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ack3rlady · 3 years

Note

Good evening

So here is one of the plots I always imagine you being erwin's little sister and levi is his best friend so he loves you and levi being levi would show through actions like buying the best gifts because he listens and cares also picking you up from places and agrees with erwin that you aren't allowed to have a boyfriend

Is that kinda out of character 🤔

Dinaaaaaaa! Sorry it took me forever to write this! It started off as something and turned into something else and then i had to sit and clean it up. Hope you like it bby!!

Pocket Watch

Summary: You and Levi go from despising each other to being two fools in unrequited love. Hange comes up with a disastrous plan to bring you both together that backfires. Big brother Erwin comes to the rescue :)

Notes: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff with a dash of angst, Hange being Hange.

WC: ~3k

Master List

You and Levi had a turbulent start. From the moment you laid eyes on him, you absolutely loathed the man so much that even his presence made you see red. He was rude, disrespectful and above all, tried to murder your brother. From the looks of it, he disliked you too, given you were Erwin’s sister, and also because you charged towards him with your blade right after, only to be restrained by Erwin himself.

Unfortunately, with the loss of Flagon and his squad, Shadis transferred Levi over to yours after that fateful expedition. And for the first time in your life, you hated your job. The thought of waking up in the morning and seeing his grouchy face, listening to his flat, uninterested voice irked you. You lost the will to get out of bed. Hange had to physically drag your body to the training grounds every day.

To say that you and Levi didn’t get along, would be an understatement. It would take mere seconds of being around each other for a new argument to break out. And because you were his new Squad Leader, you were forced to be around him almost all the time. The day mainly consisted of excessive eye-rolling, taunts, sarcastic retorts which would soon turn into a quarrel and then a massive brawl until Miche or Hange stepped in to pry you off each other's throats.

The new nicknames you coined for each other had traveled throughout the regiment. He referred to you as Shithead, and you called him Shitface.

For him, your interactions had turned into a strange form of entertainment. In no time, he had figured out which button of yours to push to get the reaction he wished to see. Meal time, which used to be the only two hours you could spend without him, was also brutally snatched away from you when Erwin insisted that Levi should sit at your table from now on.

“I have to look at Shitface’s shitty face all day. Did you absolutely have to invite him over to eat with us?”, you asked Erwin with your eyes boring holes into Levi, face contorted as if you just bit into a lemon.

The new commander suppressed a smirk; Hange and Miche were not polite enough to do the same.

“As if I want to be around your shitty head for any longer than I need to.”, he quipped nonchalantly, taking a sip of steaming tea out of his cup.

The back-and-forth, constant bickering and impromptu sparring continued until both you and Levi were promoted to captain’s position, a few months after Erwin became commander. Now that you both had your own squads to manage, you didn’t see him as much anymore.

You refused to admit it to yourself, but you missed him; missed being around him even if it only led to another one of your infamous fights. Your eyes would search for that familiar midnight head everywhere you went; relentlessly darting from one face to another until they landed on a silver pair looking right back at them.

Levi was in a similar dilemma. His life seemed a bit too calm, too quiet. No one glowered at him when he began training in the morning. No one screamed bloody murder in his ears every few hours. He actually missed the sound of your voice, even though he considered it the shrillest cacophony until a few days ago.

He found himself looking for reasons to be near you, scheduling his squad’s training sessions around yours. Awkward glances would be exchanged every few minutes, with both of you clearly realizing the difference in the way you looked at each other ever since your new roles drew you apart. They weren't glares of annoyance anymore. There was an unknown warmth present in your gazes. What was this foreign feeling?

“Miss me, Shitface?”, you asked upon bumping into him for the fifth time since morning.

“You wish, Shithead.”, he responded, lips upturned into a smirk.

Lately, there was a new found playfulness in your interactions. The words you exchanged pretty much remained the same, sans the sharp edge they had before.

It was late in the evening. It was also the first anniversary of that catastrophic expedition which stole Isabel, Furlan, and your childhood friend Victoria from this world. You snuck a bottle of whiskey from Erwin’s cherished collection of spirits and fled to the roof, a place you generally retreated to when feeling low.

You were greeted by a lone figure who was already sitting in your spot. But today, Levi’s presence didn’t bother you. On the contrary, you felt relieved to see him. When did the sight of him go from being bothersome to soothing? You took a seat by his side, popped open the bottle, drank to all the loved ones you had lost, and shared stories about them.

Well, you did. He only listened.

“If only I got there in time. I could’ve saved her.”, you sighed, thinking about Victoria.

Levi felt a pang in his heart, because that was exactly how he felt about Isabel and Furlan. If only he had never left. If only he made it back before it was too late.

If only.

You were not much different from him. He regretted treating you harshly without ever understanding your story. He felt terrible about how he never bothered to find out you too were silently suffering from the same pain as him, that there was a tragic reason why you even had a vacant spot on your squad for him to fill.

He watched your face glow under the moon light, your lips spread into a gorgeous yet melancholy smile as you fondly remembered the departed. His breath hitched when he felt a delicate weight on his shoulder, body tensing because this was the first time someone was this close to him.

He slowly looked down at your head leaning on his shoulder, teary eyes looking up at the moon. This moment, this image would forever be etched into his memory. Because the reason why he perpetually craved your presence around him suddenly became clear. Because this was the exact moment, he realized that he was in love.

After you were finished talking to your heart’s content, Levi walked you to your room and stayed long enough to make sure that you fell asleep. That night, he fought hard against this new feeling bubbling up in his heart as he watched your angelic face while you slept – A need to be with you, an urge to tell you how he felt, a longing to feel your skin underneath his fingers, to make you the first and the last face he would see every day.

He valiantly fought against the flutter in his heart, conquered it, and locked it away in the remotest corner of his mind.

You could see the faint light of the rising sun from behind your closed eyelids. You needed to be on the move in a few minutes and start preparing for the day. But instead, you chose to stay in bed, and replay the events from last night that brought a smile to your face – the way Levi’s pale skin shone in the silver luminescence of the moon, the way his softened eyes stayed pinned on yours when you spoke, how the strands of his hair swayed with the cool breeze, how you suppressed the urge to run your fingers through them, how you wanted time to stop just so that you could steal a few more moments with him.

You begrudgingly opened your eyes and removed yourself from the sweet flashback, only to find a delicate pocket watch on your nightstand with a note neatly tucked underneath it. It read -

Time took away my old friends, but also gave me a new one.

- L

Six months had passed since that day. Six months since you were both confronted by your feelings, and also six months since they remained unrequited. He had accepted that this was how it was meant to be, because, one – The world was a shitty place that could rip you away from him at any moment, two – his relationship with Erwin was far too important to jeopardize. Levi decided it was best to remain silent.

You, on the other hand, wanted to live every day like it was your last; and try to experience as many things in life as you could before death knocked at the door. But you knew of Levi’s outlook on relationships, and decided to respect his beliefs, without forcing your ideas on him.

So, you would both hold on to the little things, like having tea and meals in each other company, training together, watching the moon from that same spot on the roof and mainly, searching for each other among the multitude of soldiers, just to exchange silent smiles of assurance before each expedition as if it would be the last time you would be seeing one another.

This didn’t go unnoticed since another pair of eyes, four eyes were hanging on to every single one of these acts.

Hange was an intelligent person, not letting one thing escape their sight. When they were not immersed in analyzing titans, they were studying humans, and their vision was made even stronger by the thick pair of glasses adorning their face.

That is why they did not miss the subtle glances or a single smile exchanged between you and Levi, or even how the man who hated people with a burning passion would willingly enter crowded markets just to find you the perfect present.

It first struck them when he bought a stunning painting of the sun setting beyond the mountains. But instead of finding it hung on the wall of his office, they found it sitting on your desk the next morning. Then it was an intricate tea set that he purchased, which was now located on your table. And finally, the multiple books he painstakingly selected from a quaint shop in the bylanes of Trost that were all lined up on the bookshelf in your quarters.

And they were not the only one noticing these patterns.

The silent but dazzling sparks flying between his sister and his right-hand-man caught Erwin’s eye too. His prominent brow would rise in curiosity when Levi would expressly insist on positioning you in the safer zone of the formation during expeditions. He saw how the captain would turn to you for your opinion on important matters, and you’d respond with a quiet nod. He also observed how Levi was not rude to you anymore, a complete paradox of his behavior from just six months ago, when you used to be the bane of his existence.

His suspicions were confirmed when he casually asked Hange about it. They squealed in excitement when Erwin’s account matched theirs. Miche agreed too, adding his own two cents to the story.

Erwin’s mind was racing, the usual calm in his blue eyes looking stormy. His brotherly instincts were tingling. He had never approved of any man you introduced him to in the past, always finding some or the other reason why they were not good enough for you.

But, upon giving it further thought, he couldn’t fault Levi. He knew that if there was anyone who could protect you better than Erwin himself, it was him.

The only area of concern was his quirky behavior. But he personally witnessed how you could hold your own before the man on numerous occasions. He had noticed how you had begun to smile more often when he was around, and how you remained calm and made better decisions in the face of danger outside the walls ever since you became close with Levi.

Your happiness and safety were all that mattered to your brother.

So, he gave Hange his blessings to carry out their ‘diabolical plan’ to bring you and him together. Together, they recruited Miche as the perfect decoy. According to Hange, the plan was simple. Miche would sweet-talk with you, in turn making Levi jealous. The jealousy would eventually make him flee the comfort of his shell and confess his feelings to you. Simple, right? Unfortunately, it wasn't.

“Hey gorgeous! You look wonderful today.”, Miche appeared out of thin air while you and Levi were sipping on tea and reading the newspaper on a bench under a tree in silence.

Levi’s eyes slightly widened upon seeing the tall man’s hand snake around your shoulder.

“Thanks, Miche.”, you replied politely, albeit a little confused, but not swatting him away.

Miche had been your friend ever since you were a fresh-faced cadet. And he was known for getting close to people to get a good sniff. So, his proximity wasn't a surprise, although the sudden compliments were. But you didn’t dwell over them, assuming that the beautiful morning had him in a pleasant mood.

Levi knew that you were strong enough to tackle Miche to the ground if his touch was unwelcome. The fact that you didn’t refute his advance, meant that you didn’t mind.

Maybe he wasn’t as special to you as he thought. Maybe the unspoken bond between you and him was all in his head. His thoughts immediately began to spiral, and he abruptly stood up and left without a word, leaving a baffled you, and a triumphantly grinning Miche behind.

What Hange, Erwin and Miche thought was the successful execution of their plan, was playing out to be the exact opposite, much to their ignorance.

This happened a few more times over the next week – during training, lunch, meetings – wherever you went, Miche followed. Levi felt his heart skip a beat every time he saw you smile in the other man’s presence. His jaw clenched whenever Miche cooed in your ears, his face just inches away from yours.

Levi was obviously jealous. But instead of stepping in and owning up to his feelings, he began to distance himself from you, only seeing you during work meetings and barely acknowledging your presence even then. He would turn in his tracks every time you were about to cross paths. The serene tea breaks in his company came to an abrupt halt when you would find his office locked and empty when you visited at your designated time.

You were beginning to feel hurt by this newly cold Levi, the equivalent of how he used to be before that night on the roof. Maybe him reciprocating your feelings was all in your head. You felt lonely after suddenly having lost your best friend and support system without even knowing why.

Erwin began to notice changes in your demeanor once more. The beaming and chirpy little sister that he was used to, was showing signs of suffering. But you would never admit to it when he asked; saying that you didn’t want to add to his already full plate.

He found you one night, sitting by the window of your dark quarters in tears. He slapped his palm over his forehead upon finding out that the sole reason behind your heartache was the debacle of a plan that the three had come up with. He came clean and encouraged you to go talk to Levi, revealing that the whole plan was only intended to bring you both closer.

You ran through the hallways, first to his quarters, just to find the doors locked again. Then you headed to the mess hall, hoping to catch him sipping on his late-night tea. But the vast room was deserted except for the scouts scrubbing it clean. So, you nervously headed to the place you were sure to see him. And that’s exactly where you found him.

There he was, perched at the exact spot on the rooftop, the same place where you had spent numerous nights together over the last whole year.

Levi perked up upon hearing your approaching footsteps. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.”, you said, taking a seat at your old spot beside him.

“Well, you found someone else to talk to.”

“So, you just decided to leave?”

“I figured you had Miche and didn’t need me anymore.”

You turned to him in disbelief. The unchanged expression on his face was a sign that he did indeed believe what he just said.

“Do you just think you're that easily replaceable in my life? That someone can just walk in and take your position?”, you asked

“You did just let him do it, didn’t you?”

“Ugh!”, you harshly pushed his shoulders with both your hands. “I did not! Stop saying that you Shitface!”

“Tch! What's your problem, Shithead?”, he scolded, tightly clenching the collar of your jacket in his fist.

“My problem is that I’m in love with you and you’re too stupid to see it.”

His eyes and lips shaped into three round Os. “Huh?”, he huffed breathlessly.

“I love you. Since that evening that we spent right here one year ago, and I’ve been in love with you ever since . Miche was acting on some stupid directions that Hange gave him. There’s nothing between him and I, Levi. It’s you. It’s always been you.”, you said, quoting Erwin’s words and revealing Hange’s plan to him.

With that same fist around your jacket, Levi pulled you close; crashing your body into his, gently pressing his lips upon yours. Your heart began to pound upon his touch that you had been yearning for since over a year. His lips were warm, and soft, and he gingerly nibbled on yours, making you smile into the kiss. You felt his cool fingers raking through your hair accompanied by gentle hums of bliss. He finally broke away, allowing you both to catch your breath, resting his forehead on yours.

“I love you, Shithead.”, he whispered. “But, I’m going to kill those two giants and four eyes tomorrow.”

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan #levi ackerman headcanons #aot hcs #levi ackerman #levi headcanons #captain levi #anime #levi aot #levi ackerman x you #Mia.answers

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dukethomas · 3 years

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Summary: Duke’s parents recover and come home. Written for Duke Week 2021 Day Six: Family Bonding.

I was going to write something angstier for this prompt, but it actually turned into just the comfort part of hurt/comfort. Sometimes I need a good cry about something good happening to characters I love.

Also read it here on AO3!

His parents were back.

His parents were back, and Duke could cry and cry and cry forever. He sobbed into his mom’s shoulder for who knows how long when he saw them. His mom pat his back—he was taller than her now—and murmured to him, “It’s okay, baby bird. We’re here.”

The use of the nickname he hadn’t heard since he was in elementary school made him sob harder.

His mom and his dad were, were okay, their mouths weren’t contorted into unnatural grins and they didn’t carry that gleam of hatred and they said they were so sorry and they loved him so much and wow, hadn’t he grown up so much—he turned out to be the spitting image of his mother, didn’t he think?

Duke didn’t think he’d ever stop crying.

“I missed you,” he blubbered. “I missed you every day, I swear, I tried so hard to find a cure or something—”

His dad smiled at him, softly, tears in the corners of his eyes. “And you did. We’re right here, Duke. You brought us back.”

He had to call Jay to pick them up, because his parents no longer had licenses and Duke didn’t trust his hands to not shake in the full force of his joy.

In the days that followed, Duke didn’t go out as the Signal. How could he? This all felt like a fever dream; he’d been wanting this for so long. If he didn’t spend every waking moment with his parents, he feared they could revert back to what they were, and it would be a dream after all.

Jay took a few days off of work, and Duke called in sick for a few days at school. The Thomas family glowed with genuine grins, because they were whole. They spent the time catching his mom and dad up on what they missed, and having fun playing games or going out the rest of the time. To his dad’s chagrin, Duke had gotten much better at chess, but no one could beat his mom at Monopoly.

Then life came crashing down around them. Jay had to go to work, Duke had to go back to school, and his parents needed to begin a new chapter of their lives. Unbeknownst to Jay and his parents, Duke skipped his first day back at school to chase down a string of thefts he’d read about in the news.

He could never stay away from Signal for long. Gotham needed him, needed all the help it could get.

It wasn’t a difficult case, by any means. Mad Hatter was about as subtle as a barge. Still, Duke embraced the thrill of hunting them down, as the trail of clues led him right towards a newly opened costume store, Wonderland Haberdashery.

Again. Subtle as a barge.

“What are we waiting for?” a man dressed as a giant white rabbit complained.

The dormouse next to him shushed him loudly. She hissed, “The boss’ signal.”

Duke took that as his cue. He launched into action, running forward with a well-timed punch to the rabbit’s face. “You’ve got one right here.” (Those jokes never got old.)

He let himself loose, using all of his training as well as his own metahuman power to demolish his way through the storybook-themed goons. He couldn’t fight the grin on his face; he was having too much fun. His heart reached a thunderous frenzy in his ears and he loved every second of it. These guys couldn’t touch him.

When the time came to knock out Jervis Tetch himself, Duke obliged with glee. He’d just finished tying him to the wall when his phone buzzed with a notification.

It was three, school was over, and he should be heading home. His parents should be home.

His parents were home. It still felt surreal.

He ran into Jay’s apartment and kicked off his shoes faster than he ever had when doing a superheroic change of clothes.

“Hey Mom! Hey Dad! I’m home!” he called. When he heard no response, a chill went down his spine, and he rushed to the living room. There, his parents sat on the couch, fixated on the TV. The news channel was on, talking about an altercation at—oh.

It was talking about him.

“That’s you,” his mom said without turning back to look at him.

A wad of bile as large as a stone formed in his throat. He knew Bruce probably had contingencies for if anyone guessed his identity. Deny it, prove that he was in school, get a shapeshifter to pose as Signal in the same room as him. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah.” He couldn’t, he wouldn’t lie to his parents. “Are you upset?”

He’d imagined this scenario many times. What would his parents say about his vigilantism? He was risking his life every time he was out there, and no parent would want that, but he was helping Gotham. He was helping Gotham’s people, just like they had taught him to do.

“Let me take a look at you,” his mom told him, beckoning him towards the couch. Duke listened, sitting in between his mom and dad. His mom cupped his face with her rough hands, and he leaned into the touch. “It’s dangerous,” she murmured; Duke squeezed his eyes shut.

A firm arm reached around his shoulders, holding him tight. His dad. “But you’re happy,” he said.

Duke nodded, his chin trembling.

They dwelled in a moment’s pause, until he was being hugged from both sides. Duke opened his eyes to see his parents with faint smiles. “We couldn’t be there for you,” said his mom, “but you found yourself.”

“I did,” Duke whispered, crying for the millionth time this week. “I did.”

“We’re so, so unbelievably proud of the person you’ve grown up to be, baby bird. We just wish… we just wish we could have been here to see it happen.”

His parents laid down some ground rules. No more skipping school unless he had all his assignments done and he had straight A’s. He had to be home for dinner, and after sundown he was off his shift. He could join night shift with the other Bats only twice a week in a limited capacity, and he had to go to sleep before midnight on school nights. And he would tell Jay his secret.

That had been the hardest one. Duke could barely get the words out, suddenly filled with shame for not telling Jay earlier.

But as it turned out, Jay already suspected it. “I’m no genius, but you’re disappearing constantly. I can never find you. Wayne takes you out of Gotham all the time. That’s not just an internship, Duke.” His jaw hardened. “But don’t think that I’m going to be the cool cousin now and let you break any of those new rules your parents set. Safety first.”

Duke rolled his eyes and hugged him. “Love you, man.”

“Love you too, rascal.”

He had to let Bruce know. He’d been keeping in touch with Bruce throughout all of this, but sparingly. He got the vibe that Bruce was keeping his distance out of respect for him and his parents.

Well, no more of that. Duke shot off a text to Bruce to let him know he was coming, then pocketed his phone. “Hey, Mom? Dad? You wanna ride with me on my motorcycle to Wayne Manor?”

He wouldn’t have actually done it (it was too big of an identity risk), but it was worth it to see his parents’ briefly stunned looks before his dad started chasing him with a noogie at the ready.

Jay drove them all to Wayne Manor. His mom and dad walked out of the car tentatively, scrutinizing their surroundings. Duke fidgeted with his shirt, wondering what they thought. For all intents and purposes, this was his home, if only for a little over a year.

Duke rang the doorbell, ready to greet Alfred, but it was Bruce who opened the door for once. The way he held himself struck Duke. It wasn’t extravagant and flighty like Brucie, nor grim and tense like Batman. Duke’s family were some of the very few to see Bruce Wayne as he really was, without a persona.

“You took Duke in while we were… unavailable,” his mom said before Bruce could say hello.

“Yes,” replied Bruce calmly, wearing something on his face Duke didn’t often see. Vulnerability. Anxiety .

His dad held out his hand. “Doug Thomas. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of our boy.”

“It was a pleasure.” Bruce shook Duke’s dad’s hand. “Duke was a delight to mentor and guide. I’m glad he has you both back.”

Duke grinned. “He says I’m a delight but he didn’t think so every time I snuck out of the Manor to track down a lead.”

“You were supposed to be on bed rest.”

“And I rested, in a bed, after I solved the case! I do it every night when I sleep—that’s working overtime on bed rest, Bruce.”

“And you won’t be pulling any of that with us, young man,” his mom told him in a stern tone.

Duke quickly made his eyes as wide, pleading, and innocent as possible. He would never, he was about to say, when Bruce told them to come in.

“A better man than I expected him to be,” his dad said once Bruce had moved far enough he wouldn't hear. His mom hummed in agreement. “And Duke, you felt safe with him?”

Duke snorted. “Define safe.”

“Smartass,” Jay muttered, behind the three of them. He’d been through the tour already. He had a begrudging respect for Bruce, but he wasn’t impressed.

“And who taught me to do that, ever since I was a little kid?”

Duke yelped as he dodged a smack from Jay. “I’m fragile, don’t hurt me!”

“You’re not fragile,” said the amused voice coming from down the hall. Cass, here because Duke asked her to be. Because he wanted his family to meet his family.

“Oh! Mom, Dad, Jay, this is Cass.” He dragged them over to meet her. “She’s like… she’s my sister.”

Cass nodded, observing Duke’s family. “Good to meet you.”

At his parents’ confused glance, he told them, “When you were gone, I made new friends, but I also found new family. Cass isn’t your daughter or Jay’s cousin, but she’s my sister.” In his chest, he felt a weight alleviate, one he hadn’t even been aware of. “Wait until you meet Damian. Remember how I always wanted a baby brother when I was a kid, but you guys kept telling me that I was enough of a handful?”

As he kept introducing his parents to the family he made, he felt a warmth grow within him, tickling his ribs, infecting his lungs. It was like he couldn’t do anything but beam from ear to ear, now that he had almost everyone important in his life gathered together. (He would introduce them to Izzy, Riko, and the rest of the Robins soon.)

His family had been shattered, but Duke had picked up the pieces and created something new. And it could never be the way it was, but that was okay. Duke was happy with his family the way it was now.

His parents were home; all his family was home. Duke couldn’t be happier.

#dukeweek2021 #duke thomas #doug thomas #elaine thomas #dc #batfam #crys writes #this doesn't actually have..... a plot. but that's okay <3 #me writing duke and his parents: so how do normal people without my specific parental issues act

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tsuzuruteeth · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking and what if mc was a musical fan, what musicals would they make the brothers watch with them.

Lucifer:

- the phantom of the opera

- fits his aesthetic visually

- probably one of the only musicals that would fit him musically cause of the classical feel

- favourite song would probably be music of the night

- doesn’t mind the plot but prefers to just listen to the soundtrack after the first time

- sometimes refers to mc as Christine as a nickname after watching it together just to see them be flustered

Mammon:

- the Rocky Horror Picture Show

- shows him the live version for the heckling he loves that shit

- doesn’t get the plot until mc explains that no one really does then he just doesn’t care

- was apprehensive about watching a musical but doesn’t mind this type

- loves hot patootie

- the songs get stuck in his head all the time can you imagine Asmo’s reaction when he sings “I’m just a seeet transvestite” under his breath one day

Levi:

- Be More Chill

- feels like he relates to most of the charas

- fav song is two player game and he tells mc that they’re his player two while mc tried not to melt into a puddle

- cried at Michael in the bathroom cause he felt that

- wouldn’t ask to watch it again but wouldn’t say no if his player two wanted to watch it with him

Satan:

- was gonna be funny and say cats but I don’t think he’d appreciate humans dressed up as cats

- Into the Woods

- based off fairy tales and he loves seeing how the stories all connect

- thinks last midnight is a bop and loves the witch

- thinks rapunzel is stupid

- again wouldn’t ask to watch again but wouldn’t complain if they asked him to watch it with them

- totally wants to have a fairytale reading session with them after it though

Asmo

- Mean Girls

- relates to Regina and and thinks she’s a queen

- thinks world burn is so sexy

- loves the Halloween scene when they’re all wearing sexy outfits

- will ask to watch the original mean girls afterwards

- sometimes asks you to put on the musical cause he likes to sing along with the songs

Beel:

- six

- it had to be a short musical cause his hunger ain’t gonna let him be there for that long

- loves when they reclaimed their stories at the end

- really loves heart of stone and I don’t need your love

- says that heart of stone is how he feels about mc and suddenly mc is crying on the floor and beel thinks he’s done something wrong but no no you’re just too sweet

- doesn’t ask to watch it but if he sees you watching it he will sit next to you with popcorn no questions asked

Belphie:

- Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

- he loves for this type of dark shit

- disappointed when no ones throats actually get slit like belphie plz remember this is pretend

- likes the intro cause it’s dramatic and tells him everything he needs to know so if he accidentally all asleep half way through he knows what’s gonna happen

- won’t watch it again because he’ll just fall asleep

Bonus

Diavolo:

- Les Miserable

- finds it intresting because it shows how humans deal with their issues

- cried at empty chairs at empty tables (diavolo ur literally the king of hell you’ve seen worse??? He knows it’s just... humans are so fragile)

- likes hear the people song because people joining together in unity!!!

