#like 'why are all the cows gathered in a circle? whats with all the dust?' and the circle broke and Maisy and the bull were in a drop down
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Breeze
Harringrove April Prompt 20: Breeze Billy doesn't know what's the most nightmarish about Hawkins--the stuff he can see, or the stuff he can't.
Billy’d been just gonna drop Max off at the Sinclair place, but then the sky turned green with the sounds of screaming, and somebody—who turned out to be Lucas—ran towards them from the house, and banged on the window. “Tornado! Get in the storm cellar!” he yelled, through the noise and the dust, and waved them to park in the barn.
Billy didn’t wanna admit he was spooked, but he definitely walked a little faster than a saunter to that door in the ground. It was pitch black inside, and he kept bumping into Max, who swore at him. “I can’t see where I’m going!” she hissed, and Billy growled, “I can’t stand up,” from where he was still wedged against the door.
“Come down heeeeeere,” came the voice of one of Max’s little shithead friends, the curly one. “We have a ouija board.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Max said, and Billy heartily agreed, biting his lips together.
“It’s traditional!” said Curly, lighting a candle, and Max groaned. He lit five candles in a circle, which looked creepy as shit, because they were all blowing in the same direction—into the darkest part of the cellar, not even something logical, towards or away from the door. Billy tried not to wonder what was in the darkest corner, sucking up the light.
Nobody wanted to sit there, he noticed, all the kids gathering around the other side, so Billy had to man up and sit with his back facing the sucking darkness, a soft breeze bringing up goose pimples all along his shirtless spine. “Where the hell are your parents,” he growled, half wondering, half wishing there was an actual adult around so he could ask how likely he was to find a cow halfway through his Camaro after the tornado went through.
“They got sucked up in the last tornado,” said Lucas’ little sister, and Billy stared at her for a long second, until Max and Curly started snickering.
“Ask for Great-grandma,” Little Shithead Sinclair said, elbowing her brother. “She died in the kitchen,” she told Billy, who glared back at her.
“Fuck off,” he said.
“No, that’s actually true,” Curly said, grinning over. “It might have been murder.”
Billy hated them all.
“Our old dog used to stare at her, wandering around the spot where she died,” Lucas said, his mouth twitching.
“Where she was murdered,” his sister whispered, like a ghoul.
“It gets really cold in their kitchen,” Max reported, and Billy glared at her, wondering why the fuck everyone in Hawkins was weird as shit, and why he was in their creepy fucking house, when suddenly the whole cellar lit up, and filled with the sound of screaming wind like a passing freight train.
“Hey! Everybody’s down here, huh?” came Steve Harrington’s voice, and Billy wished he was dead. Harrington yanked the cellar door shut again, humming like a lunatic as he walked from death into the basement of a haunted house.
Lucas shifted closer to Tiny Evil Sinclair to make room, Max, the traitor, shifted close to Lucas, and all the space was left around Billy.
Harrington stopped when he saw him. “Oh,” he said, then, “—uh.” He grimaced, and then sat down between Billy and Curls, and Billy just set his jaw, keeping his eye on the ouija board.
“Oh!” Harrington said again, like a genius. “Ghosts, huh?”
“Just my great-grandma,” said Lucas, and Max nodded, like oh, yeah, the Sinclair fuckin’ murdered grandma ghost, of course.
“Can she check for…” and here Harrington honest-to-god side-eyed Billy, like he wasn’t supposed to know about their freaky Hawkins bullshit. “You know,” Harrington whispered. “Other things?”
“Ohhhh,” said Lucas, like that made sense, and Billy wanted to shake both of them and yell “What fucking other things, Harrington?!” but he just glared at Max, biting his lips.
The little coward avoided his gaze.
“How far can she look?” Harrington asked, like they were doing got-damn military reconnaissance, and Billy leaned over and punched Max’s leg, so she’d look up. She didn’t.
Steve reached out and put his hands on the ouija board thing, with Max and Curly and Smallest Sinclair, and it sped over to ‘no’. The house rattled around them.
“Wait,” Lucas said. “Does that mean they’re not out there, or she can’t?” and Billy was left to hope they were all united in fucking with him, because he did not want to know what was creepy enough to send a ghost to surveil.
They got super into it, even drawing a map of Hawkins in the dirt on the floor, while Billy noticed the shelves and shelves of lumpy reddish substances in jars, and peered closer, wondering whether he was about to become an organ donor. The wind was so strong the weighted door was slamming in a regular rhythm, like a heartbeat.
“It’s jam,” Max hissed, and he nodded, like he hadn’t jumped at her voice.
“Out by the Steelworks,” Steve said. “Better all stay away from there. Hopper and his deputies can check it out, okay.” He glared around, and Curly and Lucas rolled their eyes and nodded, Max glowered back, crossing her arms, and Tiny Ghoul Sinclair snorted a laugh. “I mean it,” Steve said, glaring even at Billy, who raised his eyebrows. “We might not get so lucky next time.”
Billy just raised his eyebrows back, thinking he was damned if he was going anywhere these freaks thought was creepy. “What,” he said.
“Don’t go out there,” Harrington repeated.
“Gee, I really wanted to,” Billy sneered. “Steelworks. Sounds rad.”
“No, don’t,” Max said, sounding shaken. “Billy.”
“What the fuck is out there,” Billy blurted, and they all kinda...glanced at each other.
“Guys,” Harrington hissed.
“....ummmmm,” said Tiny Sinclair, kinda sing-songing it, and Billy ignored her to glare at Max.
“Uh,” she said, wincing.
“Clayface?” Curly said, and Lucas screwed his face up in thought, slowly nodding.
“What?” Steve asked, frowning at them.
“I don’t read comics,” Billy said, which was a dumb thing to say, because they both stared at him.
“How’d you know he was from a comic, then?” Curly asked, raising his eyebrows, and Billy groaned. “It looks like somebody you know, right, but it’s not,” Curls told Max, who groaned.
“Bullshit,” Billy growled, but looked over to see Harrington biting his lips together, his eyebrows raised.
“Nobody can hear us in this,” Max said, suddenly. “Nobody. Nobody is listening. We can just—tell him.”
“Who the fuck would be listening to you,” Billy bit out, but everyone scooted closer to the candles.
“You know Will Byers,” Max said, glancing over her shoulder. “He disappeared last year.”
If they hadn’t all looked so shaken, and if Harrington hadn’t gone along, his knuckles whitening as he flexed his fists, Billy wouldn’t even have listened—but he had nowhere to be, and even if Max was insane, her version of the last few months in Hawkins answered some questions.
When they got to the day Billy’d chased Max all over hell and gone when she knew he’d get in trouble, he gritted his teeth, but kept listening.
“You know this sounds crazy, right,” he said, and Max sighed.
“I’ve got a picture of one in my wallet,” Curls said, whipping it out, and handing over a bent photo of something huge and slippery-looking wedged in a fridge.
“...what the fuck is that,” Billy breathed, and they all leaned in around the candles, pointing out stuff in the photo, and talking about Steve Harrington like he was a superhero.
“So you can’t go out to the Steelworks,” Max said, glaring over, and Billy held back a laugh.
“I didn’t want to!” he told her. “I’m not going near anything you all think is creepy,” he snorted, gesturing at the whole world around them, and Steve cocked his head, then nodded, like Billy had a point.
The wind outside sounded even louder—they were all shouting to be heard—and the breeze towards the darkest corner hadn’t stopped. The breeze licked up Billy’s neck, and he full-body shuddered. It was really cold, back there, and Billy scooted back over next to Harrington, who gave him kind of a weird look, but then went back to their creepy map with big X’s on it. They kept saying things like “How many,” and “—that’s not good, that could be infecting…”
“Stop fucking with me,” Billy muttered. “You’re just moving that thing yourself.”
“What?!” Max said, and Lucas opened his mouth, and then closed it, setting his jaw.
“Let him do it,” said Curly, and Tiny Shitstirrer Sinclair grinned evilly.
“Why the fuck would I want to,” Billy asked, but Max grabbed his hand and smacked it down.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
It did feel like it was tugging, and he did hold it in fucking place, because all he had left was denial. “See?” he said. “It didn’t move.”
The candles blew out at the same time, into the direction of the fucking haunted breeze from behind Billy, and everyone yelled, Billy the loudest, half falling into Harrington.
Harrington started laughing, silently, Billy could tell, but it was pitch black and the wind was still screaming outside, and as Lucas lit the candles again, the plastic pointer thing in Billy’s hand moved to I—A-M—H-E-R-E. He yanked his hand back, wanting to punch Harrington, just as the cellar door blew open, rain blew in, pelting around them, and the candles blew out again. Billy grabbed for the nearest anything, and found Harrington’s arm.
“It’s okay, Hargrove, I’ll protect you,” Harrington said, laughing, and Billy was ready to shove him away and stumble off into the freezing cold basement, when Curly’s voice laughed shakily.
“Yeah, you better.”
“S’what I’m here for, right? You okay, Erica? Max? Lucas?” Harrington asked, and they said they were, but they sounded rattled. Billy didn’t lean into Harrington, but he didn’t move away, either, and then he thought of the candles, patting towards them as Harrington stood up. The door clattered shut again, and it didn’t bang.
“I put the board across this time,” Harrington said, as Billy lit a candle.
There was movement behind the Shittiest Sinclair. Billy squinted, as his stomach dropped. “Everybody behind me,” he said hoarsely, trying to make something different out of what his eyes were telling him about the dark shape on the floor in the flickering candlelight.
“What?!” she asked, glaring at him, and he said it louder, trying to keep his voice even.
“Everybody get behind me right now.”
Harrington glanced at his face and then grabbed Curly and tiny Sinclair, shoving them at Billy, and Billy took a shaky breath of relief, pulling them closer as the coiled snake in the corner raised its head. Steve swore and grabbed Lucas, as Max yelped, seeing it finally, and scrambled towards Billy.
“Cottonmouth,” said Curly. “Water moccasin. Should leave us alone, over here.”
“Shit,” Harrington breathed, stepping close to Billy, so the raised hairs on the back of their arms brushed.
“Are they poisonous,” Max hissed at Lucas, who was pushing her behind Billy, while glaring at his little sister. The snake eased back down, shutting its mouth instead of the eerie white gape. In the light of only two candles, it was nearly invisible again.
“They’re in the viper family,” Curly breathed, staring. “So it will just rot your flesh.”
“What,” Steve said, which was what Billy was thinking.
“It’s called necrosis, it’s like gangrene,” Curly said cheerfully, and Billy kinda wanted to feed him to the snake. “It’s way better than anything that causes nervous system damage!”
“Probably down here to get away from the tornado,” Lucas sighed, and they stayed there, because every time one of them ventured forward, the snake raised its head. Smallest Sinclair kept trying to wedge her way out, and Billy shoved her back.
The portal to the nether realms or whatever the fuck was still behind them—probably the Upside-Down, Billy thought, shivering from actual cold the way he never thought he would in the summer in Hawkins Indiana. Harrington kept shooting him glances, like there was something weird about standing as far as possible from a huge poisonous snake when you couldn’t leave a basement the size of a bathroom. They finally slid back down to sit against the ground and the wall, pressed up against each other in the darkness.
“...there’s some kind of...wind back here,” Max muttered, used to such things, probably, in Hawkins Indiana. Billy’s little fucking sister would probably be one of those old ladies in zombie movies that ran into a zombie and hit it with her purse, he thought, biting back a grin. He kept his mouth shut, for once, because he’d been sweating in his car on the drive over, and now the fucking graveyard breeze had him shuddering with cold.
When the tornado outside finally slowed, Harrington tapped Lucas’ shoulder. “Go unbar the door,” he said, watching the snake. Lucas slid out and did so, and then Small Evil Sinclair, and Billy realized he was going to be alone in the basement with Harrington, and Harrington’s grudge.
Curls and Max went last, and then it was just Billy and Harrington—and Billy couldn’t stop shivering, in no shirt, with the soft, freezing cold breeze wafting against his arms, back, and neck. Everybody would believe Harrington, Billy realized, if he said Billy’d tried to fight a snake, and Billy grimaced, not liking what that said about his image.
“Close your eyes,” Harrington said, and Billy jerked his head up to squint at him through the darkness. He could just make out a concerned frown, in the light from the open cellar door
“What?!” he hissed back.
“It’s fine, I’ll get you out of here,” Harrington told him, putting both hands on Billy’s biceps, like that made sense. His hands felt like heaters in the haunted breeze, and Billy set his jaw and didn’t lean in.
“The hell are you t-talking about,” Billy tried to growl back, but he full-body shivered in the middle of his sentence, and Harrington gripped him tighter.
“Shut your eyes, I’ll get you past the snake,” Harrington said against his ear, and Billy realized between his shuddering, and his reaction earlier...Harrington thought he was terrified of snakes. “Come on,” Harrington said, “—I won’t tell anybody, just don’t look at it. I’ll get you out.”
Billy stared back at him. “...what,” he said, blankly.
“You can’t stay in this corner forever,” Harrington told him, frowning at the snake. “They’re pretty chill, but I’m not just—leaving you down here.” Billy shivered again, and Harrington’s frown deepened. “Trust me.”
It was not how Billy’d thought the day would go—the fucking tornado, or the snake, but certainly not Steve Harrington trying to help him save face. He nodded, finally, and Harrington insisted he close his eyes, and walked him over to the stairs, telling him every bump in the floor, and when to lift his feet for the stairs. “You’re okay, it can’t reach you, it’d hit me first, even,” he kept saying, and stuff like it.
“That was cool of you, putting yourself between it and Erica,” he said, off-handedly, and Billy wondered what the hell kind of person Harrington thought he was, that he’d hide behind a little girl, and then shivered again at Harrington’s breath on his neck and shoulder. “Shit, if you hadn’t been down there, somebody coulda died,” he said, laughing shakily. “I’ll get you away from snakes anytime, man.”
At the top of the stairs, he let go, and Billy stopped automatically, so Harrington walked into him. “You can open your eyes now,” he laughed. “...you okay? You need anything? Want something to drink?” Harrington asked, drawing him away from the storm cellar by the wrist, like Billy was having some kinda breakdown, just because he was a shivering mess. He kinda wanted to keep playing it up, keep Harrington watching Billy like he needed protecting. Billy rubbed his arms, but he didn’t pull his wrist out of Harrington’s grasp.
The yard was a mess of blown branches and trash, and Billy wondered, sinkingly, about his Camaro. “...I owe you one,” he told Harrington, sighing. “Two, I guess. Hit me up.”
Harrington was silent for a long second, and then he nodded. “...yeah,” he said, trailing off awkwardly, before changing the subject. “Jesus, it was freezing down there next to that storm window,” he said, and Billy said, “...what?”
Steve pointed to a cracked chunk of plywood screwed just above the ground, and Billy realized it was right over his haunted devil’s corner. “Didn’t you notice?” Harrington said, shivering. “Kept letting in a breeze.”
"God fucking damn it," Billy breathed, his face heating as he started to laugh.
The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done!
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Give & Toke
https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069568
Happy 4/20 Yugihoes,
Please accept a humble posting of my puppyshipping/violetshipping weedfic.
Joey showed up at Kaiba's shiny new dispensary for the sole purpose of kicking Kaiba's ass.
It does not go as planned.
A gift for @sky-kaijou / @sky-kaijou-writes in honor of the 2020 New Zealand Cannabis Reefer-endum.
TW: Marijuana use and sale.
Title by @auroraXborealis <3
For the Professional Rivals prompt of AU-Gust.
. . .
(context for this fic) Marijuana is decriminalized currently in Domino City, and stores can be licensed through a regulatory scheme similar to that of California.
Full story under the cut
Joey stomped into the new cannabis shop in the neighborhood. It looked like an Apple store: white walls, smooth white tables, iPads and clerks in matching polos. Gentrification had taken his neighborhood by storm, spinning the older apartment complexes into glamorous condos, replacing the older styled homes with sleek modern imitations, and leaving everyone who couldn’t keep up forced to either move away or to the streets.
Joey’s own rent was soaring, and so was his bitterness towards the invaders to his territory. And especially this cursed-ass pot shop. The shiny new dispensary hadn’t made a terrible dent in his sales, but he couldn’t keep up with the variety, the quality, or the convenience.
It was a travesty to his profession, is what it was. Joey had been dealing for years—he’d never gotten an allowance from his father and passing a little pot along had made up the difference. Once he graduated high school, it morphed into something of a full-time gig. That hadn’t been his intention. It wasn’t like he was trying to move up the distribution ladder or become the next gang lord. But he’d built a good network, and in an industry that ran on relationships and reputation, it was really going pretty well for him.
And this bastard had the gall to move into his territory! Sell his soulless, corporate product to his loyal customers. With this robotic, inhuman, unfeeling mockery of everything that weed is.
Joey spotted a mustachioed blue-polo wearing corporate shill and waved him over. “I’m here ta talk ta yer manager. Give him ‘a piece of my mind.”
“If you intend to make threats against Mr. Kaiba in some sort of gang turf nonsense, you have no idea the true power that you are—” the goon responded, placid energy souring. Joey’s fists clenched tighter, body preparing for a fight.
“I’m not sure a piece of your mind would get you very far.” While Joey was attempting to intimidate the soulless bud-tender, a tall brunet in a white suit with a light blue oxford shirt had stalked up behind him and interrupted.
Joey spun on the toe of his well-worn red Nike’s. “An’ who do ya think you are?”
The brunet crossed his arms over his chest. “Seto Kaiba, the license-holder for this establishment.”
Joey nervously ran a hand through his messy blond hair. He hadn’t expected the shop owner to be so young. Or attractive. All of his fight drained from him. In Joey’s decade of experience, rival dealers were rarely so… professional and polished. Joey felt instantly underdressed in his varsity jacket and jeans.
“Uh… well, yer in territory that doesn’t belong ta ya!” Joey stammered.
“Is that so? I assure you, I have all required state and local permits,” Kaiba answered, blue eyes narrowing. The taller man let a stray glance to Joey’s old, green Jansport backpack. “Perhaps if you had a better view of my inventory, we could have a more amiable business relationship. I’m not trying to alienate everyone in my industry.”
It was insane, the way the taller man could knock the fight out of him without even trying. Joey had never considered that his enemy would possibly seek to de-escalate the situation. Joey nodded and followed the taller man to the back, hypnotized. He maybe shouldn’t have smoked a bowl before raiding the enemy facility.
Inside an equally pristine office, Kaiba lit a pre-rolled joint and took a long inhale. He passed it across the desk, the rolling papers poised delicately between his forefinger and middle finger.
Joey accepted the joint and took a hit. After an impressive pause, Kaiba released smoke rings from his lips slowly, in that perfect practiced way. The smoke dissipated softly, fading from tight circles and clouding the air. With no windows in the room, it seemed that his intent was to hot box it. Joey wondered idly how the white marble of the desk was so free from dust or ash if Kaiba took to smoking here.
Joey passed back the joint before releasing his breath in a round of hacking coughs.
While Joey was gasping for air and trying to gather his bearings, Kaiba produced a glass of water and a plain white ashtray. He gently rested the joint on the edge.
“That was a proprietary strain—Blue Eyes White Dragon. It’s Sativa. I’m working on a hybrid model that has a significantly greater THC content. But the current Blue Eyes plant has the highest percentage of CBD for Sativa plants currently on the market in Domino. Thoughts?” Kaiba unbuttoned his white blazer.
Joey’s eyes watered, and he managed to take a few sips from the glass. “It tastes… unique. Kinda minty?”
Kaiba nodded, raising the joint to take another hit.
“So, y’know, I came here to talk about ya encroaching on my business. I’ve built up a book ‘a business in this part ‘a Domino, and I’m not gonna give up that easy!” Joey said, straightening his shoulders. He couldn’t tell if he was sitting up properly. The world was already starting to feel a little warmer, fuzzier. His forehead sort of tingled like he had a third eye.
Once again, Kaiba blew out a series of flawless rings, staring into space. The blue irises of his eyes were framed by smoke-induced redness. “Yes, well, I have no intention of cowing to any threats. I took this corrupt pharmaceutical company from my dead father, and I am turning it into something that can actually improve people’s lives. And no puny street punk will stand in my way.”
“Oof. Sorry for ya loss.” Joey elected to ignore the last comment, as a gentleman. And because, for the first time, he spotted a white holster tucked under the newly opened sport jacket.
“Don’t be, he was a bastard,” Kaiba said with a satisfied smirk.
Joey laughed at the insinuation. He might’ve had more to say, under other circumstances, but Kaiba had shared the good shit. Instead, the room felt a few degrees warmer than when he had entered and he removed his letterman jacket, revealing his toned biceps.
Kaiba was constructing another round of rings when his eyes met Joey’s sculpted arms. His focus was completely dashed, and he ended up exhaling the rest of the smoke from his nose, like a dragon.
“Ha, ya see something ya like, rich boy?” Joey said with a signature grin, picking up the joint again. It was already almost half-way spent.
