, throwing up his hands in defense as they walked down the desolate streets of the town, only a few flickering street lamps lit up the dark roads.

“You told me it was a metaphor for time.”

“I lied.”

Natalie laughed as she collided her body into the boy's side. Toby smiled back and snaked his hand around her waist as they walked around aimlessly together. Though her heart was as cold as her hands, as dead as the winter roads the two walked through, she liked him. She liked him to ruin, to ash. And he liked her with a warmth greater than the fire between them. They could’ve burnt that town to the ground if they wanted.

It seemed that through all the suffocation and massacre of the wintertime, the two still found solace in each other. Partners in crime. As they walked in the dark, there was a remaining memory of all the things they had done together. All the blood they shed, all the things they stole, everything they tore apart. It was them against the world, they were both far too stubborn to let the mutual destruction go. Toby wondered who else could stomach them, and not choke them back up. Who else could see that girl in all of her wild insanity, her sharp gnashing teeth, her ruthless tongue, and not run for the hills. Who else could fight with each other, and for each other, as mercilessly as they did.

Through the sound of their banter, teasing, and rough laughter, there was a harmonizing symphony of something breaking, like glass, or a window pane, that screeched through the open air. The two stopped in their tracks, standing silently in the dead of night, glancing around the lifeless neighborhood for any signs of movement. Suddenly, they heard a scream, and a loud bang of a gun, and then silence again. Toby quickly ran towards the noise, watching as a man wearing a face mask scrambled frantically out of the house and down the streets, past the boy. Natalie rushed after Toby as he bolted up to the shattered window and peered in. The only thing he saw was a woman on her knees, wailing over the body of her dead child. The snow fell gently down onto the ground below his feet, the boy stood frozen, stuck in place, looking into the window of that dark house. Through shallow, shaky breaths, he inhaled the stench of blood and death. The world stopped for a moment, the cries and pleads from that mother were so loud, so guttural, it almost strangled him, and that murder wasn’t his burden to carry this time.

“Toby we need to get out of here,” Natalie whispered harshly at the dazed boy, the sound of approaching sirens mixing with the screaming sobs coming from within the house. As soon as the girl grabbed the boy's hand, he quickly snapped back into the world, and turned to face Natalie before she began to pull him away from the window, running through the icy streets.

They ran as fast as they could, back through the quiet abyss, down the gravel roads, up the creaky front porch steps, into the warm farmhouse. There was no laughter, no cheers of victories that they had escaped the police. Only the sound of panting as they desperately chased after their breaths. Natalie looked up at Toby, who looked to the floor as he breathed heavily. She calmed herself before he did, there was a contorted look on his face, as if he was about to vomit.

“Toby?”

Toby snapped his head up towards Natalie, and shook his head, brushing her concern off and walking towards their bedroom. She followed after him and watched as he took off his sweater, shirt, then socks, and climbed into bed without another word. Natalie silently flicked off the light, the cold air still burning in her lungs, and laid herself down next to him. The warmth from his body heated her icy hands as she pressed up against his back which was turned towards her. Natalie closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, listening to the quick breathing from the boy next to her. It seemed he still hadn’t caught his breath.

That night, Toby dreamt he was walking alone under the early morning sky, barely dawn, only the birds were awake. He had blood on his hands, a gash in his cheek, goggles around his neck. He gripped his hatchet in his hand as he walked past a playground, and noticed a little girl alone, playing on the monkey bars. Toby kicked the dirt with his mud-crusted and blood-stained sneakers as he hoped she wouldn’t scream at his crimson soaked appearance. Then, he noticed how empty the area was, how quiet. And he noticed the girl was now standing in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” He asked, irritated.

“I don’t know, they leave me here.”

“They leave you here alone?”

“Mhm. A man took me from my momma and he leaves me here sometimes.”

Toby stared down at the little girl who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. He furrowed his brow with annoyance, and brushed her off, walking past her and into the forest that surrounded the park. He didn’t look back as he left that little girl there alone. He had better things to waste his time on.

The boy fluttered his eyes awake, the night skies still darkening the room. Natalie slept beside him, occasionally muttering to herself. Toby felt a deep, soiled sort of feeling in his chest. Like he had just swallowed mud, or buried a body. He pulled himself up out of bed, and walked sluggishly through the dark, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Toby rubbed his eyes, and leaned over the sink, spitting down the drain to remove the sour taste in his mouth. His hands gripped the edges as he held his weak body up, spitting again, and glanced up into the mirror. He stared at himself for a moment. He looked at the circles under his eyes, and how they’d gotten darker since when he had first come to the new world. He looked at his young face, still only a seventeen year old boy. He looked at how his scars were no longer there, how the gash in his cheek was still gone. Toby had avoided mirrors for so long, he almost forgot how strange he looked. Everything in that reflection looked like a rotten mutt, like he was looking at the decomposing body of a man who knew he wasn’t going to see the pearly gates when he died.

It made him sick. And that sickness crawled its way up from his gut, and into his throat. He gagged for a moment, glancing away from the mirror, and spat into the sink once again. Then, Toby began to throw up. There wasn’t much to remove itself from his stomach, but he retched, and he spat, and he choked. Toby felt as though something horrible was about to happen, like maybe against all odds, he’d finally collapse and die in that bathroom. And like he did back on the floor of his childhood home, he half-wished he would.

Toby wiped his mouth and rinsed his hands off before heading back into bed. He made sure to not touch his body up against Natalie’s as she slept. He made sure to keep that distance between them. And though he tried, Toby couldn’t seem to fall back asleep. He listened to the sound of the old bell alarm clock Natalie had bought tick away, creating a gentle ambiance that cradled him. It reminded the boy of the times he’d fall asleep with her back in the old world. Under trees by a dim campfire, in old abandoned cabins, on torn up mattresses. Toby always had struggles sleeping, there was always something to consider before he gave himself the right to rest. Was his father up late drinking? Did he have a job to do? Were there any dangers? Did he reinforce the door? Was he given orders? Had he done something terrible?

Countless nights afterwards, Natalie would wake up to find Toby shaken, trying to find God in the bathroom light, trying to wash something off his fingers. Sometimes, he would scrub so hard he would bleed, and that red was only confirmation to his beliefs that his hands were still stained. In his reckless mind, he would never escape what he was, what he’d done.

“Toby, come back to bed,” the girl groaned through a tired voice, shaking the sleepiness off of her heavy body as she made her way to the boy's side. Her hands gripped his, in a tender telling that everything was fine. She pulled him with her back into the bedroom, and the two sat together on the mattress, a gentle creak giving way under their weight. The girl nudged his body with her arm as a form of tough intimacy. Natalie never knew how to express herself besides roughness. Toby knew this, and let her show herself to him in her entirety. It worked out well for the both of them that he couldn’t feel pain. But to him, as long as it was her, it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

“You shouldn’t let it get to you, you know. It’s not like you’ve done anything bad here besides steal a few things, and who gives a shit about that?” Natalie said as she leaned into Toby.

“Yeah, I know. I just keep having weird dreams.”

“About what?”

“Killing people, I guess.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, it’s just a dream.”

“It feels more like a memory.” Toby looked down at his hands which had been scrubbed to the bone, pieces of skin flaking off, bleeding from his nails and the cracks in his fingers. Even when he washed, the blood didn’t come off.

“Yeah, Toby, you’ve killed people. I have too. But damn we’re lucky we get a clean slate. All of those people you hurt are probably still alive and well in this world.”

“That doesn’t matter Nat, it doesn’t change anything. At some place, at some time, I killed people, and now it’s all gone like it was for nothing.” Toby swallowed and breathed in the darkness surrounding them.

“I killed people for no reason at all. All of that shit was for nothing. You- You think I wanted any of that? You think I wanted to be stuck in that fucking place, doing all those things just to survive?”

“I know-”

“No! Nat, you don’t know shit. All the fighting and screaming and blood. All the losing time, losing my fucking mind, losing everything. And for what? I was supposed to die in that forest fire, I never asked to be saved” Toby raised his voice into a shout as he stood up. Natalie looked up at him as Toby ran his hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he tried to calm himself down.

“I’m just really tired, Nat.” His voice cracked as he spoke quietly. Natalie reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling him down into her. She leaned back as the boy pressed his body on top of hers.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I know you never wanted it to be this way. Neither did I,” she hushed as she ran her fingers through his hair. Toby sniffled to himself in the dark silence of the room. Natalie dragged her hand down his spine, rubbing his back as she quietly hummed the tune of ‘you are my sunshine’; something her mother used to do with her when she was young. It was almost like an undressing of the soul, a symphony of the past that assured the angry boy the world is better with him in it. Toby buried his face into the nape of her neck and breathed in.

“I don’t want all of that to be for nothing. I never became anything great after it all. I didn’t get stronger, or better. I’m seventeen again and the only thing that changed is that I just suffered more.” He whispered in a low confession. Natalie ran her hand over his back, over where the Slender Symbol was once branded into his right back shoulder blade.

“You’re a dumbass.” She whispered back.

Toby stood silently in the midst of the forest on a quiet January morning, a shotgun in his hand. He aimed it at a deer who was staring back at him, neither of them looked away. Toby placed his finger on the trigger, a perfect shot. The deer remained still, as still as the trees, as the wind, as the snow, as the boy's finger lightly tapping the gun. Toby felt a dizziness take over him as he continued to stare at the animal across from him, his hands trembling. A wave of sickness choked him as he dropped the shotgun, the sudden motion startling the deer which quickly ran off.

The boy began to feel his body get weak, and his chest get tight. The world around him was spinning. He assumed The Slenderman was punishing him for disobeying again. He knew he should’ve been strong enough to pull that trigger. Toby collapsed to his knees as he tried to catch his escaping breath, his hand pressing against his chest as his heart beat faster and faster. He heard the snapping of a branch across the woods, and he quickly looked up to see the deer once again standing distanced from him. Toby glared at the animal.