- he’s gonna be depressed for days after finishing it why did you have to show him one of the most tragic musicals out there

- refuses to watch it again because he has dignity!!!

Barbatos:

- Heathers

- likes the overall message and dark humour

- if you show him the movie he’s gonna prefer that cause it’s more his humour style but still likes the musical

- likes our love is god because it’s the turning point and because he’s thinks it’s funny cause you know, devildom

- won’t watch it with you again because this man is busy but if he’s free... he won’t say no

Simeon

- Joseph and the Amazing Technicoloured Dreamcoat

- Made for kids so it’s family friendly! Plus it’s a bible story!!! He loves it!!!

- close every door to me is his song because it’s a song of faith in your darkest times praise the lord amen

- thanks mc for showing him this, will watch again in his own time and will also show luke

Luke:

- the lion King

- he is a child he’d love it

Solomon:

- Legally Blonde

- already watched it before so is glad to join you to watch it again

- plays gay or European whenever lucifer and diavolo are together

- fav song is positive just for the lyrics “keep it positive as you pull her hair and call her whore” and will quote it if given the chance

- probably watched it again with you and asmo

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dameronology · 4 years

Text

the one where he catches feelings (mando x reader)

summary: after months of trying to hide his feelings, the thought of you with someone else is another to push the mandalorian over the edge

warnings: swearing, jealousy, implied smut

enjoy!

- val xx

p.s this has barely been proof read because i am the worst

The Mandalorian didn’t quite understand the concept of feelings.

How could he? Before you, the nearest thing he’d ever got to a relationship was sleeping with the same person twice. He had long surpassed that number with you but that wasn’t the complicated part. He hadn’t even worried about catching feelings when you’d agreed on the casual arrangements - he was the Mandalorian. And the Mandalorian didn’t catch feelings.

But contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a droid. He wasn’t an emotionless void with a beer in one hand and a blaster in the other. Din Djarin - the human being behind the mysterious metal mask - was very, very capable of catching feelings. What had started as a casual arrangement between two touch starved friends had booted him up the arse and sent him into a death spiral.

Not that he’d ever tell you . Absolutely not. Never, not even if you paid him a million credits. In fact, it was probably a good thing that he had to keep that tin can on his head 24/7 for fear of you being able to read his expressions of adoration. If the idea of you seeing his facial expressions was that terrifying, the possibility of you finding out about his actual feelings was enough to send him into a state of catatonia.

That is exactly what brought him into his current dilemma. You’d docked up on a planet for a few weeks so that the kid could stretch his little green cankles and catch a few frogs - and on your first night, you and Din had crossed paths with a former flame of yours in a cantina. You’d agreed to go out for a drink with him and now all he could was watch in horror as you made yourself look beautiful for another man. He didn’t like that one bit.

‘Mando!’ Your voice echoed throughout the cockpit as you kicked open the door, the smell of your perfume immediately overwhelming his senses. ‘Have you seen my boots?’

‘Y-your boots?’ He blinked in surprise, trying to act as though your appearance hadn’t just knocked the air out of his lungs.

‘The things that go on my feet?’ You thinned your eyes at him. ‘Tauntaun got your tongue?’

‘No...I just…’ he cleared his throat, standing up. ‘You look nice.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Now it was your turn to blink in surprise. His compliments were usually only the balls-deep kind (make of that what you will).

Din knew that he had no place to be upset about the fact you were going out for a drink with another guy. You weren’t exclusive - far from it, in fact. You weren’t his partner; you could only be described as his partner-in-crime-and-occasional-babysitter-who-he-sometimes-shagged.

Good luck finding a Valentine’s Day card for that title.

‘This guy.’ Din cleared his throat. ‘Were you and him...serious?’

‘Are you asking if he was more serious than us?’

Us. Us. Us.

He replayed the word over and over in his head. It sounded so right - us. You, him and the Child. A small, ragtag family of two parents and their weird, wrinkly child. It felt so perfect, the sort of thing that could finally give him a sense of security after years on his own. Din had never considered himself the kind of guy who wanted any of that; but then again, he’d considered himself a lot of things before he met you.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I was just curious. If tonight goes well, you might end up staying with him and I need to consider how that would affect the kid-’

‘- you’re full of shit.’ You cut him off.

You knew that he liked you - and you liked him. Why else would you stay holed up in this absolute garbage can of a ship with him? You sure as hell weren’t doing it out of common courtesy. But you also weren’t going to wait around for Din to get off his ass and tell you that he liked you. The difference between him and the man you were seeing tonight is that the latter had asked you out.

‘But you can’t tell me it’s not a possibility.’ Din’s voice was cold.

‘You’re right.’ You shot back. ‘Maybe me and this guy will fall in love, get married and adopt ten frog-ass looking babies.’

‘Y/N.’

‘Be realistic, you tinhead.’ You lightly thwacked his helmet, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of it. ‘Remember that our frog-ass looking baby needs to be fed at 11 and asleep by midnight.’

‘He’s been in my care longer than yours, I know what I’m doing-’

‘- and if he goes toilet in his robes again, there’s some clean ones hanging up by your bed.’ You gave his shoulder a light squeeze. ‘See you later.’

‘Stay safe.’ And don’t fall in love with him

Din was silently kicking himself. He wanted you to be dressing up for him, getting ready to go out on dates with him - not whoever this...this nerfherder was. If only he could pull his head out of his shiny, beskar ass and just tell you. But he couldn’t. That’s where he fell short.

And so he watched you walk off the Crest, a trail of perfume in your wake and the Child peeping out from his crib to wave his stubby arms at you. By all intents and purposes, you were his second parent; he was even more attached to you than he was to Din. He would babble and cry whenever you were absent, something that proved to drive the Mandalorian insane for the rest of the night.

The Child wouldn’t shut up - he was crying one minute, giggling the next. If he wasn’t bawling and staring aimlessly at your empty seat, he was practically climbing the walls, performing surprisingly impressive acrobatics as he leapt from the switchboard and onto Din’s lap.

‘I know, kid.’ Mando reached out to him, placing him gently in his lap. ‘I miss her too.’

It was approaching 2AM by the time you got back.

You entered the jet as quietly as possible, holding your shoes in one hand as you clambered up the ramp. The night had gone fine - the guy you met was clearly into you. He’d had his hand on your thigh the whole time, his intentions staring right back at you the same way your reflection did in Mando’s helmet. After final call, you’d covered your half of the bill and left.

You’d spent the whole night wanting to be back here - laying with Din and the kid, watching some ridiculous cartoon on the old holovid player in an attempt to entertain him. It was the never life you thought you’d want but things had a funny way of working out. They’d both fallen into your lap by chance and you were wondering how you’d even considered going out with someone else.

Mando was sitting on the edge of his bed, the Child snoozing quietly in his arms. Most of his beskar was scattered on the floor; he was only wearing the helmet and the shirt and pants that went underneath. That was usually a sign that he was relaxed, at ease for once in his damned life.

He would argue otherwise but you knew he’d probably been there hours, not having the heart to move and wake him. Below the armour, he had a huge fucking heart (and it belonged to you, obviously).

‘Hey, can man.’ You quietly greeted him. You took a seat beside him, softly taking the Child from his arms. ‘How you doing?’

‘I’m tired. He wouldn’t settle all night.’ Din replied. ‘How was your date?’

‘It wasn’t a date.’ You lightly elbowed him. ‘I just...it was just drinks.’

You slowly stood up, placing the Child in his crib. You closed up the lid and turned back to face Mando; the room was dim bar one small lamp, the light of which bounced right off his helmet and into your eyes. You wanted to rip the damn thing off and just look at him - read his face, his expressions. Then you might have known what the fuck was going through that mind of his.

Sometimes you could read him like a book - but a book where every other page was missing. He had some tells; little actions and noises that you understand. Other times, he was completely off with you. He’d make love to you in the night and treat you like an old childhood friend the next day.

‘Why does it even matter to you?’ You continued. ‘Why do you care so much that I went out with another guy?’

‘I told you. If you stayed here, on this planet-’

‘- you know I wouldn’t do that!’ You cut him off. ‘This planet is much less of a shithole than this damned ship but you know I would never leave you or the kid.’

‘I can’t be sure of that.’ He bluntly replied.

‘You are so stupid, Din Djarin.’

The Mandalorian knew that shit was about to get real when you pulled out his real name. You usually called him Mando, or some variant of affectionate, armour-related nickname. The last time you’d used his real title was when he’d almost died, months ago. Other than that, it was reserved only for the most dire of situations.

‘Why?’ He stood up. You took a step back when he did, momentarily forgetting that he was a six-foot-man in a suit of steel.

‘You know why.’ You jabbed your finger into his chest. ‘And if you weren’t so scared to say it, I wouldn’t have even thought about looking at another man, much less let him take me out for a drink and kiss me and touch my leg the whole damn night.’

(Most of that hadn’t actually happened but it was simply for argument’s sake. Go big or go home, after all).

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Great. So you won’t mind that I’m meeting him again tomorrow.’

(Another lie).

‘I’m fine with that.’

(Also a whopper).

‘Maybe I will stay here.’ You said. ‘See where my relationship with him goes, because at least he has the balls to tell me how he’s feeling.’

(Stop with the damn lying).

You turned on your heel, boots clattering to the floor as you marched towards the refresher. Before you could reach the ladder, Din had hit the switch on the only light in the room. Darkness suddenly overcame the hull, causing you to stop in your tracks. A moment later, there was a clunking sound, the sound of beskar echoing off the walls of the ship.

His helmet hitting the floor.

He suddenly grabbed you, pulling you towards him with such force that your chest hit his with a thump. You were going to complain, to tell him that you wanted to sleep, dammit -

- Then he kissed you.

Din had kissed you multiple times before but not like this. It was hungry, bordering on desperate, as if to say you’re not fucking going anywhere. And you weren’t. You had no intention of ever straying from him or the Child or the ship but you needed him to be honest with you.

And this? This felt pretty damn honest.

‘I’m not good with words.’ He murmured against your lips. ‘I never have been with you.’

‘Just say it.’ You whispered. ‘I’m right there with you.’

‘You promise?’

‘I prom-’

‘- I love you.’ He cut you off before you could finish. ‘You’re everything to me.’

‘I love you too.’ You softly smiled, hands roaming around his shoulders in an attempt to work around the darkness. ‘There’s no-one else.’

I know.’ Din pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘Except that little womprat.’

‘Our little womprat.’

tags: @obirain @lizzyolanda1966 @thisisaredflag @aty-cgca7

#din x reader #din djarin x reader #din imagine #din djarin imagine #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine #mando x reader #mando imagine #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars imagines

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fallen-gravity · 3 years

Text

Sixty Candles

On June 15th, 1972, Stan Pines celebrates his eighteenth birthday in the back seat of his car.

or, how Stan Pines spent his birthday throughout the years.

Notes: Here is my very loose interpretation for Week 4 of @stanuary!The prompt for this week was Future with the subcategory Old, and I decided to play around with the concept of birthdays! This was a lot of fun to explore and I hope you have a ton a of fun reading! :D

AO3

At exactly midnight on June 15th, 1972, Stan Pines celebrates his eighteenth birthday in the backseat of his car.

It’s not ideal, and nothing like how he thought he had it planned from the moment he turned sixteen, but he supposes he should be thanking his lucky stars he’s able to celebrate at all. His Ma, bless her caring heart, must’ve snuck some emergency funds into his duffle bag the moment she saw Pa reaching for it before he kicked Stan to the curb.

Stan supposes that she probably intended for that money to be spent on emergency rations and gas money, but what she doesn’t know probably won’t kill her. He also supposes that he probably should’ve gotten himself a cake, but cakes are messy and he has no means of cleaning it up, so a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes will have to suffice.

He pops open the bottle with ease, and takes a large swig.

“Happy birthday, y’ asshole” he says to nobody, slamming the bottle down onto his car dashboard with more force than intended. “Hope you’re livin’ it up at home with your fancy expensive pizza and two layer cake you’ll never be able to finish on your own” He leans back against his chair, propping his arms smugly behind his head. “An’ I hope the guilt is eating you alive” he slams his hand down on one of his armrests, and reaches for the bottle on his dashboard for another swig.

Just six months ago- not even a year, just six months ago, Stan and Ford had been talking about what it’d be like to share their first drink together. They’d talked about getting absolutely wasted at the pub down the block, followed by walking to the boardwalk to ride the coaster until it made them both sick.

It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.

Stan chokes, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s the alcohol or his emotions.

“Fuck,” he coughs, and stumbles out of the car for some fresh air. In between his coughs and splutters, he takes a sharp inhale of the cool nighttime air to steady his breathing. He sighs deeply, and pulls out the pack of cigarettes from his ratty coat pocket.

He lights one up, and leans against his car to lose himself in his thoughts as he wordlessly watches the cigarette smoke dissipate into the starry night sky. Stan gets too distracted by the sight and accidentally burns his first all the way down to his fingertips, and hisses in pain as he stumbles to light a new one.

No matter. He stomps on the burnt remains with his shoe, and grinds his emotions into the ground with them.

~~~~~~~

On June 15th, 1978, Stan Pines celebrates his twenty-fourth birthday in prison.

“Pines!” An officer shouts, whacking at the cell door with his baton. “Wake up. You’ve got a visitor”

Stan sits up in the cheap cot, groggily rubbing at his eyes. “Wassat?”

The officer’s keys jingle as he clicks Stan’s cell door open. “You’ve got a visitor. He insisted it was important, so we’re giving you ten minutes to talk.”

Stan’s been to jail enough times that he knows that when someone says something’s important, it really just means that they bribed their way through security so they can talk to Stan before the designated visitor hours.

But who could possibly be willing to risk getting arrested just to talk to him before eleven in the morning? Every name that comes to mind is either on the run, already in jail, or…much worse. Anybody foolish enough to try is either out of their mind, or…someone who genuinely wants to see him.

But…who could possibly want to see him? After everything he’s done, after everyone he’s stolen from, who could possibly be left that trusts him enough to bribe a police officer for his company? The police officer happens to walk Stan by the surveillance room, and he notices his page-a-day calendar is torn to June 15th.

Stan’s heart nearly stops in his chest.

It-It couldn’t be, could it?

Six years of silence, and Ford wants to break it like this? Is this some kind of joke? What kind of idiot does Ford take him for, thinking that now is an appropriate time to make amends? After all the times Stan tried writing, or calling, or even trying to get a hold of him through Ma, now is the time that Ford finally agreed to reconvening?

Pah. He had his chance the past five times Stan tried to pass on a happy birthday. He doesn’t care if it’ll land him ten more years in prison, the moment he sees his twin brother’s stupid face he’s spitting in it.

As Stan rounds the corner to the visitation room, though, all of his anger disappears into thin air, and if it weren’t for the officer pushing him along, he’d turn heel and sprint the other way.

“My friend!” Rico cheers with a forced smile on his face. He’s holding a large box in his hand. “It’s so good to see you again!” He takes a seat at the small table, rhythmically tapping on the box.

Stan swallows hard, but takes a seat across from him. “It’s, uh…” he squirms uncomfortably, unsure if he’s allowed to address him by name. “…good to see you too, buddy. What, uh, what are you doing here?”

Rico laughs heartily. “What, a man cannot visit his best friend on his birthday?” He flips open the box he brought with him, and Stan flinches when he spins it around towards him. To his surprise, it…looks like a perfectly normal birthday cake.

“Would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Rico flashes a grin towards the police guard behind Stan. “I would like to sing my dear childhood friend happy birthday, but I’ve always been very shy about the sound of my voice. I promise I will be quick”.

Childhood friend?

The officer squints at the birthday cake in the box for a moment. “Fine.” He says. “You get two minutes. And I’m staying right outside the door to prevent anything funny from happening”

“Of course! You have my word,” Rico grins, placing his hand over his heart. The officer says nothing, and for the briefest of moments Stan’s convinced he sees right through Rico’s bullshit and he’ll let Stan slip quietly back into his cell. But after those brief moments pass, the officer shrugs as he closes the door behind him.

Rico’s fake-plastered grin slips from his face the moment the officer is out of sight.

“Alright, listen here, you walking stain upon the Earth,” Rico slips easily into Spanish. “You think you’re safe behind these bars? You think my boys still won’t burn this place to the ground to collect what you rightfully owe us? You’re gravely mistaken. We have eyes everywhere, in every corner of the globe. And don't you dare even think about running off somewhere else under a new name, Stanley Pines, because we’ll find you, one way or another”

Rico stands from his chair and pushes the cake box towards Stan. “As soon as those guards declare you a free man, we’ll be waiting for you on the outside.” He grips Stan’s shoulder as he heads towards the door. “It really is such a shame. I loved you like a brother. But you know what they say, don’t you?” He places his hand on the door, and glances back towards him. “The good ones always die young”

Before Stan has time to respond, Rico slips his fake smile back on and opens the door. “Happy birthday, my friend,” he says, slipping back into English and speaking loud enough for the officer waiting outside to hear. “I hope you enjoy your cake”

Stan swallows, defensively bringing his hands to his throat, before he carefully inspects the cake in front of him. It looks normal, as far as he’s concerned, just a standard chocolate cake with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STAN!” inked across its surface in bright red frosting.

He contemplates. On one hand, he hasn’t had any real food outside of the slop they’ve been feeding him here for the past three months, and he’s never been one to turn away free cake.

On the other, knowing Rico…

Stan shutters. He stands to his feet, takes the cake box, and throws the whole thing into the trash can in the corner of the room.

He’d rather starve to death than risk being poisoned.

~~~~~~

Stan stopped keeping track of his age the day he started going by his brother’s name.

Sure, it wasn’t even close to being the first time he had to live under a new name. You do it enough times and you’re able to come up with an entire life story at the drop of a hat. Stetson Pinefield was from Ohio, born in the fifties in late December. Andrew "Eight Ball" Alcatraz, born in Alabama in mid-May, got his nickname from his troubled childhood that resulted from his dad getting locked up when he was only eight. It was something of a specialty, giving life to people that never truly existed.

But suddenly, all at once, Stan was forced to overtake the life of someone he loved, and it’s like he forgot how to so much as breathe. This wasn’t some sob story he could bullshit to people he’d never see again, or a name he pulled out of his ass to keep him in place just a bit longer. This is his twin brother, someone he spent every moment of his childhood with, yet someone he feels as though he doesn’t know a thing about.

Sure, none of the people in this town can tell the difference between himself and Ford, and for that he’s grateful. But a man can only pose as his possibly-dead brother for so long before somebody starts getting suspicious. Ford’s lived in this town for over ten years, he’s bound to have been on good terms with somebody.

Oh well. He’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it. For now, all Stan needs to focus on is scamming enough people out of their wallets so he can pay off the bills and keep working on the portal that swallowed his brother whole, and those seem to be going…well, just about as smoothly as teaching yourself three years-worth of advanced multiverse physics when you never even graduated from high school can go, but at least he’s making process.

Turns out, there’s still one more flaw in Stan’s plan that even he should’ve been able to factor in.

As much of a recluse Ford advertised himself to be to the locals of Gravity Falls, it turns out that he always receives a call from home on his birthday.

The first year Stan spends in Gravity Falls, he debates letting the phone go to voice mail. He has no idea how in or out of character it would be for Ford to answer his phone, nor does he have any idea who could be calling at all.

Eventually, though, he figures it’d probably look even more suspicious if he doesn’t pick up, and Stan isn’t willing to risk anything, even if it means bullshitting his way through a phone call for the rest of the night.

He takes a deep breath, and with a shaky hand he picks up the phone.

“Stanford?” his mother says, and to say he’s overjoyed to hear her voice for the first time in years is a massive understatement.

“Ma?” Stan replies, struggling not to slip into his own voice. “Why are you calling?”

She cackles. “Well hello to you too, birthday boy. I’m starting to think all of that research is getting to your head. Can’t a mother call her son on his birthday?”

Stan blinks. Is it…really June already? “Is that today?”

She laughs again. “See? It is getting to you! Do your poor aging mother a favor and go outside and get some sunshine. It’ll be good for you!” She quips. “Or at the very least, please, take a break and go to bed early tonight, for me”

Stan smiles. “Okay, Ma. I will.”

“Good,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Now, tell me all about what it’s like up there on the West Coast. Is it unbearably hot over there? I can’t seem to find your little town on my map. Must be why it’s so spooky, since you’re the only living soul for miles.” She laughs again. “I’m kidding, dear. I’m sure it’s fantastic. Tell me everything.”

And all at once, it’s like Stan’s a kid again. Stan and his Ma talk on the phone for hours. He figures that Ford must not call very often, so he spews out anything that comes to mind in hopes that she doesn’t see right through him. She buys it, miraculously, and when they hang up at the end of the night Stan promises that he’ll try and call home more often.

It becomes an easy pattern for Stan to slip into as the years go by. Just as long as he calls frequently enough not to raise suspicion, he can always look forward to receiving a call on June 15th every year. Some tiny part of him feels selfish for posing as his brother and lying to his mother for so long, but it’s the most connected he’s felt to any sort of family in years.

Deep down, though, he knows he can’t get too comfortable, and there’s still too many loose ends he needs to tie up before he can let his guard down.

On June 5th, 1987, just before his thirty-third birthday, Stan Pines dies in a fiery car crash.

On June 7th, he just barely misses a call from home as he’s coming up from tinkering with the portal.

“Stanford”, his mother’s voice says, lacking any of the snarky bite it usually contains. “I know that you’re a very busy man with your research, and driving all the way back to New Jersey on such a short notice is…unfair of me to ask of you, but…” She pauses to take a shaky breath, like she’s struggling not to cry. “But something terrible happened to Stanley, and…” she pauses again. “We’re holding a service for him on the fifteenth. I know that things haven’t been great between you two the past few years, and I can’t imagine a funeral would be an ideal way to spend your birthday, but…It was the only date they had available, and it would really mean the world to all of us if you could attend. I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? I love you.”

There’s a click, and she’s gone, and Stan contemplates his options.

Would Ford attend his funeral, if things were exactly the way it seemed? Would Ford even consider him worthy of the time? He’d said it himself: I want you to get as far away from me as possible. Would Ford be relieved that he was finally rid of him, like a weight off his shoulders?

Stan doesn’t even realize that he started crying until a tear drop lands on the counter beside the phone. Just how long has Ford been waiting to get rid of him, anyway?

No. Stan shakes those thoughts away. He can’t lose himself in those kinds of thoughts again. Every time he lets those thoughts get to him, bad things happen.

Besides…a funeral for, er, himself, may not be the most ideal way to spend his birthday, but finally being able to spend it at home for the first time in near decades, despite the circumstances, still beats slaving over an indecipherable journal in a dimly lit basement for twelve hours straight.

He takes a deep breath, and dials home.

“Hey, Ma”

~~~~~~~~

Ever since he turned eighteen, Stan found himself unable to celebrate his birthday without a sour taste in his mouth. As a kid, he looked forward to it more than anything. It was the one day a year that Pa would splurge and let him and Ford do whatever they wanted, and having a birthday in mid-June meant that there was only about a week of school left before they were free for the summer.

Most of all, it was about togetherness. Stan and Ford never had that many friends when they were growing up, so their shared birthdays were always about spending time together, because nobody else deserved to come to their party and celebrate with them anyways.

Once he was forced to spend his birthdays on the streets, Stan was starting to think that maybe he didn’t deserve it either. Even when he did have people to celebrate with, whether that be his cellmates in prison or nameless gamblers in Vegas casinos, everything felt empty, and there isn’t enough cake or alcohol in this world that could’ve filled that void.

Those early summers in Gravity Falls were the worst years of his life. The calls from home were nice, sure, but his stomach flipped with nausea every time his mother called him Stanford. To no fault of her own, she made him feel as though her love was conditional, and that he wasn’t meeting any of the requirements.

He knows, of course, that it’s not true in the least, but Stan just wishes that wake-up call hadn’t come from attending his own funeral. Stan had gone in expecting to have a terrible time, but he really had thought that seeing his mother’s face for the first time in a decade would’ve cushioned that fall.

Turns out that it only made him feel worse, and he’d declared sometime later over a bottle of whiskey that his birthday must be cursed, and that he never wanted to celebrate it again.

~~~~~~~~

On June 15th, 2013, Stan wakes to the sound of a seagull screeching its head off outside his window. He groans, and sits up in bed to look out his window, but all that meets his eye is the vast sea. He looks then to his bedside clock, which reads 8:30am.

Grumbling to himself, Stan kicks off his covers and stands to his feet, because he knows if he tries to go back to sleep now he’ll be out cold until mid-afternoon. He ruffles through his clothing drawer and picks one of Mabel’s hand knit sweaters at random, because the Arctic doesn’t care what time of year it is when it comes to the weather.

Ford is already sitting out on a deck chair with a fishing rod when Stan steps out of his bedroom.

“Morning” Stan says as he approaches so as not to sneak up on his brother and spook him.

“Oh, good morning, Stanley” Ford smiles as Stan takes the seat beside him. “Did I wake you?”

“Unless you’re a screaming bird, then no” Stan rubs at his eyes. “How long you been up?”

Ford shrugs. “About an hour, hour and a half, I think? What time is it?”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You sure you slept at all, Poindexter?” He holds three fingers mere inches from Ford’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Ford smacks his hand away. “Very funny, Stanley. I’ll have you know that I got a solid four and a half hours of sleep last night”

Stan cackles. “Woah, looks like we got a new record, folks” He stretches his arms in the air. “You make any coffee yet? I’m still not awake enough to deal with the cold”

“Oh,” Ford replies, like the question caught him off guard. He stands to his feet. “I must’ve completely forgotten” he says.