Kaiba looked away dismissively. “Irrelevant. Mr. Wheeler, it was a matter of time before you paid my enterprise a visit. As you have most likely noticed, there are certain elements of the trade in which I excel. I am a gifted scientist, an expert businessman, and—”
“A robot? You’ve had double the hits I have and ya won’t even crack a smile! I dunno what yer tolerance has ta be, but ya ain’t human anymore.”
Kaiba rolled his eyes, tapping the joint against the ash tray to release some of the built-up cinders. “There is a certain social element to this business that I have no interest in participating in.”
Joey leaned over a little in his chair. “Is that so?” He meant to have an interrogator’s pose and expression, but he was worried he just looked high as balls.
Kaiba passed the still burning joint across the table, little red ember barely emanating light in the bright white office.
“I would like to absorb your book of business and employ you as a bud-tender.”
Joey rejected the joint and cracked his knuckles, knowing that the action flexed his arm muscles. An almost-imperceptible blush flashed across Kaiba’s cheeks. “I’ve been my own boss, mostly, for a little while now. Why should I be a glorified store clerk for ya?”
“You can’t possibly see this career continuing to serve you indefinitely. You’ll need to go legit or go to jail.” Kaiba lazily released one more puff of smoke before butting the joint. “But, I am amenable to other arrangements. What do you propose?”
Joey smiled at the suggestion. “Partner. It doesn’t haveta be fifty-fifty or anything, but I’ve built somethin’ up, and I know what I’m worth. I gotta be making at least five g’s a month.”
Kaiba finally broke. He laughed almost hysterically at the suggestion, doubling over and taking a full minute to get his breathing to settle. “Yeah, ok. That would be, maybe, a five percent share of the retail business.”
Joey stretched, resting his arms behind his head, giving Kaiba an eyeful of his tight white t-shirt and strong pectorals underneath. “Ten percent of the retail company.”
Kaiba nodded, picked up his phone and typed away. “The contract will be prepared presently.”
“Neato,” Joey said with a lecherous smile. Everything felt soft, warm, comfortable—even if the room looked so sterile it could be used for a surgery. “Now, what should we do with this time?”
Kaiba shifted in his seat and adjusted his light blue tie.
Joey leaned forward, planting an elbow on the desk. “I got some ideas I think you’ll like, partner…”
Kaiba leaned over the desk as well, a small smile budding on his lips. “Oh, already?”
“Yeah. In this business, yer supposed to seal a contract with a kiss.”
“I do not think that’s custom—”
Joey closed the remaining distance and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Kaiba relaxed into the kiss almost instantly. It was softer than Joey had expected. Sweet and hot, with the flavors of mint, smoke, and cannabis on his partner’s lips.
Joey only broke it to walk over and climb into the brunet’s lap.
The contract was respectfully slid under the door.
FIN
#seto kaiba#Kaiba Seto#Jounouchi Katsuya#Joey Wheeler#puppyshipping#Violetshipping#my fic#crossposted on ao3#tw: drug use#tw: marijuana use
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Right-Hand Cat
A jmart fic! Cross-posted to ao3 here.
Jon finds a cat behind the safehouse: or, rather, a cat finds him.
Spoilers for everything up to ep.192!
Content warnings:
Cats, worry over nutrition/weight (of a cat), apocalypse (plus general eyepocalypse stuff), mild body horror, brief depiction of paranoia/being triggered (not sure what it counts as), following/stalking (by cats), brief worry over parasites (staged), swearing, food, worry over disease (unresolved)
----
Jon was trying to make use of the wild blackberries behind the safehouse, but this damned cat wasn’t letting him.
He’d nearly dropped the pail several times at this point, but the cat wouldn’t stop nagging him. Twisting in and out of his ankles, laying on the ground where he should have been kneeling. On one occasion, it had tried to get into his pail.
Jon had shooed him away hurriedly. He wasn’t sure if cats could eat blackberries.
It had been over an hour, and still the cat stayed. Jon nudged it gently with his foot so he could reach an obscured clump.
“Made a new friend?” Martin called from the back door. Jon blinked at the light from the open door.
“Ha, ha,” said Jon sarcastically.
“You should probably come inside. It’s getting pretty dark.”
“You’re probably right,” said Jon, standing up. The cat stood with him. “Copycat,” Jon muttered, and dusted himself off.
The bucket was heavier than he’d thought: he hoped the plastic didn’t crack under the weight of its contents.
Martin hummed upon seeing this. “Maybe we have too many.”
“Eh. Could always make a pie, or something.”
“Settling into that cottage lifestyle, are you?” said Martin. “Your friend seems to be, too.”
“What?” asked Jon, and then spared a look at his feet, where the cat had reappeared, squeezing its way into the door. “Oh, no you don’t.” He slid the door shut.
“Why not? It’s just a cat.” Martin looked at the cat, its sullen face pressed against the glass between them.
Jon shut the blinds, blocking the cat’s gaze completely. “Could have rabies, or something.”
“Yeah,” said Martin, his face falling. “I guess.”
----
The cat came back the next day. And the day after that.
Every time Jon stepped outside, there it was. In all its tuxedo glory.
Jon shut the door every time, but he couldn’t help but notice how scrawny it looked.
He couldn’t stop himself. He put two cans of fish into their trolley at the store one night. Then he put in some more.
“Tuna?” asked Martin, browsing the store’s limited amount of soups.
“Why not? We have crackers.”
Martin smirked, and Jon pretended that he hadn’t.
The walk back to the safehouse from the store was peaceful enough, as it were. The cool October air was still, for once, but the air was thick with humidity. Jon began to wish he had brought an umbrella.
Suddenly, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He jumped, swiveling in his place, swinging his bag of groceries in defense.
Behind him was not some eldritch monster. It was a woman: middle-aged, crouched on the ground in front of a large black-and-white cat. He felt Martin’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He sighed in relief.
“Oh!” said the woman, as if realizing the panic she’d caused. “I’m sorry, I just-” she gestured towards the cat aimlessly. “I haven’t seen this kitty in a few weeks. She was following you, and I figured-” she stood up suddenly. “I’m Lindsey.”
Martin shook her proffered hand politely. “Martin. This is Jon.”
Jon tried for a friendly smile. The shock hadn’t quite worn off, so he figured it looked more like a grimace.
If Lindsey was offended, she didn’t show it. “Nice to meet you, Jon. Do you know this cat?”
“Oh, um.” Jon looked down at the cat, who was circling around his legs again. “Sort of? Is she yours?”
“No, not really,” Linsey said. “She used to belong to one of the teachers here, but after he passed, she’s just been wandering. We’ve tried to rehome her, but she never really seemed to take to anywhere.”
“Poor thing,” whispered Martin.
“She’s friendly, if you want to pet her,” said Linsey.
Martin kneeled on the ground. In an instant, the cat was there, purring and rubbing her face on his hand. Martin cooed.
“Traitor,” muttered Jon, and Linsey laughed. Jon couldn’t help but be reminded of Rosie, all the way back in London, and then he banished the thought.
“Does she have a name?” asked Martin.
“Depends who you ask,” said Lindsey. “I always call her ‘Sasha,’ though. That was her original name, anyhow.”
“Sasha,” murmured Jon, and sat down beside Martin on the sidewalk.
“Oh, dear,” said Lindsey suddenly. “I just felt a drop.”
A second bead of water fell on Cat-Sasha’s head, and she dove under Martin’s legs. He swiftly picked her up and zipped her into his jacket.
“Fleas,” muttered Jon halfheartedly.
“You two need a ride home?”
“No, thank you,” said Jon.
Cat-Sasha meowed in agreement.
“Alright, nice meeting you!” said Lindsey, and then she was gone.
“So, we’re keeping her, right?” asked Martin.
“I guess,” said Jon, a little too quickly.
Martin smiled.
----
Since Jon had given in to Sasha, another cat had graced their presence. A tabby, this time, wandering their small garden.
Jon refused to do anything but leave food out for her, but Sasha mewed pitifully in her direction anytime the tabby appeared. Jon took to shutting the blinds at most hours, making the safehouse rather dreary.
“We can’t take in every stray cat we find,” he muttered, more to himself than to Martin.
“But they’re friends,” said Martin mournfully.
“They can still do cat things outside,” said Jon. “No reason we have to adopt her. She’s probably lived outside for a while.”
He still felt guilty when it rained, though.
----
Jon and Martin had taken to walking, in the past month. In the afternoons, mostly, when the sun was still out and Jon didn’t have to wear much more than a jumper. He still wore gloves, though, partly because he seemed to be permanently cold, and partly because Martin had made them.
It was nice, really. The hills rolling in the distance. His hand in Martin’s. The highland cows.
Plus, it meant they weren’t seeing the same safehouse and garden all the time.
Ahead of them, a man waved. Jon waved back, hesitantly.
“Have you met many of the neighbours yet?” asked Martin.
“Not really,” said Jon. “Except Lindsey. Have you?”
“No,” Martin sighed. “Haven’t had much inclination since, you know.” The Lonely, he didn’t say.
“Ah,” said Jon. He squeezed Martin’s hand tighter. It had been weeks since Martin had last Faded, but there was always a chance. Martin squeezed back.
“The streak in your hair still hasn’t faded,” Martin whispered sadly. Jon knew he still felt badly about what happened in the Lonely. He wished he didn’t. He wished he could - well. Know the guilt away, somehow.
“Neither has yours,” Jon said instead. “We match.”
“We match,” said Martin, smiling slightly.
“Not like it makes much difference on me, though,” said Jon, adjusting a pin in his grey-streaked hair.
“I suppose not.”
Jon caught sight of something in the distance. Something brown, and bulky. “Cows,” he said to Martin.
“Cats.”
“What?”
“Cats,” repeated Martin, smirking. “Behind you.”
“I’m not looking,” he said.
“You should.”
“If I don’t look, they’re not there.”
A furry, tabby form butted his ankle with its head.
Jon groaned, and looked.
Behind him stretched a small army of cats, gathered behind them both.
“Like a fucking Ghibli character, I am,” he whispered incredulously.
Martin gaped.
“A goddamn line. Like ducklings,” Jon went on.
“And a General to lead them,” said Martin, scratching Cat-Sasha’s tabby friend behind the ears.
“You did not just name the kitty stalker.”
“She’s made her point. I think this is a cat resume.”
“To be adopted?”
Martin grinned. The General meowed expectantly.
Jon scooped the cat into his arms reluctantly, where she promptly scampered to perch on his shoulder. “No more cats after this.”
“Yes, sir.”
----
Jon hadn’t seen many of the garden’s cats since the Change. Those that remained were wrong, and Jon was glad when they finally disappeared.
----
“Are you sure this is it?” Martin asked nervously.
“Yes, Martin,” said Georgie. “I think I know where to find cat hell. It’s not hard to miss.”
“Just checking. This place feels, I dunno.” Martin pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Human hell-ish. Lots of screaming.”
“Lots of people are scared of cats,” said Melanie. “They’re very murderous.”
“That sure gives me hope for our field trip,” said Martin glumly. “Lead the way, Mrs. Frizzle.”
“I’ve got the earrings for it, so I’ll consider that a compliment,” said Georgie. “Be warned, though. The cats aren’t… quite right.”
“We know,” said Jon. “The safehouse had a few, before everything really got into place.”
“I’m sorry,” said Georgie.
“It’s okay.”
Jon heard a shriek from up ahead.
Melanie winced. “Doesn’t get much easier, does it?” she whispered to Georgie.
“No,” said Georgie. “It doesn’t.”
“Are they all that tall?” asked Martin, peering over the ridge they were cresting.
“What, you’re afraid of dinosaur cats?” asked Melanie playfully.
“I’ll have you know that dinosaur cats are bloody terrifying and oh my god why didn’t you warn us-”
“I did!” protested Georgie.
“The safehouse cats were like bad putty creations, not forty feet tall!”
Jon squinted into the distance. He could see, faintly, a tabby and a tuxedo cat - likely torturing some poor human.
“General?” he called. “Sasha?”
A booming mrrp? sounded across the clearing.
“Admiral?” yelled Melanie, and a furry form came bounding towards them, quickly followed by two others.
“Jesus,” Martin breathed.
“Cats!” exclaimed Georgie delightedly, amidst the chaos.
The cats came to a skidding halt in front of the ridge. Melanie put her hand out expectantly, and The Admiral butted it with his gargantuan head. Georgie followed suit, scratching behind his behemoth ears.
Before Jon and Martin, their two cats sat expectantly. Martin reached out tentatively with his hand to pat Cat-Sasha’s head. Jon worried her purring would cause an avalanche of some sort, but he wasn’t sure those happened anymore, without reason.
He had only just ruffled The General’s fur when he felt a familiar sensation. The Eye.
“I’m sorry, I…” he started, gesturing vaguely.
“It’s okay, Jon,” said Martin. “Go make your statement.”
Jon nodded, and walked away.
#@theemerald-7 helped name The General!!#glock fics#also... the title... Here comes The General from Right Hand Man from Hamilton...#long post#all the cws are under the cut so i don't think i have to tag them here..?#let me know though#ask to tag#the magnus archives#tma#tma fic#magpod#magnuspod#tma spoilers#tma s4 spoilers#rabies mention#disease tw
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FANTASIA QUEST BOARD
Within the main cities of every kingdom a single board was erected in the respective city squares. Upon it rest a number of quests to undertake for profit and for glory.
Wh--?
QUESTS Y’ALL!
Are quests mandatory for the event?
Not at all! These are just for if you’re looking for something a little extra to do, or if you’re interested in any of the reward offerings.
How do I cash in on my quest reward?
Contact the galaxy blog with the quest name and a link to the thread in question. We recommend giving any posts related to the quest a unique tag. To qualify for the reward your thread must meet the following requirements:
you must write out completing the given task
if writing as a thread you must have at least four posts each of at least 150 words per reply
if writing solo as a drabble, the drabble must be at least 500 words
the quest must be completed without using powers that would make completing it too easy (ie. one shot kill abilities during a monster hunting quest or item detection abilities during treasure hunting quests)
How long do we have to complete these quests?
There will be a two week period following the event’s end for you to finish any quest threads. However all of the starters must be made before the event’s part 2 formal end date.
Can I take as many quests as I want?
No. A single character can take up to three quests but no more than that.
YELA ALORA
A MOSS-T DANGEROUS TASK | 20,000 DUST
The local apothecary has run out of chordamoss, a type of moss that grows on the backs of the large gators in the swamps. The gators are too hostile for the apothecary herself to gather it, so that’s where you come in! One bucket of chordamoss should be enough.
A REALLY GOOD BOOK IS BETTER THAN EVERYTHING | MAP OF THE KINGDOMS
There’s a rumor that there’s this really good book in the Unholy’s territory and it’s being kept guarded by one of them. One of the scholars really wants it for their collection and is willing to give a reward to anyone. Your reputation with the Unholy will probably decrease a lot, but if you’re not aligned with them, that’s probably a reward too!
BAMBY, THE SECOND | FIRST AID KIT L & 10,000 DUST
A strange woman approaches you one day, clad in a green robe. She tells the tale of a sacred tome, the second of two, known only as 'Bamby, the second'. Without any chance to argue against her, you find yourself quickly pushed out the door by her hand and constant encouragement. All you know is that the tome is somewhere within the kingdom...
AIRAISAL
RABID RABBIT | 100 STARS
The forested region of Airaisaval has been overrun by a booming population of Binge Chungi, a rabbit monster species that can grow up to the size of a cow. They have dangerous strength and especially sharp teeth. Though herbivores, the damage they do to the forest is extreme. Due to the danger they pose one Binge Chungeous corpse will net you 100 stars once turned in -- though you can only claim the reward once.
SOUNDS FAEK | 50 STARS
Residents have reported new dirt paths showing up in the forests, twisting and turning at random and ending in large circular clearings. The paths are outlined with various mushrooms. Swarms of small wisps commonly appear from these circles and venture too close to the town, shocking and harming people if they come across them. If you clear out the mushrooms, they should go away. Hopefully.
QUEEN ALEIDA LOOK, IT’S THE GOOD KUSH | 4,200 DUST
Queen Aleida has requested some medical herbs. Please collect some and drop them off at the guards in front of the castle grounds. Thank you!
PLEASE IGNORE THE NAME, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT | FIRST AID KIT L
Scholars at the Enchanted Armory and Transformative Academy of Science and Studies have requested the aid of adventurers to venture into the forest of Airaisal to study the magical properties of the plants residing deep in it. Please procure a sample and return within three days.
PLEASE FIND MY CHICKENS! | PANASTAR
It seems a delightful young woman within Airaisal has lost all eight of her chickens. Since she's allergic, she can't touch them without getting hives. Instead of asking just WHY she has chickens, then, in the first place, you should just go and get the nice lady's chickens for her. She'll reward you, if you do!
OPALARIAN EMPIRE
WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME | 50 STARS & AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF FISH
There’s a fishing contest happening in Opalaria and one of the contestants fell to an illness, so they need someone to take their place! It’s simple - catch the biggest fish! Feel free to team up with a partner if you want to and split the prize! Try not to capture any merfolk and sirens, though - your reputation with them will probably not be so great.
BIG BULLY BEAT DOWN | 100 STARS & FREE DRINKS
The Thieves’ Guild is known for collecting its debts in any way it can, and that includes roughing up the shopkeepers who don’t pay on time. An innkeeper has asked you to disguise yourself as a bar patron, and protect her from the hounds of House Karliah. Proceed with caution--these are trained criminals, and aren’t above using magic to put their point across.
Take him down or scare him off, and the innkeeper will give you a small portion of what she saved up.
MEDICINE RUN | PANASTAR & 8000 DUST
Oh, good, you're available to help! Just what this woman needs; she needs this special medicine delivered to one of her friends. The bad news is that not only is the journey lengthy, the path is littered to the brim with bandits of all kinds! Do you dare make the journey and help this woman out?
XALPHINA
DRAGONS DON’T MAKE GOOD SPOUSES! | 14,072 DUST
A village has lost their beautiful maiden to a dragon, which holds her up in a tower deep in the forest. The suitor isn’t all too happy about that and needs help! Get a reward and the title of Knight!
I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY, IT’S TRUE LOVE! | 16,237 DUST
A village girl fell in love with a dragon, and ran away from her old life to live with her in her tower. However, the village keeps sending these assholes to come and 'rescue' her. Find a way to keep the wannabe knights away forever to protect true love!
WITCHES BE TRIPPIN’ | SPIRAZON GROCERY DELIVERY
A Faekin witch in Xalphina has been playing vicious pranks on the locals. It started out as harmless, but now someone could really get hurt! She’s only a young girl, so please just try and talk her out of continuing her pranks.
NONSPECIFIC
I’VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU | 32,474 DUST
An old man pays you to keep watch over his house at night because when he sleeps, he swears he hears the rattling of bones outside his window and the scratching of skeletal fingers. Kill the skeleton and get a reward and some sweet good reputation!
SPOOKY SCARY SKELETON | 54,124 DUST
You wouldn’t ruin the fun of a skeleton, now would you? It’s not doing anything bad by rattling his bones, now is it? Here, just take this bag of dust and leave it alone. Be warned, though - people probably won’t like you all that much if you do this, but the money is pretty good...
A PRETTY FUN GUY | HERO’S CLOTHES ( JUST SOME REGULAR OLD CLOTHES )
A pack of sentient fungi have come to life and have been wreaking havoc among the fields from which they sprung unprompted. Please make hasty work of them before there isn't mush room left for growth!
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vii. GBU/Rawhide
ok this still isn’t the last one
it’s the penultimate one
The hill of Sad Hill Cemetery is the highest point around for miles. Enough to see clear to the river in one direction, far into the west from the other.
Rowdy doesn’t like it much. Feels too exposed.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” Favor says, lighting the fire. “Dig up the gold in the morning when we’re fresh, head out for home- where did that poncho come from? You look ridiculous in it.”
“Stole it from a corpse.” He’s much too tired to make up stories any more.
“Well, take it off. You’re not a thief.”
“We’re going to be, aren’t we? All that gold?”
“Of course not. We’ll bring it right back to its rightful owners, Carson’s regiment. I think,” Favor pronounces, looking very nearly happy, “I think that amount of gold could wipe out more than a few bad moments. We’ll be back herding cattle again as though we never quit.”
It’s on the tip of his tongue to splutter, to ask stupid questions, but Rowdy holds off and won’t let himself say anything until he’s got it all straight in his head. “Just like nothing had changed.”
“Exactly.” Favor’s frowning at him, and for once Rowdy simply has no idea why- that quick and easy sympathy between them completely lost. “Poncho.”
Even holds out his hand for it. Rowdy fingers the dark tassels, has it over his head and noticing the chill evening wind before he stops short.
“Mr Favor…” it comes out of him in a calm, dispassionate voice, one he had no idea he possesses. “You need to understand. Things have changed.”