“I already let you go, so fuck off,” he yelled out. The deer didn’t move.

“What? You want me to kill you? I’ll blow your fucking brains out, go already you dumbass!” And still, the deer didn’t move. Toby sat on his knees for a moment, his hand resting on the shotgun beside him, and stared back at the animal. He took in the world around him. The soft warmth of the morning sun, the white glistening snow, the curious deer, the naked tree branches winding up into the blue skies overhead. There was something so unfamiliar about it all. The dangerous knowledge that there was no command from central, that there was no need to kill. For once in his wartorn life, the soldier boy was given a choice. And for once in his life, the ruthless boy gave mercy.

“You’re not worth my time,” he scoffed as he stood up, taking the shotgun with him as he walked back home.

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beyondtheglowingstars · 5 months

Text

Ndbasjbhdasjhdv these two have been RATTLING my brain for the longest time (is there actually a time when they're not?) so I had no option but to give in and write a fic. Post ST Link chooses to remain an engineer, I'm pretty sure you'll notice a few specific headcanons of mine shining through on this fic etc, etc. I hope you like it regardless.

Gift

Pairing: Zelda x Link (platonic) Word count: 3.1k WARNING(S): None :) General info: Link had picked up on a small detail during their travels. What he had noticed, it bothered him; but he wanted to fix things and help Zelda experience what she wasn't given the chance to. Meanwhile, she feels in great debt with him and while she isn't able to fully repay him, she does the best she can in that moment even if it's something small.

His mind had been thinking about it for a while now, back to the way she had reacted when she first got on the Spirit Train and experienced what was beyond the immediate proximity of Hyrule Castle.

“It’s so pretty and peaceful out here! I’d love to run through these fields if I ever get my body back.”

And every other comment whenever they traveled to a different area was filled with pure, child-like wonder and excitement; they only helped confirm his suspicions of the princess never having set foot past Castle Town. Had she really been walled up in the castle almost her entire life?

Maybe he was exaggerating things a little. After all, she mentioned that she had seen snow before. Perhaps it was more accurate to think that Zelda had not stepped foot outside of the castle since her parents, the former king and queen, were still alive and in good health. She must have been around eight to ten years of age back then. Which was a very, very long time ago.

He found it ironic, how everyone else essentially had more freedom than the princess of New Hyrule herself. But he wasn’t judging or making fun of the situation, goodness, he could never think of it that way. But it did put into a more clear perspective just how much influence Cole had back then, however. And the more he thought about it, the more upset he felt.

The way her face lit up when she saw snow again since who knows how many years ago, how she had laughed with joy when she saw the dolphins keeping up with the train then leapt out of the water when the whistle was blown, how her eyes fixated with interest on the many flowers and animals in the forest… At this point he realized that he may have, unconsciously, created a mental album where he recorded Zelda’s every reaction to all those new experiences. His anger within did not subside, but there was no use in getting upset about past injustices, was there?

She had gone with him everywhere during the adventure and explored almost every corner of New Hyrule because of it, but there must be a big difference between having seen the world as a ghost compared to a living person. He was on his way to Hyrule Castle to complete a delivery after all, maybe he could try to talk to the princess once he got there and arrange plans for taking her across the vast land of the country; maybe catch up with her too, it had been a month since the adventure concluded and they had seen each other. But as hopeful as he was about getting to see Zelda again, he knew that she had to be incredibly busy with royal duties and wouldn’t have time for something so insignificant. Perhaps some other day.

Link sighed as he set his gaze on what was ahead, Hyrule Castle was quickly coming into view. The train was set to a slower speed, the engineer blew the whistle as he got closer to his destination, and even though he was nearly there, his mind couldn’t stop making him anxious and more wistful for getting to see the princess. Adjusting the gearbox, he brought the train to a slow and calculated stop at the station.

Once he stepped off from the train, he was greeted by a castle town resident. A large man that seemed to be accompanied by another male.

“Link! Thank you so much.” Grinning, the man stretched his hand out for the hero to take, which he did.

Only to later feel a large hand pat his back with enough strength that almost knocked him off-balance. The handshake concluded, Link was about to speak before being beat to it.

“I’m guessing it will be as much as last time, right?” The blond nodded his head in affirmation.

“Here you go!” A small pouch filled with rupees was handed over to the young engineer.

“Don’t worry about unloading, I’ve got a friend to help me with that.” The statement revealing the reason for the other male being there.

And for one, Link was glad about not having to unload the cart from the heavy shipment. The two men almost effortlessly picked up the big boxes and expressed their gratitude towards the hero once again before leaving. He was left alone to his thoughts after that.

His hand absentmindedly clenched around the knot keeping the rupee bag sealed, his body gently rocked back and forth on his heels; maybe he should give a shot at trying to see Zelda again after all, and if it turned out that her hands were too full for something like that, he could always try again later, no problem. Hopefully he wouldn’t be a bother.

The blond put the newly acquired rupees into his wallet and marched towards the castle garden. Various people around the town waved and addressed words of admiration at him, which in all honesty, all the attention overwhelmed him and lowered the small amount of confidence he struggled to gather just to get to the front of the castle. But when he actually got there, one could swear the last remaining fragment of confidence he still had could be heard shattering into a million pieces.

He found himself in a familiar scenario, approaching the two guards at the front of the castle, with one of them eyeing him suspiciously. Even if he had saved the world, it seems like some guards would remain the same as they’ve always been. Link looked back at the guard and swallowed thickly, rehearsing in his mind again what he was about to say to the watchmen as he opened his mouth to speak.

“LINK!!” But this time he would be interrupted by the person he least expected to see.

Both the young engineer and the guards turned to the source of the sound. Clear as day, there was Princess Zelda running to the castle entrance, heading to their direction as she waved to her friend. Link’s face immediately brightened, and he instantly felt relief from all the things he’d been worried about. Zelda practically squeezed in between the two guards, she ran at Link with outstretched arms implying an incoming hug, the hero mirrored her gesture in expectance of a soothing embrace.

What he was not counting on, was for Zelda to squeeze him in a bone-crushing hug. He gasped in surprise, and then it became painfully apparent that he should have taken in a big gulp of air before engaging with the princess, seeing as he wouldn’t be able to properly breathe until the girl chose to let him go.

“LINK! Why didn’t you come visit earlier?!” As if he hadn’t already experienced enough emotions the last few seconds, he also felt himself being lifted off the ground a few centimeters, his cheeks warmed up with a faint red hue.

To make matters worse, he could see one of the guards trying his best to not laugh out loud, while the other one ignored the basic concept of giving the teens a small moment of much needed privacy.

“Pardon my interruption, but Your Highness, you should not venture outside the castle unannounced.” The man in green uniform stated, Link swore that the watchman was looking down at him with a menacing stare.

Zelda put the boy back on his feet after hearing the voice. Not that Link didn’t appreciate the gesture or how the princess was beaming with excitement to see him, but he was definitely grateful to be able to breathe normally again.

“You’re right. Let’s go, Link!” Zelda politely nodded at the guard, taking the engineer’s hand in hers as she replied and practically dragged Link into the castle.

The boy nearly tripped and fell from the unexpected dash. Zelda’s smile had not let up even now as she ran through the corridors holding Link’s hand, the guard in charge of watching the stairs leading to the throne room had to step away or else he risked being ran over by an enthusiastic princess. The hero had no clue where the girl got this much energy from and neither did he know how she was able to run so fast with heels on, all he knew was the way to Zelda’s chambers was a blur and suddenly found himself sitting down on furniture that was probably more expensive than anything he’s ever owned. The monarch sat beside him, the icy blue of her eyes trained on his face.

“Really, what took you so long to come back, Link?” Her arms crossed in front of her chest, face showed a minor pout.

“I’m sorry, Zelda. I figured you were busy so I didn’t want to bother you.” The engineer took his conductor cap in his hands and began fidgeting with it.

Zelda’s eyes widened with a gasp.

“Link, don’t ever say that again!” She lightly squeezed Link’s shoulders, the gesture making the boy become slightly tense, but he loosened up again just as quickly.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you! Had it not been for the train’s whistle and I wouldn’t have known you were here. You can come whenever you want, you know?”

“If you say so…” Link refused to meet her gaze for the most part, opting to direct his attention to his cap instead, which he was still playing with.

Zelda flashed him a sympathetic smile, one which made the hero audibly let go of a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and copied her smile. The princess drew back her arms to rest on her lap, the engineer took this moment to adjust the cap back onto his head.

“Yes, really! I mean it. And I haven’t been too busy as of recent, actually. So don’t think you interfered or anything like that.”

Link internally sighed in relief, instantly feeling lighter after knowing that he wasn’t inconveniencing the princess. The boy cleared his throat.

“I’m glad to hear, Zelda.” A shy smile popped on his face.

“Umm, since you’re saying that you haven’t been too busy, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a trip with me across New Hyrule. I figured you didn’t get to enjoy much from the places we went to since we were tight on time and you were, well, a ghost back then.”

The engineer twiddled with his fingers, searching through his brain for the some of the things he’d been practicing in his mind to say in this moment.

“Of course, it doesn’t have to be to be today! You probably have something to do later on, so just tell me when you’re able to go, if you’d like. I can take you anywhere you wish, just tell me where and I’ll get us there.” A half-nervous smile on his face as he hoped that Zelda would take his offer.

The princess stared into Link’s eyes, her expression unreadable to him, and he was almost sure that she was about to reject him and never consider the offer. Until she squealed and he felt himself being squeezed in a hug again. It took him a few seconds to fully process what had happened, but when he reoriented himself he wrapped his arms around Zelda in return. At least this time he didn’t feel like his ribs or any other bone would fracture.