That reply does catch Stan off-guard. Ford? Forgetting to make coffee? His practical lifeline? There must be something up.

Stan rises from his chair, frowning. “You sure you’re doing okay, Sixer?”

“Of course,” Ford replies, not turning back to look at him. “I’m just…tired, is all”

Okay, Ford knows that Stan can sniff out a lie from hundreds of miles away, so whatever it is that Ford is hiding from him must be really bad, because---

That train of thought leaves his head just as quickly as it had entered it the moment he steps foot into the kitchen. There’s a banner hanging up above the window that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and there are a handful of multicolored balloons scattered across the floor.

And right at the center of their table sits two cupcakes and two steaming cups of coffee.

“It was Mabel’s idea,” Ford finally turns to meet Stan’s eyes, smiling. “She called me last night to try and walk me through her cupcake recipe, but…” he rubs at the back of his head as he takes a seat at the table. “It turns out that baking isn’t quite my forte” He gestures to the seat across from him at the table. “So instead, when we were still docked last night, I snuck off board to hunt down a bakery”

Ford fiddles with the paper wrapper on his cupcake. “I know it’s not much, but…” he raises his cupcake in the air like he was making a toast. “Happy birthday”

Not much?

This is winning the lottery compared to all the other birthdays Stan’s suffered through.

He takes the seat across from Ford, and raises his own cupcake to clink it against Ford’s.

“Happy birthday to you too, Poindexter”

#my writing #gravity falls #stanuary #stan pines

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

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Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Irritated 2

A chorus of bangs ring out on the cold metal door echoing in the small space of your hotel room. At first you jump, your nerves frayed as memories flood the forefront of your thoughts. That is until you take a deep breath knowing full well who is impatient enough to beat on a woman's hotel door. Irritation paints your features as you finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom mirror.

"Oi!" The culprit calls out, his voice pulling you out of your ritual head space causing a vein to pop up in your forehead.

"I'm coming!! Damn." You shout back slamming the tube of mascara onto the vanity top giving yourself a once over in your hero suit. It's a body con black suit, nothing fancy, no modifications. A zipper in the front that can stop at your navel. But you never unzipped it past the beginning of your cleavage. It was just a suit fit for summer that is breathable and wicks sweat. You twist this way and that as you over look your body thinking only of the comments made about it.

Did you look too thicc in your suit? Were you leading males on just because a tight suit benefited easier movements?

Hell no you weren't leading anyone on. You blow a kiss to your reflection before flipping your French braid behind your shoulder stalking out of the room with a card and a tube of chap stick angrily.

You open the door just as Katuski was about to bang on it. He either cannot or does not, stop his fist from following through the motion and it lands harshly on your shoulder, his gauntlet rattles from the force.

If only it put you out of your misery.

You look at Katsuki with the most annoyed face you can muster, shoving his arm away as Deku stands behind him offering a sheepish smile and small wave.

"Uh hello Y/N." He all but squeaks. His hero suit, now all black, is snug over his chest and stomach, his mask pulled off of his face resting on at the top of his sternum while his cowl lies unused on his back.

"Hello." You say dryly looking at both of their costumes. Deku doesn't seem to have pockets or at least pockets large enough to hold your items as well. Leaving you to glare at the man in front of you. His uniform all black for stealth, having long lost the little orange and black flair that comes off of his mask. His muscle tank is snug as well, hugging every line of his muscles leading to a set of almost lose black pants tucked into his combat boots. He still has his utility belt of mass destruction and his knee pads for cracking teeth with.

You grimace as the gods have decided your fate on who you will have to stick more closely too. You sigh audibly thinking for a fraction of a second that maybe his pockets are bigger but you know they are not.

You hold out your chapstick, a must as you would rather die than not have your beeswax chapstick, your card, and your phone to an exasperated ash blonde.

"The hell is this?" He snarls and your eyes narrow to slits as you pick his left pocket to shove your items in knowing full well he keeps his phone in his right.

"OI!" A blush so faint dusts his cheeks but you mistake it for rising blood pressure as you smooth your hands over your hips.

Where pockets should fucking be but honestly they would fuck up the aesthetic.

"No pockets." You shrug shoving past him as you guide the way, "So you're stuck with me."

Izuku shares a look with Bakugou before he shrugs his shoulders falling in step behind you as scarlet watches your fading back.

××××××××××

The crowd outside erupts as the three of you make your way into the convention center, a building that dwarfs the block. You wave and smile, stopping here and there to sign somethings for many female fans.

And the occasional male that looks decent.

Izuku takes the time to sign a few items for fans too and even begins fangirling with one over a limited edition All Might magazine the fan wanted to share with him as Bakugou sticks closely to you.

Offering a grimace to many of his squealing fans but it does nothing but encourage them more.

"Please take a selfie with me!!" One screams loud enough that it catches his attention. He smirks when he sees the grenade gauntlet tattoos she has on her forearms and snatches her phone. He sets it to selfie mood but is smart enough to be at least a foot away. He offers his deadliest smirk, throwing up three fingers getting mostly himself and the tattooed fan in the picture. He returns to phone to her hand and she freezes before exploding into a fangirl scream.

Sometimes he loved to make women scream.

"Please have my babies Ground Zero Sama!!!" She yells and for whatever reason he is not bothered by her. So he throws a rare bone to her.

"Maybe one day." His voice comes out gruff and majority of the crowd by him SWOONS. Panties SOAKED for sure.

You roll your eyes but cannot fight back the smile that paints your lips or the butterflies in your stomach from his interaction.

The excitement is infectious.

"Tejina over here over here!" A male shouts and you grab the pen and sign a tasteful magazine photo of you, avoiding everyone who has screenshot pictures of your Instagram printed out.

"Gosh I love you so much! My sister has a similar quirk and thought it was lame until she saw you!" He beams as he watches you make the pen dance across the inked page.

"I'm glad I can help. No quirk is lame. Make sure she knows that too." You offer a genuine smile and suddenly the fan feels different about you. His respect amplifies as he stands frozen. You try to move to the next screaming fan who happens to be another male, you're trying your best to be fair despite your past track record.

"Tejina, this is what the meet and greet is for." The security guard places his arm between you and the fan.

"But!"

"This is what the meet and greet is for. They will keep you here all day." He says sternly as he guides you toward the doors.

"She is always such a bitch don't you think?!" The now jaded fan shouts. You start as if jabbed after hearing the comment and some of them yell in agreement but they are drowned out by the excitement for Bakugou and Izuku.

At least you drowned out to all but you.

And a hot head who walks behind you, baring his teeth at the fan who snaps his mouth shut after seeing the death glare.

The colors of the convention quickly lift your spirits as you see memorabilia and paraphernalia of heroes current and past. Fans pause at various stations all dressed as various heroes. All Might of course being the biggest and first life sized cardboard cut out that you see.

Izuku shoves his phone into your hands as he shouts.

"Oooo take a picture of me with it!"

Your laughter rings out while Katsuki rolls his eyes.

"Dont you have tea with him like every other day?" You ask but pull up the camera for him, "Move closer."

"Yea you useless Deku you see the real thing all the time."

"But you guys know..." He trails off and you make a gesture with your finger for him to smile. He drops his sad thought and beams as the camera.

And not with his weird imitation smile he so badly wanted to use. No he used his true smile, the one he wears so well to save people with.

Slowly becoming the hope of the nation but people enjoy a badass hero equally as much. Speaking of him.

"Hey he was your sensei too right? Get in there...Kaachan." You tease with the nickname and he glares daggers. Flushed cheeks from rising blood pressure.

"I'll kill you." He says but makes no effort to keep his steel toed combat boots planted as he walks towards the cut out. Izuku keeps the same pose and smile as Bakugou crosses his arms, standing a little ways away from the cut out like a brooding teenager would his father in a forced picture. You snap it happy and yet not just content with it.

"Get closer and smile!" You whine as incoming fans begin to form a line, "Others are waiting!"

He looks your way to see five or six people waiting before he gets closer. He looks up towards the cut out and feels something familiar burning in his stomach. Awe, respect, and sheer arrogant determination to outshine him one day. He faces the camera with the smile and you capture it perfectly.

The smile does something to you but you push it down as you quickly send the pictures to yourself slipping Izuku back his phone as you spy something that catches your eye.

"I need it!" Is all you say as you drag the boys before either can look at the photos properly. They find themselves in front of a soft pink booth with a wide eyed artist who seems to be struggling to speak as you look over the work.

The same artist who drew fan art of you with Midnight, and you with your cat posting it to her Instagram account. Not daring to tag you but some other fan had and you couldn't thank them enough.

"Ah here it is!" You hold up the prints of your favorite drawings in cool and warm colored pastels. You make a gimme motion to Bakugou. It takes him a moment before he rolls his eyes fishing for your card from that he since placed in his own wallet for fear of losing it.

"Ah Tejina. Please you do not have to p...pay me." The artist finally croaks out and you whirl on the sweet little bean faster than she can blink.

"Are you not an artist?"

"I...uh I am."

"And are you not charging anyone else?"

"Oh no I am charging them."

"Then you're charging me. I want one of everything. I love your work." Her eyes water as she looks up at you.

"Are you...are you sure. Some of it has..." Her eyes trail to the hot head beside you and you smile.

"Yes I'm sure. Somehow you've even made *him* seem tasteful." You smile and she hesitantly takes your card before placing items into a large black backpack that has a dreamy, almost sleepy looking Bakugou in soft blues staring up at the viewer. She passes you the bag and you wonder how she could capture a side of a person that you're sure no one has ever seen. Something about the image causes a stir in your stomach. You chalk it up to nerves as you make eye contact.

"Th..thank you." She stammers and you smile so brightly.

"No thank you. I adore your work." You give a small bow before giving your bag and your card back to Bakugou who glares at you furiously.

Yet he slides the backpack onto his broad shoulders as he slips your bank card back between his own. He rolls his eyes as Izuku now leads your little party to a group of cosplayers.

"They're us!" He shouts excitedly, fussing over the cosplayers.

"No shit, Deku." The real and fake Bakugou snarl in unison before the real one smiles cocky at the imitation. The fake glares at him, internally fangirling before adding harshly.

"The fuck you lookin at?" The real one cracks a smile as he steps closer, noting not only his assholeish attitude but the attention to detail of his suit.

"Heh." He cracks before crossing his arms, "I'll allow you to parade around as the best. But remember a copy is just a copy."

You go to repramand him but find yourself curiouser as the male fan blushes, fighting to keep his glare as if he was paid the best compliment. The two Izuku's gush politely to one another before you and your fake share photos of your cats.

*"Attention: The cosplay contest will be starting in building B in five minutes."*

"Fuck we're late!" Fake Bakugou exclaims grabbing the wrist of Tejina, "Come on babe."

Katsuki's eyes widen as he watches your and his own carbon copy rush toward the other building both blushing and yelling in excitement about meeting their heroes.

"Good luck!" You call out before they totally fade away. The three of you aimlessly wandering through the buildings. Buying things here and there, Izuku being the worst. Who has a large almigh book bag stuffed to the brim of items. You let your eyes rove over stations buying fan art here and there. Something of Azaiwa holding the fattest cat you've ever seen to even art of every day heroes you've interacted with solely for the purpose that their art makes them seem so normal.

Doing normal everyday things, the simplicity of attempting to capture their vulnerable sides you know they must posses but what you and the artist have never seen.

Izuku fangirls with another All Might collector Bakugou growls to no one in particular as he grows impatient with his rival. You quickly lose interest in the comversation and something catches. You squint unsure as to what the stand is selling until you actually see it causing you to burst out laughing.

Hard enough for tears to well in your eyes.

"I'm dying!" You exlaim, gasping for breath as Bakugou says what the fuck about four times.

"I'll show you." You wheeze grabbing onto his hand to guide him through the crowd. He feels stunned by your touch, his cheeks heat for some stupid fucking reason again as he looks at you. He's frustrated, irritated even but he is thankful that most of the fans believe you three to be cosplayers.

"This." You hold out the body pillow to him to show him a panting version of himself in a torn shirt and looking needy with heavily blushed cheeks. Large hand in hair while the other trails down his own abs.

"No." He says in horror as you can't help but bust out laughing again.

"Oh fuck I might just have to buy one. This Bakugou seems sweet." You can barely finish your sentence as you attempt to reach for his wallet to get your card but he takes a step back. Mortified before a malice laced smile pants his lips, you swallow thickly.

"Yea well this Y/N seems more submissive than the real one." He cocks an eyebrow as he produces an even more needy version of yourself with your hero suit unzipped to your pierced navel, the sides trying to fall away to reveal your breast. The expression they have of you is a few faces away from ahegao. You're panting, one hand behind your head while the other hovers over the space between your legs.

"Hmm must be accurate since they got the belly button ring." Scarlet eyes trail your torso and stop at the tiny bump that shows through indicating the truth about the pillow. You did have a belly button ring but you had to REALLY be looking to see it.

Your face burns as you stare at the pillow while his comment now haunts you, embarrassment rips up your throat.

"OOOOKAY!" You try to snatch the pillow but Bakugou takes delight in your discomfort as you did him. He plans to use this pillow to torture you further. It would be more than worth the embarrassment of owning it.

"I'll take this please." He states as he reaches for his wallet.

"Like hell!!" But he holds it high in his hands and you have to press against the pillow and Bakugou to attempt to reach it. You take in a sharp a breath to yell but it sticks in your throat as you smell something almost hypnotic.

Like deep spices and burnt sugar. You blink furiously as he side steps you to hand the vendor cash

"What about you little lady?" The older man asks in a gravely voice. Bakugou attempts to answer for him but snatch his wallet and spy your card quickly.

"Yes please." You pass him your card, fending off Bakugou as you wrap up your transaction.

"All yours." He offers you both a creepy smile as he lingers on you, "Enjoy."

You visibly shutter and you squeeze the Bakugou pillow closer to you before mirroring the real one's body language. He holds the pillow mockingly as if it were his date.

"Y/N I think we should move onto the next booth." He teases as he walks with pillow in hand and you match his stride never falling behind him.

It becomes quickly apparent that the two of you were venturing into the very NSFW 18+ section of the convention as the hero art become more and more lewd. Yourself, Momo, Midnight and many other heroines were lining the laws as banners. You all mostly undressed if not naked with stars or hearts over your goods.

"Is that her?" A vendor whispers and you catch his green eyes. He holds eye contact not daring to look away.

Bakugou's face sours harshly at the art works, the vendors comment going unnoticed by him and he turns to you. When he sees you looking down with that solemn expression on your face something causes his gut to twist.

"Oi." He nudges you, "Look."

He points out the most embarrassing thing there, himself. Full on ahegao face with the likes of Kirishima and even Deku.

It earns a small smile until you see yourself depicted on your own sheet next to the odd combinations of his own.

"We never speak of this part of the con again?" He asks placing his hand on the small of your back as his guides you and yalls pillows to the safer more PG rated version of the con.

You still feel those green eyes boring into your back but you don't want to let it bother you. You tell yourself its nothing.

"Why, you don't want people to know you actually make that face?" The jab is half hearted he can tell but he pretends to be flustered over it. You laugh when you see his angry face and how his lips curl over sharp teeth.

"I'm hungry let's gooooo!!!" You whine, this time pressing further towards the food court, "Text Izuku-kun we won't have much time to eat!"

"Yea they might run out of food too if you're eating." He teases pulling his phone from his pocket as you stick your tongue out at him, your nose honest to God guiding you towards food stands. But before Bakugou can finish his text a familiar voice rings out.

"Bakugou! Y/N!" Izuku sounds happy and deep as it nears closer before it changes an octave, "Oh my Kami! Do you know what's on the back of those?!

Izuku blushes furiously as a security guard stands impatiently next to him. The two of you blanche having never thought about the fact that most body pillows like this had two sides. You both flip yours at the same time and DIE laughing. Both of you depicted in lewd positions and faces. Clothes more torn than before almost revealing too much on either of you.

"Oh man this side is better." You wipe away a tear, "I'm bringing this to the interview."

"You will not!" Katsuki exclaims, his laughter dying quickly.

"Actually this nice gentleman was sent by Yami to pick up our things and take them to the room." Your eyes follow Izuku's hand to see it pointing to a little wagon. You set your pillow in there nicely as Bakugou come closer setting his own blackmail pillow and your book bag of items into the cart.

"Thank you!" The three of you bow as he grunts wheeling away towards the hotel.

You three walk past a few straggling booths before starting to get into the food area as you do so you spot a tumbler cup with a cute cat being held by Aizawa. Both the cat and Aizawa look bored, irritated at the viewer and MOOD in written in caps beneath.

"Suki my card!" You half shout digging into his right pocket with his wallet.

"Oi you need a purse." He growls but makes no move to stop you as you rush with your card away from them barely in sight.

"This please!" You say holding out the cup and placing it for them to ring up. They pass you back your card while they gently wrap the cup up in paper. As you wait the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up just before you feel a hand ghost over the small of your back, hip and even cupping the cheek of your ass. You turn to see green eyes and suddenly you feel unsettled.

"Watch your fucking hands." You seethe with a shaking whisper of a voice as you quickly flee back to the boys.

"Where's the cup you needed so badly?" Bakugou asks angrily wondering why you're empty handed after making such a big fuss. You place the card into his open palm unable to look him in the eye right now.

You feel like a coward, you need just a moment to yourself so you can collect your composure and spot the bathroom.

"Oh let me use the bathroom right quick I'll be right back." You say as you cross the busy convention traffic to the restrooms. Thankfully few women are in there allowing you to take a moment to breathe. You splash your face a few times with cold water before watching it drip off of your reflection. You stare yourself in the eyes and purse your lips. Snatching paper towels to dry your face figuring you've been in there long enough. You toss them into the trash as you exit the restroom.

"Oh sor... " But the apology dies in your throat when you see the same green eyes again. You squeeze your hand shut to keep your power from flinging him into the opposite wall.

"Ah excuse me." You say tightly as the anger begins to seep back into your bones calling on your power. Your heart pounds as half moons begin to eclipse red in your palm. He does not move and he is close enough you can feel his stale cigarette breath fanning your face before you feel a light pressure on your stomach.

His fingers just barely brushing agaisnt your belly button ring, you watch his eyes gleam with ecstasy as he fingered the ring. You see red, about to explode before you're brought back to earth with a memory.

*"I'll fucking sue you for damages and ruin your career if you don't at least give me one of your worn, dirty suits. Look at me?! I'm bleeding and my arm is broken."*

*"Who will they believe?! An established man in this community or a recluse upcoming desperate heroine."*

You bite the inside of your lip until you taste copper. You swallow your pride, your anger and choke on them as you struggle to speak around the lump in your throat.

"People are expecting me. You have me confused." You manage to slip past him and fight the urge to run. That always makes it look worse to the crowd. As if you're guilty and it would do everything for the green eyed male. As that would give way to his instinct to chase.

Relief floods you when you spy Bakugou, you latch onto his bare muscled arm seemingly nonchalant all the while bitching about how hungry you are. His skin and agitated voice have never been more soothing.

He looks down at you and doesn't miss your odd behavior. Sure you've been touching him here and there but you've never held onto him like this. Maybe Deku, but never him.

And you may think that you are hiding it well and maybe you are to everyone else. But not him. He sees the soft, almost unnoticeable glow to your eyes that hints you have or want to use your powers. It's a telltale sign only he's picked up on from battles and one v ones with you. No one else can ever seem to notice and he doesn't miss you glancing over your shoulder as you would on a mission if you were bait or suspected being followed.

No...something was definitely wrong with you and the fact that you wouldn't even think to share it with him or hell at least Deku, had ire BURNING in his stomach and hands. He flexes his arm confirming that you're keeping your hand tense and squeezing into his bicep for reasons unknown but it was answer enough for him. He resists the urge to give your suspicion away by glancing over his shoulder although it may be for the best that he didnt. Because Bakugou knew that if he did whoever he found your eyes land on...well let's just say they wouldn't make it through the weekend.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha katsuki #bnha midoriya #bnha kacchan #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo

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sparklyjojos · 4 years

Text

CARNIVAL DAY recaps [11/13]

Today’s recap: Dokuson’s lonely youth, a message from Meiru, and how to make your own Billion Killer.

[tw: suicide]

FIFTY-TWO

02 Aug 1997 — 08 Aug 1997

TOWER OF BABEL

[This is the last chapter, but it has around 270 pages and we still have A LOT to go through.]

(...Below is BOKU’s testimony. [Originally in first person.])

Dokuson and BOKU learned about the attack on Tsukumo Juku in the afternoon of February 7th. They rushed to the hospital at once. Inugami Yasha told them what had happened and that Gensoukan, Yasha’s black cat, and an old servant of the Inugami family had all disappeared.

Dokuson looked like he was intensely thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

Thanks to quick surgical treatment, it looked like Juku was on his way to recovery; the doctors stated he had already pulled through the worst of it. Relieved, Dokuson and BOKU returned to the JDC headquarters. But then, around midnight, they got the news that Juku’s condition had suddenly worsened, and he passed away before they managed to get back to the hospital.

The same night, the Crystal Nightmare killed Desert Colosseum, and later in the day Ronely Queen died in the Statue of Liberty case. Three dead S-detectives in one day. That last case also claimed the life of Ushiwaka Gigolo.

BOKU remembers that tragic day well. Even Dokuson let grief show on his face, especially when told about Ushiwaka. After a few seconds of deep silence he told BOKU that Kirika would be taking over the representative duties that day, because Dokuson himself would spend the day secluded in the meeting room number six, mourning the dead. Only for one day, though, as humanity would suffer if someone as great as him rested any longer.

Seeing BOKU’s shock (the guy they call a Demon Lord showing feelings?!), Dokuson stated that it’s perfectly natural for him to grieve. A man who couldn’t even mourn the woman who was especially important to him could never become the world’s greatest genius, now could he.

Dokuson said that Ushiwaka had once been his ideal partner both at work and in private. The only condition he wanted a potential partner to fulfill was that they should understand him; Ushiwaka was the first woman he met who understood. (BOKU wasn’t sure how two people with such strong personalities could work as a couple—it’d be like mashing the same poles of two magnets together—but apparently they did.)

But that was many years ago. Dokuson was still young, just an immature boy with barely the glimpse of his current perfection, his heart filled with bright hopes for the future.

Dokuson stressed that what had attracted him to Ushiwaka was not her beauty or genius; the real value and beauty of a person was their soul and heart, their personality. Dokuson, as the self-aware narcissist, knew he possessed a dazzling heart and was because of it the world’s most beautiful person. The world’s second most beautiful person would therefore be someone who could understand and love him the most in the world.

As Dokuson had already explained once, all humans had a narcissistic part to them; without any degree of self-love, people would simply drop dead. Loving others more than yourself was extremely hard. Even the most dramatic declamations of self-sacrifice could be just empty words. People would say things like “I would die for you”, but from Dokuson’s point of view, someone who really understood and loved him should strive to outlive him; he wouldn’t stand for anyone sacrificing themselves for his sake. As far as Dokuson was concerned, those who looked at him and felt even just a little love were the true possessors of beautiful clear souls.

Once upon a time, young Dokuson had no hope whatsoever for being loved by other people. Who could ever love and understand him more than he loved and understood himself? But then came Ushiwaka. She was the first person who loved Yuiga Dokuson more than Yuiga Dokuson loved himself.

...but you could say that it was her love—and the frustration and regrets it led to—that in the end caused Dokuson to fully blossom into his narcissistic self.

Though they were young, Ushiwaka had already found her unique style of reasoning, which relied on falling in love with someone. Tragically, her feelings would disappear once she solved a case—this happened with their relationship too. It’s not that Ushiwaka had only pretended to love Dokuson all this time; she explained at length that she had genuinely been in love with him, but her feelings came to a sudden end along with a case.

Back then, Dokuson found this explanation hard to accept. He wanted to know more about Ushiwaka’s reasoning method and investigated on his own, full of immaturity and confusion about feelings.

And then, though he never meant to kill anyone, he pestered Ushiwaka’s new boyfriend with questions and cornered him psychologically so badly that the man committed suicide.

Ever since Dokuson was a small boy, he had a mysterious power of tragically manipulating others using words. When he was five and a police officer tried to reprimand him, he started lecturing the officer in turn, making the man completely break apart mentally and commit suicide soon afterwards. It seemed like just a tragic coincidence at the time.

Dokuson would only realize what he’d done much later in life, after his words had already taken the lives of many other people. The death of Ushiwaka’s boyfriend was the turning point. Now aware of the powers of his words, fully understanding his guilt, he consciously limited and softened his speech. No one else fell victim to his words since that time ten years ago. He decided to never use his power again unless it would be absolutely necessary.

The power to kill others with words wasn’t something unique to Dokuson; he was just an extreme case, but every person had the potential to wound others deeply. He would bet that even BOKU had unwittingly said something that indirectly led to someone’s death.

Dokuson didn’t intend on running away from his faults, and specifically because he was so deeply aware of them, he could keep growing. People learned by making mistakes. Even Dokuson, this shining beacon of the human race, had accumulated many horrible deeds throughout his life. After all, those called the great men of history were often “wrongdoers” who logically strode away from the common path, often seen as heretics or eccentrics by their contemporaries. Those who only followed what others did would never become great. If someone had to dirty their hands for the sake of erasing evil, then wouldn’t that role be perfect for Dokuson, the one with the power of a hundred million people? He was enough; he wouldn’t want to create a second or third “Dokuson”—for the sake of the world and humanity, and (most importantly!) so that his name would stay special and unique.

(...Dokuson was doing his confusing philosophical rambling again, but BOKU kind of understood what he was trying to say. Dokuson felt like a rehabilitated prisoner who would see young criminals that reminded him of past himself and want to guide them to a better way of living. He detested the past himself who killed Ushiwaka’s boyfriend, and took care not to create “another himself” with his actions.)