“This isn’t like you, Rowdy,” Favor says, every word a warning. “It’s a temptation- a mighty temptation, I’ll grant you- but you’ll come through it. We both will, we know the difference between right and wrong-“
Favor always could talk circles around him, there’s no denying that. He can stay and listen, sink back into that companionship his heart’s been longing for-
if he can-
if he dares-
********
Festina lente. A aphorism Favor lives by as well, evidently.
The man can afford to linger, or thinks he can; between picking off every last one of my mercenaries and seeing me in cuffs, there shouldn’t be anybody else to hamper the cemetery desecration he’s planning. It suggests an efficiency of effort to match my own; we might have made choice adversaries, in less fraught and unpredictable times.
Unpredictable enough to see through my own survival, true, so no reason to complain. In peacetime I might have been graced with the inexorable certainty of a firing squad, instead of a hopeless rifle charge.
Hopeless, that is, to the enthusiasts in front. I took care to be in back.
Tuco-
(I would falter, were there any witnesses to see it; but there can’t be now.)
Tuco would have wanted it that way. Would have wanted me to win this little skirmish with Favor, never mind the morality of it. Two hundred thousand dollars.
I can’t, honestly, say I know what I’ll do with it, without a greedy partner to suggest how to spend it. Perhaps Pablo’s monastery could do with an unexpected benefactor, masses for a soul-
that much I surely owe him, but how does anyone tell a man he’s been left orphaned and brotherless in the same week?
Shut up, Angel. You get the money first, then you worry about me.
As though there’s room for worry. Buying my freedom from Clinton in wires and explosives, covering the necessary work in a charge of blood and water. The price paid to be no concern of mine- as it wouldn’t have been, if I hadn’t made the mistake of looking back. Like Lot’s wife, like Orpheus, to see a hundred lives sink into the river and only a single one to matter, my inamorata’s face caught and wreathed in fire-
How dare Clinton see my uniform, and make it anything less than a lie.
How dare I agree to live up to it. Tuco was right, the lies that hustlers speak have the damnedest way of turning to truth- so this bridge is a Union victory, and no doubt that alcoholic dyspeptic is toasting his own imminent death in his men’s blood.
And I wouldn’t give a jot for that, if my bandito had made it through- but he hasn’t.
So now there’s nothing left but the gold; and yet I’ll be damned if I let Favor take it, with the price it’s already cost.
Blondie’s started a quarrel, I notice absently. If you can call such a one-sided affair a quarrel. He’s reserved and placid as one of the cows he used to herd, while Favor is working up a temper- not too much of a one, surely, a fortune in gold is worth an evening’s coddling-
but perhaps the man can’t restrain himself for so much as a single evening. Because as Favor tears away a dark green bundle, Blondie jumps up and starts to run.
It’s a long way down Sad Hill, crashing through scree and grass and jumping over tombstones. Down towards the heart of the cemetery, a tree and a noose and the flatness of dust. Down to where the ghosts would surely gather, if they existed.
Of course there’s none here, except myself.
Blondie’s gasping when he reaches the valley bottom, his serene masquerade turned to sheer exhaustion. Not quite the stately paragon of silence he aspires to.
If he looked cocksure, an ounce more threatening, I’d have no qualms about shooting him down where he stood. No amount of gold will cure a bullet wound; and may all his saints help me, but Tuco wouldn’t forgive me for killing him and then dying.
If he looked any more frightened, boyish, I’d be sure he’d told Favor the secret. And shoot him down just the same, to save the two guns against my one.
As it stands, that very ambiguity holds him safe.
********
There’s a noose hanging over his head, and it doesn’t make any sense that it’s here but the story fits too perfectly. No reason for Favor to waste a bullet on him, when the unearned punishment he’s run and run to escape can be given to him right here-
“This ends now.”
He can see who Favor means it for, when Angel Eyes steps out of nowhere; but that doesn’t frighten Rowdy any less. None of this does.
“Shall we have a duel for it? Twenty paces?”
The tone’s mocking, maybe; but Angel’s terse withdrawal is every bit as serious as Favor’s stolid nobility, and Rowdy just wants to scream at them. A day with this much death, this much blood in it, and they’re still looking for excuses to wallow in more-
he pulls the Colt from the holster as they bow to each other, start walking apart. Twenty paces, Rowdy remembers. He’s seen Favor do this once before.
Remembers Favor telling him to fire, if the bastard broke with honor and turned to shoot a man in the back. He could do that much.
He could do that anyway. Angel’s moving into the distance, vulnerable and fragile as any man-
and if he doesn’t, considering Angel’s deftness with a gun, Favor’s almost sure to lose-
give me a sign, Gil. Just one look, just a flicker of your eyes. I’ll throw over my honor and the gold and everything else to keep you if you’ll have me-
Ten paces. Five. Three.
One.
The shot Blondie gets off, gun balanced against his arm, he thinks it might be the prettiest he ever fired.
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HighWay Girl
TV SHOW: GODLESS
COUPLE: WHITEY X READER
RATING: CUTE + MILD SAD
“heheheheheheh you can't catch me!” I scream as I ran though the dirty dusty streets Of la Belle kicking up dust with my every step
“y/n wait up! How can you run so fast in that dam dress! Slow Down!” whitey complains as he ran behind me
“never!” I giggled as I ran faster running into the stables and hiding behind the little corner where he wont see me
“y/n? Y/n? Where are ya? Where are ya darlin?” Whitey asked as he ran in looking for me
"BOOO!” I scream jumping out to grab him
“aaaahhhhhh!” He yelled “fuckin hell y/n ya tryin to gimme a heart attack!” He yells
“no trying to get a kissy” I giggle
“ya don't have to race me every time ya wanna kiss y/n” he laughs
“but that's the rule” I giggle
“I know it's a stupid old rule” he laughs
“I still won so where's my kissy whitey?” I ask
“alright darlin'” he chuckles kissing me I melted into his soft lips wrapping my arms around his neck and he pulled me closer his hands on my waist
“WHITEY!!” The voice of bill yells across the town
“ohh shit- I've gotta go y/n see ya later” he smiles giving my lips another quick kiss before he ran off into town to the sheriff bills been teaching him for months to use his guns and such like mostly training him up to be the deputy boy soon and eventually the sheriff me and whitey have been the best of Friends since birth as we lived next door to each other and later we become secret little lovers sneaking kisses and cuddles whenever we are alone we made up that little game when we where about five or six who ever won the race would win a kiss from the other and we still play even now
"you and that dam boy auta get married” the stable man told.me sorting the horses the only one who knew me and Whitey's secret just because the stable is the most secret place we could go and he was always there but he promised never to tell anyone
"yeah... Maybe we will, someday” I giggle
“you and that dam boy best get hitched soon before he knocks you up the East road” he says
“before he what?” I ask
“puts a baby in your belly” he answers
“no, me and whitey don't do that we promised not till after we get married” I giggled
“Y/N!!” I heard my mother scream
“bye bye” I smile to him before I ran off home.
“y/n we need to talk” my mother says
”about what?” I ask
“We need to talk about, you getting married” she says
“what! Why? I thought I was allowed to choose my husband?” I ask
“That was before your birthday, I’ll sending you off to a boy in Boston” she says
“NO!” I Yell
“It is not up for discussion Y/n!” she yells
“I’M NOT GOING! I WONT GO!” I yell
“YOU WILL!” she screams
“NO, I wont go, you can’t make me!” I scream grabbing my bag and running off out the house she was yelling for me but I ignored her, I gathered as much of my stuff as I could while she went out looking for me and I put it all on my horse I’m not letting my mother sell me off like a cow
“Y/n... what’s going on?” Whitey asked me as he came back from the office
“I’m leaving” I tell him
“What! Why? When? where will you go?” he asked holding my shoulders
“I don’t know whitey, But I’m not staying here for my mother to sell me off, I’m leaving la Belle” I tell him taking my horse out to the road but he followed me
“please don't go y/n” he begs
“I have to” I tell him
“but... I'll never see ya again” he complains holding my hand
“I'll come home, someday” I smile
“but what if something happens? What if someone hurts you? Please don't go y/n” he begs tears forming in his eyes “I need you here, with me” He says
“I have to whitey, as much as I wanted to stay” I tell him hugging him tightly “come with me?” I suggest
“what! Y/n I can't I have to stay here with the men all gone I'm deputy now I can't leave” he says
“why not? Whitey if you love me come with me, we can run off somewhere just you and me” I suggest
“y/n.... I-i-i I can't I have to stay here, please don't go y/n” he begs
“I'm sorry whitey” I tell him giving his lips a soft kiss before I ran off and got my horse loaded up with all my things and starting to ride off into the night
“y/n wait please” whitey yelled running after me making me stop on the edge of town “please I can't lose you your all I have please don't go” he begs tears running down his face it was enough to make me cry
“I promise I'll come home to you whitey, someday” I tell him giving him another kiss “goodbye whitey” I smile stroking his face
“but y/n... I love you” he told me holding my hand
“I love you too” I tell him kissing his head “I'll come home I promise” I tell him before I rode off away from la belle...
Over my time in the wild I became an outlaw the most dangerous woman in the west they called me I liked it somewhat I was a stage robber girl a highway girl of sorts The papers even called me that, that’s what on all my wanted posters the highway girl I made a way stopping stages and sometimes little trains robbing them of money and jewelry I had made a nice little life out here for myself mostly from my gun skills from years of watching whitey do it I don't think in all these years I've ever had to pull the trigger the theat is enough over all this time I had no clue how far I had traveled and such like, I saw a stage approaching and smirked getting ready, I pulled it over and pulled out my gun
“your money or ya life bitches” I ask
“what the hell! A lady Robbin a stage now that is something I haven't seen before” the man chuckled ,take the girl with us she might be useful, he smirked
“hey! I ain't no useful girl!” I yell but a man tied my hands and took control of my horse I screamed and thought against it the whole way till we reached a little town it seemed abandoned the man in the stage got out talking to some ladies before he brought up me
“Found this lady on the road there’s your sheriff?” he asked
“Your guess it as good as ours Sir, take her to the office I think the Deputy should be in” she says a voice I... remembered somewhat he took me to the office and threw me inside making the deputy boy sit up a little shocked someone was in his office
“This lady tried robbing out stage on the way in, lock her up I got work to too” the man said handing the rope to this boy I looked at this boy he seemed familiar to me something about his muddy skin and messy hair seemed family to me he stood puzzled with his mouth open a moment
“Have- Have we met before?” He asked me
“no” I tell him
“Alright... Miss?” he asked
“NoneyaBusiness” I answer
“have it your way Miss” He sighed putting me in the little cell and locking the door behind me and cutting off my ties he kept looking at me I stared back at him those brown eyes looking back at me... they seemed familiar to me like I knew him but I couldn’t place his face “Are ya sure I’ve not met ya before?” he asked
“I ever robbed you?” I ask
“No” he laughs
“then no” I answer
“I have seen ya before Miss... I know I have” he laughs walking around the office a moment before he stopped and got a bit of paper from the pin board “this... This is you! the highway girl!” He says sounding a little excited
“maybe” i sigh
“I knew I remembered your face from somewhere, Well looks like your staying here till the sheriff comes back little darlin’“ he laughs leaning on the desk...
I sighed looking out the little window for a while before I glanced to this deputy boy he was sat on a little chair looking out the window
“what are you looking for?” I ask
“Ohh, Nothing” he sighs I looked around best I could in the cell and all he was looking to the road that leaves this place
“You want to leave... then go” I smirk
“what!” He asked
“I know that look, that’s the look of someone who wants to ride out across the horizon” I laugh
“A little” he sighed
“Then why not?” i ask
“She promised” he sighed
“What did she promise?” I ask him
“she sad when she left, that...someday, she’d be home to me, that she’d come back, so I have to wait here else she wont find me” he explained sniffling a little
“When did she go?” I ask
“Four years ago” He sighed
“you know...In all likely hood she’s dead” i tell him
“I know what” he sniffled wiping his eyes “but she was strong, the strongest and smartest girl in the world, I just like to hope that she’s okay, out there somewhere ad that one day she’ll come riding in on the little road” He explained “I miss her so much” He cried
“I’m sure she missed you too” I tell him
“I hope she does” he laughs
“She will, you always remember the ones you leave behind” I tell him
“Do you?” He asked
“Course I do, I remember my little home town, alot like this place really I ran out on my mother, she never knew what happened to me...and the love of my life. He wouldn’t come with me so he staied behind... not a day goes by I don’t remember that look he gave me as I rode away from him” I sigh almost crying too
“you remember him?” He asks and I nod “Do you still...love him?” he asked
“course I do, Do you still love her?” i ask and he nods “What was her name?” I ask him
“Why do you want to know?” he asked
“I meet alot of people who run away from home comes with the work, what was her name?” I ask
“she may have changed it for all I know, but she was y/n when I knew her” He smiled
“y/n?” I ask and he nods “Where am I exactly?” i ask him
“You don’t know?” he laughed
“you tend to go around in circles when you rob stages” I answer
“Your in la Belle Miss, why do you ask?” he asks me and i realized it suddenly made sence I looked at him and I remembered... he hadn’t changed not really, that stupid jumper and the mud on his face hid him from me when i first saw him and he had grown facial hair since I saw him last but it was him
“Whitey?” I ask
“How- How do you know my name?” he asked standing close to my bars it was so obvious those eyes that hair how could it have been anyone else I grabbed his shirt and kissed him threw the bars he panicked at first before he melted into our kiss I slowly slid my hands around his neck and he held my waist closely before we pulled away “Y/n?” he asks
“It took you kissing me to remember me?” i giggle
“i- I it’s you” he smiles quickly unlocking my cell and hugging me closely giving me a million kisses “I’ve missed you so much, I’ve been waiting every day for you to come home, please stay you’ll stay with me, ohh y/n my darling I missed you so much” he smiles
“Aww whitey, I missed you too, Well I didn’t intent to but... given the situation yes I will be staying with you” i smile
“Ohh I love you y/n” He smiles
“I love you too whitey” I giggle holding him tightly
“wait! your the highway girl?” he asked moving me a away a moment and I nod “How you can’t shoot?” He asks
“I leanrt... from watching you, it’s not even loaded” i laugh
“I’m sorry i didn’t know it was you, you’ve changed so much” He smiles
“So have you, what on earth is this?” i ask referencing to the stubble
“doesn’t it make me look older?” he asks
“Eh kinda, makes you look dirtier” I tell him
“I missed you” he laughs kissing me
“I missed you too” I giggle...
I smiled cooking up dinner as I heard the door open and little Lucy and Peter ran in hugging my legs
“Ohh Hello darling’s” i laugh
“Hello mummy” they giggle
“go on you two set the table dinner’s almost ready” i tell him and they run off “what did you two learn at school today?” I ask them
“Times tables” they sighed
“Ohh well those are useful” I tell them
“no there not, we wanna learn to shoot like mummy!” Lucy giggled
“When your old enough” I tell her as I heard the door again
“Honey I’m Home!” I heard whitey call from the door
“Daddy!” they both yell running to hug him
“whoa! hello kids” He laughs giving them each a hug and sending them back off to set the table “Hello darling” He smiles to me
“Hello dear” I smile giving him a kiss “How was work?” i ask
“eh boring” He sighed “How was here?” he asks
“Fine” i shrug
“Daddy Daddy! we wanna learn the shooting! like mummy and daddy!” peter giggled
“Why?” he asked
“School’s boring, we wanna learn to be fun like mummy and daddy” Lucy giggled
“Peter, we both know your eyes are not good enough for shooting yet, maybe once your glasses go hey” He told him lifting him to help him into his seat on the table “and Lucy... you know full well your not old enough” he told her putting her in her seat too
“PLEASE!” They both beg
“Maybe if you two are good” I smile bringing dinner over.
#godless#godles#godless netflix#netflix godless#godless imagine#whitey#whiteywinn#whitey winn#whitey winn smut#whitey winn imagine#whitey fanfic#godless whitey winn#whitey winn imagines#whitey imagine#whitey imagines#netflix whitey imagine
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Dear Blue Birb, - Buzz and Woody
Summary: The losers all go to Stan's Halloween party donning very fitting costumes, with Eddie and Bill matching as usual. Bill drinks to drone out Martin's voice, later seeing Stan making out with a girl from school and promptly going home.
Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 + ao3
Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @s-tanleyuris @yooonbum
The night of the party comes, the amazon packages of Eddie and Bill’s costume pieces trickled in slowly through the week and thankfully they all come on time for the night of October 31st. Bill looks himself in the mirror with his cowboy hat and spurs, the cow print definitely something he’s not used to but makes for a good costume.
“There’s a snake in my boot,” Bill says to his reflection, trying to match the accent and vernacular of the iconic character, the movie of his late elementary school aged self. He tips the hat and leans back to rest only the heel of his right foot on the group, giving a sly smirk and an attempt at a wink. Okay, maybe he just won’t wink at all tonight. He rolls his eyes at himself, picking up his brown faux leather jacket from the bed. Eddie hates this jacket, Bill had purchased it at a thrift store, Eddie could scream for hours about how bad and unsanitary that decision was, but Bill still likes the jacket.
He slips it over his shoulders, starting his way out of the room and down the stairs in his comically clompy boots. He purposefully scuffs his heels all the way down the driveway to the street where his car is parked. He turns his music up, a Halloween playlist Richie made way back in fifth grade. It’s basically iconic now, another loser tradition to listen to around the season of candy and tie-dyed looking trees.
The low grumble of his motor serves as a comfort at this point. His car always sounds like it has the lungs of a smoker, not unlike his Grandma Lou who he only sees around summertime when she and his grandfather come up from Bangour. He drives down the street, it only takes a while to arrive at Bev’s. A small scowl tempts him when he sees Martin on the porch with her already. He promised he’d be nice, he always keeps his promises. But he doesn’t usually make promises he isn’t sure he can keep. Beverly begging him to be kind was just too much to admit defeat to.
The bubbly redhead climbs into the back seat with Martin. Thank God the boy took the hint and follows her into the back instead of deciding the front would be a good spot for him. Bill probably would die if he needed to sit up front with Martin. His skin already crawls when the teen speaks to him, he really hates feeling so mean but he knows it stems purely from his discomfort, the feeling of unsafety. For all he knows, Martin could tell anyone at any time, and Bill simply cannot have that.
“What song is this? It sounds straight out of 2011,” Martin asks, his tone more critical than Bill feels ready to deal with. He glances back before starting the car again, only realizing then that Martin’s costume includes nothing but a short black dress with words taped all over it, not even to mention the scraggly looking fake white beard hooked over his ears with elastic.
“It is from 2011, it’s a playlist one of our friends made several years ago, it’s legendary, and no, I won’t turn it off,” Bill says, his own tone short and frustrated, he doesn’t really like his plans to change. He’s clung to his friends for a reason. They have always been kind and there for him. They care for him a way his family simply doesn’t, by now he can admit it. And Martin Addison does not have anywhere near the right to change any of this, he’s only an asshole that Bill needs to keep happy so his own private information stays private.
“Alright,” Martin sighs, lifting his arms at the elbows in defeat, nobody really expects quiet Bill Denbrough to snap on them, especially when the losers are around. Usually, if Bill is going to scold someone or be rude, he makes a point to keep that away from his friends. They’re too positive a piece in his life now to want to taint that with his sour attitude.
Bev raises her eyebrows, giving him a look through poking her head up to be visible in the rearview mirror, giving him a disappointed look. Bill would be fine if she was mad, but disappointed is what he can’t deal with. “We’re picking Mike up next and then Ben on the way back in the direction of Stan’s place,” he changes the topic, not knowing how else he could possibly diffuse the situation.
“Alright, Billyboy,” Bev sighs. She doesn’t appreciate his avoidance, he could have apologized. If only she knew how Martin had been to Bill in private, maybe she’d understand the seemingly random aggression coming from her fellow redheaded friend.
Bill turns the dial up for the music to play louder, rolling his window down a crack, thinking briefly about taking his hat off to feel the wind in his hair, but decides against the possible hat hair situation he has going on. He presses harder on the gas pedal, the car humming louder and the air whipping in through the window with a choppy sound that Bill is so used to that he hardly notices. He likes the feeling of the wind in his face and coursing through his hair. It’s a main reason he always pumped his legs so hard on that old bike of his, now gathering dust in the garage, subject to being the base of many spider homes.
He rolls up in front of Mike’s farm, the radio playing loudly being enough to signal Mike to come out. The boy comes out in a scarecrow costume, a bright orange face paint triangle drawn onto his nose, a green circle on his right cheekbone to be a patch of fabric. It honestly really does look really cute on him, the colors stand out bright on his skin and it looks especially good on him.
He cringes a bit at seeing Martin in the back and hearing how loud Bill is playing the music, he immediately knows what’s up. He slides into the passenger seat up front with Bill, not liking Martin much himself. Hopefully Bill can help him not have to deal with him through the night. Ben and Eddie and Stan and Richie all seem not to mind Martin, it’s only Mike and Bill who are bothered, and Mike doesn’t even know why the latter is bothered by him.