“I’d love to go! Thank you so much!” She separated much sooner than before, lips curved in a grin.

Link thinks it’s the happiest he’s ever seen her until now, and he couldn’t help giggling at her antics.

“Oh, I never did thank you properly for everything you’ve done for me. Yet here you are, giving even more without asking for anything in exchange.” Zelda’s expression became pensive.

“What do you mean? You were always looking out for me during the adventure and saved my butt more than once. Without you, I would have died on the first day! I have nothing to ask of you. I can’t.”

The princess averted her eyes, silently giggling to herself as she recalled a few fun memories from the adventure.

“I guess you’re right. You’re lucky you had me! Otherwise I think you might have slept in the dungeons.”

Link’s cheeks flared up as he picked up on Zelda referencing an embarrassing moment he had in one of the quests.

“H-hey! Here I am, offering to do something nice for you, and this is how you pay me?” A glint of mischief in his eyes as he added exaggerated his tone in a joking manner.

“If you don’t like it, then maybe you should take better care of yourself! And maybe then I’ll stop teasing you.” Link gave a fake huff of indignance.

“But it’s true! If I find out you’re still as careless as you were back then, I’ll put a phantom in your house so you’re reminded of me and do the minimum to take care of yourself.”

The hero pretended to roll his eyes in annoyance, face decorated with an evil smirk.

“If you do that, I’ll invite a rat family to your bedroom so they can turn it into their home.”

The princess gasped in disbelief. This time she was the one whose face dusted with pink on the cheeks as Link chuckled at her reaction.

“Here I am, worrying about your well-being, and this is how you pay me?” Zelda imitated his tone from earlier as if to mock him.

It only made the engineer laugh loudly, until his contagious laughter caught on to Zelda herself and the room was filled by the sound of their combined laughs. They were probably heard all the way from a few corridors away but neither of them cared about the volume of their voice, taking them at least a minute until they were both gasping to recover air and finally calmed down. Zelda was the first to speak again.

“Okay, but really now. I do hope you’re actually looking after yourself now.”

“Alright! I’m not as careless anymore, I promise.” Link put his hands up as a sign of defeat.

Zelda showed a smug smirk, knowing she had won this time, but having no further intentions of teasing Link.

“Well, it was a lot of fun talking with you again. Let’s go, Link!” Zelda swiftly stood up from her seat and set her hand out for Link to take, her demand and actions snapped him out of the head-space he was in.

“H-huh? Go where?”

“On that trip you said you’d take me, dummy!”

“Right now?! Are you sure?” The hero hesitantly took the princess’s hand, standing up much slower than she did in comparison.

“Yes! Oh wait, I forgot to ask you if you’re free for the rest of the day, didn’t I?” Zelda flashed him an apologetic smile, letting go of his hand. “Do you still have to do something today?”

Link looked to the side, scanning his mind to make sure there wasn’t any unattended business he has to take care of later, but he didn’t find anything. Well, there wasn’t anything except for a minor favor Alfonzo had asked him to fulfill. But he knew his instructor well and it wasn’t anything urgent; surely, Alfonzo wouldn’t mind if Link took longer to complete his task if he found out that Zelda was involved.

“No, not anymore. I’m free now.” He smiled to hide the lie, which Zelda bought anyway.

The girl punched the air in celebration. Link half-expected the princess to bolt out of the room right that moment with him in tow like she had done earlier, but was thankful to see that wasn’t running out yet.

“So, where would you like to go, Your Highness?” The engineer wiggled his eyebrows at Zelda as her formal title rolled out of his tongue.

The princess rolled her eyes and poked one of his sides a few times to tickle him, making Link cover that vulnerable section and Zelda drew back her hand, satisfied on the inside that she was able to get back at the other teen. She held her chin on one of her hands, taking on a pose of thought as she hummed and wondered where she wanted to go.

“How about you take me to Aboda Village? I want to know more about you.”

Link stared at her with a face of confusion, but ultimately didn’t question her decision like he first intended to.

“If that’s where you wanna go, then I’ll take you there.”

“Great! It’s time to go, then.” Zelda was beginning to head out, but Link didn’t follow her as a question of importance spun in his head.

“Zelda, wait. Don’t you need a guard to go with you?”

“Under regular circumstances, I would. But since I’m going with you, you’ll be my escort this time.” The princess stated as if she weren’t talking about something important at all.

“You can do that?! Are you sure?” Link’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I have more freedom now that a certain someone isn’t here anymore, so I fully make the rules now! Well, I do for the most part…” The last sentence coming out in a whisper.

“I trust you, Link. You saved my life before, and I know you’d do it again if you had to. Just like I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat if it ever came to it.”

The hero was left speechless, body unmoving as several feelings ran through his head.

“And if anyone were to doubt you, I’ll be there to remind them why you’re more capable than any other swordsman in New Hyrule! If you had chosen to become part of the castle guard, you’d have ended as my personal body guard.”

Link let out a giggle of joy and took the princess’s hand in his, feeling more determined than he ever had before.

“Well, Your Highness, you’re in luck that I keep my sword in my train. Now let’s go back to adventure!”

Zelda mentally pat herself on the back as she considered to have achieved a significant victory for the day. She was happy to see Link come out of his shell little by little, but she thought the cherry on top was to know that he was feeling confident. She nodded at him in approval with energy, while making it a new goal for herself to help Link have more of these moments. She believes that he very well deserves them more than anyone else.

#tloz st #the legend of zelda spirit tracks #spirit tracks #st link #st zelda #zelda x link #cosmic writing

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

Eighteen (Crazy) Ch. 7

The first thing they do when they get back to the Castle is plop their asses down to the kitchen and fucking devour some food goo. (Seriously, it’s borderline animalistic – they haven’t eaten in several hours, and it has been such a busy day – even the nasty food goo suddenly became the most delicious thing in the universe.)

After everyone has had a couple bowls, conversation starts to pick up, now that no one’s main focus is sustenance above all else.

“Are there any more locations on the list?” Pidge asks.

“One more!” Lance answers. “We’re gonna need to wormhole, I think. But it’s the last location, and so long as the galaxy is pretty quiet and calm we should be able to station there for a bit. I’m sure we’ll want to do some training tomorrow.”

Allura nods, grabbing her dishes and heading over to the sink. “Sounds like a plan. Is everyone ready to take off?”

Various murmurs of agreement and one fully loaded dishwasher later, everyone sits safely buckled up in their stations on the bridge. Allura takes no time in wormholing (Keith has always wished the process would take a little longer, though. Not because he wants it to be more taxing on the Alteans, or anything, obviously, but the whole thing is just so cool and Keith would love to watch it for a little longer. Oh, well. Maybe he’ll get more information if he remembers to ask Coran, later – he always makes a mental note of it and forgets immediately), dropping them off in front of a new planet very quickly.

“This is another really specific set of coordinates,” Lance explains. “We’ll need to take Blue again to get all the way there.”

On the walk back to Blue, Keith jogs ahead to catch up to Lance. Lance grins over at him immediately, setting off a flurry of butterflies in Keith’s stomach. (He hopes he never gets used to how Lance’s smile makes him feel.)

“You excited?” Keith asks, because there’s nothing he wants to talk about with Lance specifically, but he likes being near him. He itches to link their hands together, but he’s not yet sure that’s allowed.

“Yeah! I’ve been having fun all day, but it got better when all of you guys joined in.” Lance does what Keith was too anxious to do – he reaches over, grabbing Keith’s left hand in his right, interlocking their fingers. He does it smoothly, in one motion. Practiced.

His hands are sweaty, though. And his ears are red.

Keith smiles.

“I’m glad,” Keith says softly, and they don’t say anything more.

Lance squeezes their hands together once before letting go as he settles into the pilot’s chair in Blue’s cockpit, and the laser focus Keith had on their joined hands fades a little, and he can hear the rest of the team behind him for the first time since he left their bridge. They’re giggling, because of course they are. Keith rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny that their obvious support loosens some of the nervousness tangled in his chest.

The giggles taper out as they arrive at the final location, right in front of the mouth of the most massive caves Keith has ever seen. No one says anything for a few moments, just kind of taking it in – it’s several times the size of the Castle, at least, and it’s so dark that Blue’s powerful headlights don’t even make a dent.

“Well, it’s a good thing our helmets have those light thingies,” Lance says, and he’s off before anyone can stop him. Keith doesn’t hesitate to scramble after him, much to Shiro’s exasperation.

Lance waits for them at the mouth of the cave, tapping his foot impatiently. “It’s like you guys don’t even want to come,” he complains.

A foam dart hits him in the nose before he even has the chance to finish his sentence.

“Stop complaining about dumb things,” Pidge orders, holding a dinky little plastic gun at Lance. Lance looks so comically offended that Keith can’t help it and snorts heavily.

“You just – shot! Me! On my birthday! Where did you even get – a fucking nerf gun! A goddamned real fucking dookie nerf gun! Why!”

Keith wheezes, doubling over. He’s not the only one.

“Oh, fuck you guys.” Keith doesn’t need to look up to know Lance is scowling.

“Your – your face –” Pidge gasps.

“I’m uninviting you to my birthday party. Y’all can go home. I’ll explore this cool cave by myself. Goodbye.”

Lance stomps off into the deep emptiness of the cave, thin frame quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

“Aw, Lance, c’mon,” someone coos, but there’s no answer.

“Lance?” Allura calls, a bit of an edge to her voice.

Still no answer.

“Lance?” Shiro yells, louder, and transparently anxious.

Silence.

Keith is the next to call out, jogging quickly into the cave. “Lance!”