Dokuson had many enemies, but the one who truly hated him the most was himself. No one could possibly hate themselves more than Dokuson, maybe except for people about to commit suicide. In order not to be devoured from the inside by this burning self-hatred, Dokuson had to always maintain his narcissism on the highest level—if he didn’t, his state of mind could lead to another tragedy like with Ushiwaka’s boyfriend. In this way, Dokuson became the world’s greatest narcissist to atone for the past.

Another part of his atonement was the kunoichi detective Sarutobi Shinobu. A long time ago, Sarutobi, Ushiwaka, and Dokuson had decided to fight the evils of this world in remembrance of Ushiwaka’s tragic boyfriend. Sarutobi Shinobu, real name Sado Nawa, was the dead man’s sister.

The four Sado siblings were Hifumi, Shigorou (the one who died), Nawa (Sarutobi), and Kutou (involved in the Three Monkeys Killer case). The D-name “Ushiwaka Gigolo” came partially from Shigorou’s name. How Sarutobi came to work for Dokuson was too complicated of a story to be told now.

Dokuson said that love never lasted in the same shape forever, and it was impossible to continue loving someone for eternity. The Dokuson who talked to BOKU at the moment and the Dokuson who was once loved by Ushiwaka were two different people. However, all the memories still remained within him, and he would want to take some time to remember the golden past.

After saying all that, Dokuson closed himself in an empty meeting room.

Twenty-four hours later BOKU opened the door to the meeting room and found Dokuson in a strange pose: sitting motionless at the table with his eyes closed, holding a red rose between his teeth like a tango dancer. It seemed to be the same rose he always wore in his chest pocket.

Dokuson didn’t look angry at the intrusion, but BOKU still had a feeling like he’d just walked in on something no one was supposed to see.

Dokuson put the rose back in its proper place and said that he’d been meditating in order to rest his mind and body, “just like you all sleep at night”.

(That was… a strange way to phrase it. But now that BOKU thought about it, in all his days and sometimes nights at JDC he’d never once seen Dokuson nap, despite his job being so exhausting. He also never saw him eat or go to the bathroom. Not even once. Did Dokuson intentionally ignore all his needs until he was alone late at night or what? At least now BOKU could understand a bit where Dokuson’s atmosphere of a superhuman came from; things like eating or sleeping were necessary for people to seem human, but were absent from the concept of “Yuiga Dokuson”. That nickname of Demon Lord sure fit.

A lot of people perceived Tsukumo Juku in a similar way. Someone had even joked once that the God of Detectives was removed from the concept of mundane actions like eating or sleeping. But no matter how supernatural of an atmosphere a person had, they couldn’t just completely get rid of all their bodily needs… though they could probably limit them to as low as humanly possible. Probably one of the reasons why they both seemed so otherworldly?)

But back to the topic, Dokuson explained his rose meditation. He had been plagued by debilitating insomnia as a child, and even now couldn’t sleep like others did. When tired, he would just perform his rose meditation, which would clear his head as well as sleeping. And no, it wasn’t just a convoluted way of napping, as Dokuson stayed conscious of his surroundings the entire time, even though it could take him some time to come out of the meditation and respond to stimuli. (...that still sounded like napping to BOKU.)

As for why a rose or another long slim object was needed, holding it in one’s mouth would force the facial muscles into the same position as during a smile. Even a forced smile caused the brain to release chemicals acting like antidepressants and helping boost the immune system. And so, Dokuson would switch into “relax mode” and for a short time sleep while staying awake. He just had to remember to often swap the rose for a new one to hide the teeth marks.

So he did just nap after all… That’d be it for this mystery. Though it was still weird that Dokuson allegedly only meditated four times a day, one hour of sleep in total. His day was technically much longer than BOKU’s. Dokuson had said once that things that would take BOKU half a day could be done in his fifteen minutes, so maybe it’s that relative difference in day length he meant? BOKU made some calculations out of curiosity. He was twenty-one and Dokuson was twenty-six, and his half a day of work was equal to Dokuson’s fifteen minutes… then going by proportions, BOKU’s entire life work could be achieved in Dokuson’s four months... and going in the opposite direction, BOKU would need like a few thousands of years to achieve the same as Dokuson did in his entire life… Huh. Maybe that’s why Dokuson claimed he had a mental age of three thousand years and tended to talk like an old man.

Dokuson said that even though he was so “old”, the “generation gap” between him and other people could be crossed with enough understanding. This attempt to understand another person was the most important thing everyone should strive for, otherwise society would collapse. Dokuson personally treated everyone around him like great teachers (as even after he had become the best in the world, all those teachers would show him what not to do). From the point of view of Dokuson—the oldest person on Earth—everyone was his junior; it didn’t mean he looked down on them, but that he didn’t feel inferior to them and was glad they still had space to grow (as the perfection that was himself couldn’t grow anymore). He felt like an old champion of life looking at young trainees.

Dokuson stated it’d be good if BOKU also became the best in the world, which would simply require him to believe he was the best. As Dokuson knew for sure he himself was actually the greatest, he wouldn’t care if BOKU had a similar conviction.

(...so what Dokuson was trying to say here... was that it was fine for BOKU to just be himself. This actually made him feel a lot better.)

Asked about how he grew up (to be like this), Dokuson said that it could be summed up the easiest by invoking the feeling of loneliness tied to insomnia. Ever since childhood, his life had been full of endless futile hours spent alone in darkness, comparable to prolonged psychological torture. If sleep made people forget all the bad things in life, maybe that’s why sleepless Dokuson was so quick to grow up; he couldn’t just relax and move on at the end of the day. Endless monotony of the night, lying alone with just his thoughts, all of it was maddening—people naturally yearned for variety.

Staying awake for a few days had an interesting influence on one’s mind, and after a certain point allowed for better concentration and drawing on the body’s hidden power, similarly to how during an accident people can see events in slow motion or use amazing strength. As Dokuson couldn’t sleep, this tension of a crisis never had a chance to dissipate. Even at that tender age he had to deal with hell on earth, trying to adapt to the loneliness of the night without going insane. And so, with his abilities constantly pushed to the limit, with survival instincts taking lead, Dokuson managed to survive hell—and that’s how he came to be like this.

(BOKU didn’t know whether or not this tale was true or not. All that mattered was that Dokuson seemed to believe his own words, and that they allowed BOKU to get a better understanding of what kind of a person he was.)

A week after the Crystal Nightmare, on February 15th, Firannu Meirunesia died in the Billion Killer case in Venice. Meiru’s usual partner Somedaring Amagoi wasn’t there at the time, as she had gone missing shortly after the much earlier Tower of Pisa incident.

Right before the Venice case, Meiru had called Dokuson from St Mark’s Clocktower. They said that they may have just figured out something about the Billion Killer trick, and that Amagoi had been kidnapped by someone. If Meiru would survive the day, it would mean their reasoning was off, and if they died soon, it would mean they were correct. Meiru didn’t want to tell Dokuson everything, but gave him three clues. First, Amagoi was dead. Second, it wasn’t impossible for them to solve the Billion Killer if they were ready to put their life in danger. Third, the Billion Killer incidents consisted of thirteen unprecedented tricks mixed together.

Those three clues together implied that Amagoi’s kidnapping (death?) had something to do with the Billion Killer. But how would Meiru know that Amagoi was dead? Who killed her and how? Dokuson thought it interesting that Meiru hadn’t said anything about Amagoi being killed, just that she was dead.

Asked about why he hadn’t stopped Meiru from putting themselves in danger, Dokuson said it would be a disservice to an S-detective like them. You never stop an S-detective gambling with their life, just like you don’t stop magicians or stuntmen from dangerous shows of skill.

But how could Meiru get to the truth faster than the greatest genius that was Dokuson? Well, Dokuson had already told BOKU once [way back in Carnival] that no one could solve a case without the necessary data, which no one had yet… except for the members of the villainous group.

Just like Meiru had played out a persona during investigations, they also played out the role of being an S-detective; in fact, maybe that double-role reasoning method originated from having to work on both sides of the conflict. They had to be involved either with RISE or another organization that allowed them to get secret data.

Lemuria Sullivan had already shown that even S-detectives had less than perfect sides to them. Amagoi’s real kidnapper was probably Meiru. But even then, an important part of Meiru’s personality was being a splendid S-detective, so maybe they felt compelled to solve even their own crimes by giving Dokuson hints. Perhaps they were more afraid of losing their detective reputation (and thus a part of their identity “dying”) than of actual death.

What did Meiru mean by “thirteen unprecedented tricks”? Way more than thirteen Billion Killer incidents had already occured (twenty-eight at the time of this conversation), so those thirteen tricks would have to repeat, but then they wouldn’t exactly be “unprecedented”. Perhaps the word meant something else? Dokuson suspected they wouldn’t be able to solve the Billion Killer just yet, and Meiru could have been just taunting them.

Dokuson always seemed to think highly of Tsukumo Juku. He said he was able to pin down Tsukumo Jaki’s identity (Yakuma Suzume) with help from Juku and Sarutobi, and that Juku would be needed to end the Crime Olympics. Unfortunately, Juku was murdered before they could achieve that goal.

BOKU learned a few interesting things talking with Dokuson and Inugami Yasha (who had been working as the vice-representative of JDC ever since the Crystal Nightmare).

Juku had theorized that the Billion Killer tricks were the thirteen Miraculous Illusions of his father Saimon Ryuusui. Jaki / Yakuma could know them, as he was probably Endou Masato, whose father Naomasa (already dead) had once been Ryuusui’s thirteenth disciple. Naomasa coincidentally (?) was also a university teacher of Tousen Yomiko, a private detective that had been lifelong trusted friends with Juku. Yomiko was permitted to use the Endou family’s mountain house called Gensoukan, and it was on her recommendation that Juku and Yasha came to live there. Yomiko disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle shortly after telling Juku about Gensoukan.

Naomasa’s sons Naoto and Masato had both disappeared a few years earlier. It was more than possible that Masato disguised himself as Yakuma, manipulated his mother into giving Yomiko the keys to Gensoukan, and made Yomiko disappear to cover his tracks. It was unknown what relation Masato / Yakuma / Jaki had with Tamei Madoka, the writer who had assassinated Juku and died from Alive.

As for how Masato would be able to make himself look exactly like Yakuma, both brothers had once been known as genius surgeons.

The thirteen Miraculous Illusions had apparently been invented by Saimon Ryuusui, but were still unfinished by the time he showed them to young Juku. Dokuson had no doubt that Endou Masato had learned about the Illusions from Naomasa, stole their secrets, and eventually perfected them into the Billion Killer tricks. (It couldn’t have been Naomasa who stole and perfected them first, because then they wouldn’t be “unprecedented” like Meiru said; the word implied only one person had used the perfected illusions so far.)

It’s likely that Juku had been killed due to him being the only person who had seen the Miraculous Illusions in person. Many people close to him had also died or disappeared.

Whenever BOKU listened to Yasha and Dokuson discussing things, he always got a strange feeling that they were treating Juku’s death lighter than they should. Like they were too quick to stop mourning. It’s true that in the era of the Crime Olympics death became more commonplace, but still... it almost felt like Juku’s death had never happened at all.

BOKU had been there in the morgue when the white sheet was pulled back and he, Dokuson and Yasha were shown Juku’s dead face. It was quite striking how his face, although still extremely handsome, had become just beautiful in a normal, comprehensible, flawed way after his death. BOKU instantly thought that the body could have been switched, but both Dokuson and Yasha stated without hesitation that this was not the case and the body definitely belonged to Tsukumo Juku.

Even so, BOKU still had a strange feeling (was just deluding himself?) that perhaps Juku was still alive somewhere.

They had no idea how Gensoukan had disappeared. Endou Naomasa’s wife insisted that while the family let Yomiko access their grounds, there never had been any Gensoukan built there. Just like BOKU felt that Juku’s death had never happened, Yasha was starting to feel strangely like his memories about his time at Gensoukan, and even Kanaihidetaka and Sayo had all been just illusions.

Dokuson thought that Gensoukan had been removed somehow after the assassination, maybe by lifting and moving the entire blocky construction. If Tsukumo Jaki had been able to pull off the blooming sakura trick, he should have no problems organizing Gensoukan’s “disappearance”.

One day, Dokuson told BOKU and Yasha that he would no longer be JDC’s leader. Not because he was trying to escape responsibilities. On the contrary, this action would allow him to save humanity. He had had another plan once, but that one was rendered impossible by Juku’s death, so there was only one thing Dokuson could do now—become the Billion Killer. That is, become the one everyone thought was the Billion Killer, a comprehensible bad guy figure needed to allay some of humanity’s confusion.

That had been the plan even earlier—Dokuson would pretend to have been the Billion Killer, and Juku would pretend to expose his crimes to the world. Juku hated the idea of tarnishing Dokuson’s name, but in the end agreed to the plan seeing the other’s burning determination.

Now that Juku was gone, Yasha would have to take over the Heroic Detective role in the plan. Yasha wasn’t as known and beloved as Juku, but popular enough that people would believe him and the (carefully faked) proof he presented; he would become the hero who forced the Billion Killer to run away in fear and no longer manipulate JDC (which was except for “the Billion Killer” wholly innocent, of course). They didn’t have to worry about Dokuson—the world’s greatest genius would be able to hide even if everyone on Earth was looking for him.

And so, Dokuson left a recorded confession and fled on June 6th. Sarutobi Shinobu disappeared the same day. Manji Tawawa also left JDC, claiming she would pursue Dokuson on her own.

Yasha became the leader of JDC and presented their fake scenario as real to the world, claiming that he had infiltrated JDC as an undercover private detective to investigate and expose Dokuson. Just like planned, people seemed to completely believe him.

BOKU honestly wondered if Dokuson’s actual goal in all this wasn’t to get everyone on Earth to remember his name, with saving humanity as just a bonus perk.

When the Billion Killer cases stopped following Dokuson’s escape, BOKU and Yasha realized that maybe Dokuson actually was the real Billion Killer, and had only revealed his identity because he had wanted to stop the cases anyway.

Then again, no more cases didn’t have to mean the real Billion Killer was finished; it could only look like the cases stopped. The only undeniable proof that something was a Billion Killer’s incident was a skull left on the scene by the men in black. If Dokuson managed to hide the skulls or stop the men in black, then even though the cases still happened, the Billion Killer disappeared in the eyes of the public.

Well, whether or not Dokuson was the actual Billion Killer (and he always vehemently denied being a part of RISE), he certainly had suspicious knowledge of the scheduled cases.

Dokuson also hadn’t looked surprised at all when Kakuusan Kanke told them about what had happened in the Earth House—she ran into Nemu, Hyouma, and someone who looked like Unomaru. From what Nemu and Hyouma told her, Otohime was also held in RISE’s underwater fortress called the Sanctuary, and there would be seven “guests” in total (the three plus Yaiba, Christmas, Diana Hosey, and the Hantos that counted as one). Kanke also learned that apparently the higher-ups of RISE were six out of the seven S-detectives.

No Billion Killer case (or at least a confirmed case) occurred for a month after Dokuson had disappeared, but many horrible events still happened.

In the chaos before the Carnival Wave would come, three men in black showed up and led BOKU and Yasha to a nearby hotel, where to their absolute surprise they met Ajiro Souji. A lot of confusing explanations followed. Ajiro said the tsunami wouldn’t touch Kyoto, so they didn’t have to worry about survival.

RISE had changed their plans a little and now wanted to add Yasha, BOKU, Kanke, the writer detective Nakamoto Hiroya, and the editor detective Outa Katsushi to their final guest list. Yasha and BOKU should go with the men in black now, while Ajiro would return to JDC.

Yasha wondered whether Ajiro would be able to take care of JDC without them, but Ajiro assured them that wouldn’t be a problem—because as much as it pained him, he was going to suspend JDC’s functioning completely until August 10th. JDC as an organization couldn’t stop the Cosmic Bomb, so maybe at least the people could spend their last month in peace, without having to worry about work. If humanity would survive after all, suspending JDC now would allow for less people to die needlessly, so that everyone would be ready for re-mobilization after August 10th.

And so Ajiro stayed behind, while Yasha and BOKU were taken to the Sanctuary and learned many strange things...

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

#sparkly reads carnival day #maijo and jdc stuff #dokuson is a disaster and i love him

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babyboy-cody · 5 years

Text

creature of the night (PART FOUR/FINALE)

PAIRING: Duncan/Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Happiness was something Y/N rarely felt during her time as an exotic dancer. Now that she’s feeling it so strongly with Duncan, she never wants to let it go.

WARNINGS: stripper!reader, mafia!duncan, heavy violence, major character death, TORTURE, smut, shower sex, oral (female receiving), choking, spit swallowing, cum play, PURE FILTH

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

A/N: this is sadly the end of the series,,i’ve never written so much!! i’m so happy that a lot of people actually liked mafia!duncan <3

A blood curdling scream echoed throughout the empty space of the warehouse. Duncan and his men crowd around Chase who's tied to a metal chair drenched in his own blood, piss, and vomit. Duncan takes a drag of his cigarette with blood dripping from his knuckles and onto his fingertips. His expensive dress shirt was held in John's hands, leaving him in his black wife beater that's still tucked into his slacks. Chase shakes under the rope and duct tape and sobs mercilessly.

“P–Please, Duncan. I'm so–sorry!” He weakly cries out.

Duncan tilts his head to the side and takes one good look at him. Chase's face is barely recognizable. His black and blue eyes are swollen to the size of baseballs. Blood pours from his broken nose and cut up lips. His cheekbones are probably shattered as well as his jaw. His pants are drenched in blood and urine.

“You seem to have forgotten who gave you this business to begin with,” Duncan began and pointed his the burning tip of his cigarette at a trembling and battered Chase. “I was the one who picked you up from the street. I was the one who gave you money. I made you who you are. And this is how you repay me? By beating on innocent women? By beating on my beautiful girl?”

Duncan slowly stepped forward and knelt down. He looked up at two of his men and nodded at them. Immediately, they roughly grabbed onto Chase's shoulders and held him against the back of the chair. Duncan pushes his cigarette forward until it sizzled onto Chase's neck. The young man screamed in agony as the burning sensation coursed through his neck and shoulders. The cigarette goes deeper into his skin as ash and smoke forms around the bloodied welt. Duncan stood up and pushed his hair back from when it fell in front of his eyes. He sniffles and takes a swig of his whiskey.

“I'll do anything,” Chase weakly whimpers.

“You've done enough,” Duncan laughs humorlessly and orders for one of his men to hold Chase's head back by his hair.

Duncan places a damp rag over Chase's face as he struggles and thrashes. But it's no use. John made sure he couldn't get away. Duncan holds his whiskey over the rag and pours out the entire bottle slowly. Chase chokes and gasps wetly as the strong alcohol slides into his nose, burning his sinuses and throat. His digs his nails into the metal arms of the chair and weakly kicks his taped feet. Duncan moves away and allows Chase's head to lean forward. He coughs and gags, panting heavily as he dry heaves.

“From now on, I'm the new owner. I'm gonna be the one taking care of those girls. I'm gonna be the one treating them with the respect they deserve. Do you understand that?” Duncan growls and harshly grabs Chase's jaw, forcefully making him nod his head. “Good boy.”

Duncan moves back and grabs another clean rag from the side table. He wipes his knuckles with another bottle of whiskey, grunting lowly from the burn on his opened cuts. He grabs his dress shirt from John's hands and slides it onto his body, carefully buttoning it up to his neck. He stares down at Chase's bloodied body and smirks with a shake of his head.

“It's been a good talk, Chase,” he says quietly and pats the young man's cheek. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Duncan looks at John and sends him a subtle nod as he begins to walk away. Chase cries out and weakly thrashes in his binds. Duncan pushes his hair back with one hand and makes his way to the exit when he hears the loud booming of John's gun. Then, there was silence. He whistles lowly and fishes out his car keys from his pocket. He had finally ended the little problem that made his girl upset. His beautiful, gorgeous girl.

The car ride to his house was quiet. The only sounds were those of his thumbs tapping against the steering wheel of his midnight black Lamborghini. He checked his Rolex watch and realized it was nearing three in the morning. He had left Y/N an emergency key to his house and lightly demanded for her to stay there until he gets back, and if anyone knocks on the door, she should ignore it and stay in the bedroom. Y/N didn't question him and gave his jaw a small kiss. This girl was made for him. She was brought down to this world for him. The thought made him grin as he pulled up to the large gate of his mansion. He entered the pass code and hit enter, watching as the gates slowly creaked open.

He drove up the long stone driveway and stopped directly at the bottom of the curved marble stairs. He gets out of his sleek car and locks it, the alarm beeping for a brief second. His dress shoes thump against the stairs as he walks up to the mahogany wooden door with glass surrounding the outer edge. He slides the key into the hole and hears the click when he turns it. When he gets inside, the entire first floor is dark, except for the dimly lit lamp next to the velvet couch.

Duncan shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it onto the hook beside Y/N’s faux fur coat. He smiles down at her dainty heels and places his dress shoes next to them. Before walking up the curved steps, he makes sure to turn off the lamp. He doesn’t hear any noises in any of the rooms on the second floor. He calls out for Y/N’s name, but receives no response. He walks down the long hallway to turn the corner to walk up another flight of stairs. When he gets to the third floor, Duncan’s brows furrow when he receives silence, again.

There’s suddenly a small clatter coming from his master bedroom. He pushes the door open and sees the door to his master bathroom slightly open. A smile comes onto his lips when he hears soft humming coming from the running shower. Duncan unbuttons his dress shirt and leaves it on the bed for Y/N to wear. He moves closer to the bathroom and pushes the door open. He’s immediately met with growing steam and the delicate scent of his favorite shampoo; strawberry and rose. It exactly defined Y/N.

Sweet and delicate.

He leans against the doorway with his arms crossed, one foot crossed over the other. He grins as Y/N softly sings as she’s in her own little world. He can see the outline of her body through the foggy glass doors. In the shower, her wet hair is slicked back as she rubs a soapy loofa up and down her arms. The entire shower smells of Duncan’s shampoo. The sweet and manly scent that he wears is intoxicating. She still can’t get over the fact that she’s in a rich man’s house – something she can never see in a million years of her life doing. There’s just something about him that’s off. But there’s also a pull that makes Y/N never want to let him go. It’s all very confusing. She’s only known him for two days and she’s already showering in his incredibly large mansion.

“Enjoying herself?” She hears from outside the shower, and she squeals and nearly slips, her hand slamming against the glass to stop herself.

She peeks her head out and relaxes her tense body when seeing Duncan grinning at her. She couldn't help but to smile as well. Duncan pulls himself up from his leaning position and pulls off his black wife beater. Y/N's eyes widen for a second as she sees the soft slabs of muscle in his chest and stomach. Her breathing falters and her lips part as her eyes trail down. Duncan slips out of his pants and yanks down his Calvin Klein boxers, the fabric pooling around his feet as he steps out of them. When he walks towards the shower, Y/N quickly pulls her head back in and scoots back to make room for Duncan. Although, that wasn't necessary since the shower can probably fit six people. Duncan turns around after sliding the glass door shut and smiles down at Y/N.

Her eyelashes clump together from the water droplets and the steam has made her cheeks a light pink. Her beautiful hair is slicked back and her skin is glistening. The sight of her makes his heart stutter and an ache form in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Y/N softly asks him and pulls him into the water with her. “You seem tense.”

“No, no. I'm fine, sweetheart,” Duncan assures her and strokes his thumb across the bruise that lays on her cheekbone.

Y/N smiles and holds his wrist gently. But the smile slowly slips from her face as she catches his bruised and cut knuckles. She gasps and lightly strokes her thumb across the broken skin. Duncan laughs quietly as she kisses them.

“What happened?” She asks him with furrowed brows.

“Nothing you need to worry about in that pretty little head,” Duncan tells her and cups her wet cheeks in his large palms.

“It's who I am, Dunc,” she says with a small sigh. “I worry...a lot.”

Duncan smiles at the nickname and bends down to press a kiss to her pouted lips. She sighs softly against his lips and applies more pressure into the kiss. He pulls her closer into the water and tastes the droplets on her tongue. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, feeling like a butterflies soft wings. Y/N runs her hair through his wet hair and stands onto her tippy toes. Duncan lowers his hands and grips onto her hips, fingers digging into her flesh lightly. Y/N lets out a moan as her tongue rubs against Duncan's. She can taste the whiskey and cigarettes. To anyone else, the taste might've been disgusting or putrid. But to her, it's so intoxicating and she's eager to taste more.

Duncan was the first to pull away. He kisses Y/N's swollen lips one last time and trails them down to her neck and shoulders. Y/N leans against the cold black tiles and wraps her thigh around his hip, pulling him closer and digging her heel into the meat of his thigh. Duncan takes the hint and grabs both thighs to hoist her up against the wall. Y/N pulls his head up by his hair to press a desperate kiss to his lips. Duncan groans and grabs her ass, digging his nails into her skin and dragging down. Y/N lets out a small squeak and wraps her arms around Duncan's neck.

“I need you,” he grunts, hot breaths spewing over her tingling lips. “I can't get you out of my fucking head.”

“You have me, baby,” Y/N whispers and tenderly holds his scruffy jaw to look him in the eyes. “I'm with you.”

Duncan sees the sincerity in her glistening eyes. He truly believes her. Maybe this was fate that brought them together. But the fact of the matter is that she's with him, in his arms, pressed against him. Y/N kisses his forehead tenderly and lowers her head to kiss him again. Her scent was flooding his senses. It put him into overdrive. He couldn't the animalistic want coursing through his drumming veins. He needs her.