“We’re gonna go get Ben now, you sure Stan will appreciate your costume scaring away all the birds in your yard?” Bill jokes, nudging Mike in the arm teasingly before he turns back to pull out of Mike’s driveway. Pulling out of this driveway is genuinely a skill, seeing how long and bumpy it is, but with Bill often being the losers’ driver he’s definitely mastered this skill. “I do like the costume by the way, it’s cute on you,” Bill smiles softly.
“Thanks,” Mike says with his own happy smile. Halloween is one of the losers favorite holidays. They don’t need to be cool on Halloween. “Ah, we’ll have to tell Stan not to worry, I look too friendly to scare anything off,” he says with a very Mike-esc smirk. Mike has an easy smile to go along with, having smooth teeth and a little gap between the bottom two. It gives his smile the most contagious aura among the losers.
“I wonder what Ben decided to dress as, I can assume you can already tell what Eddie’s gonna be,” he chuckles to himself, keeping his eyes on the part of the road that his headlights illuminate. He’s a careful driver. The stutter he had as a kid was apparently caused by a car accident when he was three years old, or so his mother always ingrained into his young head up until the point when she felt she no longer had to warn him, he was hardly into double digits when he understood the full danger of two things, cars and pedophiles.
“Probably something cute, I think it’s kinda funny, as kids we always wanted to be scary,” Bev chuckles, though she shouldn’t be talking in her flowy short white dress and angel wings. She’s seen the pictures of the young boys in their vampire and zombie costumes, bottles of fake blood and latex, wanting to scare some other unsuspecting kid in a way that would have Eddie pissing himself at that point in life. “It’s like we always wanted to be older but now we just want to grow downwards. Taxes are gonna be so lame next year,” she says, her voice far away and wistful.
Martin, being the kiss-ass he is, immediately starts laughing at the joke, it wasn’t even much of a joke but he’s trying so hard to impress her that he’ll take it as one to please her, she looks confused for a moment but his hyena cackle draws her in, bringing out her own giggle to the sounds of the car.
Bill finally pulls into the driveway of Ben’s bungalow home, waiting for the boy to come on out, his form covered by a thin linen sheet, holes cut for his eyes so he can see. It’s the most classic of costumes, sounds exactly like something Ben would do. This isn’t the first year he’s worn this costume. This was obviously a fresh sheet but it’s the third time (not consecutively, Ben decides that would be just sad) that he’s donned the same persona on the night of October 31st.
“Happy Halloween!” he says brightly as he slides into the backseat of the car, lifting the sheet so he can talk without the white fabric muffling his words. He lets his sheet fall again before buckling into his seat, pushing Bev into the middle seat next to Martin.
“Happy Halloween!” Bill returns, “Who’s ready to go party until we regret it?” he smiles to his crowd in the back seat, the company of his actual friends diffusing his anger about Martin, just as he’d hoped they would. He’s always grateful for them, but especially in times like this.
“Yeah!” the group choruses as he finally pulls out of the Hanscom driveway to bring the group to Stan’s place. This is their first year not going trick or treating, but surprisingly not their first year with plans to go through with getting shitfaced on the night of spooks and ghouls.
The outside of the Uris residence is not often decorated for the Halloween season, Andrea always makes jokes about how she’s “too good of Jew” to decorate the home with such things only about a month off of the start of Hanukkah. It’s entirely a joke though, she and Stan just have never been the type to decorate the outside of the house, it would never get taken down in that case. It would be too exciting to put up but taking it down would just fill the mother son duo from their holiday high.
The gang files all out of the car, stumbly and laughing enough that they could probably be taken as already drunk, but it’s only the attitude they have around each other. Bill takes the initiative to knock on the thick door, already hearing the beat of music inside, Bill knows they’re late, it’s in his brand to drop his group off slightly later than he should, it just means the party has already started.
Stan himself comes to the door, his dark hair slicked back with gel that makes it shine in the light of the chandelier in his foyer. His leather jacket holds a similar glisten. He’s dressed as a greaser, which totally makes sense, considering his recent love for the book The Outsiders, and damn does he look good like that with his olive-y toned skin and hazel eyes.
The group shoves their way in at his invitation, Stan himself sliding to the side to make way for them, the most of the party going on in the living room. Youtube is up on the television playing music, currently on some iconic pop song of the last two months. The teens in the living room are grooving around to the music, a few with cups in their hands, reeking of alcohol and disappointment. The cups aren’t even the iconic party red solo cup, they’re actual glasses from Stanley’s kitchen, he’s never been much of a party thrower and aside from the alcohol, he didn’t know what else he was supposed to provide for his guests.
Bill goes off on his own already, Stan’s home is more than familiar to him, he’s been here quite a few times. He grabs a green plastic kids cup that he’s probably has owned since his childhood. Bill doesn’t trust himself with booze and something glass, he’s sure to drop it when the beer goggles kick in and he loses his balance.
He pours himself only a bit, he knows he’s a lightweight, he hardly drinks. He’s what many of the kids would call “mostly preppy”. He behaves himself and most of his rebellion comes with due cause and wouldn’t harm anything but himself. He returns to the living room with his cub, cringing at the taste of the beer, he would never admit that he often goes for something smoother and fruitier, but obviously Stanley Uris would have absolutely no knowledge of the tastes of alcohols. He may be providing the drink, but this is his first time ever not being sober at a party, and only because it feels safe in the confines of his own home.
It surely takes time, but Bill finds himself even drinking more whenever Martin speaks. It’s like a drinking game, whenever he hears the awful screeching sound of that man’s voice, he takes another long gulp off of his drink. He doesn’t know how they end up outside, but some kids are playing beer pong, as soon as they lose interest Bill finds himself shoving Bev’s arm incessentely, “Bev- Bev, B-Bev, Bev, can we play?” he begs in his less than fully coherent state.
She only smiles, drinking from her own glass, her expression warm like the buzz flowing through her veins. “Good idea Billy!” she exclaims, holding onto his arm to guide him to the table, she honestly worries more about his sobriety than her own, though she also isn’t the one who’s been drinking to drown out someone in specific.
They hardly make it to the table before Bill places a kiss to Beverly’s cheek and goes to stand on the other side, he doesn’t even know why he kissed her, it’s like if he drank enough to make everything swirly it makes his mind turn a little bit straight. The thought of swirling colors and lines dancing around behind his eyes makes him laugh to himself. He just continues proving how much of a lightweight he is to his peers still hanging out and talking around him. Heck, it’s the first party of the year, they’re probably just as shitfaced.
Martin is definitely equally as bad, taking his spot next to Bev on their side of the table, it’s like a given that he’s playing on her team. Mike takes a spot off to the side when he sees Stan stand beside Bill, knowing full well that none of the white boys at the table even fit their own stereotype of knowing at all how to play beer pong and finding a bit of humor in watching Bev try and explain it, her hands moving wildly with the waves of her voice.
He stays sober, knowing his mom would have him by the earlobes if he came home more than a little tipsy, and he fully respects his mama. He also doesn’t doubt that he’ll need to drive the others home in Bill’s car, having his license on him, he knows Eddie will also be sober, but Sonia Kaspbrak has way too much against Eddie learning to drive. She claims it’s about safety but really it’s probably about how he hungers for independence.
Bev finally makes her first shot, Bill as her opponent. The white plastic ball bounces with little whacks against the table, plopping luckily right into the cup, making Bill groan. “Sooo, I gotta take a drink now?” he asks, already having forgotten the rules of the game. Bev nods with a devilish grin that fully contradicts her angel costume, Bill lifting the cup to his lips to let some of the gross liquid run it’s way down his throat. He gags and looks over to hear a whooping cheer coming from a familiar voice, he could hear it anywhere.
The losers usually keep their costumes secret until the day of if they don’t get too excited and spill about them. They’re all glad Richie didn’t tell him about this costume, thankful they didn’t have to imagine this sight until the exact moment they spot him behind them in Stan’s backyard. It almost looks like he didn’t even know his own costume himself until today, signature Richie.
He dons a yellow cropped tank and some shorts, already missing his shoes, they’d been some tall black boots that his intoxicated self simply couldn’t walk in. On his head rest a pair of black swimming goggles, his hair up in a ponytail on the top of his head to try and mimic the small bits of hair that minions have on his head. It’s only cemented and proven by the name tag plastered right above his belly button. “Hi, my name is.. Bob the Minion” and it’s the only piece of the look that makes it obvious, they’d otherwise be at a loss.
“Go Beverllyyyyyyy!” he shouts in a slurred tone, his voice ringing through the backyard, having everyone looking in his direction, the neighbors probably even hear him so Stan shushes him almost as loudly as Richie’s original shout.
“Beep beeep Rich,” Stan grumbles, rubbing his face to try and gain some clarity. Being himself, he really doesn’t like how alcohol makes him feel. He doesn’t like the minimal control his brain actually has as he’s under the influence. This will definitely be his last time being drunk for quite a long time, thankfully his first time is enough to teach him.
Richie takes the shushing with the utmost importance, having the tendency to shift in and out of seriousness when he’s been drinking, a very unique drinking personality, though the losers attribute it to that he already damn near acts drunk when he’s not under the influence of anything at all.
The games goes on, Mike deciding to cheer on Bill and Stan’s side seeing as Richie obviously took Bev and Martin’s, he just wants everyone to feel supported. At one point Stan walks away and nobody notices. Finally it comes to Stan’s turn and their beer fuzzy minds realized he’s disappeared off somewhere else, which prompts Bill to announce that he’ll go seek him out.
Bill finds his way up the stairs, clinging onto the railing to keep his jelly legs upright. He goes to Stan’s room, opening the door as he sings the other boy’s name. Fuck, the gay comes out when he’s wasted. “Stannnnyyy~” he coos, peeking in and seeing Stan’s hands up a girl’s shirt, their lips locked together, lips pulling at each other. The two look back at Bill in shock as he catches them, and Bill pulls the door shut as fast as he can. He stumbles right back down the stairs until he finds his Buzz counterpart again, damn near crying.
“Eddie, take me home, I’m drunk,” he demands, looping his arms around Eddie’s waist and dropping his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie hugs in return, taken aback by Bill’s state. Even as his best friend, he doesn’t see him like this much. Bill gets all clingy when he’s sad but it can also been seen as just his drunkness so Eddie doesn’t see it entirely as cause for alarm, simply taking Bill’s hand to guide him.
“Hey, let’s go find Mike, he said he’d drive us if you couldn’t,” he says in a hushed voice, imagining that being that intoxicated must be almost like sensory overload, which he knows quite too well with his anxiety. He pulls Bill close to him as he maneuvers around the other teens, taking him outside where he last remembers mike being, hopefully well on his way to finding them a ride home, he just wants to get some water and sleep into his friend so he’d be ready for school again by the time Monday comes.
He finds Mike sitting on the outdoor table, not on a chair, those are all taken, but on the table with his legs hanging over the edge of it, swinging them back and forth to hear the crunch of the straw tucked into various places of his costume. He looks right over at Eddie and Bill with concern lacing his face, his eyebrows drawn together. Eddie explains that he’s absolutely not letting Bill behind the wheel like this, Mike understands and agrees wholeheartedly to drive them back to the Denbrough house.
Eddie thanks Mike for taking them back to Bill’s house, feeling awful for Mike having to walk back to Stan’s since Bill will need his car, especially once he needs to get Eddie home the next morning. Nevertheless, he pulls Bill on into the house, his parents thankfully already in bed, it’s past midnight by now, so Eddie doesn’t take very long to get Bill up the stairs and into bed finally. It takes the time it does only because Bill is uncooperative.
He pushes Bill onto his bed, bouncing back as he hits the mattress, that limp and pliant now that he doesn’t fight back anymore now that he’s in bed, it’s almost like he felt like he had to work against Eddie to get what he wanted, his mind is too hazy to understand. Eddie disappears for a moment, coming back up with a tall glass of water, coaxing Bill into a sitting position. “C’mon, asshole, you need water.” he pushes him up from behind to get him back into a vertical position.
Eddie tilts the glass to Bill’s lips letting the liquid run down his throat, trying to get him to drink the whole thing. He doesn’t want a hungover Bill the next day. Bill only whines a little at not getting to lay down anymore. Finally Eddie gets him to down the glass and lets him lay down again. He takes Bill’s hat off and removes his shoes and socks, good enough. He won’t be dehydrated or too overheated.
He takes off his own costume fully, taking some of Bill’s pajamas from the drawer across the room, a grey v-neck and some red flannel pajama pants. He crawls into bed next to Bill like he does when he sleeps over on a normal night, chuckling a bit at Bill when he sees him drooling, shaking him awake a little, “I’m lonely,” he says softly.
Bill blinks his eyes open, reaching an arm around Eddie carefully, looking for affection himself after what he saw earlier, and it’s not so different from normal. “I’m here Edward,” he says with a little smile to him, enjoying the sleepy warmth he can leach off Eddie.
“You ever just, think about how in love you are with someone?” Eddie asks, a dreamy look on his gentle face. He rubs Bill’s arm comfortingly. “I’ve been in love with a friend for a long time, it’s really dumb though.”
Bill only nods, holding loosely but close at the same time, nodding off again, snoring even before he can respond to Eddie’s words. Eddie smiles softly, seeing him comfortable being enough. He doesn’t need an answer.
He wishes he could explain further that he’s in love with him, with Bill. but he doesn’t want to wake him again. So he simply decides to sleep himself as well.
#it bill#it bill denbrough#bill denbrough#it stan#it stanley#it stan uris#it stanley uris#stan uris#stanley uris#stenbrough#it stenbrough#stenbrough fic#it stephen king#it stephen king fanfic#it fanfic#it book#it novel#it movie#it movie 2017#it 2017#it 2019#it1990#my fics#eddie kaspbrak#it eddie#it eddie kaspbrak#richie tozier#it richie#it richie tozier#bev marsh
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DA RP Write-up #18.1
Finally catching up, maybe? This campaign was hosted by me, ran for 3 sessions that were played in January and early February 2019, so I still should have most of this in memory, altho I did not take notes like I did in previous campaign (somehow GM’ing and note-taking just didn’t work for me, or maybe it was Roll20? anyway, will try not to fall behind again bc catching up blows) Let’s kick this thing off.
Having dropped most of the people rescued from Maeve’s house off at the nearest town, our party heads off towards Takatalvenvara, where they are hoping to meet Sture Gran, a famous Fereldan dog trainer.
With the group still is Kempers, tied up in the wagon, Maeve in Randy-doll’s head, who is kept securely in Randy’s pants, as well as Renata, Nesta and the Dalish elf rescued from the manor.
After few days of traveling, Cahair announces that it’s time for him, the elves and Renata to head off, as Cahair has promised to attempt to find Renata’s parents as well as drop the others off at his clan so they can make their way home.
Before leaving Nesta exchanges few words with Boshara in elvhen, telling her how proud of her she is, and how she is sorry that she has to leave her, but she has to get the dust of the Circle off her, before she can decide what to do with her life now that she is free.
Randy insists also that Nesta and Humbert should have a moment to themselves as well, so everyone clears off so the two of them can talk.
It’s mostly civil, though Humbert does comment on Nesta’s usage of elvhen.
Nesta asks Humbert to be a father to Boshara rather than a templar, and is very insistent that he can’t be both.
Humbert seems to take this, at least somewhat, to heart.
Now their party is a little lighter, they arrive in Takatalvenvvara, which is a small estate in the middle of thick forest.
They head inside the house, where they find an older gentleman (Leino), a young boy (Oiva) and an old mabari (Lempi).
Leino informs that the masters of the house are off in the woods, but the visitors are welcome to stay here and wait, so wait our heroes do.
While waiting they get some porridge and also get to see some mabari puppies that the house has just received.
Leino offers them a place to sleep, at the attic of the barn. Humbert stays in our cart to keep an eye out on Kempers.
It is the middle of the night, and Humbert and Alf wake up to barking outside
Humbert gets there first, while Alf wakes the others. He finds Leino standing near the edge of the forest with a lantern and three dogs at his feet.
Humbert sees a humanoid shape at the shade of the trees which disappears as soon as Humbert tries to walk close to it.
The three dogs were the ones Sture and his husband took with them to the woods.
One of them is badly wounded, and our heroes persuade to let Elspet try to use her talents to help the dog.
While Elspet does some healing, Boshara and Alf help carry the puppies from a barn to the main building, in case the creature gets back.
Inside, our heroes wonder what is up.
Lieno is pretty certain something has gone wrong, as mabari would never leave their masters behind.
Humbert tells about the figure he saw, and the party comes to an agreement that it kinda sounds like a werewolf
Except Boshara who doesn’t believe in werewolves.
There’s plenty of stories about werewolves in Ferelden. About wolves turning humanoid as well as humans turning wolf-like.
So what could be causing werewolves? Leino suggests either the Dalish or the Witch of the Wilds who lives in the nearby Wildlands.
Either way, there’s people either dead or in trouble in the forest , so our party decides to head out to check it out.
Aarli Hauveli will of course come with, as the creature seemed to dislike mabari. Alf also takes one of the house’s dogs, named Viive.
Leino says that if the party doesn’t return by dawn-break, he’ll go to the nearby village to gather a search party.
It’s off to the forest. The dogs as well as the keen eyes of Alf have no trouble following the tracks of the creatures.
They come upon a clearing where there is some blood on the ground.
This seems like the perfect place for Boshara to have a go at her new spell that allows her to display stuff from the past.
The spell displays two men, probably Sture and Harto, talking. One of the men kneels down to flip over a rock and as soon as he does, his form starts to distort and finally disappear.
The last image is the other man, raising his hands to shield his face.
Boshara and Randy find the spot where the man was examining the ground. They flip over the same stone, carefully. Underneath they see there is reddish mineral.
They dare not touch it, in case it is somewhat poisonous.
Randy orders Aarli Hauveli to get a live animal, and she happily obliges, bringing a bunny to her master.
Randy uses the bunny’s paw to touch the reddish mineral, and the bunny suddenly coughs up liquid silver and perishes.
Randy recognizes this to be quicksilver. The dwarves don’t much use it, as it is extremely poisonous and not nearly as profitable as lyrium.
The reddish mineral is recognized to be cinnabar which contains quicksilver.
So, there’s quicksilver beneath the forest, and by all appearances, it seems to be a natural occurrence.
As our heroes don’t want to spend much time handling poisonous material, they decide instead to start following the werewolf tracks leaving the clearing.
They walk for some time and become aware that something is turning them around. Well, everyone except Boshara who still insists that everything is great.
Humbert tries to stop magic, but it appears to have no effect.
Our heroes decide it best just try to get out of the forest and under the influence of this thing, and then re-think plans.
They find a river and start following it.
They also catch a fish and check its insides, and hey they are very much full of quicksilver. Better go vegetarian for this campaign at least, it seems.
Following the river they reach the nearby village of Kolkonkylä.
The whole village is completely devoid of life.
In one of the houses our heroes find lots of cinnabar, it appears someone has been digging it up. In the same house they also find a baby. Elspet takes care of her.
Boshara finds a cow in one of the barns and feeds it some hay.
There’s a small hut on the other side of the river and by the riverbank near the hut they find a body of a dead male elf.
He appears to have died of a hoof to the head, but his skin is also blistering.
Next to him is a sack full of rocks.
Boshara uses her magic once again to see what occurred and our heroes witness the elf dragging a young struggling female elf to the riverbank, and starting to tie the sack of rocks around her neck. He is crying.
The scene ends with something hitting the man and the girl falling into the river.
Boshara tries to look for a body in the river, but does not find one.
Well there’s a buttload of mysteries for you for the first session: Are the werewolves and the quicksilver connected? What killed the elf man and why did he try to kill the girl? And is it the coveted Witch of the Wilds who indeed is behind all this? Some answers revealed in the next write-up. Woop.
#nemo roleplays#da rp writeup#campaign tag: werewolves in london#i had wanted to do a werewolf story for like few years#i put some in the avvar campaign#they just never found it#so have this quick werewolf campaign#i wonder if i ever run out of stuff...#hopefully no#i have one campaign in mind#kinda two but im hoping to combine them#even tho i know im not that well suited for long campaign#i just need to mechanics the first part of it#when i have the time#luckily im not up for gm for a while#*for at least one campaign that is :P
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Paradigm Shift
Words: 1,598
Fandoms: DBZxYYH
Based on a dream I had and @destinyswindow‘s insistence that I ‘do something’ with it. Here’s something. It’s not going to be a thing.
It wasn’t as if she were unused to seeing strange and unusual things, but there was something about this room that boggled the mind. The room was expansive, tugging at the edges of her comprehension. It stretched on past her line of sight and towered high enough for wispy clouds to gather and hide the rafters from visible sight. It seemed to go on forever.
In the distance was a work desk and a figure, large enough that if her focus was on that alone then the room seemed normal. From her spot near the doorway it was hard to see the finer details. Vague shapes she recognized as stacks of paperwork - why did every powerful deity drown themselves in paperwork?
A succession of glowing, misty blue orbs waited in an orderly line, hovering at waist height above the ground. Each one crackled with an unseen energy, pinging off her senses like static. Pure spiritual energy compressed in on itself until it formed a visible mass.