He’s the first of the rest of the team to enter the cave, not that it matters – once he’s about three metres in, there’s a bend in the massive corridor, and he can’t see a damn thing.

“Lance! Can you hear me? La –”

“Boo!”

Keith shrieks at the top of his lungs, desperately batting away the thing gripping his arms. He scrambled away a couple feet, hands flailing, heart pounding, before he registers the absolutely howling laughter ringing through the cavern. His face drops.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You – you screamed –”

He can’t see him, but Keith is certain the asshole Blue Paladin is just as hunched over as he was earlier.

“Double fuck you,” he scowls, quickly messaging the rest of the team to inform them that Lance is fine, and simply a dick-for-brains.

“Do – do you think –” Lance catches Keith eyes and starts wheezing all over again. This time, Keith really has to fight back his smile. “Do you think you could walk back out so I can scare you again?”

“I think you and I better get going before Shiro’s space Xanax wears off and he wraps your dumb ass in bubble wrap.”

“You’re right,” Lance whispers, teasing and conspiratory. His brown eyes shine darker than they’ve ever looked, in the dim light of their helmet lights. He grabs Keith’s hand again, fingers curling around Keith’s, and all of the pining and the nerves and the oh-my-God-does-he-like-me-back and realises – hey. This is Lance. Lance who is his friend, Lance who is funny and dramatic and playful and ridiculous.

Lance who is yanking him forward, yelling “Run!” at the top of his lungs, just as the rest of the team comes stumbling in somewhere behind them.

Keith runs. How could he not?

He and Lance sprint down the dark hallways of the cave, laughing and leaning into each other, barely missing running straight into walls every time there’s a bend. They lose the rest of the team easily, both of them easily ignoring the messages popping up every two seconds on their comms (it’s just Pidge texting ‘losers’ again and again). After what must be ten minutes of straight sprinting, Keith has to call it.

“Hey, hey – hey. Longlegs. Cool it a minute, will you? I feel like my lungs are trying claw out of my chest.”

“Fine,” Lance sighs dramatically, flopping onto Keith. “I guess if you can’t keep up…”

Keith rolls his eyes. He is so not taking the bait for that one. He and Lance are pretty evenly matched in most places, and Keith can kick his ass in others, but Lance has got them all beat in the speed department.

“How about those coordinates, huh?” he says instead. “You said they were specific?”

“Yes!” Lance says brightly. “I wonder what Future Me has kickin’ in a cave. I mean, caves are cool, but I wouldn’t usually seek them out, y’know? Well, I did when I was a kid, but time is spooky in caves and I was in there for nineteen hours once without realising so my family reported me missing –”

Lance swings their hands between them as they walk, chattering from story to story, fast as a whip. Keith soaks in every word, asking all the right questions at the right times.

God, Keith loves him so much.

“Hey, I think it’s starting to get a little brighter in here,” Keith comments.

Lance hums. “Kinda like Blue’s cave. Remember that?”

“Yep. I specifically remember you driving me insane.”

“I’m very good at that. You’re easy to rile up.”

“Butthead.”

“Goober.”

“Boogerbrain.”

“Gooseface – woah.”

The slow brightening of the cave corridors suddenly makes sense – Lance’s coordinates have led them to a wide open space, sunlight somehow pouring in from everywhere, waterfall gently cascading down into a beautifully blue lake.

Lance gasps loudly, taking in the scene with a dropped jaw, and then he whoops, quickly pulling up Allura’s contact on the comm.

“Everyone! Get in here! There’s a waterfall!”

Before anyone on the team even has half a second to respond, he’s hanging up and laughing maniacally as he drags Keith to the lake. Keith pulls his hand free, stopping him.

“Last one in is on dish duty for a week,” he says, and before Lance can process he sprints off.

“Hey! Not fair!”

But Lance is laughing again, too surprised to run properly, jumping in the lake right after Keith, armour and all.

“You’re crazy,” he tells Keith. He grabs Keith’s face gently, looking into his eyes, pretending at seriousness. “It’s a condition. You will never be cured. Thoughts?”

“One,” Keith says. He carefully plucks off his helmet, then Lance’s, tossing them onto the dry ground. Then he mirrors Lance's position, hands on his cheek, pulling him close. He leans close, tilting his head slightly, hearing the faintest uptick of Lance’s breath as their lips get closer and closer –

Lance’s hand clamps over his mouth.

“Wait,” he whispers.

“Why,” Keith whispers back. Lance’s face is rosy, and he keeps smiling and glancing away. It’s so cute that Keith considers imploding.

“It’s my birthday.”

“I’m aware, yes.”

“I take birthdays very seriously.”

“Yep. Fondly remembering the twelve layer cake you stressed baked for Hunk. You should get stressed more often when party planning.”

“Shut up. I’m making a point.”

Keith leans forward and tips their foreheads together, grinning openly now. “Then make it, Bluebell.”

“I’m just saying,” Lance huffs, “that if you kiss me, it will be very special.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And if you kiss me on my birthday, one of those things will be overshadowed. Both of those things are groundbreaking. They need their own days, you understand.”

“Alright,” Keith whispers. And because he can’t help himself, not when they’re so close, he presses a lingering kiss to Lance’s cheek. It makes him giggle. “I’ll kiss you tomorrow, then. Okay?”

“Okay. It’s a date.”

“Good.”

“Woah, Lance, you weren’t kidding!”

At the sound of the rest of the team’s arrival – finally – Keith and Lance hold eye contact for the barest second, coming to a final agreement, and then immediately start their attack, trying their best to drown each other. The rest of the team joins in immediately, yelling and laughing and choking when someone forgets their strength and drowning nearly occurs. At one point, they decide to play chicken, Lance, Pidge, and Keith sitting on Hunk, Allura, and Shiro’s shoulder and trying to shove each other off, Coran refereeing.

“Future Me nails it again,” Lance says, when they’re all drying off on the lake-bed.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. He reaches over and grabs Lance’s hand, squeezing three times in quick succession. “You did.

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no-quit-lucy · 7 days

Text

I might write this as a fic but I want to share some thoughts here first. (oops it already is turning into a fic. Here’s the start, as a treat)

After the IA investigation, Tim knew his odds for salvaging his career weren't looking good. He would be in maintenance mode until enough fresh blood came through the station that he would be wiped from his sins and the bloodstains only remained faintly visable on his uniform.

The decision came down and it came down hard. Not only would he receive a formal reprimand in his file for harassment of a civilian, abuse of police resources for personal gain, and other serious violations of conduct, but Tim would also be reassigned from his position in metro and bumped back to Patrol Sergeant following two weeks of unpaid leave and recertification of all field fitness and skill requirements. His Watch Commander would need to then complete weekly evaluations of his conduct while on duty until IA deemed him reliable and trustworthy to remain in his role and thus removing a temporary probationary hold over his job. He’d be in career limbo for weeks, possibly months.

Overwhelmed by the decision, being brought back to his intense experience with Isabel’s IA investigations, his actions and decisions made when in the army, doubting himself and his internal moral standing, Tim truly believed he was doing Lucy a favor by breaking up with her. His intent was never to shatter her heart, but unfortunately, he was feeling so weak and small, that all his strength was relegated to keeping himself upright long enough to make it home and destroy a bottle of whiskey until his two weeks were up and he'd have to face seeing her on patrol every day, once again in her chain of command.

Instead of finding comfort in the woman he loved, and the woman who loved him, he was so numb to everything, he couldn't bare the thought of seeking solace in her touch, her supportive words, her sickening optimism allowing him to hide from himself and hide from his inevitable truth. He wasn't worth the risk anymore.

Two days before he was set to return to work, he received an email instructing him to report to his new Watch Commander, Sergeant Stella Porter at Hollywood division. Not only was getting reassigned stations a further consequence for his actions, but it was a stark revelation that his personal connection to mid-Wilshire was officially severed.

It was the neighborhood he lived in when he came back from Iraq and started at the academy, where he adjusted back to the quasi-safety of civilian life, the house where he and Isabel planned their future, the precinct where he had trained as a rookie, where he found his footing as an officer and took the plunge to seek out the TO role, where he met his friends Angela and Talia, where he trained countless of his own rookies, where he met Lucy, where she helped him become a sergeant and took her on as his aide, it was where he fell in love with Lucy, where he lost Lucy countless times in countless ways. It was his home, his safe place, his sanctuary, and now, he was cast away from the place like an insidious evil set out to poison the nucleus of all that was good.

And to boot, his new watch commander, his new subordinates, his new captain, all strangers in his life, only knowing him of his reputation, his now stained, tarnished, damaged reputation. He was the cop with an ex-addict for an ex-wife, the cop who was investigated by IA about her addiction and failed to save her job, the cop who had rookies drop like flies because of his harsh and old-school cop ways, the cop who dated his last rookie, the cop who once again found himself tangled up in a mess of lies and accusations, reprimanded to nearly the highest degree. He was a cop no one wanted to trust, a cop who wasn't safe on the streets.

On some level, Tim knew the kind of reaction he would receive at his new home base. Whispers growing quiet the second he stepped in the room, stuck with shit details doing the grunt work no one wanted to do, receiving a cold shoulder from the officers around him, namely the cops who didn't look like him, the ones who were younger, more morally aligned than he was at the moment.

What he didn't expect was the fierce loyalty to anyone but him and namely a certain dark-haired, hot-shot, reliable, kind, and all together stand-up cop from his old station. It seemed he had started a war, and most people chose to stand on Lucy Chen’s side, backing the green officer who got taken advantage of by her senior officer. He couldn't say he didn't deserve it, but he could say Lucy deserved to be chosen not for the position he put her in, but instead because in the face of all that he had done to her, despite all the rumors and speculations floating in the air, she remained steadfast in her confidence on the streets and her ability to kick ass at her job. Without him there to loom a dark shadow over her future, she shone bright like the star she was and continued to build for herself a bulletproof reputation far superior to materials he had used in his own.