Without saying another word, Duncan raises his hips slightly and pushes into her awaiting cunt with such slowness that it makes Y/N lose her breath for a few seconds. She's caught off guard by the thickness and length of his cock as his pelvis is crushed against her clit. She's mewling and squeaking as Duncan begins to thrust into her, her back sliding up and down the wet tiles of the wall. Her mouth falls open as she grabs onto Duncan's shoulders, scratching and gripping his skin and muscles. Duncan drops his head into the crook of her neck and moans deeply from the feeling of her cunt squeezing around him. Y/N's eyes roll back as she shouts in pleasure.

“Duncan!” She squeals and gasps breathlessly. “Right there!”

“Where?” He pants heavily and harshly thrusts up into that one spot that makes her scream. “Right there?”

Y/N frantically nods and tightens her thighs around his hips. Duncan fucks into her mercilessly, skin slapping against skin that echoes in the large bathroom. Everything feels so sensitive and intense and hot. Y/N blabbers incoherently as she clings onto Duncan for dear life. He grunts in her ear and nibbles her skin as he pounds into her ruthlessly.

“Fuck,” he grunts lowly, eyes threatening to roll back. “You feel...so good...princess.”

“P–Please,” Y/N sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks from the sheer intensity of his cock splitting her cunt open. “Nngghhh!!”

“I know, baby,” Duncan sweetly whispers and grips her ass, spreading her cheeks apart as he pounds up into her. “Feels so good.”

She's never felt anything like this before. Black spots dance in her line of sight as she breathlessly moans and weakly shouts for Duncan. He presses her against the wall with his hard chest and pants against her red lips. She looks down at him with half lidded eyes and lets out a choked moan. Duncan's heart soars at the delicious sight of his girl unraveling because of him. Y/N shakily exhales and grips Duncan's dark hair in her fists. Her toes curl and her upper body lurched forward. Duncan squeezes her ass tighter and drops her up and down onto his cock, splitting her open repeatedly. Y/N screams out as her body convulses and her cunt tightens around his cock. Duncan groans deeply and bites his bottom lip to stop himself from cumming.

He blindly reaches back to shut off the water and slides the glass door open with one hand as the other is still holding Y/N up. He fiercely kisses her, shoving his tongue into her mouth and biting her lips. His eyes are closed as he walks to his extra king sized bed. He drops Y/N down and immediately starts to fuck her again. She chokes on her breath and grabs the duvet. Her eyes are rolled back as the slick sounds of her juices make her moan with embarrassment. Duncan suddenly wraps a large hand around her throat. He squeezes lightly and digs his fingers into her airways. Y/N squeals and gasps.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Duncan grins lewdly and watches as her body takes his cock repeatedly. “You sound like a fucking angel singing for me.”

“D–Dunca–an,” she tries to speak but falls back with her mouth wide open, no sounds escaping as she disappears into the black hole of absolute pleasure.

Y/N tries to close her thighs, but Duncan's large body blocks her from doing so. She wraps her hands around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin. Her cunt throbs as the coil in her stomach snaps. Her entire body is filled with warmth as her body arches off the bed, muscles tense and tingling. Duncan removes his hand from her throat to allow her to breathe. She screams out in ecstasy and pants heavily, her breathing ragged and shaky. Duncan slowly pulls his hard cock out of her with a wet slap, tapping his mushroomed tip against her swollen clit. Y/N's thighs jerk and try to close from the stimulation. Duncan chuckles deeply and stares at her through his messy strands that fell on his forehead.

“You're doing so good for me,” he whispers and leans down to kiss her lips gently.

Y/N lets out a weak moan as Duncan trails his tongue down her neck, sucking wetly at her lightly damp skin. He moves his head down to the valley of her supple breasts and gropes them in his hands, thumbs rubbing around her erect nipples. Y/N shivers at the contact on her sensitive skin. Duncan chuckles against her, causing goosebumps to erupt on her now drying skin.

“You’re so sensitive, I love it,” he says lowly, his voice rough and gravelly with need.

He kisses around her belly button, dipping his tongue inside before kissing a line down to her pelvis. Y/N trembles lightly and holds onto the duvet on either side of her head. She pants softly and stares up at the high ceiling. Duncan’s scruff tickles her inner thighs, and she can’t help but to let out a small giggle from the sensation. Duncan chuckles and licks a stripe all the way up to her lower lips. He sucks one into his mouth and groans at her sweet taste. Y/N gasps and arches her back, one hand reaching down to grab his hair. He slides his tongue between her lips and suckles at her swollen clit. He holds her thighs apart with his hands and shoulders. His eyes close as her hand tightens around a chunk of soft hair.

“Duncan,” she whispers and turns her head to the side as she allows her body to feel nothing but pleasure from his tongue.

Duncan lets out a soft groan licks a thick stripe from her gaping hole up to her clit, repeating the action numerous times until Y/N’s shaking and whispering incoherently. He slowly eases his tongue inside her dripping cunt and slurps like a hungered beast. His grips tightens around her thighs when she tries to close them around her head. He opens his eyes and stares at her shaking body with a feral look. Y/N’s eyes cross as she grabs Duncan’s head with both hands, clawing at his hair for dear life as he sucks her clit, licking and nibbling the bud.

“Fuck,” she sobs, thick tears rolling down her temples as she throws her legs over his shoulders, toes curling on his shoulder blades. “I’m cumming!”

With a final squeal, Y/N clenches around his tongue as her body jerks and convulses. Her toes are aching from how hard she was curling them. She pants heavily and tries to calm her erratic breathing. Duncan slowly lifts his head, strings of her arousal connecting to his lips and chin. He grins wolfishly and wipes his the areas with his fingers. He offers them to her lips, and she parts them as he slides his fingers down her tongue, briefly gagging her. Duncan groans and lowers his head to gently grab her cheeks.

“Open your mouth,” he mumbles, eyes trained on the pink muscle hanging out her mouth.

He pursed and leaned closer. Y/N closes her eyes and lets out a small moan as she feels his warm spit down down her tongue. Duncan closes her jaw and presses a kiss to her lips. He sits up onto his knees between her spread thighs. He runs his hand up and down her cunt, tapping his fingers against her clit. Y/N swallows down his saliva and jerks away from the touch on her overstimulated lower half. Duncan uses his damp hand to jerk his cock. He leans over her body with one hand planted beside her head. Y/N stares up at him with doe-like eyes and bites her bottom lip. Duncan’s stomach clenches as he bares his teeth and grunts lowly in his throat. He tightens his fist and rocks his hips into it. His thumb swirls around the tip as he furiously jerks his cock over Y/N’s stomach. With a final strangled moan, Duncan spills his thick cum onto her stomach, some sliding down into her belly button.

He falls beside her with a small grunt, his chest heaving as he pants from his orgasm. Y/N turns her head to look at him, and he does the same to her. Their eyes meet and they can’t stop the smiles from spreading onto their lips. Duncan reaches between their bodies to grab onto her hand. She tightens her fingers around his. It’s quiet for a few moments. Y/N starts to laugh quietly. Duncan couldn’t help but to do the same.

In the end, after everything that had happened, they had each other. They were a modern Romeo and Juliet whether they liked it or not. Duncan vowed to protect her, and he did. Y/N was glad she didn’t call out from work that day.

He was her savior. She was his drug.

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd imagine #mafia!duncan #stripper!reader #my masterlist #cody fern #duncan shepherd series

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ofkamis · 4 years

Text

danielle campbell. cisfemale. she/her. ／ kameron “kami” abbott just pulled up blasting man by jojo — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty-six year old singer & actress, i’ve heard they’re really self-destructive, but that they make up for it by being so persistent. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say midnight drives with the top down, music playing loudly through headphones, & a wall of paintings from everywhere she’s been. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble !

general info

full name: kameron joanne abbott

birthdate: november 3rd, 1993

stage name/nickname: kami

acting & voice claims: bridgit mendler & jojo levesque

basically if you know who jojo is ......... that’s kami. but if you don’t, watching this 26 min video explains everything ( and is kind of worth the watch bc jojo is a fucking QUEEN )

growing up and rise to fame

kameron abbott was born in massachusetts to recently divorced lynette & joshua abbott. though they were divorced due to other extra marital issues ( her father and mother were both cheating on each other for the length of their marriage ) they decided they could be co parents.

when they made these plans, they didn’t expect it to really affect them as much. their own personal issues made it hard for the two grown adults to get along and they wound up fighting all the time.

kameron lived with her mother full time, seeing her dad often though, but most of her early memories include hearing the two of them fighting or making comments about each other in front of her.

was seven years old when she got her first singing gig, she was going to be singing the national anthem at a school event, which is where somebody else saw her and she wound up singing at another event.

it was at one of these events that kameron was spotted by a talent scout and brought in to a recording studio. she wasn’t sure if it was going to work for her, but she was excited nonetheless. a real paying job! singing and making music, man it was her dream. she would give anything for it. -- sure, she liked acting too, but music was her real actual passion.

they signed a contract when kami was ten and a half, and started looking into music that they could use for her. kami was interested in writing her own music, but at ten years old she didn’t have a lot of life experiences to draw on for music. so the label worked with different demos and gave her some options and they worked with her to pick what would be best.

kameron and her mother relocated to brooklyn, ny when she was eleven years old, working on getting her music heard by people who mattered and working on the album. it was a lot of time that kameron took out of her school in order to work on everything.

some of the kids in school were always curious why she was missing so much school, and yet was still at the top of her class. kameron continued getting her school work even when she’d be working in the studio either in new york or los angeles.

her first single “leave ( get out )” dropped the summer before her 12th birthday. the album followed, titled “kami”, was released the next winter early in the year.

suddenly, there was a lot of press about the tiny girl who had a powerful voice. she was on talkshows and working on different circuts getting her music out and talking about everything.

claiming that fame

kameron’s life changed drastically when her album dropped. she thought they would be staying in new york, since that’s where the label had relocated her. but shortly after the release, they decided it would be best to bring her out to los angeles instead.

so at thirteen kami found herself in a new city ( again ), surrounded by people she didn’t know. sure, she was making a name for herself, but what the hell was she really doing?

kami wound up not going to any of the local schools, instead her mother decided it would be best to home school her in the meantime while they were in a period of adjusting to a new place and working on her second album.

it wasn’t anything that they expected to be doing so quickly after the first, but the abbott women adjusted.

during this time kami didn’t see her father a lot. she would call him and talk to him here and there, but since he lived on the east coast and she was on a tight schedule there wasn’t time to do much of anything.

on top of working on a second album so soon after her first, kami was auditioning for film roles. she even managed to land a lead role in the film aquamarine -- which meant she was filming that and had to put the album on pause for a couple of months.

aquamarine premiered the spring of 2007, and was claimed to be one of the best “sleepover flics”. the kind teenage and preteen girls watch to get their minds off of their own problems.

she got close with her co-stars too, some of the first real hollywood friends she had.

following the success of her theatrical debut kami’s second album dropped the following year ( this time, 2007 ) ( very unusual for me, but i’m keeping the track listings of jojo’s first two albums the same for kami’s ....... a wild concept ik ) actually just before halloween.

during the process of promoting her new album, kami got her second film role in the movie rv. the film came out in the summer of 2008.

of course, as much as kami liked acting, she really wanted to be in the studio working on music of her own. but there was something else going on.

the lawsuit

kameron wanted to be in the studio for everything -- she’d been writing her own music finally.

except, her label was putting it off. and kami didn’t understand why.

she tried to busy herself by working on recording everything she had, working with several different producers and coming up with new tracks. and still, despite all of this, her label wasn’t releasing her music.

kami confronted them about it, telling them ( at 16 years old ) that if they wouldn’t release her new music, that she’d walk from the company and find somebody else.

that’s when they pulled out their contract. they owned kami’s voice--so she would have to do what they wanted her to do.

she was ten and a half when she signed the contract--or technically when her mother signed the contract. they hadn’t been in hollywood before and they’d been assured that it was the same kind of contract that anybody would sign.

of course, kami was livid, she had worked hard, to just wind up fucked by the label she’d thought of as a family for so long.

the label was putting out other artists music and pushing her release date back again and again and again.

finally, kami found a lawyer and she began the very long process of suing her label for her voice back.

during this time kami needed to find some work where she could make money--her label would let her record things, but they wouldn’t release any for her fans to buy. and she hadn’t come from a wealthy family to begin with ( her mother had money, but wasn’t big on spending it ).

so this led to kami getting a couple of guest spots on disney channel--jonas, wizards, and then landing her own show & dcom. of course, she wanted to be happy for all of the work. but it wasn’t her passion. in bits and pieces she got to do singing for the projects ( lemonade mouth was, after all, a “disney musical” )--but it wasn’t the same thing.

kami had a lot of fun acting, and wouldn’t trade the time she’d been working for anything, but she wanted to be writing music and putting it out there for her fans. she wanted that authentic connection she’d felt with her fans before. but she wasn’t getting that now. the disney company was too bubblegum and clean cut for kameron, which led to the production of good luck charlie rushing to finish. there was a lot of tension between kameron along with the cast, and producers of the show, so while they wanted to give the fans a good ending they rushed to get it all done as well.

handling the situation

to make herself heard, to keep her fans happy while she was going through all of this--kami found a loophole. she couldn’t release her music publically and do any big promo through her label. but she could release her music on multiple websites such as soundcloud and straight to youtube. -- the big part of her legal contract was that kami couldn’t sell her music, the label owned the rights to that. so working on soundcloud, or directly posting originals and covers to youtube was a good way to get herself out there and keep it.

of course, she was a little disheartened at first that there wasn’t a direct answer for her issues even though she was in the courthouse. but it seemed like the case was dragging. sure, she had acting in her pocket and was making decent money from that but kami wanted more from her career than what her label was allowing her.

in the meantime, since she couldn’t put her own music out into the world, kami was featured on songs and keeping up with putting covers up on her youtube channel ( two of her favorite covers are locked out of heaven & a rewrite of marvin’s room )

she’s doing her best to stay her true authentic self at this time. but it’s hard given her own stress and complaints with how her label’s been acting towards her and the pressure from the disney company to keep up a perfect image. kami would be lying if she said she didn’t fall into a depression during this time. she felt a bit trapped in a hole that had been dug for her and she was working to get out, but kept slipping back down.

her mother and father were both there for her--she was living on her own at the time in los angeles but her mom was out here too and her dad called her practically every day--but they wanted kami to see if she could quit making music and focus on something else. she had money from her previous and current work, she could make her way in anything she wanted. they just wanted their daughter to be happier than she was and thought that maybe by dropping the lawsuit that could happen.

but it wasn’t what kami wanted to do. it wasn’t her dream. she wanted music. she didn’t care how she had to do it, she loved making music and bringing her music to people who needed to hear it.

sure, she could go to college or find another job. that wasn’t even what she had been thinking about. but it wasn’t what she wanted. music was all she could think about.

finally, after struggling with her own creativity, kami said fuck the studio’s rights and decided she was releasing her music one way or another. which is how her mixtapes came about.

her first mixtape was released in 2012. and then she started doing smaller shows. no big concerts or anything, but small shows in order to get everything out there. this was the first time kami had put out original content ( of her own, not a collab ) since 2007.

this was also the first "album” that kami had nearly completely had a hand in writing herself. she finally felt like she was letting her fans see who she was as an artist and not just as a performer.

of course, during this time, kami is still in her legal battle. her label’s going bankrupt, but they still technically own her voice and she wants it back. but nothing’s happening. and she just wants to scream out loud.

this led to a lot of self doubt and depression and kami wondering if she wasn’t good enough to be on her own. she fell into a spiral of doubt and stubborn thoughts and couldn’t bring herself out of it.

it doesn’t help that kameron isn’t the most talkative person ever in the world because she thinks she can really handle everything on her own. so while this is all weighing on her and causing mass amounts of stress and destructive thoughts, kami’s pretending like it’s all fine.

she’s photographed laughing at parties and working on her music too. nobody suspects that inside she’s dying and needs a release.

she managed to release another mixtape and an ep of covers, too.

release

finally, kami could breathe again. the spring of 2015 brought her the courts decision. it was ruled in kami’s favor that she could be released from the contract she’d signed years earlier. and finally, she could look into making music of her own with a new label.

kami’s response was a big fuck you to her label.

instead of immediately coming out with new music that she’d been working tirelessly on, kami put that to the side and began a new project.

her music wasn’t available online for her fans, and she had won the rights to the songs. they were hers. so she could do what she wanted to.

kami spent the next two years in the studio working on rerecording her original two albums ( kami, 2005 & this time, 2007 ).

of course, during this time she’s doing interviews and talking to her fans and she swears that she’s back for good and nothing will stop her.

as well as working on remaking her albums--one of the big reasons it’s taking so long, other than kami being a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to her music--is that she’s also been cast in a show called undateable--which is a far leap from the disney channel stuff she’d been working on the past several years.

kami’s loving this acting work because it feels authentic and most like what she would want to enjoy. it’s a sitcom and it’s fun and she loves the cast.

she’s also found a new label that will treat her like she deserves to be treated and won’t do something like that again. she’s protected in her contracts, and she completely understands everything.

the fall of 2017 kami rereleased the albums on streaming services and on itunes. she didn’t expect anything of it, but suddenly the two albums were at the top of the itunes charts.

“#kamiscomeback” was trending on twitter worldwide for two whole days.

she was elated. began doing interviews with her fans. q&a videos on her youtube channel.

kami did a couple of pop up appearances too. she wanted to make sure everyone knew that even though she’d spent a lot of time rerecording old music, she did it for a reason. she owned it, and she wanted the people who had worked hard on the songs with her to get what they deserved from it instead of the now defunct label that had kept her in the prison for so long.

kameron was in a constant motion of making music in the studio and working on concerts. she did a whole summer concert series in the summer of 2018. she was working so hard.

DEATH TRIGGER WARNING before going on the stage during one of her summer concert shows kami got a phone call from her mother. normally she wouldn’t have answered this, but she felt it was important to do so. her father died in a car accident.

kami’s team was ready to pull her out of the show, pull her out. but kami was insistent on performing.

a video of kami breaking down during not one but two of her songs went semi viral. it wasn’t until the next day that it was announced what had happened.

focusing on now

kami took a bit of a break, which she hated doing, because she’d just been on the longest music break of her life but she knew her mom and her people were right. she needed time to grieve.

kami moved away from los angeles and went back home to massachusetts for seven months.

during this time kami was working on new songs and writing them. but she needed time to breathe and focus on herself.

it was in december of 2019 that kami released a new song off of her upcoming studio album, along with a music video just dropped with a link on her twitter. “music. ( more coming in 2020 )” the video is a string of all old home videos of kami growing up and singing. it’s raw and real, and was praised for how honest it felt.

kami recently released another song off of her upcoming album, man. it’s much more of an upbeat song and she released the music video the same day too.

she was also recently in a netflix christmas show, “merry happy whatever” which she starred in alongside her on screen boyfriend from undateable.

fun facts

kami is allergic to strawberries, which she found out at the age of four.

was never particularly close with either of her parents, but she spent more time with her mother growing up. she wished they were closer and friendlier, but there was a lot of underlying resentment.

kami has a dog named sodapop. has a cat named bender.

she’s had a couple of different hair colors over the year, but it was always different for her different phases. during her bad battle with her label her hair was jet black.

loves crime shows. always wanted to be on criminal minds, but she has done shows like hawaii five-o & lethal weapon.

was a contestant on “kids say the darndest things” when she was five.

rides a motorcycle, but also doesn’t ride hers too often.

loves to watch makeup tutorials for fun.

makes fun of herself constantly. in fact, she released a song about some hate tweets she got for shits and giggles not too long ago ( kameron )

has one a couple of awards, but won her first grammy at this past grammy awards for say so.

loves 80s and 90s movies.

collects paintings from street artists everywhere she goes. she’s got a whole room filled of them at her house.

turned her house’s guest apartment into a full fledged recording studio.

it’s a joke that now she’ll only work with people she’s previously worked with in her acting--which all got started because the reason she was cast in merry happy whatever is that her old co-star had sent in a video of them in his b-roll and the casting director loved their chemistry.

she has a couple of tattoos that i might do a whole thing on, but she’s definitely got more than one or two.

wanted connections

open connections can be found in her plots post!

#♬ ━━ ooc ←#it's just an updated intro so i'm not gonna tag it with the intro tag bc y'all have already read most of this

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cardshcrp · 5 years

Text

rosé

He comes into the world fighting. In the middle of the tired screams and mumbled encouragement, exhausted doctors and nurses worn too thin because it’s too many hours before dawn and too few after midnight, he’s born kicking and thrashing and tragic and all wrong.

The wrong body, the wrong eyes, birthed out of old money mixed with new blood, all sharp temper and so very, very small even for a newborn.

And in the middle of all that chaos, he doesn’t cry. He just stares, blood-red on black, as the shocked and disgusted murmurs, the decisions and shaking heads and signed papers that say not our problem, and he jams his fists out, shoving at any of the big, dark figures that get too close.

When everything is dark and he’s all alone, stuck in a plastic coffin and the darkest shadow of all comes to take him away, he still shoves, but he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t fuss.

He’s too preoccupied with the feeling of the wind against his face as they drop from a window, and by the next morning the hospital has more to worry about than a mutant baby whose parents were never coming back anyway and its accompanying birth certificate.

His existence is swept under the rug so quietly, so seamlessly, he might as well be a ghost.

Names and girl-boy-neither don’t matter on the street. They’re all too young for that anyway. It’s bigger-smaller and faster-slower that really make a difference, and for the really clever ones the difference between smart and stupid can do a whole lot.

He knows his name, the Antiquary has made sure he knows it, but it’s hard to say so he doesn’t use it. Names are for calling warnings anyway, and when it comes to that it’s better to choose one and two syllables and not three. His has three. It’s inconvenient.

He’s kind of small, but he’s pretty quick and he’s not stupid either, and he’s somehow good at making the adults feel bad and guilty even with his devil eyes, like they should help, so he does. They give him candies, or half-eaten pastries, sometimes little coins; he learns to eat fast in front of them (sometimes it makes them feel even worse, so they get him more) and to hide any money down the backs of his socks.

The bigger kids call him diable, the littler ones and the muties (all of them have the worst time, and he’s smart enough to know that favors get paid back or else it’s blood, so he lets them owe him just a little) call him Sweety ’cause sometimes he shares the sweeties with them and well, the ones that half-know how to write and show him what they think his name should be don’t know how to write well enough to know it’s wrong.

The big kids kick him, pull at his tangled up hair and shove him, try to take what he earns. He doesn’t cry, and it makes them hit him harder.

He goes to his secret friend who lives by the ghosts who always somehow seems to have a piece of bread for him or maybe some of a bottle of water, even though they’re both grimy and tired and don’t really talk, and he asks the old man to cut his hair.

He still doesn’t cry when they kick him the next time, hands grabbing at locks that aren’t there anymore, and when he kicks back he hits them where it hurts. They spit diable at him with more venom, but the other mutants laugh and laugh, delighted, and he thinks that the warm feeling in his gut is winning.

He likes it.

He finds it hard to adjust to the idea of a family. It’s a foreign thing, and while he doesn’t dislike Jean-Luc or Henri it’s almost easier to stand Henri’s girlfriend’s indifferent looks, because he knows how to deal with that.

He doesn’t know how to handle the way that his new father and brother look at him sometimes when they think he isn’t watching, still tense and nervous and always ready to leave more toothmarks in their forearms, kind of sad and contemplative, a little puzzled.

He’d made them bleed for the privilege of having him. He would again, he’s sure of that. He is and always has been sharp edges and angry fire.

He has all the talent they want, every ounce of the tenacity, but he’s not quite a child and doesn’t know how to be one, and while they’re childish themselves they’ve never tried to give back something that was lost like that before.

He likes the lessons, though he misbehaves during them (it’s the principle of the thing). He doesn’t care too much when they call him by the stuffy name he doesn’t like much, because they say he should try to be important, and nicknames aren’t good for that. He doesn’t understand, but he gets that there’s reasons behind it, so it’s fine. The skirts, he decides he doesn’t prefer - he doesn’t say it, of course. They’re new clothes, and he does like pink, even if there’s suddenly a lot of it. It’s bright and clean. It’s a color that doesn’t survive in the grime of the street.

“Athalie, time for supper,” they say, every day, and he really likes that, so he doesn’t dwell on the rest of it too much, because he gets to eat and he’s still very good at looking pitiable and all, so the cook slips him apple tarts as an extra treat more often than not.

He starts to realize that the he-she-neither line has become more defined, and that he’s not really sure which side he’s on, because it hasn’t mattered before, but he’s still too young to understand why it does now.

Jean-Luc shows him how to jump, twist as he falls and catch himself, re-adjust the angle of his body, and he’s never felt more alive than when he dances on wires high above the ground with no net to catch him or cushion to break his fall.

They give him wings, and he is utterly heedless of the sun. He flies too well to worry.

He starts to have a childhood, but it's a little bit skewed. That's okay, kind of, he doesn't really mind; it's just that the things that he thought were made up before hurt like his heart is full of molten steel, when they happen to him, and he isn’t sure if he likes it or not.

Like the bedtime stories.

He thought that was all just a fairy tale too, that they didn’t exist, but he guesses it isn’t a lie or a convenient plot device inside other stories when Henri hesitates at his door with an old book in his hand and asks him if he wants one. He looks surprised when he asks, like he hadn’t really meant to, and that more than anything else makes it a real question.

He’s eleven, and he thinks he’s probably too old for that already and Henri is too young to be reading them to him but he’s still curious, so he just squirms enough to the side that Henri has room to sit. He still isn’t good at talking, doesn’t like it that much, but he makes himself easy to understand and really as far as his new foster brother is concerned, that’s easier anyway.