Souls.
Human souls, presumably, waiting to be sorted to their final resting place or reshuffled into the cycle of reincarnation. The teenager swallowed- a distant part of her brain reeling in panic; How could she breathe?!- and felt a heavy weight drop around her. This was not something she should be seeing. This was not for mortal eyes.
“I-” she choked without knowing to whom she was trying to speak to. “I don’t- this was a bad idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Nonsense!” The jovial young man in the garish orange laughed and clapped her on the back, sending the girl stumbling. Attempting to brace with outstretched arms only delayed her forehead’s impact with the door frame with an echoing thunk. The spot on her back tingled to match. As Mirai blinked the stars from her vision she was reminded of middle school. “You’re already here, you might as well ask.”
The girl hissed, rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. It didn’t help. “Are you coming too?”
“Don’t worry,” Goku insisted, moving to repeat the friendly gesture. This time the teenager sidestepped to avoid it and he seemed largely unaffected by her denial of physical affection. “King Yemma is a pretty friendly guy even if he looks scary.”
His energy was strange. The thought had sat at the back of her mind since their introduction. He wasn’t a psychic. It wasn’t reiki or youki. It was something entirely his own and, moreover, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff above a bottomless sea. It was a concerning amount of potential; a terrifying possibility of destruction.
Mirai squinted, biting at her lower lip. Yemma?
This was beginning to feel more and more like a crazy gamble; a wild goose chase. But what other option did she have?
The teenager took several slow, steadying breaths, running her hands through her hair as if it would help make her presentable. It didn’t work. If anything the short ends of her were now imitating a startled chicken. With her heart pounding in her throat, Mirai stepped through the impossible doorway.
It took much less time than it should have to walk along the line of souls to the gigantic desk and the man behind it. Several of the souls seemed to dip and vibrate in what she could only imagine was irritation at her ignoring the line. The teenager did her best to ignore it, lacking the time to stand on ceremony. Mirai would easily admit to not dwelling on what the King of Spirit World might look like. The beard seemed appropriate, somehow, as was the three-piece suit. The fact that said suit was lavender and his hair toed the line towards ‘mullet’ was...something else.
What was wholly surprising was the cow horned hat, adorned with some symbol Mirai couldn’t place, and the fact that he was as red as a ripe tomato. The impossibly huge man paused in his stamping of paperwork, glancing down at the human and arching an eyebrow.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” King Enma’s- Yemma’s?- voice rumbled as he sat aside his stamp. “You’re not dead. Also, you cut in line.”
Mirai blinked, glancing instinctively back over her shoulder at the line of souls. “Sorry? I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just…” She trailed off, drawing in a long breath as she turned back to meet the eyes of the deity. “I need to speak to your son.”
King Yemma’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline before dropping as his eyes narrowed. The great red man dropped an arm across his desk and leaned across it to appraise the girl from his seat. “How do you know about him?”
“Can I?” She asked, looking hopeful even as she ignored the question. “Please?”
King Yemma reached up with his free hand to stroke his beard and Mirai fought the urge to shift under the weight of his stare. It felt as if a year passed before he moved again, leaning back in his chair with a creak loud enough to feel in her bones.
This is how I die. The thought came unbidden from the depths of her mind, swimming to the forefront and latching on with sharp teeth of fear. After everything, this is-
The sound of snapping fingers shattered her growing panic, bringing the teenager’s attention back to the present. There was a flash of light beyond Mirai’s line of sight, close to the desktop itself. Mirai bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Maybe this gamble would pay off after all.
“What- Father?”
King Yemma held up a hand to silence the oncoming questions before pointing down at the girl. “Someone is here to speak with you.”
Footsteps sounded across the desktop as the person moved to the edge. Mirai squinted, straining to see. The new figure was short, also dressed in lavender with a cow horned hat, and equally red.
“Koenma?” Mirai drew the name out, arching an eyebrow and unsure if she could even be heard from this distance. Doubts resurfaced, circling her mind, but the startled squawk sounded familiar; and in the next instant when he appeared in front of her he did look like the Koenma she knew- redness and slightly less ridiculous hat aside.
“You! What are you- How are you-”
“Why are you red?” the teenager interrupted, the question spilling out before she could think better.
“Because,” the perpetual toddler answered, waving a hand as if it were the most basic concept. “This is how I appear on this side of the dimension.” Here he pointed a stubby finger directly at Mirai’s nose. “The side that you, specifically, are not supposed to be on. How. Did. You. Get. Here?”
Mirai blinked, leaning away from the accusatory digit. “Dragon summoned me.”
Koenma inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. If he wasn’t already red Mirai was almost certain he would be turning comically bright as his temper rose. “They shouldn’t work like that! It should be impossible for even Dragon Balls to usurp people from the other side of the dimensional barrier!”
“So,” she began, carefully and slowly poking the finger away from her face. “Can we...fix it?”
The toddler deflated, temper sparking out before it could flare into life, and Mirai’s heart sank. “No,” he said slowly, turning away from the girl. “The spectrum of power is aligned differently here. As much as it pains me, my abilities here are...limited.”
“But- You- Spirit-” Mirai stuttered, gesturing between Spirit World’s Prince and the ceiling as if it would clarify her broken words. “Then go home! If you have the power there then use it!”
“That is possible, I suppose,” Koenma said, in a tone that didn’t inspire as much hope as his words should. “If you have no qualms with dying.”
The teenager swallowed, her face feeling hot with the chaotic roll of her emotions. “Are we talking a Yusuke death or a death-death?”
When the toddler met her gaze over his shoulder he was unamused. “An actual death. Your soul can be moved easily enough back to its proper place. Your body, however…”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mirai snapped, reaching around to grab the floating toddler’s lavender shirt collar and yank him around to face her. “You’re the Prince of Spirit World! You’re supposed to be the go-to authority under your father. How are you out of your depth?!”
“Weren’t you listening?!” Koenma snapped right back, smacking her hand away. “My abilities here are limited. This, here, is the Underworld and it functions like Spirit World at only the most basic level. I have authority over your soul once it has exited your physical body and nothing more. I am a footnote in whatever cataclysmic mess you have stumbled into.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” She asked, burying her face in her hands and fighting the urge to scream. “You were the only idea I had for fixing this.”
The toddler brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. “I would suggest finding that dragon. Or at the very least whoever made that wish.”
Mirai dragged her hands down her face, taking several deep breaths in a poor attempt to find some calm before speaking. “What happens when someone notices I’m gone? Someone is going to notice that, right?”
Koenma stroked thoughtfully at his chin, perhaps mimicking the gesture his father had made earlier even though he lacked the facial hair. “I suppose I’ll have to find a few jobs to keep Yusuke busy, then.”
“That is not what I meant!”
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A Road Paved In Gold (5/?)
Summary: In Steve’s memory, the seconds, and minutes, and hours of that day blurred into one endless moment of aching uncertainty and bone-chilling fear, but if his calculations were correct, his watch stopped ticking at the exact moment when his plane had gone up in flames.
Steve Trevor was never meant to die in the sky above Belgium for the reasons much bigger than he could ever imagine, and when he didn't, it seemed like a miracle.
However, surviving came with a price that changed the course of his life, making him wonder if he deserved it.
A/N: You guys are so amazing! Thank you for all the love :) I do hope you’re enjoying the ride so far; I have some insane stuff planned for this story, so... I’m doing my best to keep the updates frequent, I promise. Dig in and please let me know what you think ❤ ♡ You’re wonderful!
AO3 | Fanfiction.net
The fire in the sky is the brightest thing she’s ever seen. It hurts to look at it but she can’t turn away. She watches it grow bigger, brighter, consuming the darkness of the night. Trapped under several sheets of metal pressing her into concrete, she can’t breathe, can’t move, but it’s her fear that truly paralyzes Diana, the terror that keeps her captive.
Her chest tightens. She wills herself to wake up. Sure this can’t be real.
Above her, the air is frigid. It smells of acrid smoke. Somewhere to the right from her, she hears panicked yelling. Ares is close by – she can feel him rather that see him, and for a moment, she remembers why she is here. Yet, the thought is short-lived, fleeting. Her gaze is locked on the fire far above her, and somewhere there—
A scream pierces the night, deafening, full of pain, inhuman. Nothing like anything she’s ever heard before, and the sound of it rips her soul in half, splinters her heart, tears right through her. It takes Diana a moment to realize that she’s the one who is screaming, her vision blurred with tears and smoke. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t be.
“Let me do it. Whatever it is, I can do it.”
She closes her eyes and turns away, struggling to inhale, her chest heaving under her metal trap, her ribs protesting every move.
“There’s more to the world than this, you know,” Steve told her the previous night, gesturing vaguely around them, his voice soft, mellow somehow. She’s never seen him like this before.
He pulled her closer, running his hand along her spine, and her whole body angled to curve around him. She smiled, leaned into him, listening to his heartbeat, her fingers tracing the lines of his body in slow, possessive touches. There were questions she wanted to ask, so many of them. And it wasn’t just her curiosity that kept her awake despite the weight of the day and the warmth of Steve's body lulling her to sleep – they needed to get some rest; she didn’t know what time it was, the very concept of tracking it still alien to her, but the dawn wasn’t far away, and there was another battle on the other side of it. Yet, she didn’t want him to stop taking, the sound of his voice washing over her in soothing waves.
She can still hear his whisper, feel the electric touch of his fingers to her skin – careful, gentle, but not at all unsure. Can feel his hands in her hair and the taste his mouth of hers. And that bright dot in the pitch-black sky can’t be him, can’t be, can’t be…
---
Diana came to with a low groan, her body pressed down with something rough and heavy, a sharp edge digging into her shoulder-blade, holding her body in the kind of angle that made it hard to move. She tried to take a breath, but her ribs screamed in protest and she squeezed her eyes shut with a sharp gasp, waiting for the pounding in her skull to recede. Her ears were ringing, softening the sounds of the world like she was trapped underwater.
Someone was crying, a sorry, aching sound. A siren broke through the fog in her mind, but it was too far away, too—
Steve.
No.
Her fingers curled into fists, scraping over brick wall that was nothing but a piece of rubble now, a sob rising in her throat – pain and panic mixing together into something hot and consuming.
“Steve…”
She strained her arms, pushing herself up, brick and stone falling back, making everything around her shake, echoing somewhere beneath her as a pile of what had once been a building shifted. Diana shook her head, her vision clearing, the throbbing in her body slowly ebbing back.
The dust hadn’t settled around her yet, stinging her eyes, clogging her throat.
She inhaled sharply and coughed, calling his name.
There were people gathering around, the sounds getting louder like a blurry picture zooming into focus.
She stood up and looked around, first in confusion, then more frantically, more urgently, trying to see past the destruction, shaky on unsteady feet.
A man with a crushed skull was the first one she saw, her chest caving in momentarily. But his hair was darker, and even though she couldn’t see his face, it wasn’t him, not Steve. Relief mixed with guilt flooded her mind. Surely it was wrong to be glad about someone else’s death, but in that moment, she didn’t care.
The police were already there, ordering everyone to stay back. More soldiers, too. They were calling for her, but Diana ignored them, too busy looking for—
Steve.
He was lying under a block of concrete, half-hidden, and it took her a minute too long to locate him, her mind swimming by the time she finally spotted him.
Diana fell on her knees next to him and rolled him carefully to his back, cradling his head in her lap, hands running over his arms, his chest, skimming over his bronze skin, taking in the new scrapes and bruises, as well as the old scars that she knew better than anyone else.
“Steve, please…” Her trembling fingers touched face, running over his dust-covered cheeks. “No, you can’t--” her throat closed up. “Wake up, Steve. Please…” There was a bad-looking gush on his forehead, dark blood starting to cake over it, its metallic smell permeating her senses. “You have to.”
A scream bubbled up deep inside her, the pain wanting out, but her throat constricted and it came out as a low whimper. She felt like she was about to crack and fall to pieces, and maybe this time they wouldn’t fit back together. There were only so many times one could be hurt until they could no longer repair themselves, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, again, not after everything they’d been through to get where they were now.
“Steve… stay with me. Please, stay with me.” She leaned closer to him, her tears falling on his face, leaving streaks on his skin as she felt her very soul tear to shreds. Her fingers pushed his hair back from his forehead, carefully, gently. “You can’t—we made a deal, Steve Trevor…” The words tumbled out of her mouth as she brushed a kiss to his temple, her voice nothing but a hushed, broken whisper laced with tears.
How many times could she watch him die before she herself ceased to exist?
“And a deal a is promise,” Steve echoed faintly, his eyes fluttering open with effort. “And a promise is unbreakable.”
Diana froze, her eyes snapping open. He winced, blinking away the dust and coughing, her palm on his cheek and his chest moving, struggling to take a proper breath.
“Steve…”
“God, what happened to—” He grimaced and raised his hand only to drop it back down with a surprised hiss. “Have you noticed… that we never use the doors anymore? It’s either windows or—” he coughed again. “Or this.”
She laughed, a short, choked sound, disbelief mixed with relief, and pulled him closer, her heart beating somewhere in her throat.
“Ow!” Steve stiffened, his face contorted with pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Diana murmured, kissing his brow, her fingers stroking his face, his hair, unable to stop smiling through tears. “Don’t move. It’s going to be okay, you’re okay. I promise you.”
“You know, we need to stop meeting like this,” he muttered, slipping into blackness again.
---
He was dreaming.
For the first time in two decades, he was dreaming not of blood and loss but of a young boy with perpetually skinned knees and a gap-toothed smile whose hair was always tousled by the wind. There was an old biplane on his grandparents’ farm, broken beyond repair but too heavy for the truck for haul it off to a scrap yard. The very same one that his father flew until he could no longer kick the life into it.
The biplane was rusty, the yellow paint peeling off its cabin and wings, and by the time Steve Rockwell Trevor was old enough to climb inside, all the controls had gone missing as well, taken out to replace something or other. Steve loved it more than anything else in the world - not just the sum of its parts that formed the wings and tail and a slippery fake-leather seat but all the places inside his head where the plane could take him. All the places that weren’t middle-of-nowhere rural Midwest where he was stuck every summer. The places that mattered.
Sitting inside that rusty thing that was good for nothing, not even to hide from the rain, his feet too short to reach the space where the pedals used to be, Steve would imagine soaring into the sky and circling over the barley fields and the endless expanse of flat land, peppered with farm houses and barns and herds of apathetic cows and sheep, all the way toward the cities on the horizon. He would touch the sky and let the sun decide his course. And he would be free.
There was an attic in their house – a dark, eerie place with low, sloped ceiling, stuffed with boxes and broken furniture his grandfather never got to fixing, and it was the one place where no one could find him if he wanted to escape. On the dusty floor, Steve would make paper planes, and imagine, imagine, imagine that one day…
He woke up slowly, his mind foggy, the dream clinging to his brain like a cobweb, pulling him back in and pushing him out.
“Angel,” he rasped, his mouth too dry to speak, when his eyes focused enough to see a woman with black hair spilling over her shoulders sitting beside him, looking more like an apparition than anything else.
Diana.
“They told me you might be delusional,” she shook her head, smiling softly.
“What…” he licked his dry lips and swallowed, trying to find his voice, his throat raw and every inch of his body aching. “Paris.” His heartbeat stuttered, sprinting into a race as his memories came rushing back in. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He tried to sit up, but the room tilted and swayed around him, a jolt of white-hot pain shooting from his shoulder and down his arm. Steve clenched his teeth, stifling a groan.
“Don’t move. Steve, I’m okay. Everything is fine.” Her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back into the pillows, her face hovering over his. He relaxed under her touch, soothed instantly.
She smoothed down his hair and stroked his cheek, her skin pleasantly cool against his.
“Where are we?” He asked quietly as Diana sat down on the chair next to his bed, his eyes darting from her face to the ceiling to her face again, and to the window, and back to Diana as his mind started to clear, somewhat.
He was in a hospital.
The realization was surprising, almost shocking, the pieces of a puzzle not quite fitting together. And yet, the ever-present smell of disinfectants mixed with the whiteness all around him and the rumble of voices that buzzed like a beehive on the other side of the plain door were unmistakable and impossible to ignore.
“London,” she responded.
His eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “London,” Steve echoed. “And… how did we get here?”
She let out a short laugh, and it was pretty damn hard not to notice that even though she was putting effort into keep the smile in place, her lips were quivering ever so slightly as worry pooled in her dark eyes that looked like she hadn’t slept in a long time. Or like she cried. Neither thought sat right with him.
“You probably don’t want to know,” Diana said, clasping his hand between her palms and kissing his fingers. There was a tiny frown creasing her forehead, and his hands itched to smooth it away. She was so beautiful.
He missed her, too. Missed her the way he tended to even when she was right there next to him, even when he didn’t know that he did. And seeing her now was the only thing that mattered, her gaze tired, but also full of start. Infinite worlds and the entirety of the universe in the eyes of the woman who saved him in more ways than one.
Steve offered her a crooked smile. “I probably don’t,” he breathed out. God knew he would find out eventually, but right now it felt like too much. “Are you really okay?”
She rested her cheek against the knot of their hands. “I am, I promise.”
She’d swapped her armour for a much less conspicuous skirt and blouse, and the feeling inside him was trepidation mixed with panic. There was a gaping hole in Steve’s mind between the morning in Paris filled with softness and the warmth of her body against his, and now, and he couldn’t look away from her. Losing her became such a natural thing it started to terrify him to the core.
He wasn’t joking when he admitted to not sleeping much because he feared he might wake up without her – there was an even-present undercurrent of fear coursing beneath his skin, a constant tug in the pit of his stomach that she was going to – POOF! – disappear. She’d always felt like a dream, like something entirely unattainable. A mirage that could disappear before his eyes. Even before, in the time right after the first war, he would lie awake at night as Diana slept next to him, unable to believe his luck and whatever providence made their paths cross.
His chest felt tight at the thought of not having this. Her. Them. Even now, he almost expected her to vanish like a billow of smoke.
“I love your smile,” Steve murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper and his fingers running over her knuckles. “You have the most beautiful smile in the world.”
“I thought I lost you.” Diana’s whispered. “When I couldn’t find you, I thought…” She swallowed and pursed her lips together. “There was a man there. A dead man, and it thought it was you, and--”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled their hands to him and brushed a kiss to her fingers. “A promise, remember?” There were words, perhaps, to describe how hollow he felt for doing this to her, to making her feel this way, but he didn’t know them, and all he could do was to hold on and hope that she understood. “What happened?” He asked after a few moments to break the silence that felt like it could shatter and cut them with its sharp edges if they allowed it. “It’s a bit fuzzy.”
She relaxed momentarily, leaning closer to him a little, propped on her elbows on his mattress, her features softening. “The bomb… You got lucky when one of the walls didn’t collapse, it sheltered you.”
“And, ah…” Steve’s gaze shifted to the newly noticed bandage running across his chest. He looked at her quizzically, trying to grab a hold of the thread of reality that seemed to be slipping away from him.
“Your collarbone is broken,” she added, which probably explained the way everything was so blurry around him and why the words that he meant to keep locked deep inside him were tumbling out of his mouth without his say in it. Morphine, he guessed. It made sense. “And you have--”
“A concussion,” another voice finished for her.
Diana turned around, and Steve’s gaze shifted past her shoulder.
It wasn’t that much of a surprise to see Etta standing in the doorway, a busy hallway bustling with commotion behind her back, regarding him with mild exasperation. She was in her late 50’s now, if Steve was not mistaken, but her eyes were the same, sizing him up in that odd way that was somewhat apprehensive but not as shocked as he expected, and Steve wondered in the back of his mind just how long she’d been around, what Diana had told her.
“I can’t believe you never said anything me,” Etta threw her hands up, stepping into the room, and his lips quirked a little.
She must have had to hold it back for quite a while.
Still. He gave Diana a reproachful look.
“I had to call her,” Diana said, nonchalant.
“You’re impossible,” Etta rolled her eyes, and just for a second, Steve thought she would smack him. God knew he probably deserved it.
She didn’t, though. Instead, she gave him a long, contemplative once-over, curious now more than anything else.
“I didn’t think--” Steve started, still finding it pretty hard to keep his thoughts from scattering around.
“Obviously,” Etta interjected with a snort. She huffed through her nose, and shook her head, making Steve feel like a naughty child who got caught stealing cookies from a jar before dinner. “Well,” hands on her hips, she regarded him without much sympathy, “now that you’re awake and quite clearly not dying, your girl here needs to eat something.
“Oh, no, I don’t,” Diana started to protest.
“No, go,” Steve insisted, his eyelids already dropping and his brain feeling uncomfortably heavy in his skull.
“Poor thing was stuck here for ever,” Etta added, and muttered, “God only knows what you’ve done to deserve such devotion.” And then, as an afterthought, “Not that I want to know anything about that.”
“Go,” Steve repeated, his grip on Diana’s hand loosening. “I’ll be right here.”