He was reaping the seeds of what he sowed, painstakingly harvesting the dilapidated crops in order to till the land and allow it time to heal before resowing fresh seeds and cultivating a healthier, more sustainable future yield. It could take years before the land produced a harvest fit to consume, but with dedicated maintenance and care, Tim held hope that his field would once again welcome both rain and sunshine to reflect the prosperity of a life worth thriving.

#chenford breakup #chenford #the rookie #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie fic #canon divergent au #in which his consequences are much harsher than a slap on the wrist and a demotion #justice for Lucy Chen

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farfromstrange · 10 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 20: You Showed Me Colors You Know I Can’t See With Anyone Else

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You tell Michael about the conversation with Birdy and deal with the aftermath.

Warnings: ANGST, this chapter hints at PTSD and mental health, Smut (18+), slight cockwarming, not proof read

Word Count: ~5.5k

A/n: I was waiting for the right moment to write smut again, and I thought why not now? There will never be a perfect time. But the angst train is also still very much in the station. Sorry for the long wait. Enjoy! (Or don’t)

(this gif does some things to me. holy mother of jesus i can’t even-)

Michael is still asleep when you walk back into the bedroom with the coffee and the bag carrying what you can now tell are the café’s best scones.

Your thoughts are scrambled. You can’t sort them. You want to stay positive because that’s the kind of person you taught yourself to be. Misplaced hope is better than no hope at all.

You force yourself not to think too much, but that is a near impossibility in your current state. There is too much going on inside of you, holding it all back will only drain you, and that not even in the long run but as soon as you set foot out of the door.

There’s a reason you put down the pessimism a long time ago, but the reality of your situation seeps in and destroys it. It destroys everything good you’ve built for yourself; now you’re just confused and maybe a little angry, but mostly the former. Your mind has always been your worst enemy.

You place the food and the coffee down on the nightstand and turn to Michael. He doesn’t seem to notice you. He’s either too exhausted to dream, or he did the same as you and pushed all the bad thoughts away to rest a little easier. He’s out cold.

You run a hand through his unruly hair. “Mikey,” you murmur.

He stirs under your touch, his eyes fluttering. It takes him a few seconds to wake up and take in his surroundings, his face contorting in a sense of panic before his eyes fall on you, and he relaxes visibly.

“Mornin’,” he grumbles.

You greet him with a soft smile. “Hey.”

He ruffles his hair. “Wha time is it?”

“Just a little after seven,” you answer.

“Oh.” Michael looks around. He notices you sitting on the edge of the bed instead of lying next to him, and he frowns. “Why’d ya get up then?” he asks.

“Couldn’t sleep,” it’s not a complete lie, but he can tell you’re holding back.

He purses his lips, clearly not happy with you falling back into old patterns, but he can’t force you to talk.

You disguise your feelings as something they often are not, mostly because growing up, you had to play an act at the circus that was your family, and you taught yourself to be kind, to smile and wave, to never disobey and to never question, so you disguised who you truly were and what you truly felt with a layer of pretense. You weren’t allowed to speak up or talk about your struggles, and you took that belief with you into adulthood. And although you know now that feeling and sharing those feelings isn’t a bad thing, you come with a built-in defense mechanism that grew during childhood and that can only be removed fully if someone reconstructs you and flicks the switch completely. It’s a complicated task a normal person can’t achieve; you would need help for that, help Michael alone can’t provide you because he, too, struggles with built-in mechanisms of his own that never had a chance of dismembering themselves.

When you escaped home, the circus ended, but you made it a habit to please everyone, to just get them to see you as something more than this godforsaken mess that you grew up to be deep inside, and you can’t deny that it feels like you’re nothing more than a clown most of the time. You’re walking the tightrope so close to the edge, you could fall any minute, but at least you tried. It’s always been just you trying your hardest, but it never felt like it was enough before, and it surely doesn’t feel like it now. It’s a losing game.

You can shine for Michael all you want, but he can see the darkness inside of you. He accepts it. He embraces it. He wants to love you regardless, you just don’t know how to let him.

Your lips turn down. He sees right through you. Wordlessly, he reads you like an open book and his eyes bore through your soul like piercing daggers. He takes you apart and puts you back together all at once, trying to show you that he cares and you don’t have to be afraid around him, but it’s not that easy, is it? It can’t be.

You can’t hide the truth from him forever, and you don’t want to. You physically can’t. It’s exhausting. You’re overwhelmed. You need someone to lean on or the storm will drag you under and drown you in an ocean of endless despair. You tried keeping everything far away from him before and it didn’t work. He assured you he would never judge you, so why are you holding back? Old habits die hard, but you have to learn to beat them before they kill you.

You crawl back under the blanket and place your head on his chest. “I had a nightmare,” you admit quietly.

He nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and wraps his arms around you. “‘Bout what?” he asks.

He still holds you, even though you are a million shattered pieces of broken glass and he could easily cut himself. But if being there for you makes him bleed, he would gladly bleed out for you.

You shrug. “You died.”

His hand strokes through your hair. “But I’m here,” he tells you. “I’m alive.”

“I know, it’s just…” Your wide eyes focus on the wall across from you. “I’m so scared.”

There it is. The three words he had been waiting for.

“Fear’s human, love. Nightmares are human, but they’re not real. They’re just dreams. And fears are just yer body tryin’ ta protect itself from danger, but that doesn’t mean ya have to face it alone, y’know?”

You wonder if he used to tell his daughter the same when she was little. It sounds like something he has said many times before, maybe even to convince himself. You’re not sure, but you appreciate it.

“But you died,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I couldn’t save you.” Your lip quivers. “It was my fault you died because he said–he told me to stay away from my sister and I didn’t listen, and then you died. To save me. ‘Cause you said you’d always protect me and you jumped in front of the gun for me and…and you died.”

“Hey,” he tilts your chin up, “I’m here. I’m alright.”

But it’s not as easy as he makes it out to be, you both know it.

“You were shot at last night, Michael!” Your voice holds a lot of force with its honesty. “What if you hadn’t been alright? What if you’d died?” you say. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. I know I’m the last person who gets to say that after the shit I put you through, but it’s true. I’m selfish. I know I’m selfish because I want you alive for me, but it’s better than not having you at all.”

His brown eyes slip from yours and he looks away. He can’t face you. The truth hurts, and you have a way of hitting the knife right where he doesn’t want it. Now he knows what it feels like when he reads you so openly.

You let out a shaky breath. “I feel so bad because Jamie died and he was your son, but you also could have died and I can’t bear the thought of that. So forgive me for being scared of losing you. Forgive me for being glad you’re alive, but for being afraid of something like last night happening again and this time, it won’t be someone else!” Your voice breaks.

He only holds you tighter, your broken edges tearing deeper holes into the parts of his soul that had been barely hanging on by a thread; and now Michael’s falling apart completely, too.

“Shh, I know,” he whispers.

You shake your head. You begin to think he doesn’t know because he doesn’t value his life as much as you do, and that hurts. Physically and mentally, it’s scarring to love someone who is so prepared to die.

But it’s the same with you, isn’t it? You would die for the people you love too, with no hesitation, and that’s what makes you so eerily similar. Pretending to be a good girl is one thing, but showing your true colors in every version there is to someone just as damaged as you holds a different kind of depth that already feels painful again, while at the same time being the only thing you could ever need. You need him.

“People die,” you whisper. “This is your life, I know, but it scares me…It shouldn’t be like this.”

You’re crying without actually crying, and it hurts even more than being able to let it all out. Your body restricts you. It’s a dry sob that burns through your throat and chest, and your soul suffers in the process.

Michael is silent for a moment as you bury your face in his chest. The sound of your dry sobs shakes him to his core.

It’s his turn to take a deep breath. “Even though I told ya this is the kinda life I was born into and shit like this can happen, I didn’t anticipate this,” he says, his voice breathy and barely audible. “I distanced myself. I tried t’keep the people I love safe. I focused on other things. I tried…but it still happened. And I couldn’t even protect my own son.”

You close your eyes in agony. “It’s not fair that you have to live like this,” you say.

“It’s not, you’re right. None of this is fuckin’ fair to anybody, but they’re my family.”

“This isn’t about family–”

He cuts you off, “I’ve been a target before. I’m used to it. But Jamie…he never did anythin’ wrong. He was innocent,” he says. “And I can’t reassure ya that it won’t happen again ‘cause it will. I know it, my brother knows it, everyone in this family knows it. And that’s wha makes this so fucked right now. We don’t know what’s goin’ on, but we know the risk.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fucking okay,” you snap.

He doesn’t snap back, he simply shushed you again. “I know,” he says. “Jamie was unfortunate enough t’be there with me last night, but he wasn’t the target. That’s why it hurts so much. It might have been Eric or me or someone else, but yer right. People die.”

“Children die. No one should have to accept shit like this to be the norm.”

His jaw tightens.

“This is so fucking unfair,” you hiss under your breath. “Why is it so unfair?”

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” he answers, tears of his own building up in his eyes now, “but I can’t tell ya what you wanna hear from me. It’d be a lie.”

“I don’t wanna hear anything from you other than that you’ll be okay,” you shoot back with a sniffle that breaks his heart.

He looks down, the honesty breaking your own heart in the process. “I can’t tell you tha and you know it.”

His words hang heavy in the air. You take a deep breath, but it shudders in your chest and gets trapped in your lungs. You try to block out the truth, but the truth is a cruel bastard. It manifests.

Eventually, you break the silence. “You’re shitty at comforting me today,” you say, but you’re not serious, not really. He told you the truth, which is what you needed, and you appreciate it.