It’s not a baby book, at least, he can see that right away. And he knows it must be precious to Henri, somehow, because he holds it in that way that people do when they’re afraid something will be taken from them and ruined - it’s the way that usually makes him want to do just that.

He wonders if maybe Jean-Luc (Father, Father, papa, he’s still getting used to that) used to read it to Henri, and he likes the idea.

“Premier chapitre,” Henri says, and parts the old, worn pages that are yellowing from the edges in; his younger brother thinks that the Antiquary would’ve hated to see a book in that condition, but he likes it. It means Henri cares, in the same clumsy sort of way he helps him tie his hair back sometimes. “Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image, dans un livre sur la Forêt Vierge…”

He doesn’t even make it through the first chapter before he’s asleep, but it doesn’t matter because after that, Henri stops at his door every night with the old book in his hands and a big, warm blanket, and he reads to him until he’s dreaming.

“Athalie, hold still,” his brother groans, and he hums in agreement though his nose scrunches up and he certainly doesn’t stop squirming. Skirts were bad, but Easter dresses were so much worse - Henri had been doing his best to bundle him into the weirdly poofy confection for the better part of an hour, and while he’d finally succeeded, now getting everything straightened and proper was proving to be a chore.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and he means it, sort of. Just not when it comes to the dress. “Staying still itches. Don’ like it. Hurts.”

Henri pauses, but then sighs; the sudden emergence of actual mutant powers in the form of completely blowing out one of the west wing’s walls came with problems, and figuring things out without a guidebook just meant going with a child’s gut feelings sometimes.

He tips his head back, auburn spilling slow and unfamiliar over the chiffon covering his collarbone, and blinks at his big brother in the mirror.

“Don’ like Athalie either,” he says, matter-of-factly, and Henri pauses in his hopeless fight with shoving a barrette into unruly hair.

“Why?” he asks, careful, and is met with only a twisted-up face.

“Dunno.”

“Alright,” Henri says, and his cool fingers pinch at still-soft cheeks; he chuckles when he’s batted away petulantly. He doesn’t have to understand for it to matter. “Jus’ petite for now, then. We can find you somethin’ better.”

Henri has a nice laugh, and he doesn't use it enough. It only comes out when he's startled or when Mercy whispers into his ear, and then the corners of his eyes crinkle up and his head tips back just a little, and his teeth flash white against his skin. It's never false.

“Smile more,” he says suddenly, and Henri cocks a brow at him through their reflections, a perfect imitation of their father that they’d both overuse in their later years, but the smile stays even as he settles his younger sibling atop his shoulders.

“If y’say so, petite.”

He’s thirteen when it all boils over, when he starts to ache on the inside and when the start of his period is a terror for him more than it should be (and a rather traumatic nightmare for his father and brother, only to saved by Tante Mattie’s intervention) and the way his chest hurts keeps him up at night.

He has finally come to the understanding that he isn’t who he wants to be, and he doesn’t know what to do about it or if he’s broken beyond repair.

He is so terribly, horribly afraid that if he says anything, if he takes away being the daughter, the sister that they have welcomed, that he won’t be a part of it anymore.

And no matter what, he doesn’t want to lose them. He’s afraid to spoil the beautiful little memories that he tucks away inside his heart and treasures so greedily.

He wants his bedtime stories, and Jean-Luc ruffling his hair in the most irritating way, and another pair of matching earrings with Henri, and more family heists. He wants his father to squabble with his brother over the last of the cookies he’d baked them and more bets placed on the next time he’d accidentally explode a teacup, and the jibes they toss about him being friends with Bella.

“Your moustache is ugly,” he tells his brother, as he restrings Henri’s cello. He’s not sure why Henri is so bad at it - he’s big, and strong - but maybe it’s just because his too-thin fingers are more clever than Henri’s, and besides, he doesn’t mind really.

Henri makes a sound like a wounded duck, and inhales to begin his usual righteous tirade in defense of his disgustingly well-maintained lip caterpillar, and suddenly it’s all too much.

There’s just too much to lose, and that’s not something he knows how to handle.

He starts to cry for the first time that he can remember, and it’s enough to make Henri stop and gently take his cello, to gather up his sibling’s skinny frame and hold on because at the end of it they’re both children and sometimes clumsy comfort is the only thing that works anyway.

“I don’t understand,” he sobs, and he’s clawing at Henri’s back hard enough to leave welts, like he’s trying to dig his way under his skin so that he can stay there and not be thrown aside. “I hate it, I hate - my name and my body and nothing is right, Henri, it makes me sick it doesn’t fit - ”

Neither of them know what to do, and Henri doesn’t understand a quarter of what he’s sobbing, but that night Henri holds his hand and doesn’t let go until they’ve gotten Jean-Luc and driven all the way to Mattie’s, big warm thumb stroking over bony knuckles without ceasing, a silent promise.

I love you, we love you, we’ll fix it somehow.

One night can’t fix anything, but it’s enough to settle on a new name that’s easy and isn’t three syllables, and to make calls to people that know how to at least begin to handle what Jean-Luc and Henri don’t know how to.

It’s not much, but when Remy leaves asleep in Jean-Luc’s arms with a belly full of Mattie’s chocolat and tear-swollen cheeks, Henri still holds his hand even though he’s not awake to appreciate it. It’s a start.

It takes less than a week for the dresses and the skirts to disappear completely from his closet, all gone while he sleeps. They’re better at doing than saying, but that’s okay. Remy understands that better anyway.

He isn’t broken, just a little different, and his family is good.

He still keeps some of the pink, though. He always did sort of like it.

Sometimes Henri still calls him petite, but he doesn’t mind.

His brother is the only one to ask if he wants the life he is born to and forged for.

Jean-Luc would never do such a thing; there is too much at stake for sentimentality in some matters, though he does his very best elsewhere. Remy does not resent him for it. He is trying. It counts.

Henri is the one who settles beside him in the comfortable silence, after a meal at their tante’s, everyone having moved away, drifting along the courses of their whims and needs. Their father, upstairs, snores faintly audible through the thin slats of the ceiling; Mattie, singing under her breath (or so she thinks) at the kitchen sink, rinsing the dishes after shooing them away.

She likes to tell them they’d only get in the way, but her boys know that she only wants to take care of them in the little ways that she truly can. She can’t ease their burden, not really, but she can grant them more rest.

“Thieves don’t live happy lives,” Henri says; his voice breaks the silence apart, a thousand tiny fractures that don’t shatter and fall. Not yet, not yet. He’s always been bold, like this, straightforward in a way that the others aren’t.

Remy does not open his eyes, but he makes a soft sound, acknowledgment. He is listening. He is considering.

(It is nothing he did not already know.)

“You love her,” his brother says, and something in his voice catches, a little piece of the grief he harbors. It’s true - Remy loves Bella Donna with everything he is. He would follow her anywhere, do anything, so long as she still loved him too. And she does.

“I do,” he says, and it’s so simple. He’s still only a child. He loves her, and he thinks that can be enough.

“Then you should go somewhere else, together. The Guilds...they’ll ruin you,” Henri whispers.

It’s a silly thought and they both know it. There is nowhere that Remy and Bella Donna could ever go where they would not be found. But he understands what Henri means.

It will spoil somehow. Everything we touch does.

“We’ll change things. We’re smarter than they think. Stronger, too.”

A beat, then, before Henri asks, “Why should you have to fight our war?”

Remy doesn’t answer that one, but he thinks Henri knows anyway.

I don’t have to. I want to, because then I am someone that matters.

“Henri?”

He’s too old, now, eighteen and about to be married, and Henri is still not old enough to do this, married already but without children of his own, and yet he stands there by the door looking at his baby brother with the right book in his hands.

“Oui?” he asks, as if he hadn’t known and come there all on his own already, and Remy curls up his too-long legs underneath him to give Henri the room he needs to sit, all the big, lumbering, comforting height of him, but he’s better at talking now.

“Le Petit Prince, s’il vous plaît.”

Remy thinks maybe Mercy hates him, for Henri’s death. He hates himself, because it had been for his sake, so much had always been for his sake and he’s still not sure how to tell everyone that sometimes, he wants them to let him fall.

(He deserves to die for the things he’s done. They don’t.)

But she doesn’t. She cries with him instead, with her arms around him, and Remy thinks that he’s done his family a disservice truly this time, for Henri to have placed his brother’s love over his own.

It hurts worse when he remembers that they’d been hopeful about maybe trying for a baby, since things had started to settle after Remy’s exile; Henri’s letters had said so, that they’d picked out names that were all boy-girl-neither because Henri had been worried about one that maybe their child would hate, so he’d asked Remy which ones he thought were nice just in case they would’ve had a baby that was different in the way he’d been. Not that it mattered much; names were gifts, not meant to be kept if they didn’t suit, but still he hadn’t wanted to use something presumptuous from the start.

He’d cried over that letter too, enough that the words were blurred in some spots, the paper crumpled where his fingers had clutched too tightly.

Remy doesn't have a middle name, not until he's twenty-something and he's already been through far too much. He doesn't bother, because really, people don't use them anyway. He hasn’t seen the point. He has no one to honor.

Not until Henri dies and he sits down on his dead brother's bed with his dead brother’s wife and asked her the what-if that hurt the most.

He names himself, then, for his father and his brother twice over, picks the name that would’ve belonged to his nephew if things had gone differently.

Etienne, he murmurs, rolls it around in his mouth. It fits.

Mercy’s pretty blue eyes are all ringed with red, but she’s as strong as ever while they pack up Henri’s things and divide them between themselves. It’s neat, efficient - of course he’d left a will, just in case, always so neat and prepared for everything - and when Remy whispers his apologies again as he kisses her cheeks goodbye, she shakes her head at him.

He waits for words, but they don’t come. She simply watches him, chin up, all steel and fierce pride, because she knows that he knows what she means. He nods.

They have all been ready to die for each other for a very long time, and it won’t change.

There is no need to apologize for his brother’s love, given freely.

He is still sorry anyway.

Remy looks at her, all sharp teeth and fierce eyes and wild hair with split ends, and he wonders first whether he can swindle her into a haircut and second why things always seemed to come full circle.

He thinks third about staying so strong that it breaks you inside, and he thinks fourth about the people who had sealed up a few of the cracks that came with fighting too hard and never being allowed to be a child until it was nearly too late.

He looks at Laura again, and he decides.

He calls her petite because that’s just what you do for little girls who don’t know themselves yet, and it’s what you do even after they figure it out because at the end of it they’re still precious. He’s annoying, he knows; he’s never been as good at it as Henri, he’s more like their father, obnoxious smiles and too-grand gestures but he hopes it helps. He thinks she understands that he means well.

Don’t let them break you, he begs inside of his head - she’s so very strong, but that just means she’s lonely, and he knows that even if he doesn’t say it.

The least he can do is smile when he sees her, and slip cookies into her pockets without her knowing, tell her that her new clothes suit her and that he’s glad to see her because he truly is.

The most he can do is be there, so he is.

He just wants her to understand that she has the right to claw her satisfaction out of the reluctant gut of their cruel world. That she matters. That at least somewhere, she will never have to question.

She has the right. Everyone does. Not enough people say it.

“Sorry. I know s’been a while,” Remy says, and scarred fingers drift over cold marble as he sits with his side to the back of his brother’s headstone. It’s been too long, really, if he’s honest; but things haven’t been in his control for a while, and he thinks Henri would understand.

He’d never been good at staying out of trouble, anyway.

He feels terribly old, now, joints throbbing in the cold and bones aching sharp from too many times broken apart, but he isn’t. Not at all. Now he is only just as old as his brother, and soon he’d move on again, caught up and passing over.

It wasn’t right. Henri had been meant to live the longest, not the shortest.

Henri had been the one that was supposed to be happy.

He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a very, very old book, nearly falling apart at the spine and with cover worn so threadbare that the simple blue binding is nearly white in spots. He’ll come again with Mercy in the morning - it’s Henri’s birthday, after all - but their time had always been in the evening, soft, full of books and blankets and waking up with crooked necks from sleeping sitting up.

Remy drapes the blanket he’d carried over his arm around his shoulders and turns the first few pages, careful, breath visible as he exhales into the freezing winter air. His legs curl under him, and he thinks distantly that Henri would’ve just drawn them into his lap after a chapter or two. They had been easy together, like that, all of them, leaning in and on one another however they needed and supported without question.

“Premier chapitre.”

#♠️ DRABBLES.#♠️ HEADCANONS.#warning for pre-transitioning deadnaming ig #anyway i think about henri a lot and i'm always so mcfucking upset #LONG POST.#DO NOT REBLOG.

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lespetitesmortsde · 5 years

Note

can you please continue the super hero bechloe AU? it's amazing

Unknown number: Did you get home okay?

Chloe: New phone who dis?

Beca: Come on, Zip, let’s not make this weird.

Chloe: Ok, y u gotta b rude w/ Zippo?

Beca: Oh my God, is that seriously how you text?

Chloe: mayb. Y? bother u?

Beca: Yes.

Chloe: Fine, I can text like it’s going to be included in an honours thesis. It’s more boring, but whatever. Your loss.

Beca: Thank you.

Beca: You never answered my question.

Chloe: Yes, Becs, I got home just fine. You?

Beca: Yeah, didn’t run into any midnight criminals, so that’s always nice.

Chloe: So when can I see you again?

Beca: Aren’t you supposed to wait like three days before asking that so you don’t seem desperate?

Chloe: I don’t like to wait. If I know what I want, I go after it. Waiting for some dumb societal unwritten code doesn’t fly with me.

Beca: Fair enough.

Beca: Saturday? I have an idea.

Chloe: Me too. Yours involve handcuffs too?

Beca: NO!

Chloe: Lame.

Beca: Just, meet me at the fifth avenue and fifty-third street station?

Chloe: Sure thing. When?

Beca: One?

Chloe: Do I get to know what we’re doing?

Beca: No, but dress casually.

Chloe: Already dictating my wardrobe eh?

Beca: What?!

Chloe: Ne fret pas. I like it.

Beca: You speak French?

Chloe: Maybe.

Beca: …

Beca: That’s hot.

Chloe: I know ;) See you Saturday.

Beca: See you, Chlo.

Beca: Chloe*.

Chloe: It’s cute when you call me Chlo, I don’t mind.

Beca: Okay, Chlo, go to bed.

Chlo: Night!

Beca: Night.

Saturday

Beca taps her foot as she leans against the outside station wall. She has her headphones on, listening to the last mix she finished two days ago. She’s thinking about trying to mash together “Swimming Pools” by Kendrick Lamar and “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons. The juxtaposition should work well enough, and if she has to add a couple of samples it might work even better.

She writes down a note on her phone with her thoughts on the new mix and then someone taps her shoulder. Beca turns to see Chloe smiling widely at her. Chloe gives her a wave before Beca realizes she should pause her music and slip her headphones around her neck.

“Hey,” Beca says, adjusting her messenger bag.

“So where are we going?” Chloe asks, completely bypassing the pleasantries. She takes Beca’s arm and waits for her to lead them somewhere.

“You’ll find out soon. We’re not far,” Beca tries not to look around and see if anyone’s looking at them. She takes Chloe west along fifty-third street. It only takes a few steps before Chloe guesses their destination.

“We’re going to the MoMA?” Chloe asks, no longer letting Beca pull her. Instead she keeps pace now that she knows where to go.

“Yeah. You seem like you’d be into modern art. Plus I like it. It’s kind of quietly creative, nice and low-key.”

Chloe heads to the main entrance, but Beca gently pulls on her arm, redirecting them. Chloe shoots Beca a confused look, but Beca just smiles and shakes her head. They walk down the side of the building until they come to a fire exit and Beca knocks on the door. She raps five times, then seven, then five again before pulling back and waiting.

To Chloe’s unasked question, Beca answers, “He likes haikus. I don’t question it.” Chloe nods like she too wants someone to knock out a haiku on her door.

It takes almost a full minute, but eventually the door opens to reveal a rather stony-faced man in a security uniform. His eyes meet Chloe’s, widening a little in surprise, before settling on Beca. The two of them stare at each other unblinkingly for a moment before Chloe can see Beca’s lips start to break into a grin.

“Aha!” the man says, grinning widely. “I win!”

Beca rolls her eyes, but she’s clearly pleased. “Hi Hank,” she says, settling back on her heels.

“Well, hi, Becs. Long time, no see,” Hank says, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. Beca sighs.

“I know, Hank. I’m sorry it’s been so long. College is crazy,” Beca says. “But, I brought you this,” she adds, pulling out a three-pack of Kinder Surprise Eggs from her pocket.

Hank’s eyes practically glow. He tries to hold his disgruntled stare, but the happiness the Kinder eggs bring is too much. He grins from ear to ear.

“Alright, you little rascal, you and your friend can go on in,” Hank gestures them through the door with his head.

“Thanks, man,” Beca says as she lets Chloe go in first. “I’ll bring you something next time I see you.”

Hank chuckles as he follows them inside. “I’m counting on it.”

Chloe and Beca wander down the hall a little ways leaving Hank when he turns off for the security room.

“Yeah, I don’t think he can actually hear the knocks from in there. I think he just watches on a monitor and assumes I’m doing it right,” Beca comments once he’s out of earshot. They come to a stop in front of a Jackson Pollock painting, and Beca can feel Chloe’s expectant eyes on her.

“What’s up, Zip?” Beca says, already sounding a little monotonous.

“There’s clearly a story there about you and Hank, and you’re just glossing over it!” Chloe seems to quietly explode with the hushed words.

“Okay, and?” Beca asks, drawing out the “a” in and.

“And, you can’t just let that hang in the air,” Chloe explains, as if that solves everything.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude.”

“Is that it?”

Chloe’s eyes seem to burn as they bear down into Beca’s. “If you don’t tell me whatever the story is, it’s going to hang over us like the figurative elephant in the room, Becs. It’s going to be our constant companion, this story, because you’ll know what it is, and I’ll know that you don’t want to share yourself with me.”

Chloe straightens suddenly, “And basically our relationship will be doomed from the start, and I don’t want that to happen.”

Beca heard every word, she swears she did, but she gets stuck, “Relationship, eh?”

“Have I not been obvious about my interest?” Chloe asks, somewhat rhetorically. At Beca’s noncommittal shrug, she waves her hands around them to gesture to the museum, “Is this not a date at a museum because you thought I’d like it?”

“Okay, yes, it’s a date!” Beca says defensively, only responding to Chloe’s increasingly agitated, maybe worried, voice. “Clearly I like you, dumbass, I did the whole meeting you for shitty coffee without my disguise thing, remember?”

Now grinning, Chloe says, “Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Do you want to have this date, or not?”

Chloe reaches forward to grab Beca’s hand. “Totes!”

Beca just raises an eyebrow at the odd slang.

“But I do want that story, too,” Chloe adds as they begin walking around the first hall.

“Maybe at a later date,” Beca hedges. It’s really not a very interesting story, and she doesn’t want to embarrass herself with her dumbass teenaged shenanigans this early in the game.

“When then?” Chloe asks, relentlessly.

Beca tries to find a good answer in the paint-splattered canvas before her eyes. “I dunno, dude, like if you make it to date seven?” She pulls on Chloe’s hand to shuffle three feet to the next painting, but Chloe doesn’t budge.

“You don’t think I’ll make it my mission to get to date seven just for this story?” Chloe asks.

Sighing deeply, Beca tries to placate Chloe. “I mean, of course you will, so I’ve just guaranteed myself six more dates with you, Zip.” She works hard not to let the tail end of her plan lilt upwards and make it obvious that she’s making this stuff up as she goes.

“I see how it is. You hook them with the intrigue of a secret story, then use it as leverage to secure yourself plenty of dates which just so happen to span longer than your target’s sex rule, thereby making you more desirable and ensuring you get laid all in one fell swoop!” Chloe declares, voice getting noticeably louder as she works up to her finale.

Beca blinks slowly, like she’s trying to take all of that in. “Dude, no. I can barely even follow that.”

Suddenly Chloe’s smiling. “It’s not a bad thing, Becs, you know what you want.”

“But that’s not my—”

“I might even need to steal such a genius plan,” she adds, finally stepping toward Beca so they can continue around the museum.

“Oh my God, why did I bring you here?” Beca whines.

Chloe winks at her and flips her hair dramatically. “Because you like me and I like you and you can’t deny; we’ll be super hot together.”

The way Chloe says it as a statement instead of a suggestion throws Beca off. “We’ll be super hot together?”

“Oh totes, Becs. You’re gorgeous.”

Despite herself, Beca feels herself flush at the compliment. “Oh, um, you too, Zip.”

Chloe squeezes Beca’s hand. “You know, Bec, Zip was a mildly creative nickname back when we were friends—”

“We’re not friends?”

“—But now that we are more than that, I don’t think Zip is really sexy enough to encompass what we’ve got going on here,” Chloe muses, pulling Beca to a stop in front of a collection of variously askew jars.

“What have we got going on here?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Chloe says happily. “What we have here is your classic romantic half-doomed superhero love story.”

The matter of fact way Chloe says it is what gets Beca laughing. A wandering museum-goer gives her a look and Beca straightens up. “Can you not see the humour Santalta imbibed within these angles?” Beca asks, gesturing to the jars in front of her. Beca raises an eyebrow and then looks away, watching from the corner of her eye as the woman looks a bit harder at the piece of art and finally lets out a light chuckle.

Woman forgotten, Beca turns to Chloe again, “That’s not a thing.”

Chloe scoffs. “Aca-scuse me, it most definitely is a thing and it’s happening right here and now between us.”

“What the—what the fuck,” Beca drops her voice to a hush for the last word, “is that?”

“What?” Chloe asks, oblivious.

“What the hell is an ‘aca-scuse me’?”

Surprisingly, where only something very suggestive had gotten the job done before, Chloe blushes.

“Story time!” Beca declares, but her expression turns serious as her body stiffens. Abruptly the tone of their date shifts. “Sirens. Three fire trucks, two ambulances, and at least two police cars.”

“Which way?” Chloe shifts gears as instantaneously as Beca does, already leading them towards the fire exit they came in.

“North, not too far,” Beca surges ahead and opens the door, holding it for Chloe to slip out too. She lets is close behind her and turns briefly to wave goodbye at the surveillance camera. “Bye Hank!”

Then they set off at a run. Two blocks away, Beca dashes down an alley, “Keep going, I’ll meet up with you!” And then she throws a web toward the sky and swings up onto a roof.

Chloe listens, running straight for the sirens that get louder as she gains. A minute later, she hears “Go with it!” and Beca crashes into her, holding on, and swinging Chloe with her up onto another rooftop.

“Should be just on the other side of the building,” Beca says, the two of the moving closer to the opposite edge of the roof. And Chloe isn’t trying to notice things about Beca right now, but she can’t help but admire (and find incredibly sexy) the calm and calculated decisions Beca seems to be making.

Way back in the day, when Spider-Man was basically just a whisper of a nuisance to Chloe and her pals, their whole group questioned Spider-Man’s ability to be a contributing superhero in the city. She could make questionable, even bad calls, and made them fairly often. Regular people would suffer from the consequences of her actions, like when she fought inside convenience stores, destroying thousands of dollars worth of products instead of moving the fight outside. Or ignoring the laws of New York traffic and helping cause accidents and injuries.

Spider-Man disappeared for a while after that, but then she came back and it was like she had undergone some kind of transformation. She almost always made the right call, and that’s about when Chloe and the rest of the team starting dropping in on her calls to try and make friends, or at least an ally.

In Chloe’s case, she’s been more than successful, because right now, yeah, they’re going to try and stop some bad people, but the sexual tension is palpable, sliding across her skin as she leans over the edge to get a better view of the situation, still listening to Beca.

“Looks like armed robbery, multiple injuries and/or casualties,” Beca rattles off, listening intently down below. At least five suspects, all still inside the bank. Estimates are 15 hostages. No location on a getaway vehicle, if there is one.”

Chloe’s awed, “You can hear all that from up here?”

“Not exactly, Red, I don’t have like super hearing or whatever, but I’ve got those spidey senses and it’s more like vibrations in the air that I can feel - words have certain patterns to them, and I can feel the patterns.”

Chloe scoffs, “Sounds like super hearing to me.”

She knows that underneath her mask, Beca’s rolling her eyes.

“We should find a way to sneak in, rescue any hostages we can find, and once we’re in there we can form a better plan as to how we’re going to save the rest and take down the baddies. Any thoughts?”

“Can you sense anything about the layout of the bank?”

“I’m not an X-ray machine,” Beca sighs. “I can hear them talking about it though, seems like they’re also just starting to make a plan, although theirs involves talking to them over the phone and negotiating.

“Seems like there’s a basement. If we can find a way in, we can work from there. They’re talking about the sewer system and trying to get a copy of the blueprints to see if they’re close enough.”

“It’s kinda hot to hear you eavesdrop with the vibrations in the air,” Chloe says offhandedly.

Beca turns to her, and Chloe swears that if the mask weren’t in the way she’d be able to see Beca flush.

“Remember Zip, the kissing comes after the bad guys.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow suggestively and then Beca’s wrapping an arm strongly around Chloe’s waist and once again, Chloe feels like she’s flying. Beca drops them on the roof of the bank’s building and without verbally confirming, Chloe flames up and drops them into the top floor of the accounting firm beside the bank through a vent.

They work their way down through the floors and into the basement. Chloe burns them a tunnel into the bank’s basement, and Beca slips ahead to do her sneaky thing.

She looks around as she goes, noting a lack of bad guys as she scales up the wall and makes her way toward the main atrium of the bank along the ceiling. At the doorway, she can see about a dozen people in the middle of the room with three armed thieves circling them. Two more are behind the tills, one is stuffing money and anything else they can find into a duffel bag. The other is working on the computer.