---
He was asleep when Diana returned, her heart feeling lighter by the moment when he eyes fixed on his form, his chest rising and falling slowly under the blanket, his hair ruffled and his features relaxed. The early evening light coloured the room in hues of purple, softening the edges of reality.
She lowered down on the side of the bed and reached over to brush his hair back from his forehead, careful not to wake Steve up. He didn’t stir, though. Didn’t so much as move aside from leaning a little into her touch, aware of her presence even in his sleep, and this smallest tilt of his head filled her with so much affection she could barely stand it.
Earlier, she didn’t have it in her to tell him that when she found him, his chest was crushed, his pulse barely there, his body broken beyond repair. The wall that she claimed saved him had actually crushed him under its weight.
When she found him, he wasn’t breathing.
Until he was.
Until they were here and the men in white coats who claimed being the best healers around were promising her that he wasn’t in any danger. That there was nothing that they couldn’t fix about him. And she didn’t know what to make of it.
Until she was calling Etta, unable to find the words to explain what happened.
He didn’t need to know that. Diana wished she didn’t either, the image of it still raw and fresh and frighteningly vivid in her mind.
You’re fearless, Steve told her once, a long time ago, and at the time, she laughed it off, insisting that everyone was scared of something. At the time, she didn’t quite figure out yet that the one thing that terrified her the most was the chaos of his world. There were so very few rules – to life, to war, to anything, really. She was not used to experiencing loss. She was not used to how fragile lives were.
Not as far as he was concerned.
His eyes fluttered opened slowly; he blinked a few times, waiting for his vision to adjust. “Hey.”
Diana smiled and shook her head. “Sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” Steve slurred, making something warm unfurl in her chest.
“Liar.”
He chuckled. “Never. Not to you.”
She refused to think about being one now.
“I found this.” She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out his watch.
It was in the pocket of his jacket that she found in the rubble later on when she went looking for her shield and the lasso buried under a pile of brick and concrete, trying not to think of how breakable everything around her was, how there could still be bodies trapped under the collapsed building. There was nothing she could do for them now, but the pain for the loss was squeezing her chest still. Merely thinking of losing Steve was unbearable, and her heart ached for those who the deceased – killed – left behind.
Steve’s good hand closed around the watch, his thumb running along the leather strap and over its white face. “Still ticking.”
Diana leaned down to press a kiss just below his hairline, where the cut that had been bleeding so profusely a few days ago that she thought it would kill him was nothing but a pink line that would turn into a scar before he knew it. His cheeks were covered with 2-day stubble, and he looked tired even when he was asleep, world-weary in a way she hadn’t seen him before.
But so very familiar. So very hers.
All her life, she’d known only one home – a place that held the memories dear to her heart. But no one told her before that a home didn’t need to have walls. Sometimes it needed to have a crooked smile and a heartbeat and the eyes so blue she was drowning in them every time she allowed herself to forget to hold on. Sometimes, it was that simple.
Still ticking, she thought as he drifted off again.
---
“At least here… I’m free.”
Steve’s jacket held the warmth of his body and smelled faintly of male and soap and smoke, and Diana wrapped it tighter around her shoulders as she watched the Chief poke at the fire, sending handfuls of sparks into the air, his posture relaxed to a degree. As much as it could be in the middle of something that was tearing the whole world apart.
The Evening Hate was a very appropriate name for the midnight fire, she thought if a little absently, equally dumbfounded and awed by the men’s ability to sleep when the ground was shaking beneath them. Charlie wandered off to cool down but Sameer was snoring quietly, and Steve’s breathing was deep and even, his face relaxed in a way she didn’t remember.
Diana tore her gaze away from him and studied the Chief, his face streaked with shadows.
“So you’re not afraid to die for this, then?” She asked, gesturing toward the tent behind her, curious.
He looked at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I will not die in this war.”
Diana’s eyebrows arched. “How do you know that?”
“I just do,” he shook his head, chuckling under his breath.
“What about them?” She nodded toward the sleeping men, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her head tilted to her shoulder. People, she had learned quickly, were very easy to read. Even the notorious spy let his guard down when he didn’t know anyone was looking. But this particular person sitting in front of her allowed nothing to betray his thoughts, which left her intrigued and more than a little wary. Not alarmed, though – Steve clearly trusted him, and she was learning to trust him. And yet...
The Chief glanced at the swaddle of coats and blankets that moved slowly as his friends slept, his brows coming together as his eyes lingered on Steve for a brief moment longer. He looked Diana square in the face then, the gaze of his black eyes piercing her with its intensity.
“None of them will,” he responded softly after a few moments, and she knew that he meant it. “I know who you are. What you are.”
“What I am…?” She echoed, not quite certain how to take it.
His chin jerked toward Steve. “He does, too. He’s just doesn’t know it yet.”
“How can he not know that he knows something?” Diana smiled, thinking that he was teasing her.
The Chief added another log to the fire. His face grew serious. “Sometimes, it takes a lot of bravery to believe something that you don’t understand.”
---
The only time Steve had ever been to a hospital was after his first tour, back in the States still, when he stupidly dislocated his shoulder and was sent to the infirmary. The one thing he remembered from back then was a heavy smell of everything that was the damned hospital that seemed to haunt him for weeks on end after he was discharged. It was like it lodged itself into his throat and seeped into his skin, and no matter how many times he bathed and washed his clothes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was carrying an entire ward on him.
And it was that again, but so much worse, too. It turned out that a person could only sleep for so long, and once the medication started to wear off and the fog had lifted, he found himself bored out of his mind. Reading was giving him a headache, and the crackling radio at the end of the hallway was hard to hear, and being bedridden for most of the day was driving him insane. And worst of all, he wasn’t allowed to shave. Apparently, they were not trusted with any sharp objects – the logic he didn’t quite understand, but even his barely edible lunch only included a fork and a spoon.
It was ridiculous, really.
“Get me out of here,” he begged Diana two days later.
“I will, as soon as you can stand without swaying,” she gave him a pointed look, remaining unmoved.
He flashed a grin at her. “I thought you liked swaying.”
She adjusted his pillow. “Nice try.”
He hated the time when she wasn’t around, when the minutes stretched endlessly and the nights were unbearably long and his thoughts were so loud he could hardly stand it. There was only so far a man could run away from himself.
Etta came over, too, although she was worse than Diana in that she didn’t want to tell him anything about the outside world. He’d heard the snippets of the conversations between the nurses about the Germans leaving France for good, about the overall panic among the troops, about the shift in power, the allies gaining some leverage at last. They promptly ignored his questions though when he asked them to elaborate.
“All I can do is stare at the ceiling,” he told Etta when she managed to kick Diana out ‘to get some fresh air’, taking her turn in babysitting him.
“Beats being dead,” she pointed out without much sympathy, making him smirk. “I can’t believe you never told me,” she said once more, and Steve flinched a little. “You could trust me.”
“I know,” he admitted. “It wasn’t about that. I didn’t want—” he cleared his throat. “It didn’t seem fair to put something like this…”
“You really are a moron,” she interjected, shaking her head. Then glanced toward the door to make sure that no one was there, and dropped her voice. “Just so you know, the British Intelligence appreciates your invaluable input.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “The letters… Did you…?” The ones that Diana must have salvaged, he figured.
“Delivered where they belong,” she promised. “Just keep it between us. You’re not supposed to be thinking about any of this.”
His smile softened. “Thank you, Etta.”
“You always have to do it the hard way, don’t you?” She muttered with a hint of exasperation.
Man, he missed her, Steve thought.
He got a ward-mate, too. A 60-something Irish colonel called Hector who spoke excessively in monosyllabic words or grunts and who slept most of the time – so much so that Steve didn’t even know what was wrong with him that he needed to be here at all. He tried to entertain himself by playing the guessing game but it grew old pretty fast.
Suffice it to say, he hated this place.
“Stay,” he asked Diana on a Friday night, feeling like a few more hours in this room, and he wold start climbing walls.
Leaning against a couple of lumpy pillows, he was half-sitting in bed, his fingers playing lazily with hers as he cradled his left arm to his chest in a sling.
“I think it’s against the rules,” she pointed out.
Steve caught her gaze and held it. “We can make our own rules,” he suggested quietly, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him until their noses were almost touching and her eyes were the only thing he could see. Her breath was falling on his cheek, and Steve grinned when she failed to bite back a smile.
“You have an awful lot of those, don’t you?” Diana murmured, and his mouth went dry.
“You can’t blame me.”
Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them, and Diana pulled away just as Steve's roommate shuffled into the ward, walking toward his bed and deliberately not looking in their direction. He continued to ignore Diana entirely all through the past two days, much to her general confusion and Etta’s outrage. Not that either of those things made much difference.
Diana bit her lip, and Steve tried to hide his chuckle behind a cough.
“And now Hector here is scandalized,” he muttered, his hand finding hers again and his thumb running discreetly over the inside of her wrist where Diana’s pulse stuttered a little under his touch.
Her brows pulled together. “Why? We’re not doing anything.”
And what a shame it is, Steve thought – couldn’t help it, really.
“Because there’s a beautiful woman visiting me and not him,” he replied loud enough for Hector to hear, but the other man only snorted in response. “And maybe it’s making him a little uncomfortable,” Steve added softly, only for Diana.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” She inquired, clearly entertained.
“Well, um…” Steve shifted under the thin blanket and glanced away, the tips of his ears turning red. “I wouldn’t call it that,” he responded vaguely, finding it hard to keep a straight face.
She laced their fingers together. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“And bring back my shaving cream,” he grimaced, scratching his scruff.
Diana smiled, her voice dropping when she spoke like she was telling him a secret, “I like it.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave. I already miss you,” he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb and kissed them.
She ran her hand through his hair and leaned it to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Tomorrow.”
---
She did not come back in the morning.
Or in the afternoon.
And by the time Etta showed up in the evening – and after Steve had already learned just how dedicated the hospital was when it came to keeping the people from getting out – he started to feel like he was losing his mind, his stomach clenched into a tight knot and his heart about to shatter his ribcage. There was something disturbing about thinking that the worse case scenario was her leaving, but he couldn’t shake that idea, his mind stuck, running through their conversation from the previous night, dissecting it piece by piece, turning the words inside out to see if he’d missed anything.
She wouldn’t, he thought. She wouldn’t just leave because—
Because what? Because he wanted to believe that she wouldn’t?
The thought made him feel sick, made the walls spin around him for the reasons that had nothing to do with his damned concussion.
She promised, he thought desperately. She promised…
And so when Etta stepped into the room, he was on the verge of jumping out of his skin.
“Steve--”
“Where is she?” He demanded, all too aware of the edge in his voice and not giving a shit about it.
“Look, if you would just--” she started, “—calm down, first of all.”
His shoulders slumped and he stopped his frantic pacing, freezing in the middle of the room as the world fell back somewhat, like someone pulled a bag over his head, making it hard to breathe and impossible to hear anything outside of his own mind.
“What happened?” He asked, so very close to actually screaming.
Etta’s eyes flickered toward the other man in the room before she grabbed Steve by the elbow and dragged him unceremoniously into the hallway and toward the fire escape staircase that seemed to be the only relatively secluded place in the entire building.
She pushed him through the door and shut it behind them, cutting off the voices of the doctors and other patients, and thank god the god-awful medical smell that was the real nightmare of this place.
“It’s the Germans,” Etta hissed as if someone could still overhear them. “Something’s—something’s up, they’re panicking.” She swallowed uneasily. “They’re burning down the camps.”
“Oh god.” His insides dropped, air wheezing out of him. “Did she go there?”
“Steve…”
“How did she even know--” he started but cut off abruptly when the realization dawn on him, nudged by Etta’s suddenly evasive gaze.
“Well…” She drawled. “How was I supposed to know that she would—Okay, I probably should have.” She admitted. “There was a letter… the British intercepted a letter, and I—I’m sorry.”
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” he muttered, and ruffled his hair, running his hand over the 3-day stubble on his chin. Then leaned closed to Etta and whispered urgently, “Please. I can’t stay here. Not when Diana is—out there, somewhere. I can’t.”
Etta shook her head vigorously and even took a step away form him for good measure. “She will kill me. Really kill me. With a sword.”
“I can’t stay here,” he repeated, half frustrated, half pleading.
“You have a head trauma, Steve,” she reminded him. “What are you planning to do, exactly? Swim across the Channel? Do something smart that would get you killed?”
“I mean, I don’t know--”
“Well, maybe you should start with that.” Her voice wasn’t harsh but it wasn’t particularly kind either, and her gaze was daring him to protest.
She had a point, Steve had to admit that. He hated it when she had a point.
Etta’s expression softened and she let out a slow, steadying breath when he wisely remained silent. “You trust her, right?”
---
He did. He trusted Diana more than he’d ever trusted anyone. It was himself that he didn’t know what to do with.
For the sake of well-being of the patients, the hospital limited the war news for their charges to a minimum, and the old radio was often tuned to one of the music stations that were of no help to him. He could feel the shift in the air, something was stirring, but Steve couldn’t put a finger on what it was, and the time stretched painfully, one agonizingly long minute after another.
Even Hector who had no idea what got Steve looking like a caged animal seemed to have tuned down his displeasure over the unwanted company – anyone’s company, for that matter. Granted, it would feel like a victory only if he bloody cared.
As it was, however, he chose not to.
His broken bones ached dully, making him aware of every move he made, every breath he took, distracting in the way that he didn’t find welcoming. Pacing the room left him dizzy, sitting on his bad was akin trying to rest on a bed of sharp nails. Nothing was right, nothing felt comfortable, and he regretted more than anything not convincing Etta to help him leave. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to help – hell, he had no idea where she was, but at least he wouldn’t feel so helpless and useless, and everything about him itched to go back home where even the walls offered comfort.
He was stretched on top on his blankets sometime after midnight the following night, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his mind on fire, while his neighbour snored peacefully ten feet away from him when the door opened, revealing a familiar silhouette that made Steve’s heart trip over itself standing in a rectangle of light.
For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. It was late, the lights long out on the entire floor, and he had worn himself thin with worry.
But then Diana crossed the room in two swift strides, graceful and soundless as ever, and was lowering down next to him. Steve met her halfway, pushing up to sit and reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her, feeling so light with relief that he thought he would float away if he let go of her.
“Thank god,” he breathed out.
She was shaking ever so slightly, small tremors that reverberated into him, and she smelled of smoke and blood and all the things Steve didn’t want to think of. Yet, she was here, warm and real, and he couldn’t catch his breath because until this very moment, he was thinking he would never see her again.
Steve kissed her temple and buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. The cold of the early winter was clinging to her skin, her armour, her lips, and he seemed to not be able to hold her close enough.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly once his heart was no longer lodged in his throat, nearly choking him.
She nodded and took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you hurt?” Steve pulled back just enough to see her face, make sure she was real. He smoothed down her hair, ran his thumb over her cheekbone.
“No,” Diana whispered, touching her fingertips to her cheek. “I shouldn’t have left… like this.”
“It’s okay,” he shook his head, smiling faintly before he pulled her to him again. “I thought you…” He swallowed, unable to utter the words that were coursing through his system like some vile disease. Now that she was back, the idea seemed ludicrous, impossible, and he was suddenly overcome with guilt over doubting her. Steve exhaled slowly. “I’m glad that you’re back.”
“They really wanted to do it, to burn everything to the ground,” she muttered into his shoulder, her voice breaking.
“Shhh.” He kissed her hair, his hand running soothing over her back.
“The way they were talking about those people… They called them ‘meat’, ‘disposable’. They said--”
“Diana…”
“I don’t understand how...” Her words were barely audible, soft in the night, and he could feel her heart bleed like it was his own. Steve’s eyes dropped shut as he willed her pain away. “They were saying those awful things about real people, and they talked about them—How could they be so cruel? How could they… how could you be like this to one another?”
Steve let out a long breath and leaned back against the pillows, taking her with him, cradling her to him like a child who was lost and sacred, careful to be quiet, less concerned about the comfort of his neighbour and more about losing this moment if the other man woke up.
He wanted to ask her questions about where she went and what happened and whether she really wasn’t hurt because it scared him to see her life this. It scared him to know that he couldn’t make it go away for her, make it better somehow. But there were answers that no one wanted to hear, and moments no one wanted to relive, and maybe in another lifetime they would be luckier not to have to go through either.
“Because it’s not Ares. It’s not gods that make us this way. Sometimes, it’s what we are.” Steve said softly, not sure if she was listening or not, the words finding it hard to claw their way out of his throat. “But there are good people, too. So many more of them, and they’re worth fighting for, you know?” She was crying now, soundlessly, his shirt damp with her tears, and all he wanted to do was keep apologizing over and over again, I’m sorry you only get to see us at our worst. I’m sorry we’re not as good as you thought we were. I’m sorry the world can be ugly sometimes, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… “It’s over now. I promise you it’s over.” His bad shoulder screamed in protest, but he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go. “I can’t fix it all. I don’t think anyone can. But we’re doing what we can, and… you saved them all, you saved so many people.”
“I don’t understand… I don’t understand why there must be so much pain, why you would choose to cause it to one another,” her voice was soft, and muffled by her uneven breathing.
In the darkness of the room dispersed only by the strip of light under the closed door, everything looked smudged somehow, the sounds swallowed by the shadows, and yet at the same time, everything about his moment felt impossibly clear. He could smell his soap and the sun of Themyscira on her skin, his thumbs running over her back, their faces almost touching. Steve swallowed hard when she took in a shuddered breath, acutely aware of every point where her body was pressed to his.
“We’re not perfect, but we’re not that bad,” he continued, more out of need to fill the silence than anything else. It was hard to think when she was this close, so close he could no longer feel the numbing bone-chill settled deep inside him. “So long as we don’t give up on each other.”
For all he knew, they were not talking about the war anymore.
Her breathing evened out eventually, falling in sync with his.
“Don’t go,” he muttered when she stirred.
“I should let you rest,” Diana responded softly.
He chuckled under his breath. “I’ve been stuck here for five days. I think I’m done with resting.”
She stayed quiet for a while, her fingers closed in a fist around his bunched shirt, flexing with every inhale and exhale.
“I was thinking… Will you come with me?”
He pecked the top of her head. “Anywhere.”
“To Themyscira.”
He went still when her response landed on him like a punch, knocking him off-balance, the unexpectedness of her words leaving his mind reeling momentarily.
“Are you going back?” He asked in a strained voice, wondering what the right answer was. Was she planning on leaving regardless of his decision?
She lifted her head to look at him and then shook her head after a short pause, her words nothing like what he thought they might be, “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. But they might.”
To be continued....