It still sucks though because it doesn’t make you feel much better.

“I know,” he says, regret lacing his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I wanna keep ya safe, I do. And I wanna make sure your father never lays a hand on you again. I’ll kill him myself if I have ta, and I wanna make sure ya get to fight for your sister. I need to protect Anna and you. Neither of you deserve t’be a part of any o’ this,” he says, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “You’re my priority, but what happened last night is gonna have consequences and things are gonna get messy, even though I don’t want ‘em to. It’s dangerous, and I can’t tell ya how things are gonna work out because I don’t know.”

You nod, your eyes still closed. His fingers trail up your spine. This is why you fell in love with him, and there’s not even a proper word for it. He’s the man you’ve been looking for without ever knowing what you were looking for.

You slowly lift your head to look at him. “This is your life,” you say, “and I wanna be a part of your life. I just…I can’t lose someone I love again. I can’t lose you, and it terrifies me that I might.”

You don’t care that he killed people or that his family deals drugs and regularly hurts others for a living. You thought you would care, but you love this man with all of your heart, and if you know one thing it’s that Michael Kinsella is not a bad person. He fights for those he loves. It’s not his fault he was born into this family, or that he is still loyal to them. You know he’s trying to be better for his daughter, but you can’t change the fact that he’s a Kinsella, and you no longer want to.

You don’t have to like his family, you only need to love him, and he deserves it more than anyone to have someone by his side now.

Your life is a mess too, and he’s there for you because he sees something in you that’s worth fighting for. He loves you. He wants to protect you from the demons of your past, and you bring your fair share of dangers into this relationship, so perhaps he is the only man who could ever truly understand. And you don’t want to fight alone anymore, either. You can’t.

Fate put you in each other’s paths for a reason, now you have to somehow deal with your lives crossing and find a way out of the woods to maybe have somewhat of a happy ending one day where everyone you care about and love is safe and taken care of, and you have both dealt with your respective grievances.

Michael cups your cheek. “You are my life,” he says. “Gives me a reason to live for.”

“But what if you die?” you ask.

“I won’t.”

“But you can’t promise me that, can you?”

He shakes his head. “Trust me,” he says. “We’ll make it through this. Just promise me ya’ll stay. No matter how hard things get...just stay, please.”

You don’t have to think twice. “Always,” you answer without missing a beat.

“I love ya,” he says.

“I love you too,” you echo. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his. “Always, right?”

He nods, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Always,” he says.

You lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss. His grip tightens and he draws you closer. His hands remain close to your body, grabbing every last inch of skin they can reach, and you melt.

“You taste like smoke,” he pants between kisses.

You bite down on his bottom lip, making him groan into your mouth. “Had a cigarette,” you say, but it’s nowhere near a confession. You don’t owe him an explanation. “Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head. “Just surprised me, is all,” he says.

You force your tongue into his mouth. At first, he fights back, but he eventually lets you take control of the kiss. It’s the first time you do so.

Struggling for breath, you both reluctantly pull away from each other. His lips move to your forehead, your hand still holding onto his. The comfortable silence between you wraps around you like a blanket.

Michael is the first one to break the serenity, but only because he catches the familiar scent of coffee and scones in the air. His eyes fall on the bag on the bedside table. “Did ya go t’work just for breakfast?” he asks.

You completely forgot about Birdy’s surprise visit, and all the calm he infused you with disappears. You’re nervous about telling him the truth, but he would see right through you if you chose to lie.

You sit up, grab one of the coffee cups, and hand it to him. “No,” you say, “Birdy…Uh, she came by earlier.”

Michael’s wide awake within seconds, sitting up against the headboard. His hazel eyes trail over you, taking in each sign of discomfort and the fear in your eyes that doesn’t just come from the nerves that threaten to consume you, and it’s not just anxiety or trauma. When you say Birdy’s name, there is a slight shift in your demeanor, and he picks up on that.

“She’s nice, by the way,” you try to talk yourself out of it. “She…she brought this for you. Well, for us, but mostly for you because she wanted to check up on you. She said she came to pick you up at the station last night, but I was there and she figured you’d be in good hands, and you were, right? You still are. I guess she just wanted to do a wellness check this morning.”

His eyes darken a little and he reaches out to grasp your hand again. “Birdy came here?” he asks to clarify.

You nod, nursing your cup of coffee. She surprisingly chose the right kind, and your heart beats twice as fast again. You shudder.

A million thoughts run through your head, and you think back to the strange customer that threatened you a while back; you want to puke, but you haven’t eaten so that would be counterproductive. Your stomach is just as upset as your mental state, which never ends well for you. You need to calm your breathing before it’s too late.

“She knocked and I let her in because she asked nicely and she didn’t seem like a threat to me,” you say, almost as if you’re defending yourself. “She knew my name, but I didn’t think it’d be that serious.”

“Yeah, I told her ‘bout ya, but–” Michael looks at the logo on the coffee cup, the blue butterfly appearing all too familiar. He swallows. “I never told her where I work now,” he says. “Damn it!” Running a hand over his face, he sighs. “Did she ask you anythin’?”

You bite your lip guiltily. “Well, yeah…Isn’t that what family does?”

“I need to know what she said to ya. What did she ask?”

“Well, um…Nothing too detailed. I mean, you know I don’t like talking about details. I…She asked some things about me and the job when I saw the logo on the bag. I told her about the Butterfly Effect, how long I’ve been working there, and stuff like that. But that’s it, I promise!”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I–”

“Tell me.”

You flinch a little at his tone. “I didn’t tell her any details about my life or–or anything about my family. Or about you,” you insist. “I just said you were resting and you needed time, and that I’d tell you that she came by so you could tell her how you are yourself. She told me you guys have to support each other now, a-and she mentioned Jimmy. Especially him. I don't know, it was weird, and I found it even weirder that she knew about the café. For a moment, I thought she was trying to pry, but she left when she noticed I was uncomfortable. She was nice to me, Michael,” you say. “And she brought breakfast. That’s not an evil act, right?”

Who are you trying to convince now, you wonder. Not him, surely. It’s more like you trying to tell yourself that you didn’t make a mistake when he clearly thinks it was, and you’re not sure who you’re supposed to trust in this case. You can’t trust your own judgment, that’s for sure. You have a horrible dating history to account for it.

“Jesus,” Michael curses under his breath. “Why–How could you be so foolish?”

His words strike you hard. “I thought she was just trying to be kind,” your voice sounds higher now, and your eyes are wider than usual. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

All color has faded from your skin. The way you look at him reminds him of a deer once again, but this time a frightened one, and he stops himself.

Your lip quivers. “I’m sorry,” you repeat again, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I was doing the right thing. But you told me to stay away from your family and I didn’t listen. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

You’re begging him even though he isn’t even mad at you, and that’s when he realizes that you misinterpreted his worry for something else.

Michael's expression softens as he watches the distress on your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad. I was just…worried. I’m sorry.”

“I wanted to be nice to her,” you say. “Because you said she was good and you cared about her.”

“I know, and Birdy isn’t…she isn’t evil,” he clarifies, “but she’s still a Kinsella and when she asks questions, she asks them to make sure you aren’t a threat. It’s nothin’ personal, she just wants t’keep this family safe. I thought…I thought she trusted me, but maybe I was wrong. I dunno. I’ll talk to her and make sure she keeps her nose out of any of yer business.”

You sniffle. “I’m still sorry.”

Michael glares at you in return, but it’s more of a gentle warning than meant in a threatening way. He assures you, “I've been tryin' to keep ya away from my family's business fer a reason, and I fear tha involvin' you in any way might put ya in danger, so I'll make sure it won't happen,” he says. “And I'll make sure your father won't catch wind of his 'til we can ensure Maya's safety, too.”

“I…” You meet his eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” you say.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No,” he lays back down and pulls you with him, “It’s not true.”

“How can you say that so confidently?” you retort.

“‘Cause you are worth everythin' to me. And you deserve so much better.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face and traces his thumb along your cheek. “I've made mistakes in my life, and I've done things I'm not proud of, but you've seen the best in me,” he says. “Ya’ve brought out the goodness in my heart, and I'll spend the rest of my days showin' ya how much ya mean to me. That’s what you deserve and nothin’ short of that.”

Instead of answering, you force him down to your level and press your lips against his. He closes his eyes, pulling you into his lip, and you use the added space to press yourself closer to him. His hands continue traveling the path of your spine, eventually resting on your lower back.

You stay that way for a while, your lips moving lazily against each other. Time seems to stand still. You lose yourself in him, and you taste too good for him to keep a clear mind when you’re so close to him. You become one, and he makes sure you won’t go anywhere by keeping his hands locked to your hips.

Michael manages to bring the coffee cups to safety before he sits up against the headboard, pulling you with him. His tongue asks for permission and you open your mouth to him, allowing him to explore the depth of your mouth further as you search for leverage on his broad shoulders.

“What about breakfast?” you ask when his lips move to your neck, brushing over your pulse point.

“That’s not what I’m hungry for,” he says.

His hands slide up your sides underneath your shirt, his touch igniting a trail of fire on your skin. His lips find yours once again, capturing them in a passionate kiss that leaves you breathless. The taste of him lingers on your lips. You moan, involuntarily so.

“Can we…” He trails off, pulling away enough to meet your eyes. “I wanna forget. Just fer a few minutes.”

You lick your lips. There is nothing you want more. “It’s not gonna be just a few minutes though,” you murmur.

“I don’t care.”

If he doesn’t care, you can't find it in yourself to care either, so you cave. It doesn’t take much convincing for you to give yourself over to him and trust him fully. It’s human nature at this point.