Beca sinks back away and rejoins Chloe in the basement to fill her in. “The way I see it, we gotta take the gunmen out quietly one by one. The location of the hostages is too visible for us to steal them away in chunks. We gotta eliminate the threats entirely so they can just leave out the front door.”

Chloe nods, “Any suggestions?”

Beca rubs her nose and chin through her mask. “I’ve got one, but it’s pretty dumb.”

“It’s more than I’ve got.”

“If you can cause a distraction, like pretend to be a patron who got lost, that might cause enough of a disturbance for me to sneak into there without being seen. Once I’m in, I can start removing them from the equation one by one, but I’m useless in here and I can’t see another way to get behind the tills.”

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever head,” Chloe says, trailing off.

“I don’t want to put you in danger, Zip.”

“We’re all in danger, Spidey, we just can do something about it,” Chloe responds, and walks past Beca.

Chloe gives herself a pep talk as she approaches the atrium door and then steps through, tears streaming down her face, “I’m sorry! I got lost!”

Immediately, the armed men point their weapons at her, the two closest charge towards her and incapacitate her by grabbing onto her arms. Another approaches and puts her wrists into plastic manacles. The two behind the counter look up from their work, but they only briefly look at the commotion before returning their attentions to their tasks.

Beca manages to sneak in along the ceiling as the robbers start interrogating Chloe about where she came from and they start arguing amongst themselves about where she came from. Beca drops behind the man at the computer once the hostage-wrangling men look away from that direction. She gets right behind him and strikes at the point two inches adjacent to the spine at the back of his neck. There are hollow places there that some martial artists call Gall Bladder 20.

He drops almost immediately, the jolt to his brain knocking him out. She catches him and lowers him gently to the floor, and then retreats behind a desk to wait for the opportune time to strike the guy shoving valuables into his bag.

Her moment comes about twenty seconds later as he moves farther to the back of the room. She crawls around another desk and gets behind him, too, as he’s shoving papers off of one desk into his bag. She does the same thing, and with the element of complete stealth, he too falls into her arms before being lowered to the floor.

One of the men circling the hostages and Chloe glances over at the counter just as Beca flattens herself back against the ceiling.

“You alright back there?” he calls out, drawing the attention of the two other men. They all turn to investigate. “Bloody hell,” he says, then he spits on the ground and walks toward the counter.

As Beca watches this all unfold, she tries to think really loudly toward Chloe. They need to eliminate one more before they can take on the last two together, otherwise there are wildcards at play and that’s when hostages get injured. For better or worse, Chloe is stalwartly not looking up towards Beca on the ceiling, refusing to give away her partner’s position.

What she does do however, is melt the plastic around her wrists to free herself, and then she coughs hard enough to draw the attention of the two men around them back to her.

Beca seizes the opportunity to take down the man who’s come to find her, sending him to the floor to join his comrades. And then she traverses the ceiling until she’s right above the man farthest from Chloe.

Without looking at each other, Beca and Chloe both fly into motion. Chloe flames her hand as it comes up to lock around her guy’s wrist, using her other to take the gun from his hands and throw it aside. Beca drops from the ceiling, kicking the gun out of her man’s fingers and jabbing him right in the neck, pinpointing the vagus nerve.

Chloe lands a solid punch on her robber’s neck, leaving an angry burn in his skin to boot.

“Alright everyone, please head outside slowly with your hands up. The cops are out there and they’re going to help you out,” Chloe says as she lets go of the fire and her hands return to normal.

They’re awash in a sea of thank yous for a moment before Beca’s yanking at Chloe’s arm back the way they came in. They head back up to the roof and Beca once more swings them across the alley.

“Not a bad first date, Spidey,” Chloe says as Beca releases her and she finds her feet. Beca peels off her mask and smiles at Chloe.

“You’re the one who said we had to plan for things like this,” Beca reminds her. And then she marches right up to Chloe, takes her face into both hands, and presses her lips solidly against Chloe’s.

Their lips meet each other’s over and over again, growing more lazy and content as the number of kisses increases. When Chloe finally pulls away, her cheeks are red and her eyes are warm as she says, “I think I’m getting hungry.”

Beca nods, “Yeah, sorry, we didn’t get a chance to eat, I swear it was on the list.”

Chloe just smiles lasciviously and with a wink, she says, “Different kind of hungry, Becs, but I’m sure we’ll have time for that later.”

“Christ,” Beca says, and then Chloe’s pulling her along to take the date to a new destination.

#bechloe #52fics #lespetitesmortsde #spider-man beca human torch chloe au #spider-man #fanfic #anon #fic request #human torch #ficlet #ask #beca mitchell #chloe beale #part three

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loretranscripts · 5 years

Text

Lore Episode 7: In the Woods (Transcript) - 1st June 2015

tw: ghosts, suicide, racism (colonial era violence towards Native Americans)

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Nothing can be as isolating or confining as the woods. They seem to cut us off from the rest of the world, leaving us alone, balanced on the edge of being lost. Even in these fairly modern times, the woods seem to exist as a reminder that so much of the world is outside of our control. Sure, we could stay on the path, but those narrow routes between the trees only give us the illusion of control, like a trail of breadcrumbs. They’re fragile and fleeting, and somewhere in the back of our minds we understand that if we were to leave the trail, we would be stepping into the unknown. The woods hide things from us. For centuries, criminals have used the dark cloak of the forest to conceal everything from bootlegging and poaching to drug use and murder. They hide wildlife from us and instil just enough doubt and mystery that we end up believing anything could be living out there. Anything. Some areas, though, are darker than others. In some places the woods are more than just a gathering of trees and undergrowth. There are locations in our world that are consistently avoided, plagued by rumour, and dense with fear. To step into one of these places is to abandon all safety, all reason, and all hope. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

Between the three Massachusetts towns of Abington, Rehoboth and Freetown exists a triangular slice of land that has become home to hundreds of reports of unexplainable phenomenon. It’s known as the Bridgewater Triangle, though some call it the black triangle, or the devil’s triangle. It might not be swallowing up fighter jets and colonial era ships like the Bermuda Triangle to the south, but its history is just as storied and mysterious. One of the areas within the triangle is the Hockomock Swamp. It’s a 17,000-acre wetland near Bridgewater, Massachusetts. In the 1600s it was inhabited by the Wampanoag tribe of Native Americans, and the fort they built inside it became a strategic location for them during King Philip’s war in 1674. One legend tells how during those times of upheaval and invasion by the colonies, a powerful artefact was lost in the swamp. Now, I can’t find anything beyond a small Wikipedia entry to confirm this, but the story tells of how an object known as the Wampum belt was lost during the war, and that as a result, the swamp became a home to restless spirits. Ever since, the swamp has been a source of a nearly endless supply of unexplainable sightings. One of the most dramatic and best documented reports was made by a local police officer, Sargent Thomas Downey. On a summer night in 1971, Downey was driving home towards the town of Easton, near a place known as Bird Hill, that sits at the edge of the swamp. As he approached the hill, he caught sight of an enormous, winged creature. Downey claims it was over 6ft tall and had a wingspan of almost 12ft. After reporting the sighting to the Easton police, he quickly earned the nickname of “The Bird Man”. I don’t know about you, but it seems odd that a police officer would risk his reputation on such an unusual claim if it was just a joke. Officer Downey clearly saw something that night – just what that thing was, though, is open to debate.

Decades earlier, in 1939, the Civilian Conservation Corps were working on the edge of the swamp, near King Philip’s Street. While there, workers claim to have seen a huge snake, as large around and as black as a stovepipe. According to the report, the snake coiled for a moment, raised its head, and then vanished into the swamp. And what wooded area would be complete without Bigfoot sightings? Although a tall, hairy creature has been sighted dozens of times over the years in various parts of the Bridgewater Triangle, the most common experiences have been near the swamp. In 1983, John Baker, a local fur trapper, had a similar experience. He was on his canoe in the swamp when he heard a splash. He turned to see, and I quote, “a hairy beast slog into the river, and pass within a few yards of his boat”. In 1978, a local man, Joe DeAndrade, was standing on the shore of a pond known as Clay Banks. He claimed that he turned and saw what he described as “a creature that was all brown and hairy, like an apish man-thing”. Oddly enough, I went to high school with a guy who fits that description. But there’s been more than just weird animal sightings in the swamp. As far back as the late 19th century, locals have reported seeing unusual lights. One report was made by two undertakers who were travelling past the swamp on Halloween night in 1908. They claim to have seen a light that hovered in the sky for almost an hour. Whether the reports of creatures and lights are true or not, it might be worth mentioning that the Wampanoag word hockomock literally means “the place where the spirits dwell”.

Another hotspot, in the south-eastern corner of the triangle, is the Freetown State Forest. If all the stories are to be believed, it’s the quintessential haunted forest. Deep inside the park is a cliff, known as the Assonet Ledge, that overlooks an old quarry. There have been reports of hauntings near the ledge, of visions and ghostly figures. Some stories tell [of how] a woman in white lingers near the precipice. Others claim to have heard voices while visiting there. The most common report is of mysterious lights. Some researchers think they know exactly where those lights come from, too. They’re the tools of a creature known as the “Pukwudgie”. In ancient Wampanoag folklore, the Pukwudgie is a small, forest-dwelling creature, something like a troll or a goblin, that lives in the wooded areas around the swamp. Aside from having one of the most entertaining names to say out loud, they are sawid to be small, hairy people, roughly 3ft tall, who hide in the woods and cause trouble to people who discover them. What kind of trouble? Well, Wampanoag folklore tells of how the Pukwudgies use lights to lure travellers into the woods, where they would kill them. These lights, according to legend, are known as the “tei pai wankas”, the North American version of the English will-o’-the-wisp, sometimes referred to as ghost lights. The pukwudgies use the lights as bait, luring people to their death. Rather than attacking hikers outright, apparently these creatures prefer to let the land itself kill their victims. Coincidentally, one of the most common experiences reported by visitors to the ledge is an overwhelming urge to jump. Normal, healthy people have felt nearly suicidal standing atop the ledge. Many of them claim, upon approaching the edge of the cliff, they felt an almost uncontrollable desire to jump off into the dark, rocky water, over 100ft below.

One story in particular bares retelling. Bill Russo was a welder from Raynham. He worked long hours, and for the six years prior to his retirement, he worked the late shift, from 3pm until midnight. By the time he got home from work each night, Bill’s dog Samantha was in desperate need of a walk, and so before bed, Bill would take her out and let her get some exercise. They kept this habit up each and every night, no matter the season or the weather. On a night in 1995, Bill took Samantha out for their usual walk. Their typical route was to stay on the sidewalks and head toward the centre of town, but on this night, they made a change. Bill decided, on a whim, to cut through his own backyard and head along a trail through the woods that ran alongside the swamp. Not a choice I would have made, mind you, even with a German shepherd and rottweiler mix as my companion. About half a mile into their walk, at a place where the path was crossed by a road, Samantha began acting odd. She was tugging at the leash and trembling, and kept glancing back at Bill with worried eyes. Bill pulled at the leash to lead her home, but the dog wouldn’t budge, she just whined and quivered where she stood. After a moment, Bill began to hear the sound that had frightened his dog. It was a thin, high-pitched voice, faint at first but growing louder as it continued, and even though Bill couldn’t understand what the voice was saying, it kept repeating the same sounds. “Ee wahn chu” it seemed to say, “ee wahn chu”. It was midnight, in the woods, so of course Bill couldn’t see anything, but he tried – he scanned the trees and bushes for whatever could be making the sounds. There was even a street light nearby, casting a small circle of pale light on the pavement, but he didn’t see anything. And then suddenly something stepped into the light.

According to Bill, it was perhaps 4ft tall, covered in hair, walked on two legs like a human, and looked to weigh no more than 100lb. It was naked and potbellied, and looked nothing like anything Bill had ever seen before in the swamp. And as it stepped out of the trees and into the light, it continued to speak to him. “Ee wahn chu” it said again. “Keer, keer”. Bill and Samantha stood frozen to the ground, paralysed with fear, and as the dog continued to whine and shiver, the creature lifted its arms and beckoned them to follow. “Ee wahn chu” it said again, motioning to them, “keer”. Bill claimed that he tried asking the creature a few questions, but it only replied with the same nonsense it had already said. Not knowing what else to do, Bill managed to tug Samantha after him, and they both turned and headed home. They didn’t look back.

It’s not the trees that make the woods a frightening place, it’s what the trees conceal. There’s no telling what creatures hide behind the green leaves and thick branches of the forest landscape. Cryptozoologists, ghost hunters and believers in the supernatural are often seen as abnormal. They believe in things that can’t possibly be real. But when we step into the woods, when we surround ourselves with the dark embrace of the unknown, somehow the impossible begins to seem more likely. Maybe we want to believe. Maybe that feeling we get in the pit of our stomachs when we step into a strange, wooded area, is a cry for answers. There has to be something more out there, right? Maybe that’s all we want to know, but we’re simply too afraid of the answers. Bill Russo experienced that same fear on that night in 1995. He and Samantha managed to find their way home, but he was beyond shaken up. Even though it was 1 o’clock in the morning, he went into the kitchen and brewed himself a pot of coffee. There was no way he was going to let himself sleep that night. Cup after cup, hour after hour, Bill relived the experience over and over again, playing back everything he heard and saw. He experienced doubt, and fear, and regret. He wondered if maybe he should have tried harder to speak with the creature. Perhaps he should have approached it, if Samantha would have allowed him to, that is. But the question that plagued him for most of that night was more difficult. What was the creature saying to him? Bill wrestled with his memory of those sounds all through the night. “Ee wahn chu”, it said, and then “Keer”. Before sunrise, Bill was almost positive that he had his answer. It wasn’t another language the creature was speaking after all. It had been trying its best to use English – and the words it kept repeating? “We want you”, it had been saying, “come here”.

Lore is a biweekly podcast and was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can find out more about this episode, including background music, at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow us on Twitter and Facebook @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, our amazing listeners. [Sponsor break here]. To find out how you can support Lore, visit lorepodcast.com/support. You’ll find links to help you leave a review on Itunes, support Lore on Patreon for some awesome rewards, and find a list of my supernatural thrillers, available in both paperback and ebook format. I couldn’t do this show without any of you, and I’m thankful to each and every one of you for that. Thanks for listening.

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #bridgewater triangle #pukwudgie #assonet ledge #massachusetts #cryptozoology #folklore #transcripts #7

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theperidotshade · 6 years

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Part Four of Regis Has Been Saved and There Are EMOTIONS (I still need a title, damn it)

Warning, this chapter contains some pretty heavy emotional stuff and a dissociative flashback viewed from the outside. Please take care, and enjoy Cid’s unique perspective on life!

A hand shook Regis awake, paired with an amused voice.

"Do bestir yourself, Your Majesty. We're nearly to Hammerhead, and if I guess correctly, you will be needed for the explanations."

Regis' bleary, sleep-addled mind questioned why the Chancellor of Niflheim was waking him—oh. Right. That—that actually happened. No, don't think about that yet, there was still much to be done before he had the luxury of breaking down.

The king raised his head, opening his eyes. Ardyn's car, the roof up, was pulled over to the side of the road about a mile out from the lights of Hammerhead clearly visible in the distance. It was very dark, probably well after midnight, and there were sounds far off that could only be made by daemons. None were close enough to be a threat, however.

Regis looked at the Accursed. He was as carefree-seeming as ever, if perhaps a little more tired than he was a few hours before, but something was…off, in the set of his shoulders. A tension of sorts, that had only grown worse over the course of the day.

Well, Regis thought, the whole ordeal had not been easy for either of them. As long as they got through the conversation with Cid without any incidents, Ardyn could crash all he wanted to afterwards.

Cid. Oh, that was going to be a conversation for the ages.

Regis turned his gaze back towards Hammerhead, realizing Ardyn was waiting for his response.

"I suppose we'd better be on our way, then," he said.

Ardyn hummed his agreement, pulling out onto the road once more.

Regis stared straight ahead, trying desperately not to think about how Cid would react to his driving up in the company of the Chancellor of Niflheim.

They pulled up to Cid's shop and station a few minutes later, and Regis was almost buzzing out of his skin in anticipation. The pavement was packed with cars in various states of disrepair, parked in every configuration imaginable.

Good, Cid was as proactive as ever when people were in need.

Regis stared at the door to the garage, not sure if he dreaded or prayed for the moment it opened.

He slipped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and leaning on it with a wince. His knee had apparently decided it'd had enough for the day.

A young female voice called out inside the garage. "Paw paw, it sounds like we've got another group comin' in from Insomnia."

A very familiar voice answered, muffled. "I've got it, Cindy, you just keep on lookin' for blankets for the young'uns."

Footsteps echoed slightly inside the building, growing louder as they drew near.

The door opened, and Cid's head, much grayer than Regis remembered, poked out.

"Y'all need any—Reggie?!?!?" Cid's voice broke on Regis' nickname.

"Hello, Cid," Regis replied.

The door slammed into the wall as Cid threw it open, all but running in Regis' direction.

Regis was drawn into a firm hug in seconds. He relaxed into the hold, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

"Ya reckless idjit," Cid breathed, "I'd hoped you'd made it out when folks comin' through started talkin' about warp-strikes takin' down the dropships, but it's been twelve hours. I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!"

"I nearly did," Regis admitted, "But I had a bit of help."

Cid looked over Regis' shoulder. The king could tell the moment Cid recognized his unusual rescuer, as the arms around his shoulders tightened almost painfully.

Cid's voice was wary. "Now what is the Imperial Chancellor doin' savin' the life o' the King o' Lucis?"

Ardyn's reply was as dry as the desert surrounding them. "Defecting."

Surprisingly enough, Cid seemed to take that at face value, stepping back from Regis. "Well, s'long as ya don't cause any trouble, you're welcome here. Folks these parts might have a few strong words 'bout your allegiances, but we're no cityfolk to turn away a man wi' nowhere t'go. Mind your manners, and we'll leave ya be."

"Certainly," came the reply.

"C'mon in," Cid said, "Sounds like y'all've got a heck of a story t'tell."

Regis found himself surrounded by Insomnians the moment he stepped into Cid's establishment. Dozens of refugees were huddled together in the shelter of the garage, draped in blankets and nursing steaming mugs of coffee or soup. From the looks of the sensible backpacks each group guarded, they'd be moving on in the morning to safer locales.

A few looked up as the door opened, their widening eyes clearly visible even in the dim light.

"The King, it's the King," was murmured, quickly passing from mouth to mouth.

"Six bless you, Your Majesty, you saved us," a woman said as Regis passed. He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly before moving on, following Cid into the living quarters attached to the garage.

Ardyn, Regis saw from the corner of his eye, pulled the broad brim of his hat down lower—unnecessarily, it seemed, as none of the Insomnians showed any sign of recognizing him in their focus on Regis.

Cid led them into a rough approximation of a studio apartment—kitchen, dining room, and living area all rolled into one. A door led into a small bathroom, and two curtained-off areas presumably housed beds.

Cid bustled over to the coffee pot, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Y'all make yourselves at home and I'll get a fresh pot goin'. We're just 'bout out o' grounds, so don't expect much. I'll get Cindy t'make a run in the mornin'."

Regis sank gratefully into the nearest armchair, ignoring the ominous creaking of the springs. He was too tired to worry about a little thing like an old chair.

Ardyn removed his hat, turning the brim between his hands as he settled stiffly on the faded floral loveseat. He hadn't said a word since his brief answers to Cid, and Regis was growing concerned about his uncharacteristic silence.

The beep of the coffee maker cut through Regis' thoughts. He accepted the mug Cid brought to him with a quiet thanks, hearing Ardyn's mirror of it a moment later.

Cid sat in the second armchair with a sigh. "Now, Reggie, what in the name of gigglin' gaggles of geese happened in that city o' yours? All anybody comin' through these parts knew was that the Wall fell, then was up again, then gone completely, and suddenly MTs and daemons were everywhere."

Regis took a careful sip of coffee. It scalded his tongue, but the warmth was welcome, if the flavor left much to be desired.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now that the treaty was a trap. There was an explosion outside, then all the Niflheimr in the room turned on us. They got to the Crystal somehow, because within seconds I felt the Wall come down."

"Ah, I may be able to elaborate," Ardyn broke in.

"Go ahead," Regis said, "I still do not know how you got back to the city, in any case."

"Oh, I have my ways," Ardyn said, the barest suggestion of a smile on his face. "Many things are possible when you have a certain skill with illusion. But that is not why I interjected. The traitors among your 'Glaive were responsible for distracting the guards. The apparatus channeling the power of the Crystal was destroyed by MTs, and the Crystal itself was transported out of the city by them."

"That explains a little," Regis said, "But I do not understand how why you intervened when you did."

"And I will explain," Ardyn replied, "But we are getting ahead of ourselves. I can guess at what happened next, but I was not there, and neither was Mister Sophiar."

Regis blinked. He'd…honestly forgotten how the conversation had started for a moment there. Oh, that was not promising.

He turned his attention back to Cid. "Iedolas left, but before Clarus and I could make our own way out, Glauca arrived. We…we fought. Clarus didn't make it, and I, well, see for yourself." He held out his hand, displaying the missing fingers and the makeshift bandages wrapped around them.

Cid, who'd definitely started tearing up, swore. "Reggie, ya gods-damned idjit of a feather-brained royal, why didn't ya tell me you'd been hurt? I'm getting the first aid kit and ya will put up with the curatives, so help me…" His words trailed off into indistinct angry mumbling as he got up and rooted around in a storage bin stacked against the wall. Both of the other occupants of the room pretended not to notice he was crying into the open container.

It wasn't particularly hard, in Regis' case—he was drifting in and out of reality between moments, finding it difficult to do more than star straight ahead.

Regis nearly face-palmed. Of course he was having trouble focusing, shock had probably been all that was sustaining him through the day, between the pain, the bloodless, and the emotional devastation of seeing his city and people in such dire straits. Not to mention the draw on his lifeforce that he'd been using to power the temporary Wall…

Cid came back, peeling back the bandages gently to pour a potion over his hand. It'd been too long to fully restore his hand, but the wounds closed and the pain eased. His remaining fingers regained function, Regis determined as he flexed them carefully.

As Cid cleared away the bloodied bandages and the supplies, he tossed a question over his shoulder. "Now, I could be misrememberin', but isn't that the hand ya wore the Ring on?"

"Yes," Regis replied.

"So how'd ya get the Wall back up?"

Regis winced internally. Oh, he was going to be in for it. "Well, I managed to regain it momentarily when Ravus Nox Fleuret attempted to wear it, and I knew I couldn't let Glauca get his hands on it. Lunafreya and a Glaive, Nyx Ulric, were with me, so I sent the Ring with them…after I used it to erect a temporary Wall drawing directly on my magic."

Cid turned slowly to look at him. "Ya. did. what now?"

Regis grimaced. "You heard what I said."

"Reggie, are ya a fuckin' maniac? A moon-addled fool? A Six-forsaken shit-for-brains disaster?" Cid was on a roll. "Tyin' the Wall to your own magic, what were ya thinkin'? Are ya suicidal, 'cause I swear by Bahamut's scaly balls, your decision-makin' has gone to the daemon-fuckin' dogs! First the godsdamned isolationism, then not tellin' your boy about that cactuar-crap mess o' a prophecy, now this? Shiva wept, Reggie, has the Ring melted your brain?"

Regis covered his eyes, mortified, and desperately tried to block out the slightly-hysterical giggles coming from Ardyn's direction.

"I was thinking," he said, "That if I was going to die anyway, I was going to save as many people as I could in the process."

The giggles stopped instantly, and a long minute of silence passed before Cid sighed.

"Alrigh', I guess ya knew what ya were doin'. But what made ya so sure ya were gonna die?"

"Two things," Regis said, lifting his head from his hands to stare at the wall. "One, the prophecy is very specific about Noctis being the Chosen King. And two…well, Glauca followed us. I stayed to hold him off, and he got the upper hand."

Cid's intake of breath was sharply audible in the heavy silence.

"Reggie," he asked, tremulously, "How close didja come to dyin'?"

Regis swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't answer, no sound escaping his lips.

Ardyn answered for him. "Very. If I had not arrived when I did, he would certainly be dead. Glauca was attempting to stab him."

Regis felt absurdly relieved when that statement drew Cid's attention to the ex-Chancellor.

"An' what," Cid asked, "Is your role in all o' this? Weren't ya just in Galdin meetin' the boys not more'n a day or two ago? That description they gave sure sounded like ya."

Ardyn actually looked embarrassed for once in all this mess. "Ah, well, it's rather a long tale, and I do not know how much you know about the prophecy—"

Cid snorted. "Oh, please. Anyone wi' eyes can see that you're the spittin' image o' the religious art Reggie's ancestors are so fond of. I wanna know what th'Accursed is doin' runnin' 'round savin' his mortal foes."

Ardyn threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, finally someone catches on. I've been all but prancing into temples naked with 'Immortal Accursed' written in marker over every available inch of skin for the last two millennia, and still you're the first to know who I am without prompting."

Cid let out an amused huff. "Well, ya must have spent too long 'round cityfolk. But ya haven't answered my question yet."

Ardyn sobered. "In brief, today—or yesterday, by now—is an anniversary of some significance to me, and though the world has forgotten the symbolism of Insomnia's fall occurring on such a day, the Astrals have not. I hadn't quite put all the pieces together myself, until I woke yesterday and realized what day it was. It was…a reminder of just who my real enemies are. So I decided I'd do something they wouldn't expect, something that would undermine their schemes just enough to be troublesome." He shrugged. "They've been interfering in my life for a very long time. I thought to return the favor."

Cid eyed him for a long moment. "Alrigh', I suppose I can believe that, though that's clearly not the full reason. Spite, I'm sure was part o' it, but ya don't overturn plans as complex as the ones I'm bettin' ya have in motion on just a petty whim. When ya feel like sharin' the real reason, I'll be waitin'." With that, Cid stood. "C'mon, Reggie, let's fix ya up a place to rest."