#wonder woman#diana prince#steve trevor#wondertrev#wondertrevnet#i'm working on chapter 7 now and ... omg#so can't wait to share the next few parts#this thing is keeping me sane i swear#a road paved in gold
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Text
K-12 Words
K
dry
wet
shoe
ten
long
stay
yellow
watch
inch
cup
time
words
same
six
bones
black
child
ear
most
page
work
white
five
arms
snow
main
nine
water
head
eggs
rain
test
seven
root
law
fall
cow
red
doctor
baby
feet
room
rule
one
blue
dark
legs
wind
skin
ball
green
two
ever
car
body
box
orange
gave
door
four
europe
picture
wish
purple
ready
try
neck
brown
through
sky
grass
air
sign
whether
dance
pink
eight
drive
too
sat
gray
three
hit
man
love
hand
the
of
and
a
to
in
is
you
that
it
he
was
for
on
are
as
with
his
they
I
at
be
this
have
from
or
had
by
but
not
what
all
were
we
when
your
can
said
there
use
an
each
which
she
do
how
their
if
will
up
other
about
out
many
then
them
these
so
some
her
would
make
like
him
into
has
look
more
write
go
see
number
no
way
could
people
my
than
first
been
called
who
oil
sit
now
find
down
day
did
get
come
made
may
part
1.1
anything
syllables
past
describe
winter
even
also
eleven
moon
fruit
sand
apple
women
nose
solve
Math problem
plus
minus
equals
stone
pants
shirt
starry
thousand
divided
just
train
shall
held
short
lay
dictionary
twelve
suddenly
mind
race
clothes
learn
picked
probably
raised
finished
end
plaid
years
bill
place
hundred
different
drop
came
river
milk
beautiful
square
lake
hole
fingers
flat
sea
type
over
new
sound
take
only
little
work
know
live
me
back
give
most
very
after
things
our
name
good
sentence
man
think
say
great
where
help
through
much
before
line
right
too
means
old
any
same
tell
boy
follow
want
show
around
form
three
small
1.2
interest
job
because
such
think
thirteen
subject
answer
letter
meet
north
length
need
times
divide (by)
times table
edge
soft
months
present
energy
point
sound
log
south
wide
members
exercise
flowers
set
found
things
heart
cause
site
brother
teacher
live
read
billion
another
distance
written
kept
direction
developed
wall
east
happy
million
world
must
house
turn
west
change
well
twenty
felt
put
end
does
large
big
even
here
why
ask
went
men
land
different
home
us
move
try
kind
hand
picture
again
off
dress
play
spell
air
away
animal
page
mother
study
still
learn
should
America
2.1
paragraph
weather
window
third
believe
discovered
simple
gone
paint
new
store
form
cells
matter
follow
perhaps
cannot
good
means
around
line
center
kind
reason
move
forest
sentence
return
instruments
beside
represent
wild
study
back
farmers
sum
difference
product
quotient
remainder
mother
animal
land
region
record
summer
general
caterpillar
scratch
modern
adjust
passenger
promise
equal
creak
almost
croak
book
dainty
song
high
every
near
add
food
between
own
below
country
plant
last
school
father
keep
tree
never
start
city
earth
eyes
light
thought
head
under
story
saw
left
don’t
few
while
along
might
close
something
seem
next
hard
open
example
begin
life
always
those
both
paper
together
got
group
often
run
2.2
misty
poor
caution
pest
phrase
life
startle
squirm
alone
centaur
rise
mountain
above
illustrator
footprint
temperature
decorate
country
sweat
sometimes
hair
smiled
everything
began
thick
compass
themselves
enough
took
although
splendid
crowded
second
act
attach
sly
talk
wonder
let’s
whirl
someone
Africa
borrow
beat
belong
blink
per
fasten
pain
begin
drenched
bed
shell
free
earth
tiny
slippery
count
factors
important
until
children
side
feet
car
mile
night
walk
white
sea
grow
river
four
carry
state
once
book
hear
stop
without
late
miss
idea
eat
face
watch
far
Indian
real
almost
let
girl
mountains
cut
young
soon
list
song
being
leave
family
it’s
3.1
drowsy
bashful
hatch
glad
copy
possible
wicked
grin
sibling
shovel
run
verb
sail
polish
ride
young
steep
case
Indian
laughed
soil
appear
bolts
costume
melody
narrow
behave
howl
example
flee
together
lot
filthy
alarm
spiral
selfish
idea
conductor
fight
rolled
middle
glacier
tree
dizzy
gather
sneaky
already
construct
every
miss
lively
metal
couldn’t
gold
plant
mask
chat
nation
hear
either
bundle
section
near
rescue
face
divide
sob
celebrate
family
loosen
jealous
crash
chimney
daily
own
cozy
ripe
cut
son
natural
serious
carry
care
paper
broken
cue
within
body
music
color
stand
questions
fish
area
mark
horse
birds
problem
complete
room
knew
since
ever
piece
told
usually
didn’t
friends
easy
heard
order
red
door
sure
become
top
ship
across
today
during
short
better
best
however
low
hours
black
products
happened
whole
measure
remember
early
waves
reached
3.2
being
instead
ache
exactly
hard
speed
buy
age
late
artistic
close
affordable
fraction
eyes
appetite
complain
sleep
seem
eat
below
remove
rusty
grow
glum
stormy
trust
enormous
scale
open
add
grab
upset
weed
denied
expensive
story
terrified
lead
jumped
died
basket
side
bear
bend
list
tomb
while
batch
grateful
father
gleaming
dress
light
sprinkle
amount
exclaim
result
yank
leave
cheat
whimper
angle
outside
remain
heap
champion
surprise
dodge
moment
fancy
squeeze
pretend
village
shriek
city
thunder
rapid
iron
striped
don’t
attitude
bell
hat
tug
isn’t
applause
children
honest
cross
spring
freezing
listen
wind
rock
space
covered
fast
several
hold
himself
toward
five
step
morning
passed
vowel
true
hundred
against
pattern
numeral
table
north
expert
slowly
money
map
farm
pulled
draw
voice
seen
cold
cried
plan
notice
south
sing
war
ground
fall
king
town
I’ll
unit
figure
certain
field
travel
wood
fire
upon
4.1
pattern
cave
hope
mile
group
travel
blush
killed
seed
bottom
hide
important
let
ticket
timid
pounds
restart
silent
cranky
keep
real
bright
quite
curved
repeat
trip
without
dart
consonant
mountains
quiet
apologize
roar
grip
groan
bolt
food
injury
century
exhausted
cabin
atmosphere
floor
it’s
scold
transportation
delighted
giant
hill
something
build
fog
method
rough
left
everyone
obey
deserve
speak
therefore
soon
french
switch
until
pushed
state
knob
hobby
between
surround
collect
fire
I’ll
arrive
road
happened
certain
top
order
astronomy
inches
club
catch
farm
nibble
color
yourself
received
connect
told
gaze
check
wear
English
half
ten
fly
gave
box
finally
wait
correct
oh
quickly
person
became
shown
minutes
strong
verb
stars
front
feel
fact
street
decided
contain
course
surface
produce
building
ocean
class
note
nothing
rest
carefully
scientists
inside
wheels
stay
green
known
island
week
less
machine
base
ago
stood
4.2
round
award
crowd
slowly
yet
products, goods, services
vowel
himself
strange
whose
draw
team
hold
feel
flood
sent
save
stood
yard
notice
warn
enemy
deep
please
flap
coast
music
wrote
safe
blast
behind
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%
K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite
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Cigarettes and Leather
A/N: *drumrolls* After MONTHS of work and procrastinating on this project, I present to the ml fandom the: Bad Boy AU!!!! I spent so long on this, and lost inspiration for awhile, but I’m happy with how it turned out. This has the potential to be a multi-chapter fic, and it could simply be a one-shot; it just depends on the feedback I get.
Synopsis: Adrien Agreste, in all his cigarette-scented leather perfection, was the last person Marinette envisioned to face at the base of their collège steps so late in the afternoon, and Adrien likewise.
Who knew one chanced meeting could change everything?
Warning: This 3k monster contains graphic language, depictions of violence, and drug use.
A gust of autumn wind sent Marinette’s perfectly groomed pig-tails into a tizzy as she leaned down to smooth the creases in her pleated skirt, holding the heavy fabric in place as to keep the hem from flaring up. With the sudden breeze brought an onslaught of dead leaves, which danced blurry circles around the soles of her sleek character shoes, leaving bits of crumbly, brown substance on her white socks. The female frowned in distaste at the dirtied stockings, but made no move to reach down and dust them off, seeing as she was in the wrong attire to do so. Plus, it doesn’t matter, seeing as they’re already torn up from Chloe’s daily act of terror.
Marinette let out a discontented sigh.
If Alya would hurry up and end her club meeting, I would not be outside right now with soiled socks, Marinette thought sourly, shaking her head of the previous conniption and instead turning her head to peek around the banister of the school’s steps for the fourth time that evening. Classes had let out an hour earlier, but Alya had somehow convinced the heroine to wait patiently by the school entrance with promises of coffee and crepes as ‘a reward for her undying loyalty’.
But, she would have willingly agreed to her friend’s request either way, so the café visit was just a bonus.
Marinette tore her gaze from the entrance and stared longingly at the steps instead, the slight ache on the soles of her feet somehow intensifying from the urge to sit down. Despite having a rather thick and clod-like heel for support, uniform shoes were not the best to be standing in for an extended amount of time. Alas, College Dupont was more for prim appearances than comfort, which also meant resting on a surface that was neither clean nor standardized for sitting was strictly prohibited at the risk of damaging ones suit.
If only her uniform’s fabric had the consistency of Ladybug’s indestructible spandex, than she would be happily draped across the concrete bricks without a care in the world.
The outlandish notion brought pulled a frustrated smirk from Marinette’s lips.
Just as she was debating upon whether to send a string of angry texts to Alya about her dilemma, the familiar squeak of doors resounded unceremoniously from the top of the stairs, along with the tell-tale scuffle of feet. Finally. Feeling relieved and simultaneously annoyed, the French teen was just about to step out from behind the pillar when another spontaneous gust of wind swept through the courtyard, with more force and bravado than the last.
Strange, Marinette sniffed the air with vague recognition, why does it suddenly smell like cigarette smoke? It didn’t before-
“What the fuck? This damn wind…” The curse sent a jolt of realization up Marinette’s spine, goosebumps peppering her skin in anticipation. She knew exactly who that voice belonged to, and it definitely was not Alya. As to confirm her suspicions, the lass stole a quick glance around banister wall only to be met with a shock of blonde hair and signature leather wind-breaker.
Or rather, Adrien Agreste’s slicked banana locks and symbolic cow-leather jacket, pressed and worn to near perfection.
From what the female could gather from the scant glance in his direction, Adrien was sorrowfully out of dress code; instead of showcasing the usual school garb, neat vanilla slacks accompanied with a white button-up and navy blazer, he wore fashionably ripped jeans, a white V-neck, and of course his leather jacket. To top his look off, Marinette swore she saw the shiny glint of piercings behind his mess of curls. If it was anyone else who chose to completely disregard Dupont policy, Mr. Damocles would have already sent the student home with a formal letter of dismissal and a list of boarding schools for the parent to pick from. Or so she used to rationalize.
Being the sole son of a famous fashion icon, as well as the future inheritor to his vast empire of modeling agencies and clothing stores had its perks.
Because Adrien was the only offspring of Gabriel Agreste, a ruthless fashion mongrel that would do anything to keep his namesake as squeaky clean as the marble floor he walks on, Mr. Damocles tended to turn a blind eye on any of the misdeeds he committed on school grounds. This special treatment extended to his loyal following of lackeys, which was comprised of Nino Lahiffe, Ivan Bruell, and Le Chien Kim. No matter what the band of thugs did, the worst punishment they got was after school detention; nothing more, but nothing less.
Among the students and staff, it was almost an unspoken rule to ignore whatever trouble Adrien’s gang stirred up. Always look the other way, avoid making eye contact; simply leave the general area, if need be. The situation is similar to that of a wasp: leave it alone, and no one gets stung.
Then again, Ladybug was never one to leave well enough alone.
It was safe to say that Marinette and Adrien knew each other quite well.
The slap of quick, heavy footsteps on the concrete above broke Marinette’s train of thought, causing her to flinch. She looked up just in time to see Adrien pull out a box of gitanes from his jacket pocket as he cleared the last tread of the school’s staircase, lighter already in hand. He was standing so close that she could see the way his knuckles shook when he brought the flame close to his face and burned the tip of the tobacco stick. She watched him take a long drag from the cigarette, observing the way his shoulders slumped from loss of tension as he did. After releasing the smoke from his mouth, Adrien cast a sidelong glance to his surroundings in disinterest, stilling when he saw her.
A devilish grin spread on his lips.
“Hello pretty lady.” Adrien tilted his head in an alluring manner, turning his body to face her. “Didn’ expect to see you here…”
“Hello Adrien.” Marinette’s tone was dry, and the cautionary look she cast in his direction was even more so. She didn’t like that he stepped closer to her, nor appreciated the way his verdant eyes slowly traveled down her body as he did. “Just leaving school, I see.”
“Well, I was planning to get the hell away from here…,” He pronounced each word with precision, practically purring, “…until I saw you.”
Marinette’s grip on her messenger bag tightened, suddenly hyper conscious of a snoozing Tikki hidden among the folds of fabric.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
“Well, you saw me, so I think you can leave now.” She didn’t try to mask the spite in her voice as she took a tiny step away from the offending body who was more than missing the concept of ‘personal space’.
“Aww, you’re no fun at all.” Adrien flashed another impossibly white grin. “I’ll only leave when you leave, darlin’.”
“That’s creepy, Adrien.”
“No, I’m just being a gentleman. Can’t let a pretty lady like you walk home alone now, can we?”
There was a pause as Adrien took another long drag from his cig.
Marinette secretly wished she could slap the cancer stick from his hand.
“Sorry to bruise your ego, but I’m already waiting for someone.”
The male’s gaze hardened as she admitted to this, glancing up towards the entrance above them.
“Oh yeah? Who?” Adrien coughed, trying and failing to blow the smoke out through his nostrils in a timely manner. It was obvious he was more than a little annoyed at her rejection, and Marinette took great pleasure in this.
“Alya.”
Adrien stiffened at the mention of her fiery best friend, probably recalling all the times Alya had kicked his ass without getting caught. She had the reputation of being as quick and cunning as a fox, always managing to slip away before the falling action of a troublesome situation. It was well-known that she was the only individual in the school that Adrien actively avoided causing beef with, in addition to the fact that it would cause bad blood between him and Nino, Alya’s boyfriend.
“Well, I don’t see her, so I’ll wait with ya til’ she comes.” Came his delayed response, his stare clearly taunting ‘just because you mentioned her doesn’t mean you can get rid of me so easily’.
Marinette knew there was no arguing with him, so she decided to let it go.
“Fine, but only if you stop blowing that damn smoke in my face. My parents will think I’ve taken to smoking and have a heart-attack at this rate.” They locked eyes for a moment, and the female couldn’t help but notice how they softened negligibly when he looked at her. She found herself flushing when he suddenly smirked, drawing attention to his lips.
“Deal.” He quickly conceded to the stipulation, her action not going unpunished when he leaned on the pillar beside her form and brushed their shoulders together. Marinette cursed him and his dumb, handsome face for making her react like such a school girl.
So, without saying anything for a few minutes, they waited.
It was a strange feeling, admittedly, because moments like this between them seemed to only happen outside of school (and even then, it was usually banter or passive-aggressive small talk).
In school, Marinette and Adrien only ever spoke when he caused trouble and she just happened to be there to resolve it. He didn’t really bully people so much as just messed with them, or toyed with them for lack of a better word. It reminded her of a game of cat and mouse, lithe but ruthless in his patronizing actions. But, what he did aggravated people enough to earn him the slanderous term of ‘bad boy’. In hindsight, it seemed Adrien more liked to rebel against the school and its overzealous principles, and more often than not bystanders got in his way. At least he wasn’t as bad as Chloe Bourgeois, who took being an aggressive and harmful nuisance as a personal challenge. Marinette shivered involuntarily, mind conjuring up images of that morning’s particular cruelty where Chloe had ‘accidentally’ tripped her while going down the classroom steps, successfully tearing both her thin stockings on the waxy floors.
Adrien saw this and frowned quizzically.
“What is it? Are you cold?” His frown segued into a suave smile, the smell of cigarettes more prominent in their close proximity. “Because if you are, feel free to lean on me for warmth, darlin’.”
Marinette snorted. There was no way she would ever tell him this, but since he was blocking the cold wind with his frame she was much warmer than before.
“As if, you greaser! And I’m not cold, I just thought of something unpleasant, that’s all…” She trailed off, thoughtlessly staring down at her ruined socks. Adrien followed her gaze and furrowed his fair brows.
“I don’t care if ya answer me or not, but did Chloe do that to you?” Adrien tried to act indifferent, hiding his concern with a puff of his dwindling cig. Cute.
“…yeah.” Was all she said in return, perturbed by her previous epiphany. Where the heck did that come from? They weren’t even that close, save for banter, if not slightly hostile banter at that.
Adrien blew out air between his teeth, and for the first time that afternoon, it didn’t contain smoke. She couldn’t classify it as a sigh, but more of a frustrated outtake of air. There was movement in her peripheral vision, and the heroine secretly watched as the blonde heartthrob seared his cigarette butt into the bumpy concrete wall, dropping it to the ground so he could crush the ashes beneath his heel.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized suddenly, turning to face her but still leaning on the stair banister. Marinette looked up at him sharply, shocked and unprepared for something so uncharacteristic to leave his mouth. Scanning his face, she found no hint of a joking smile, or even the solace of those beautiful emerald orbs crinkling in unkempt mirth.
Is he serious?
“For what?” Marinette replied thickly, eyes traveling down his disheveled but dashing figure. One hand was shoved in his jacket pocket while the other was curled in on itself, the skin enveloped by the fingernails starting to reddened from the pressure. “You didn’t do anything to me.”
Where did this even come from?
“I know, but…ugh!” Adrien turned and spit onto the pavement, causing Marinette to jump back in surprise. “Chloe can be such a bitch sometimes!”
Wait. Blinking rapidly, the teen careened her head to the side, disbelieving of what she was hearing. The wind picked up again and stirred the exposed ends of her pig-tails, which blew a clump of raven locks over her eyes and mouth. Normally, Marinette would immediately tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ear, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care at that moment.
Was Adrien apologizing on Chloe’s behalf because he felt…guilty?
“Are you…actually saying sorry to me for earlier?” Marinette asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.
“Are you fuckin’ dumb? Of course I am!” Adrien looked directly into her eyes as he said this, something raw and fleeting flickering on his features. In one fell swoop, she felt her body heat up beneath the clusters of freckles on her cheeks and shoulders; whether it was from the anger he evicted at his rude statement or the flattery she felt bloom in her chest at the thoughtful gesture remained a mystery.
This was too strange.
No, he was too strange.
“But you never apologize for your actions, let alone on behalf for anyone else in your gang!” Marinette blurted out without thinking. She couldn’t help herself, but it was the truth. Chloe had done far worse deeds to their fellow classmates in the past than she had to Marinette this morning, and Adrien knew it.
Adrien shifted his stance, rubbing the sides of his leather jacket together as he did. His body language screamed defensive, but his expression betrayed otherwise.
“And?” He looked away, keeping his tone carefully even, “…she trashed your socks, so someone needed to do it and Chloe sure as hell wasn’t going to.”
Oh.
OH.
He didn’t say sorry because to you because he felt bad, but only did it because he felt obligated.
Marinette felt her face crumple into a frown, suddenly feeling cold. Of course Adrien Agreste would never do this on a whim of integrity, but rather only if it was necessary. He most likely got conned into doing this by Chloe herself, which made more sense than it should have; who could turn down a pretty face with pretty words? It was silly of her to hope for some semblance of sincerity and kindness in a person who never indicated to have any to begin with.
“…I see.” Crestfallen and upset at herself, Marinette turned away. The situation had left a bad taste in her mouth, and now all she wanted to do was go home. “Well, tell Chloe that she owes me a new pair of stockings or else I’ll tell Mr. Damocles about what happened.”
Adrien, noticing the hostile tone of voice she took on, finally faced her again. He seemed surprised at the look of hurt she wore on her facial expression, as if he wasn’t acutely aware of the gravity and implication his words had.
She scowled at him and swiveled on her heel to leave.
“Wait, Marinette, that’s not what I meant-” He began to say, leaves crunching under his boots as he attempted to step forward. But, Marinette held out a hand to stop him in his tracks, daring a glance over her shoulder to stare him in the eyes.
“No, no, don’t bother. I understand perfectly what you meant, Agreste. No need to explain further.” The whole reason he stayed behind was not to keep her company while she waited for Alya, but simply to offer her a half-assed apology in hopes of compensating for the damage done to her feelings and socks.
God, I’m so stupid.
“I’m leaving.” The heroine spat, briskly walking away.
“No, wait-”
“Goodbye, Adrien.”
“I said stop, dammit, just hear me out!”
A strong hand encircled her wrist from behind, and Marinette wasted no time in reacting. With the agility of Ladybug, she wrenched free of his grasp, grabbing both his forearms in the process. Then, she spun around to his blindside while knocking her left calf into the backs of his kneecaps, shoving the rough material of his jacket sleeves in between the blades of his shoulders.
“Hey!” He grunted, losing his balance.
Adrien was on his knees in an instant, a scuffed character shoe pinning both of his heels down with the brute force of an agitated akuma. He may have been taller, and had more muscle built, but size and muscle did not equal strength.
And while Marinette may lack in size and muscle, strength was something she had in excess.
“What the-…what the fuck?! How did you…” Adrien floundered, a little more than disoriented from the last ten seconds.
“Touch me again and I’ll make that pretty face of yours taste dirt.” Marinette hissed uncharacteristically, her anger getting the better of her.
“Where did you even learn to…no that’s not important right now-”
She stared icily at the mess of blonde curls beneath her nose, lips working faster than her brain. “And next time Chloe sends you to do her bidding, at least had the decency not to say so, asshole-”
“Marinette!”
“What?!” His interruptions were getting on her nerves, and she was tempted to go through with the previous threat.
“Calm the hell down for a second and listen to me!” Adrien rushed to say, wiggling in her grip. It was almost comical to watch him struggle before the teen realized where they were and released him without saying otherwise.
“I already did.” She watched him pick himself off the ground, roughly swiping at the concrete bits that accumulated on the fabric of his no-doubt expensive jeans.
“Well, tough luck toots’, you get to listen again.” Adrien snapped, causing her to flinch. Presumably, he was probably not too happy with what transpired not even three minutes ago.
“Excuse me?” She gave him a look of warning, and he relented. The tense lines around his face relaxed, easing into a plain but attractive frown.
“What I meant was…well, what I said before…I didn’t mean to say that.” He faltered for a moment, and Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.
“Then what did you mean to say, Adrien?” Cobalt and emerald locked together for the umpteenth time that afternoon, both refusing to blink. Adrien pushed both of his hands into his jacket pockets, slouching into his hips as he leaned heavily on one leg. Is he nervous?
“I…I didn’t apologize because Chloe told me to…” He mumbled, quickly averting his eyes. “I did it because I wanted to and…I felt bad when I saw the look on your face when everyone laughed at you.”
Oh.