He is so desperate, he doesn’t even waste time to take your shirt off. Michael slides it up enough to reveal your breasts, encapsulating one of your nipples with his wet lips, and you throw your head back.

Usually, his movements are calculated, but this morning, he’s following instinct. The boxers you borrowed join his shirt on the floor, and you help his aching cock out of his underwear. Giving him a few good pumps, you spit into your hand to add some more lube. Sucking your nipples isn’t much foreplay, but he does it well enough to get you worked up.

He pulls you down in one swift motion and you let out a collective gasp. Your hand finds the headboard. You shouldn’t be doing this, but here you are, and you don’t intend on stopping.

Michael moans into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around you. He’s silently asking for you to take the lead, and how can you deny him this much-needed release?

You straighten your back and begin to move your hips slowly. His cock is hard, thick, and achingly buried between your velvety walls. Your breaths soon turn into little whimpers before transcending into a crescendo of moans.

Your hearts start beating in sync, and your connection deepens with every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise. You move your hips in a rhythm of your choosing, and he goes along with it, occasionally helping out when you get tired, and you can't help but succumb to the power of pleasure that is dragging you down.

As you lose yourselves in each other, the world is reduced to the rhythm of your bodies.

You circle your hips, chasing your high by chasing the sweet spot inside of you. The head of his cock bumps against it, and you moan. You continue moving just like that.

He presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, licking the salty skin over your shoulder blade, and he sucks a deep purple mark in the same place the last hickey has disappeared from.

You run your fingers through his hair. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Michael,” you breathe.

He whispers your name back. He’s somewhere else, sweat running down his back, and the sweetest sounds come out of his mouth. He’s a mess underneath you, but he looks even more beautiful like this.

“I love you,” you tell him. “So much.”

His cock brushes against your G-spot, your clit bumping against his pelvis over and over again, and the pleasure mixes with the conflicted pain in your soul. It’s a lot. You love him so much, it’s overwhelming, and knowing about the danger you might be in makes it even worse, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s your body that makes all the decisions for you right now, not your mind. Your heart is screaming for more, and you give it what it wants.

Michael grabs the back of your head and pulls you in for a searing kiss. You grab his face to pull him impossibly closer.

“I love ya too,” he tells you.

You lift your arms so he can take your shirt off. It’s getting hotter and therefore harder to breathe.

Happy with the new playground, he leans in to suck one of your nipples back into his mouth. His hand rests on the other, making sure it won’t feel neglected. He pushes all your buttons at once, eliciting moan after moan from you. It’s like you were never apart.

Sex between you has flowed effortlessly from the start, and it’s no different now. Maybe it’s because Michael knows exactly what to do, or maybe you’re just so in sync that it works; either way, you have never felt this much pleasure even from a sloppy fuck as this one, and you still manage to find it in yourselves to tell each other how much you love each other because this is not just sex, this is more. It always is more when it comes to you. You need to forget, but that’s not all. This is more than desperation. This is love.

You dig your nails into his back when he hits the sweet spot inside of you again with his cock, and the wave crashes into you almost unexpectedly. You were too focused on the way his body feels against yours that you ignored the pleasure completely.

You throw your head back. When you come, the room fills with the call of his name, followed by a string of curses and your name, and then, silence.

You remain in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside of you, his cum staining not only your insides but your thighs as well, but you’re finally close again, and you don’t want him to be anywhere else but where he is now.

Sweat stains your temple. Michael wipes it away with his thumb, caressing your face as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed. He always looks so good after sex.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. This is where you want and need to be. You’re alive with him. Without him, there is no you anymore.

He woke up the person that had been asleep inside of you for so long. You found yourself, and in his arms, you can be the person you should be without fearing judgment. You can just be yourself, no questions asks. He accepts and loves you unconditionally. He worships your body like a goddess, and he’s kneeling at the altar of your love.

He takes a shaky breath. “I hope I didn’t imagine that ya just came,” he says.

Your face contorts into a smile. “Trust me,” you say, “you weren’t imagining anything.”

“Good,” Michael pulls you closer, “‘cause I don’t wanna be selfish.”

“Don’t worry about me. With you, I always come.”

“Only with me, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. “No one ever made ya come before?”

You meet his eyes, your blush deepening. “I...I've never felt this way with anyone else in general. Not just with orgasms, although you win those,” you admit softly. “You just have a way of making me feel things I never thought possible, you know? It's like you have this innate understanding of my mind, body and soul. It's...it's crazy,” you bite your lip, “but, like, in a good way.”

His hand is on your arm, stroking the sensitive skin there the same way his thumb caresses your cheek, and it manages to leave goosebumps in its wake. “Yer not alone in tha, love,” he says. “You've opened up a whole new world for me too. Everything about you drives me wild. You have a spell on me, I think.” He leans in to press a tender kiss against your lips. “Witch.”

You snort. “Hey!”

He playfully bites your bottom lip. “I’m jokin’. It’s not just physical,” Michael continues, his fingers continuing to stroke your arm. “It's the way we understand each other. It's the way ya make me feel alive...like I'm truly seen and accepted for who I am. I've been so lost, but…now I feel a little less like that,” he says.

Your eyes flutter closed. He’s everywhere, all over you, and it’s hard to think straight. “Yeah, me too,” you respond, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not much makes sense lately…”

“But you have me.”

“Yeah,” he nuzzles his nose against yours, “I do.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. You don’t need to see him, you only need to feel him close. “You should ask for a few days off to deal with things,” you say, changing the subject in a different way.

His nose rubs against yours again. “Yeah, maybe.”

“And I’m gonna stay with you for a few days to make sure you’re okay.”

“Sounds good t’me.”

“But I have work today,” you add. “Late shift.”

He sighs, cradling your head in the crook of his neck. It’s an intimate hug in the position you’re in, but you can feel his heart pounding from his chest to yours. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, does it?” he says.

You shake your head. You don’t want to leave him, but as he said, money doesn’t grow on trees and you can’t lose your job.

Your breath fans hotly across his shoulder, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He holds you tighter. “There’s no reason ya’d have to.”

You can feel him against your temple when he presses a kiss right on the scar he found the night before. You shiver slightly, but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Even looking at it seemed terrifying before; his kiss works like a bandaid, keeping the memories from spilling out through the broken skin.

“I don’t want ya to lose your job ‘cause o’ me,” Michael says. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nod against his shoulder. It’s not easy juggling the demands of work and personal life, especially in times of crisis. You’re tired, mentally and physically drained, and you might as well be on the verge of slipping into depression, but that doesn’t stop life from happening.

You have to suck it up for today. Maybe you can talk to Ava about using your remaining overtime to take a day or two off to deal with stuff, but you know shit is going to hit the fan even more soon, it always does, and you’ll need even more time then. You need a whole year off to just focus on yourself, but that’s not possible. So you have to learn how to live with it. You lived in delusion before, you just have to find a way to return to this pretentious picture of a perfect life for a few hours.

You’re determined to find a way to support Michael, and he’s determined to find a way to support and protect you. You know he will, so you’re a little less scared. Even the thing with Birdy seems like something he has under control. He’ll take care of it.

One thing he can’t take away though are the demons and the memories, and that’s what keeps your mind occupied.

It’s the same you told Anthony; it hurts, and when something hurts, cigarettes and alcohol only offer a momentary relief. That’s why they’re so addictive. Your love for tequila is a dangerous game you’re playing.

You’re thinking too much and it’s starting to show.

Michael brushes the hair out of your face. “Hey, I’ll be okay,” he tells you, his voice gentle yet firm. “You take care of yourself and do what ya need t’do. I can fend for myself. We’ll have plenty of time together once yer done with work. I have things to take care of myself that can’t wait.”

You partly know what he means by that. So, you nod. You take a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in your body by rolling your shoulders, and you remember his cock is still buried deep inside of you.

You blush, a little flustered now. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, not phased in the slightest that your walls are still hugging him, keeping him warm. “Always,” he says.

With a final kiss, you reluctantly pull off of him and begin to prepare for the day ahead. As you leave the room, you take comfort in the knowledge that no matter the challenges you face, you have each other’s unwavering support. And that, in itself, gives you the strength to carry on.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x female reader #kin amc #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella smut #charlie cox #chaos theory #reader insert #no y/n

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callsign-phoenix · 2 years

Text

I wrote this for a lovely anon, I hope you like it.

It is a Natasha ‘Phoenix‘ Trace x female!reader imagine.

Thank you @blue-aconite and @mrsroosterbradshaw02 for proofreading!

Warnings: this is a rivalry fic (if you squint there might be feelings involved)

Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace had been your nemesis for as long as you could remember.

She was a beautiful and incredibly talented young woman but so were you, which made it difficult for you to interact with her.

While you didn’t interact much during flight school you certainly had to when you both got stationed with the Black Aces together, and from that moment on the thought of her made your blood boil.

You were constantly at each other’s throats, in the air and on the ground, fighting over who was the best and who would be team leader, to be the best female pilot the world had ever seen.

The problem was that the two of you were too similar, you were both the best there was, there was no way for one to beat the other.

That didn’t stop either of you from making venomous remarks, and while your superiors liked the idea of having the best female pilots the Navy, and possibly the world, had to offer, they didn’t want either of you to come to harm by your incessant and relentless fighting.

After two years of fighting, borderlining bullying, neither of you were willing to lay down your antics. It all ended with you leaving the Black Aces for another squadron.

Your blood was boiling again when you said your goodbyes, your eyes trained on Phoenix’s as you pulled your last belongings from your locker.

“We will see each other again,“ you told her before you left the room without waiting for an answer, the threat unmistakable in your voice that was deeper than usual.

The moment you were called back to Top Gun it was clear to you that she would also be there, which brought the feelings you had forgotten for a while back to you.

You were set on making an entrance neither the other aviators nor Phoenix would ever forget.