Marinette flashed back to that morning, recalling the embarrassment she felt as she stood on wobbly legs and continued on her way to their next class. Alya had stayed behind to grill Chloe and Sabrina for their cruel prank, probably curious as to why Marinette chose to say nothing in return for once.
She cogitated over his response, clearly not ready for what he said next.
“I’m sorry, Marinette. I’ll make sure to talk to Chloe so she doesn’t do that again.” There was no stutter, no pause in-between words; this time, she could tell he meant it.
And best of all, Adrien Agreste was blushing.
“Thank you, Adrien.” Marinette smiled without meaning to, cheeks flush from what she was now sure was flattery.
She continued to smile at him, her mind a melting pot of thoughts.
His face was still tinted pink, and his expression was akin to that of embarrassment from her unexpected praise. He almost looked vulnerable, which was very much unlike the usual intimidating image he projected to those around him. To Marinette, his attire seemed wrong for the kind of attitude he was presenting at that moment. Not even his scruffy handsome-ness framed right on the outline of his jaw.
The Adrien Agreste that stood before her was not the same Adrien Agreste she saw a few minutes prior.
“What? ‘The fuck you lookin’ at me like that?” Adrien noticed her staring, and frowned childishly. Even his cursing sounded out of place.
“It’s nothing.” She replied, shaking her head. Her pig-tails bounced in place, but settled behind her shoulders once more. “I was just thinking that-”
The tell-tale vibration of Marinette’s phone caught both of their attention, and all at once the new Adrien ceased to exist.
Disappointment bloomed in her chest, but Marinette undid the clasp on her bag anyway, groping around in the pocket until she felt her phone. She was all too aware of the gaze Adrien pinned on her as she unlocked the screen and skimmed over the dozens of notifications.
Alya: hey girl sorry the meeting went on so long
Alya: juleka had taken so many good pictures for the newspaper that no one could agree on a cover photo
Alya: omw now;)
Marinette didn’t bother to reply, but instead looked up at Adrien apologetically.
“Is she coming now?” He asked, eyes unreadable.
Nodding, Marinette fidgeted with her phone.
“Yeah, but I don’t think she will be happy seeing you with me, so, uhm…” She felt awkward asking him to leave, but Alya would throw nothing less than a conniption fit if she saw Adrien standing so close to her, let alone casually chatting like they were old pals. Adrien, seeming to understand, nodded knowingly in return.
“I get it. I was supposed to meet with my agent earlier anyway, but father is used to my tardiness.” He smirked to himself, and Marinette could only wonder how private the joke was for him.
“It was, uhm, nice talking to you.” She supplied stiffly, inwardly cringing at her social ineptness. Adrien had already begun to back away; she watched him as he reached into his pants pocket to retrieve what she surmised to be the keys to his car.
“You too, darling’.” He chuckled at her reaction to the nickname, and the designer swore she saw some trace of a genuine smile in the midst of his teasing.
Before he melded into the chaos of the streets, Adrien called to her behind his shoulder.
“Next time we meet, you should tell me what you were thinking. I’m curious.” For once he didn’t speak with a rough dialect, and she immediately found his normal accent to be charming.
Marinette studied his leather-clad figure as it disappeared around the corner, a plethora of emotions stirring inside her heart. Without thinking, she sniffed the air for any trace of a familiar scent. His scent.
She stopped once she heard the school doors squeak open from above, satisfied in her discovery as she turned to greet Alya.
It still smelled of cigarettes and leather.
Well? Give me your thoughts on this AU! Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated!
#my fic#ml#ml fanfic#badboy au#ml badboy au#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug fanfiction#badboy!Adrien#marinette dupain-cheng#adrien agreste#ao3fic#ao3
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Second Draft
The official second draft of the screenwrite
After lots of feedback (and various other small edits to a variety of other drafts) the second draft is done! While I still feel like there is room to improve, and that my theme could be made more prevalent with more work, I am pleased to at the very least have written a 5 page script!
EXT. CITY – DAY
INERTIA, an older teenager with brown skin, dark hair, thunderous in face and nature, rides her Gryphon, VENTURE, a hulking mass of grey feathers and fur, alongside other gryphon riders, behind her mother; IMPETUS, a brown skinned woman in her late fifties with an undecipherable gaze behind greying black hair, and her council as they discuss renovations of the city
The streets are sparsely populated, the crowd seeming to shy away from the group. INERTIA scans the streets, tightening her expression at the remnants of posters vilifying the council and her mother
A small, dirtied child is yanked out of the way by their mother after nearly being trod on by a gryphon. INERTIA, keeping her focus on her Mother, reaches down and tosses the poor family a few silver with an apologetic look
A covered figure begins to track the group from a distance, their cape catching INERTIA’S eye. INERTIA sits upright and begins to scan the distance
The group exits into a clearing before the council steps
EXT. BOTTOM COUNCIL STEPS – DAY
IMPETUS turns to the council and gestures out to the city, continuing to discuss city renovations for poorer areas
IMPETUS
... And as you can see, this space would make for a perfect fountain...
INERTIA stays to the edge of the clearing, still scanning the crowds. HOODED FIGURE begins to move through the crowd with ease, INERTIA tracks them through the crowd. HOODED FIGURE pauses on the edge of the crowd. INERTIA follows their line of sight and urges VENTURE forward, causing a commotion
IMPETUS swivels towards the noise, as a rotten tomato sails through the air onto her. HOODED FIGURE rips back their hood to reveal themselves as a PIRATE and begins to yell abuse and all the wrong doings of the council to the people. The crowd begins to slowly join in
The council begin to slowly back up the steps, dodging rotten food and dirt, the gryphon guard moving to act as a barrier, except for INERTIA
2.
IMPETUS’ seethes and calls out to INERTIA to close ranks. INERTIA however, does not listen, instead she urges VENTURE forward with a bellow. The PIRATE begins to sprint away from the crowd, into the alleyways
The crowd scatters in VENTURE’S path, who shies from the too-narrow alleyway while squawking. INERTIA pushes him up the side of the building to take to the sky. The crowd’s screams fade
The PIRATE darts through the alleys as INERTIA and VENTURE fly overhead, INERTIA’S scowl deepens, unable to reach him
Another PIRATE opens a door leading into a building, PIRATE #1 scrambles to get inside, before PIRATE #2 slams the door shut
VENUTRE slams down into the ground outside the building, a fishing warehouse, INERTIA vaults off VENTURE and shoulder charges the door, which flies off its hinges
INT. FISHMONGER’S STORAGE - DAY
INERTIA storms around the room, violently ripping tarps down and looking for any signs of the figures or an escape route. She finds none.
INERTIA yells, kicks a box of fish, and whirls around, stomping out to VENTURE before mounting and taking off in a cloud of dust
PIRATE #1 peaks out from under a floorboard hidden under the box INERTIA kicked
INT. IMPETUS’ OFFICE – EVENING
Inside the lavish office, IMPETUS stands with her back to the room, facing a room length window
There’s a knocking on the door, a beat of silence passes, then INERTIA skulks into the room, halting before the desk, she opens her mouth, then drops her gaze and lets out a soft sigh
IMPETUS swings around with a cold fury, INERTIA snaps to attention
IMPETUS
Do you try to hurt me? Is that it? Have I been a terrible mother?
3.
INERTIA
No that’s not-
IMPETUS
Then why did you run off?! And what about all those other times?! Huh?!
INERTIA bows her head looking cowed
IMPETUS
It’s bad enough I had to lose your brother! Now you too?
IMPETUS pulls INERTIA close and holds INTERIA’S face by her jaw, she looks down and away from her daughter, biting her lip and motions for her to leave.
INERTIA steps back, face scrunched up in confusion, before turning and leaving.
IMPETUS watches INERTIA leave, before addressing her CAPTAIN of the guard, who emerges soundlessly from the shadows
IMPETUS
Throw her to the streets, and gather the Council – I have work to do
EXT. CITY ALLEYWAY – MORNING
INERTIA is curled up amongst some boxes, looking roughed up, eyes red rimmed and knuckles bloody. A town crier can be heard in the distance spreading news
TOWN CRIER
… Countess’ only child detained! Countess sites madness and hunts for a cure!…
INERTIA startles as a hand drops in front of her face, offering an apple. She stares for a moment, then moves to grab it
The figure curls the apple away, grinning
HOODED FIGURE
What? You don’t recognize your own brother?
INTERTIA scrunches up her face, before gasping and hugging the HOODED FIGURE, knocking back his hood, to reveal a young man in his late twenties with grey eyes, and black hair
4.
INERTIA
Lark, How I- Mother said you were…
LARK
I’m guessing we’ve had some similar experiences, but come on, I have something to show you
INT. PIRATE HIDEOUT – MIDDAY
LARK drags INERTIA through a crooked doorway, lifting his hand away from her eyes to allow her to see
She gasps and looks around the room as LARK leads her through the underground city, ducking under hanging silk banners and greeting other pirates as they pass. As people greet LARK, they also greet INERTIA with a kind nod.
INERTIA glances around, expression wondrous and soft, as children race between busy parents; workers help build shelters for the homeless, and volunteers give out food and clothes to the needy from caches stolen from the Council
LARK eventually twists his way up to a building seemingly in the middle of a market, raps on the door, and tugs INERTIA inside when the door is opened
An OLDER WOMAN, in her late forties with half her face torn by scars and a milk-white eye, greets them on the other side, closing the door and ushering them into a living room, the three hunch over a covered table
LARK
Matriarch, this is my sister, she’s-
MATRIARCH
I heard what happened. I’m sorry to ask dear, but you might be able to help us, not everyone knows of your ‘madness’ and-
LARK
No, no she’s been through enough-
INERTIA
No. I can help, I want to help.
LARK bites his lip, but nods and lets his sister decide. The MATRIARCH pulls back the table cover, revealing a pinned down map, containing the layout of a sky prison, INERTIA's eyes widen and she hums approvingly at the choice, tracing the various routes and exits
5.
MATRIARCH
Now, here's what we're going to do
INT. SKY PRISON – MIDDAY
INERTIA steps out of an elevator with the PRISON COMMANDER, walking across a metal walkway. In the shadows below, unseen pirates dart to cells. INERTIA nods to them slightly.
As the COMMANDER ushers her into the control room, she knocks him out using the door, and dumps his unconscious body in the corner.
INERTIA rushes up to the console, and yanks hard on a lever. PIRATES begin to flee their newly opened cells. INERTIA runs to the walkway, looking over the edge for her brother.
The elevator dings open. INERTIA turns to find IMPETUS standing on the walkway. INERTIA turns to face her glancing around for LARK
IMPETUS
I see you are incapable of being anything but a nuisance
IMPETUS begins slowly striding forward, face thunderous. INERTIA backs up a step, before squaring her shoulders and holding her ground, staring her mother down
IMPETUS
No matter, I’ll remove you for good
IMPETUS moves to lunge toward INERTIA with a concealed rapier, but is blocked, as LARK, astride a newly freed VENTURE, slams down onto the walkway
VENTURE shrieks and fluffs up as LARK reaches a hand out to his sister, which she takes and mounts up in front of her brother
INERTIA brings her hand up to her face and whistles sharply, the sound ringing out into the room
PIRATES begin to emerge from the shadows, depositing unconscious guards into a circle on the floor of the prison level. Several bundle out of the elevator to flank IMPETUS
IMPETUS whirls around to face her daughter, strands of hair loose and snarls. INERTIA gestures lazily to her mother
INERTIA
Remove this nuisance, if you would, we have work to do.
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I'll Kick Your Ass! I'll Kick My Fiancee's Ass! I'll Kick My Own Ass! (4/11)
Last Chapter
Last Spring:
March 16th, Kasumi Tendo uploaded a private video to her account. The next day she released her first bento tutorial, starting her most requested series. It is still the video on her account with the most hits, even though it’s quality does not perhaps reflect that of her other videos. Unbeknownst to anyone, the rice balls she made in that video were stuck together with condensed milk and later served to her family with mango slices, because she was too anxious to shape them properly. She felt as though she was working under a deadline she had already missed. She didn’t want anyone sniffing around that private video.
Nabiki had shot it, and she had insisted her sister put it on the internet so it could be revealed with the click of a button. She said it would be evidence, in case the incident ever went to court, but Kasumi knew the threat of blackmail when she heard it.
Kasumi knew what her sister was capable of. Kasumi considered her hands washed of Nabiki’s little business venture. She may buy the alcohol and supply the drugs, but it is Nabiki who keeps things running smoothly—with blackmail, bribes, and the threat of physical violence, if necessary. (One does not grow up in a dojo without learning a thing or two). (Nor do they know a doctor is in love with them and don’t occasionally swipe a prescription pad).
Okay, so Kasumi wasn’t a saint, but she still didn’t like having that video on her channel. For a while it had been too easy to see it every time she made an update. The little grey thumbnail would hover there, menacingly, and she would stare until she found herself clicking it.
The video opens on a stairwell.
“Wow,” Nabiki says, “I can’t believe it’s all still here.”
“You only left a year ago, sis.” Akane says. She started htr not too long after this video, since there was no longer any reason to put it off, and only a few weeks later the difference between her face in the video and real life would surprise Kasumi.
“Oh, sister dearest-“ Nabiki began in sing-song, sounding like she’s about to launch into a “I am ten months older than you and so you must listen to my older sister bullshit” sort of speech. That is when they reach the top of the stairs and turn to find Kodachi and her brother standing there.
“Sister?” Kodachi says, looking confused.
You can’t see Nabiki’s expression, but the camera bounces as she jostles Akane, “Just a little ribbing.”
“Some of us actually respect our siblings.” Kuno replies haughtily.
“What are you even doing here?” Nabiki says, zooming in on Kuno’s face.
“I am here to see how my sister is doing in her last year at my alma mater,”
Nabiki snorts. “You pretentious fuck,” She mutters under her breath.
Sometimes Kasumi pauses the video here and prays for the footage to be different. Fifteen minutes of Nabiki and Kuno bickering would be perfectly alright. She wouldn’t mind watching that over and over.
Then there is a thud and Kuno’s face disappears from the screen, replaced by a blur of red, and the crash of something hitting the floor.
The camera pans down so you can see Kuno and Ranma as a tangled heap of limbs on the ground. Ranma rights himself and nonchalantly perches on Kuno’s chest.
“Hey, Nabiki, you just got me out of study hall!” He says with a wave.
Kuno rises beneath him like the ocean floor shifting, sending Ranma to the ground. “Who on earth are you?” He asks, wiping down the front of his now wrinkled button down, “And what nefarious thing did Nabiki Tendo do to allow you this truancy?”
Ranma paused in getting up to look at Kuno like he just spouted off a conspiracy theory involving aliens, cows, and hormones in the drinking water.
“Anyway,” Ranma says, turning back to Nabiki, “Mr. Winkleman said I could come show my guest around the school, but you know your way around, so I’m going across the street for a hot dog.”
“Seriously,” Kuno says, now standing, and as dusted off as he is going to get, “Who is this guy?”
“He’s a friend of mine.” Akane replies quickly.
“You two aren’t friends.” Kodachi says, with an expression that claims lying is a foreign concept.
“We’re distant cousins.” Akane says. “We’re friends when we’re out of school.”
“Good thing you’re lying,” Ranma calls over his shoulder. He’s headed for the stairwell, already fishing a wallet out of his back pocket, “Or things would be pretty awkward at home.” He doesn’t seem to think anything of the remark, but Kuno won’t let it go. He grabs Ranma by the shoulder, and Ranma stops, though he shakes the hand off.
“I’m confused. How do you know Nabiki and her brother?”
Ranma smirks. “I don’t.”
“Good lord, man, stop being obtuse and explain what’s going on here or I shall report you to the front desk.”
Ranma rolls his eyes. “Stop speaking in a British accent or I shall have to beat the snot out of you.”
Akane comes into the frame, for a second silhouetted by the window, turning her into a shadow with a white halo. “Lay off you two. Ranma is a family friend, okay? That’s why I called him a friend.”
“Would you stop lying?” Ranma says.
Akane looks like she might growl at him. “Would you stop antagonizing everyone?”
“Only if you tell the truth for once.”
“This is Kuno, okay? He’s an asshole. He doesn’t deserve the truth.”
Kuno looks a bit hurt by this, but he doesn’t have a chance to get back into the conversation. It has become a two person match.
“What is it with you,” Ranma says, “And having to economize the truth? I don’t lie. I came out the second I heard the word trans, I broke up with my girlfriend as soon as you and I got engaged, and I told all my teachers that as far as I am concerned this year is a waste of my time, and you know what I get for that? Respect.”
Kuno is sputtering in the background, but Nabiki has cut him out of the frame. Maybe she could already tell, by the colors on Akane’s face, red, then pale, then burning red again, that this was a moment that needed to be on film.
“You should try it,” Ranma continues, “Then you wouldn’t spend all your time terrified that people are going to find out you’re exactly who you are.”
Akane’s hands ball into fists so tight her arms shake. “Shut up.” She hisses under her breath. A warning more than an order.
“No!” Ranma yells, “I will not shut up! I got sent to this lame-ass school for my senior year, the year that was supposed to be me and my girlfriend just fucking around and going to prom, but instead I’m here, with point zero friends, just cause I’m engaged to some girl who won’t even admit she’s a girl.”
Akane slaps him, and the camera shakes with the impact. Nabiki turns for a minute and you can see that the jostling was not caused by Akane’s palm, but rather the small crowd of students who have gathered to watch the spectacle. Most have money or food, probably headed out for lunch.
When the camera comes back to Akane and Ranma you can tell that they have seen the other students too. Both their faces are red, though there is a pale outline around the hand print on Ranma’s cheek.
“None of that is true!” Akane says to Ranma, though it is clearly for the benefit of the crowd.
“I’ll stake my honor on it!” Ranma yells, Akane his only focus. “I swear it on my honor as a fighter.”
“Fine then, fight me for it!” Even Akane takes a step back after that outburst, surprised as anyone else.
“You’re on.” Ranma says. “You, me, the parking lot by the basketball court. Now.”
With that they race down the stairs, Nabiki and a horde of underclassmen right behind them. They go through the side exit so they won’t have to go past the front desk and get asked what the heck they’re doing. The sunlight is momentarily blinding, but Nabiki keeps Akane in frame, elbowing underclassmen out of the way to do it, judging from the pained grunts in the background.
Akane and Ranma face off in the parking lot, circling each other for a minute to get the lay of the blacktop.
“You call it, Nabiki.” Akane says.
“You’re going to get expelled!” Nabiki yells over the crowd.
“It’s too late in the year for that.” Akane replies, and she was right.
“You two should just stop now, before someone gets hurt.” That someone won’t be Nabiki, though. She is not stupid enough to get between them.
“This is my honor!” They both scream, and they take that as their cue to start.
The first time Kasumi saw this she was expecting a careful, somewhat ritualistic judo match.
This is not that. This is a brawl. This is anything goes kind of fighting. You’d think that two people as skilled as Akane and Ranma would be kicking and dodging, flipping and throwing, but there is no time for that. Their bodies collide like monster trucks at a rally.
The underclassmen are screaming, but they can’t cover the sickening smack of flesh hitting flesh with the intention to hurt. Some people are cheering for Akane, some for Ranma. Among the encouragement are slurs that make Kasumi’s stomach flip.
Watching from the outside, weeks later, the whole thing seemed pretty pathetic. Not the damage Ranma and Akane inflicted on each other, that was serious. By the time teachers arrived to break them up they both had wounds that required stitches, scratches on their bodies from where they clawed at each other and where they scraped against the blacktop after they went down on it, and Akane was crying, her face a mess of snot and tears and blood, crumpled and bright red like a valentine someone had thrown in the gutter.
“Damnit, Ranma!” She screamed as the Chinese teacher hauled her away in a half nelson. Her voice cracked so hard on Ranma’s name you expect her throat to split, and Kasumi’s heart shattered. It was a pointless fight. The damage was done. The mark Akane got on her permanent record didn’t stop the rumors. Didn’t stop the anger and confusion. Kasumi didn’t even go to the damn school anymore, and she still got wind of the tales being spread. Akane Tendo is gay, no he’s a tranny, no she’s a dyke. She’s engaged, child marriage, judo, tae kwon do, Tendo.
You can already hear those words beginning to float through the air as Akane and the Chinese teacher disappear round the bend in the parking lot towards the front office.
The camera pans to Ranma, sucking on his split lip, blood already drying on his chin. He glances up at Nabiki as best he can with his left eye swelling up. The teacher holding his shoulder, biology, maybe, squints at Nabiki as well.
“What?” Ranma barks.
“I don’t know.” Nabiki says, “I guess I’m waiting for an explanation.”
Ranma touches his eye, and winces. “Your sister is a violent maniac.” He beams at the camera for a second, sending more blood oozing down his chin. “We’re made for each other.”
With that the screen goes mercifully black.
#ranma 1/2#fanfiction#college au#epistolary#chapter 4#rankane#ranma saotome#akane tendo#trans!akane#trans!ranma
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