So you set foot in the Hard Deck with your head held high and sunglasses in place.

While you knew a few of the pilots and WSOs around you didn’t spare either of them a glance and stopped right in front of Phoenix, pulling off your sunglasses to inspect her appearance.

She always looked good and the uniform fit her incredibly well, but you didn’t let that deter you.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you and you loved the fact that Natasha had to look up at you, due to the height difference between the two of you.

The look in her eyes almost made you smile, you were sure she was absolutely livid because you were there.

After a few seconds of deafening silence that only amplified the tension you decided to speak up.

Giving her a patronizing smile you tucked your sunglasses into your shirt, watching her eyes follow the movement.

You could feel everyone else staring at you as well, most confused, curious, but a guy with a pornstache and in a tasteless Hawaiian shirt seemed like he could pounce to defend her any moment.

“You know, when I heard they were calling back the best 1% I expected you to be there. But only because I knew your officers at the Aces would need to send someone, since they had already sent their best pilot away,“ you smiled sweetly, in a way that made Phoenix’s blood boil.

The clench of her jaw and the way her eyelids fluttered told you all you needed to know.

“I’m happy to see you though, Phoeny,“ you added, the silence amongst the aviators growing thicker at your audacity to purposely mispronounce her name.

“I’d love to see the new tricks you’ve learned, even though we both know you could never compare to me,“ you went on, knowing you laid on a little too thick, but wanting to be provocative more than anything else.

It worked, because Natasha’s lap dog jumped at the chance to show his anger.

“Don’t talk to her that way, she’s one of the best of us,” he growled and took a step forward to stand in front of her, making you chuckle as she set a hand on his arm wordlessly.

“How sweet that you have a knight in Hawaiian shirts, princess, but he won’t help you in the air,” you told her, ignoring the tall guy in between you completely.

You smiled at her once again before putting your sunglasses back on and turning on your heels, walking out of the bar without another glance back.

The moment the door closed behind you everyone’s eyes were on Phoenix.

“What the hell,” Rooster exclaimed but Phoenix’s attention was still on the place you had last stood.

After a few moments she blinked, looking back at everyone else.

“Who was that?” Payback asked after an irritated chuckle, and Natasha’s eyes fixed back on the door you had chosen to leave the bar.

“‘That’ was ‘Tiger’,” she said with a calm voice, a smile almost forming on her lips.

tagging: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @hederasgarden @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @kyramaximoff @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @mrsroosterbradshaw02 @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @thelifeofthelifeofme @midget713 @dannyramirezwife @peaches-1999 9 @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @simping4wanda @aprilfire18 @whateverbagman @tamix44 @ycarlii @katesmadness

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

#natasha trace imagine #natasha trace x you #natasha phoenix trace x you #natasha trace x reader #natasha trace #natasha phoenix trace x reader #natasha phoenix trace

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lazysailor · 2 months

Text

37 Avery

The sun began to set on the ranch that he lived on, no, the ranch he and Ryder lived on. He can't remember how he was able to get his parents ranch, probably inherited it or something.

Their both having some small talk as he can hear the sound of the crops blowing in the wind, their dutch shepherd having a blast running around in the front yard, and the distant sound of cattle mooing.

This..This was the life Avery meant to live after he left the graveyard. No harvest camp, no prosthetic arm, him not having a massive scar across his face, not searching for Kayden..and him finally living with Ryder.

His dream was peaceful..

..Until Ryder said something else.

“Why did you have to stay whole?”

A surprised and concerned expression came over Avery's face.

“What.?”

“Why did you have to live?!” Ryder shouts.

The peaceful scene around them starts to turn chaotic as their dutch shepherd begins to bark, the clear sunset starts to get covered with gray storm clouds, and all the cattle they had all start loudly mooing.

“We could've lived like this, but you know that was almost impossible!” Ryder says.

“You were afraid of rejection and you got it!”

Avery could feel tears start to build up in his eyes, the worst thing about dreaming is that your mind knows your greatest fears.

“Now you're all alone now and you're searching for your best friend who could be anywhere in the world!” Ryder says to him.

The tears that built up in Avery's eyes were now flowing down his cheeks.

“I could've lived Avery!”

“I know.!” Avery says.

“We could've been together! But you never knew I wouldn't feel the same!” He tells him.

“Ryder-” Avery tries to say but gets cut off.

Avery opened his eyes and could feel dried tears on his cheeks. He could feel himself breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. It was nighttime out and every few moments he could see the light of street lights or other cars passing by.

He wasn't on a ranch looking out into the sunset with Ryder. He was stuck in reality in the back of some randos car.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks.

Avery turns his head around and connects the voice to the guy who was letting him hitchhike.

He's quiet for a few moments thinking if he should tell the driver or not.

“..Yeah, I’m fine.” He tells him.

Ever since he had gotten out of the hospital he's been using a wide variety of transportation in order to try to find Kayden. A main way he has been traveling has been hitchhiking. It isn't the safest way to travel obviously, but it was either that or taking a bus or train.

People had been cautious to pick him up so it was rare to find a nice person that would give him a ride. An average person would probably get immediate red flags by looking at Avery due to his new appearance, having a big scar across your face and up to your forearm doesn't exactly scream friendly.

He could stick to walking around, which he had done, but it takes longer to walk on foot rather than using transport.

Avery felt tired, he wanted to go back to sleep..But what if he had that same nightmare again. He sat up and decided to look out onto the night, hopefully he would get closer to finding Kayden..

It was around early morning, the sun was up but barely anyone was out. He could've ended up in a small town or not everyone was in the mood to leave their house right now. The weather was a bit foggy and humid from the previous night's rain which felt oddly nice.

Avery approached a gas station, he was back to traveling on foot for a bit cause he needed some food and he had to go to the bathroom. Upon entering the gas station it only looked like the cashier was there but they seemed half awake, which was good. He had resorted to stealing food due to not having any cash on him and he would rather not dig in trash bins for food.

He walked down various isles to see what kind of snacks he should get. His eyes then saw a couple of chip brands he liked, he grabbed them and stuffed them in his jacket then zipped it up. As he was beginning to leave the gas station he heard a voice he never expected to hear again.

“Avery? That you?” The voice asks.

Avery turns around and sees the familiar old man who had saved him and Kayden long ago. It was Miles!

Miles seemed shocked by seeing him again, it was either due to his new appearance or that he probably never saw the people he housed again.

“Well whatcha doing here?” Miles asks him.

He hesitates to answer for a moment.

“..Just getting some snacks.” Avery tells him.

“I didn't expect ya to be here, I thought you would be long gone from here by now.” Miles says, “How about I get you some breakfast kid? You seem you need a good meal.”

Avery stood there quietly for a moment.

‘Should I really go get breakfast with him?’ He thought.

‘I mean he did save me and Kayden back then..’

‘..And it would be nice to have a proper meal.’

“Sure, that would be nice.” Avery answers.

Miles drove Avery up to a diner that was close to the gas station he was at. It seemed like a family owned diner and not like a franchise diner. The diner was quiet and barely anyone was in there at this time in the morning. Avery and Miles sat towards the back of the diner while he could smell various kinds of breakfast foods being cooked in the kitchen.

“So kid..What have you been up to lately?” Miles asks him.

“Well..uh..” Avery tries to answer but he can't think of anything good to answer.

Miles silently waited for him to answer.

Avery started to feel nervous, everything that has happened to him for the past couple of months is nothing good. He also didn't want to reveal too much to Miles, he took care of him and Kayden along with Ryder for a while. But he couldn't just tell him everything that had happened.

Miles seemed to notice he couldn't come up with an answer.

“Do you know how Ryder and Kayden are doing.?” He asks.

That question hit Avery hard.

‘Ryder, I can't tell him what happened to him.!’

‘Miles can't know he got unwound and worse than I confessed to him! How would he even feel about that.?!’

‘And I don't even know how Kaydens doing..She could be anywhere right now.!’

Avery was quiet as he panicked in his mind.

Miles seemed to finally know anything around Avery right now was a bad idea to ask about.

“How about we just talk about myself?” He asks.

Avery snaps out of his panicked thoughts when he asks that.

“Sure, that will be fine.” He says.

The waitress brought over some pancakes and coffee like she knew the old man's usual order and she brought two orders for both of them. Avery began to eat his food as he began to talk.

“Ever since you kids left my safe house, I knew it was time for me to retire.” He starts off, “The job was starting to get risky for me and that I should start focusing on my side job more.”

He took a sip of his coffee.

“So I started working on my ranch more because I knew my crops and cattle could last me for a long time.”

“Now at my age I just knew to focus on one thing instead of multiple.”

‘Focus on one thing.’ Avery thought.

‘That's like what I’m doing right now!’

“I’m also focusing on something right now.” He tells Miles.

Miles gives him a confused, but interested look.

“And what's that kid?” He asks.

‘I can tell him a bit about Kayden right now, well all I know.’ He thought.

“I'm trying to find Kayden right now, we were separated and I just want to find her again.” Avery tells him.

Miles' confused look turns to one of shock again.

“Are you crazy kid? Do you even know where she is?” He asks.

“No, but I know I can find her somehow eventually.” He says.

Miles lets out a quiet sigh.

“You two always seemed to stick by each other..”

“Well good luck on finding her..She could be searching for you too.”

Avery quickly eats the rest of his pancakes before standing up.

“Thanks Miles for the food.” He says as begins to walk away.

He stops walking and turns towards him.

“I'll keep searching for her.” Avery tells him with a small grin.

Miles gives him a firm nod and a smile back.

He turns back around and leaves the diner back to his focusing on his goal.

‘I know I can find her, just getting slowly closer day by day.’

#unwind fanfic #unwind #unwind dystology

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