Regis shot a glance at Ardyn, noting the shaking hands and forcedly-slow breathing. He followed Cid out the backdoor and into the lot out back for caravans. There were a few parked there—as Regis looked around, he could see that the occupants were all elderly, parents with small children, and the sick or wounded.

Cid drew him to the side, lowering his voice. "How much has he let on 'bout his motives?"

Regis thought over the events of the last twenty-four hours, remembering the tension, the rage at the Astrals, the pain and grief shining through at Ardyn's most unguarded.

"More than he's intended to, I think," Regis murmured, "He's not what we thought. And, well, it's not my story to tell, but that anniversary he referred to—it's nothing pleasant."

"How so?" Cid asked.

"It was the start of a lifetime of being manipulated and betrayed by gods and man alike." Regis looked back at Cid's home. "I'm almost certain that if we walk back in there right now, he'll be having some sort of panic attack or flashback."

Cid's eyes widened. "Then we better do that," he said, alarmed, "The man's got a hundred lifetimes o' memories in his head—I dunno what that migh' do to a body, but I'm guessin' it's nothin' good."

They rushed back into the building.

It turned out to be a very wise decision.

Ardyn was staring straight ahead, chest heaving in short, uneven bursts of breath. His hands were clenched around his hat, digging deep into the fabric. He didn't respond at all when they burst into the room, and his magic…

His magic was shimmering over him in waves, a shield trying to form over him but buckling under pressure that wasn't there.

Cid shot a shocked glance at Regis, which Regis ignored in favor of reaching out carefully with a shield over his own hand.

His hand passed right through, settling on Ardyn's shoulder.

Ardyn flinched with his whole body, recoiling. His eyes turned toward Regis.

A furrow formed between his brows. His golden eyes struggled to focus on the king, and Regis noted that he didn't seem aware of his surroundings.

Ardyn spoke, an unfamiliar language falling from his lips. His accent had thickened, and Regis realized that this was its origin, this language of millennia past.

When Regis didn't respond, Ardyn seemed frustrated, switching to a different language. It took Regis a moment to recognize it, but when he did…

Gods, was that what Old Lucian was intended to sound like?

"You're safe," Regis attempted to say in his scholar-taught Old Lucian, only to receive a blank stare.

Regis tried again, in modern Lucian. "Ardyn, you're safe, you're in Hammerhead, it's the 17th of May, M.E. 756. Your brother isn't here."

It took several repetitions, but little by little, Ardyn's breathing began to calm and awareness returned to his eyes. The half-formed shield dropped.

Ardyn closed his eyes, shuddering.

"My thanks," he said, sounding winded and distant, "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Regis stared incredulously for a moment, realizing three things in that instant: one, this man's air of condescension masked some very deep wounds; two, it had most likely been a long, long time since Ardyn had had anyone care about his wellbeing; and three, it was going to be a battle and a half to get him to accept any sort of assistance.

Well, fuck.

Regis sighed. "It was no inconvenience. Perhaps we should get you somewhere more comfortable. Some rest might do you good."

Cid came forward, and between them they managed to get Ardyn standing and through the door.

Once Ardyn was settled in the caravan under the care of a particularly concerned grandmother, Cid took Regis aside.

"Look," Cid said, "I get not wantin' t'share a confidence, but Reggie—is the godsdamned Accursed a member of the royal family?"

Regis let out a hysterical sound like a cross between a laugh and a sob he couldn't quite repress. "Cid, in the last twenty-four hours, I have been betrayed by multiple people, attacked, seen my home in ruins, and learned that everything I thought I knew about history and religion, and even my family's right to rule, is based on a lie deliberately covered up by one of my ancestors. I'm about ninety percent certain that not only is the Accursed a Lucis Caelum, he's an actual King of Lucis."

Cid visibly softened, holding out his arms.

Regis fell into them gratefully, burying his face in his old friend's shoulder and finally letting out all the grief and pain and rage and shame that had built up over the course of the longest day of his life.

"Gods, Cid," he choked out between the heaving sobs wracking through him, "I want to tear the Empire apart for what they've done, but I can't put my people in danger, not again. How can I trust my judgment after this? How can I trust myself after this? What am I supposed to do?!?!?"

Cid didn't answer, just holding him until he'd cried himself out.

Regis pulled back reluctantly, wiping his eyes.

Cid kept a hand on his shoulder. "Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna get some sleep while I get ahold o' Cor an' see 'bout gettin' these folks to safety. When he gets here, then we'll worry 'bout what comes next, alrigh'?"

Regis nodded. He knew he should be doing that himself, but after the day he'd had, it just felt good to let someone else take charge for a while.

Cid shook his shoulder gently. "Good. Now, I'm not likely t'be gettin' any sleep tonight, so you just mosey on into my house an' take my bed—it's the one on the right, wi' the striped coverlet. Get some sleep, Reggie, I mean it."

Regis smiled, and did as he was told.

#Evil Astrals AU #in which Ardyn saves Regis on a whim #my fanfic #ffxv #cw trauma #cw injury #cw PTSD flashback

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southsidexslytherin · 5 years

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My True Love Gave to Me--A Multipart Sweet Pea Christmas Fic--Part Two

Word count: 5,168

Summary: A Serpent returns home for Christmas for the first time in six years with many surprises in store. Old friends, an old love, and a family secret. Now, there’s a decision to make. Return to the life she’s worked so hard to build, or stay in the town and life she’s desperately tried to leave behind.

Warnings: mild language

Author’s Note: Okay I know this one is significantly longer than part one but I got really inspired and was having a lot of fun with it. Plus I’m trying to keep one day’s events per chapter and I was dumb and started this day at midnight so I had practically two days events to get through. I hope you guys like it! Please leave feedback. I’m thinking about throwing in some smut in the next part, so let me know what you think. Do you like that the character is unnamed? I’m thinking about finally giving her one, but I don’t know what it should be. I think I’ll probably give her a nickname at least. Anyway, enjoy! Happy holidays!

Part One

Midnight—Eleven days until Christmas

“Hey, Sweet Pea.”

He was quiet, looking between Fangs and Toni, as if asking if I were really there and not some hallucination from too many long nights working at the bar.

“What are you doing here?” He finally asked, still not having moved from his perch on the step. His voice was gruff.

“My mom insisted I come home for Christmas,” I answered, the butterflies in my stomach doing barrel rolls. God, he looks good. Sweet Pea was always toned but now his biceps were bulging through his green flannel. Though he had always towered over most everyone else, somehow he seemed even taller than I remembered. He still wore his dark hair the same way, slicked back but for the one lock of hair that never seemed to stay in place.

He snorted, moving from the stairs at last and brushing past us to duck behind the bar to pour himself a drink. I followed him with my eyes, unable to tear my gaze away from him. My heart pounded in my chest. Stay calm. I told myself.

“We’ll let you guys talk,” Toni whispered, squeezing my arm. “C’mon, Fangs.” They wandered off to a far corner of the bar, leaving me to follow Sweet Pea.

I took a seat on a well worn barstool across from where Sweet Pea stood. He set a tall glass in front of me and pulled a bottle of whiskey from under the counter. He filled it nearly halfway before topping it off with cola from the soda gun.

“You remember my usual?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light and friendly.

“I remember a lot of things,” Sweet Pea grumbled. He turned to the sink in the bar and began washing glasses, doing everything he could to avoid eye contact. I wasn’t expecting him to be happy to see me, but I didn’t think he’d be so cold.

I took a sip of my drink, trying to muster my courage. “So… you still hate me, then?”

He set down the glass he was wiping and sighed, leaning his arms against the bar t He turned back to me and looked at me fully for the first time, eyes full of pain and confusion. “I don’t hate you. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

My jaw clenched and tears started to well in my eyes. He doesn’t want you here. “You’re right,” I sniffed, “I shouldn’t have just showed up here. I’ll go.” I stood to go, knocking the barstool into the one beside it in my rush to go. I practically jogged out of the bar and into the cold night.

I ignored Fangs’ and Toni’s voices calling after me as I walked briskly through the December chill to my car, barely able to compose myself. What was I thinking, coming here? Why did I think he’d be excited to see me? How in the world did I ever think this could possibly be a good idea?

Tears were already running down my face as I reached my car. I fumbled for my keys in my coat pocket, but as soon as I freed them, they dropped from my trembling hands. I choked back a sob and rested my head against the roof of the car. “You’re such an idiot,” I muttered to myself, my voice cracking slightly.

“You’re not an idiot,” Sweet Pea said behind me. I jumped, startled; I hadn’t heard the crunch of his footsteps in the snow. I pulled my flannel shirt tighter around me as the wind picked up, realizing a mesh shirt in the middle of winter was another terrible idea.

Sweet Pea reached out and wiped a tear from my face, his expression noticeably softer than it had been inside. “You don’t have to leave,” he said in a gentle voice.

I sniffed, staring at my boots. “I’m kind of a mess now.”

Sweet Pea smirked. “You’ve always been a mess.”

“You’re one to talk,” I rebutted with a half-hearted smile. His face split into a grin at the dig and he reached for me.

“Come here,” he commanded. He gestured when I hesitated, beckoning me into his embrace. I stepped forward and let him wrap his arms around me as I snaked my own around his waist. He had thrown on his own Serpent jacket, the same one I wore so many times, even after I had received my own. I buried my face in his chest, breathing deeply. He smelled just like I remembered—cigarettes and bourbon, with just a hint of mint. He brought one hand to the back of my head and curled his fingers into my hair. “I missed you,” he sighed.

“I missed you, too.” I hugged him tighter.

“You wanna get out of here?” Sweet Pea asked, leaning back to look at me. His dark brown eyes were warm and hopeful. I nodded. He took me by the hand and lead me towards a red vintage truck, the kind you might see an old farmer driving to market, with pumpkins piled up in the back.

He opened the passenger door for me. I climbed inside and he shut the door behind me. It smelled of motor oil and leather, despite the vinyl bench seat, and there was a forest of multicolored pine tree air fresheners dangling from the rearview mirror. Some were so faded from the sun they were practically white. I flicked through a few of them, reading scent names like “Black Ice,” “True North,” and “Heat.”

He got into the driver’s side and started the engine and turned on the heat before taking my hand in his. “God you’re freezing!” He rubbed my hands vigorously then brought them to his face and breathed hot air over them. His hands were calloused from years of hard labor, but his touch was gentle and welcome. His breath was hot against my cold skin and sent shivers up my spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

I watched his face as he warmed my cold hands. His eyes were deep, and I wanted to know what secrets they held. His skin was rough and weathered, as if he’d had a tough couple of years. He still had a youthful look about him, but I couldn’t deny it—he was no longer a boy. He was a man—with responsibilities, a life completely separate from my own. And he had every right to be angry with me—to never want to see me again—after the way I left. Yet here was, welcoming me back with open arms.

God, I’ve missed him. I missed the way that one curl of his black hair always fell in his face, the way his frame towered over me, the smell of skin, the feel of his breath, his touch. I caught myself staring at the sharp curve of his jaw and the pout of his lips.

He caught me staring and his brow furrowed. “What? What’s wrong with my face.”

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I whispered, scooting closer to him along the bench seat. He leaned in as well, and I lifted my hand slowly to curl my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. We inched closer and closer until I could feel his breath on my face. He hesitated, waiting for permission to make his move. Instead, I made my own. I pulled his face to mine, crashing my lips against his.

Sweet Pea kissed me back, hard and hungry, as if he had been waiting so long to do this—nearly as long as I had. He parted my lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. I grasped his face in both my hands and sucked his bottom lip. He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto his lap. I tore my mouth from his and dragged my lips along his jawline, peppering it with kisses. I found the hollow of his throat and sucked gently as I rocked my hips against him. He groaned, and I smiled wickedly. I missed this.

Suddenly, Sweet Pea thrust me off of him, practically throwing me into the passenger door. “We need to stop,” he growled. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were aflame. He seemed angry, but I couldn’t understand why. What did I do wrong?

“What? Why?” I gasped, confused.

“Because…” he started, “we just… we can’t do this.”

I reasoned, “Pea, we’re two consenting adults—“

“Because you’re just going to leave again!” He shouted. He was definitely angry. I crumpled in on myself. I was being selfish. I brought my legs to my chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Yeah… No, you’re right… we shouldn’t… I’m sorry.” He wasn’t looking at me. His hands were on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he glowered at the dash board. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

We sat in silence. I stared at the dashboard, afraid to look at him. I wondered if I should leave, and snuck a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was still angry, battling an unknown war with himself. I wondered if he was debating throwing me out. As each second ticked by I wanted more and more to just open the door and crawl away in shame, but I was frozen in place, unsure of what to do, not wanting to leave him.

Finally, his face crumpled and he sighed, “Can we just… drive?” His head hung low, as if defeated.

I nodded, then, realizing he hadn’t seen it, cleared my throat. “Y-yes.” My voice cracked sharply; I was on the verge of tears. I curled up against the window, gazing out into the night in an effort to hide my face.

Sweet Pea pulled the truck out of the parking lot and sped off. He reached a hand towards the old radio, flicking it on and spinning the dial until Christmas music crackled through the truck’s speakers.

We didn’t say a word as we rumbled down the streets of Riverdale’s south side. Just say something. I thought to myself. Anything. Stop being such a little bitch. Still, I remained silent. I felt stupid, rejected, embarrassed. What were you thinking? Did you really think he’d still want to be with you after all this time? And what were you going to do? Sleep with him and then leave all over again? Like that wouldn’t hurt the both of you? If he didn’t hate you before, he surely does, now.

Sweet Pea reached a long arm across the seat, taking my hand in his and squeezing it gently, as if reading my thoughts, and assuring me that he wasn’t upset. I turned to look at him. He met my gaze from the corner of his eye and smiled softly. I couldn’t help but return it. He nudged his head lazily, and tugged on my hand. I took this as my cue to uncurl myself from the window and scoot closer to where he sat.

I wanted to tuck myself under his arm and cuddle into his side like I did when we were teenagers. I scolded myself. That would be crossing a line. Instead, I entangled my fingers in his and tried to be content with the small bit of physical contact I was granted. There was so much history between us, and neither of us had been good with boundaries from the start.

After several more minutes of silence, Sweet Pea finally spoke. “Why did you come home?” He asked, his voice low. I could feel the pain in his question and all the questions within it. Why didn’t I just stay gone? Why now? Why did I have to show back up in his life so out of the blue? Why was I gone so long? Did I come back for him? Even just a little?

“My mom insisted,” I replied. The muscles in his arms tensed.

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” My answer wasn’t good enough for him and we both knew it.

I tried again, “I don’t know… it felt like time, I guess?”

“I thought you never wanted to see this place again?”

“I don’t,” I insisted, then backtracked, “or… I didn’t. I don’t know, Pea.” I sighed. He waited for me to continue. “It’s complicated. I think there’s something wrong with my mom. Or maybe my dad. I don’t know, I’m not sure. But it’s not like this is the first time my mom tried to get me to come home for the holidays. I’ve always just… turned her down… This time, though, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sounded almost… frantic, I guess? Worried, but she wouldn’t tell me why, like she’s hiding something.” I shook my head. “I just… gave in. I told myself I wasn’t going to see anyone, or tell anyone I was here, even. But… I don’t know…”

“You missed me?” Sweet Pea offered with a devilish smirk that made me want to climb on him again.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I did, actually.” You have no idea…

“I missed you, too,” he said earnestly.

“Obviously,” I said sarcastically, flicking my hair. He laughed loudly and pulled his hand from mine to playfully push me.

We drove around for a couple of hours, looking at Christmas lights and catching up on each other’s lives. Sweet Pea ended up going to Sea Side Community College after high school and got his business degree while working nights. He had been managing the Wyrm for the past two years with Fangs running things in the kitchen. Nothing had changed much for him other than that. He wasn’t seeing anyone, nor had he had any serious relationships in the past six years. He mostly had a string of one night stands—I squirmed internally hearing this, not that I had any room to be jealous. You have no claim to him, idiot. He’s not yours.

My love life was pretty similar. Not as many one night stands, but nothing serious. Nothing lasted longer than a few months when you were still hung up on your high school ex—not that I mentioned that part to Sweet Pea. After high school I went to college at NYU to double major in English and Art with a minor in Creative Writing.

“I bet your dad loved that,” Sweet Pea quipped.

“Thrilled,” I returned with an eye roll.

“And you’re still in New York?”

“Still in New York,” I nodded, “I’m a junior editor for a company that publishes text books.”

“And you like it?” Sweet Pea asked, one eyebrow cocked in skepticism.

“No,” I smiled, “but it pays well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No,” I sighed and chuckled, “but it’s a job. In a beautiful city. Which I love.”

We were quiet again as we wandered down a brightly lit street on the north side. Every house was covered in twinkling lights, some white, some red and green, some blue. Santa and reindeer decorations littered roofs and lawns, and I spotted more than one house with light up candy canes lining the front walk.

“Are you happy?” Sweet Pea asked suddenly.

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “Are you?” Neither of us answered the question.

Sweet Pea rubbed his neck in frustration, his black hair falling in his eyes again. “Do you wanna… go back to my place?” He asked. “N-not to…” he stammered, “just to like… watch a movie? Or something…”

I grinned. It was fun to watch him get nervous. He wasn’t like this with everyone else. Around other people he was standoffish and brooding. He took pride in being intimidating because it meant no one messed with him. He had a reputation for having a quick and brutal temper and may the gods help you if you got on his bad side. But with me, he was softer. He loosened up. I saw a side of him that was nervous and insecure, vulnerable and caring. I knew his hopes and his fears. Most people knew how to make him angry; I knew how to make him laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

We decided on Home Alone—a Christmas classic and a favorite of both of ours. Sweet Pea’s trailer was the same as it had always been. Small. Untidy, but not dirty. Tee shirts littered the floor of his bedroom, just visible through half open door and there were empty beer bottles strewn about the small kitchen table. It smelled strongly of pine which I attributed to the green, half-burned candle on the coffee table. There were a couple of dishes in the sink, as if he didn’t have time to clean up dinner before heading off to work for the night.

Sweet Pea grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and popped the caps off on the side of the counter, a skill I had always admired, but never mastered. He handed one to me. “Sorry, this is all I have.”

“That’s alright.” I took it graciously, thankful to have something to do with my hands. I sipped at it. We both sat on the beaten down couch he’d had since high school. The fabric was torn in places and stuffing was bursting out of the seam of one of the cushions. I set my beer down on the coffee table, perfectly aligning it with an existing ring in the wood.

As the movie started Sweet Pea grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over our laps. I made an effort to concentrate on the movie and not be distracted by his hand on my knee or the steady, comforting sound of his breathing. I was content here, in the place I had spent so many nights, experienced so many different emotions. I soon felt my eyelids start to droop and sleep had overcome me before I knew it.

I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. I rubbed my eyes sleepily and tried to remember where I was. The tv screen was black, having shut itself off at some point in the early hours of the morning. There was an arm around my waist—Sweet Pea’s. I removed it and sat up slowly, trying not to wake him. His light snoring faltered briefly as I stood from the couch, but resumed a beat later. I stretched my aching back, wondering at what point the two of us had shifted from sitting to spooning.

Not wanting to disturb the snoring Serpent, I laced my boots and stuffed myself into my leather jacket as quietly as possible. I stopped to take in Sweet Pea’s sleeping form before I left. His mouth hung open slightly, a small pool of drool forming on the pillow under his head. His too-long legs were hanging lazily off the side of the couch and the arm that had previously been holding me tightly to his chest was now flung over his head, the other tucked under his pillow. It amazed me how he could be remotely comfortable sleeping this way.

I tiptoed over to the couch and draped the blanket over as much of his body as it would cover. I gazed at him longingly and ran my fingers through his hair once, barely resisting the urge to leave a light kiss on his cheek.

I was grateful Sunnyside Trailer Park wasn’t far from the Whyte Wyrm as I trudged through the fresh snow to retrieve my car. It was still cold, but not as cold as the night before. I kept my hands balled in the pockets of my jacket and hummed to myself for warmth, or at least as a distraction from the chattering of my teeth.

When I pulled my car into the carriage house I noticed that my father’s car was still missing. I checked the time on my phone. It was barely 6 am. My father had a tendency to leave for work early in the morning, but not when he’d been working late the night before, and certainly not on the weekend.

“Mom?” I called as I walked through the kitchen door. She was sitting in the breakfast nook, reading a paperback romance novel while she drank her coffee.

“Good morning, dear. Did you stay out all night?” She asked, looking up from her book.

“Um, yeah. Sorry, I should’ve called. I was at Sweet Pea’s and we fell asleep.” I explained.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Sweet Pea?”

“We were just watching a movie,” I cut in before she could ask any nosy questions. “Where’s Dad?”

Her eyes quickly darted back to her book. “Oh, he left early.”

“For work?” I asked skeptically.

“Mhm,” she nodded curtly.

“On a Saturday?”

She repeated, “Mhm.”

“That’s unlike him.”

“Well, he’s been very busy with it being the end of the year.” She downed the rest of her coffee and carried the mug over to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the dishwasher. “I’m off to do some Christmas shopping,” she called over her shoulder as she exited the room, clearly ending the conversation. “Have a nice day, Sweetheart.”

After climbing into bed to sleep for a few more hours, I awoke to a text from Toni.

What happened to you last night?

I crashed at Pea’s. I typed back. She responded immediately.

I KNEW IT! I thought those truck windows looked pretty steamy!

I groaned loudly and sent her an eye roll emoji It wasn’t like that, T. We fell asleep watching a movie.

Suuuuuure. Her message was followed by a smirking emoji and a winking emoji.

I responded simply with a slew of middle finger emojis.

Tasting stale beer from the night before in my mouth, I wandered into my bathroom to brush my teeth. I had just begun on my back molars when my phone rang. Sweet Pea’s ID photo popped up on my screen. I hadn’t seen the picture in so long. It was one I had taken of him the summer before our senior year. He was laying on a hammock in a blue cut of flannel with a questioning loo on his face (the photo had been candid). We were supposed to be celebrating Toni and Cheryl’s acceptance into Brown, but Sweet Pea and I had snuck off when no one was looking to make out in the hammock.

The phone rang a couple more times before I realized I needed to answer it. “Hello?” I answered, toothbrush still in my mouth.

“Um, hello?” His voice was unsure. It occurred to me that he probably couldn’t understand me with a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Uhhh… hold on!” I mumbled, setting the phone down and spitting the toothpaste into the sink. I swished water around my mouth a few times before I picked up the phone again. “Sweet Pea?”

“Hey. You there?”

“Yeah! Sorry. Just brushing my teeth.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. I waited for him to say something else, but the line stayed quiet.

“Did you need something?” I inquired, walking back into my room to sit on my bed.

“Well… I, uh…” he continued.

“Yes…?” I asked again. He huffed.

“Well, after last night I was feeling more… festive, or whatever,” he began, sounding irritated with himself, then paused.

“Pea, if you have something to say, just say it,” I insisted with a chuckle.

“Would you want to go get a Christmas tree with me?” He grumbled, as if embarrassed to ask. I laughed loudly, amused and excited. “Shut up,” he grumbled again.

“Yes, Sweet Pea,” I agreed, “I will go get a Christmas tree with you.”

Sweet Pea picked me up at home in the early afternoon. I met him at the end of the long drive, not knowing when either of my parents may be returning, and not wanting to have the conversation with either of them about why Sweet Pea and I were spending time together.

As he pulled up in his truck, I burst out laughing. Tied to the front of the truck was a large wreath, red bow and all, and there were multicolored Christmas lights, the kind with large bulbs people use to decorate their roofs and outdoor trees, strung around the outside of the truck’s bed.

“What did you do?” I asked him as I climbed in the truck.

“It’s festive!” He explained with a shrug and a smile.

“It’s a fire hazard!” I laughed. “And where did you get this stuff? I thought you hated Christmas?”

He grinned like the Grinch. “Stole it from one of the neighbors.”

“You stole your neighbor’s Christmas decorations?” I balked.

“No,” he replied smoothly, “I stole your neighbor’s Christmas decorations.”

I burst out laughing again. Typical Sweet Pea, never one to spend money on things he could lift off of someone else, especially someone he deemed less deserving. He held my hand as we drove out of town down the highway between Riverdale and Greendale. We chatted casually about what life was like for him working at the Wyrm; how Toni, Cheryl, and Fangs were doing; and what Jughead was up to nowadays.

When we were roughly half way between the two towns, Sweet Pea pulled the truck over to the side of the road.

“I thought we were going to a tree farm?” I asked, confused.

“Nah, this is more fun,” he said with a grin. His smile was contagious, and I couldn’t help but return it. He released my hand as he turned off the engine and I took the opportunity to pull the gloves I had remembered to bring with me from my coat pockets and put them on.

We hopped out of the truck and Sweet Pea pulled an old wooden axe from the truck bed. It was snowing lightly, large fluffy flakes falling lazily around us. I tied my scarf a bit tighter and adjusted my fuzzy black earmuffs. I was glad I had chosen more appropriate winter clothing today—a gray cable-nit sweater and skinny jeans over fleece-lined leggings with thick wool socks shoved into a spare pair of snow boots my mom had lent me.

Sweet Pea began leading me towards the woods and stopped. He jogged back to the truck and I watched as he opened the passenger’s side door and grabbed something from under the seat. As he made his way back to me I realized it was a red buffalo check trapper hat, which he pulled down over his ears. I giggled reflexively and immediately covered my mouth with a gloved hand as his eyes grew wide.

“Are you laughing at my hat?” Sweet Pea gasped with a playful shove.

“No!” I insisted, still laughing. “It’s just… we match.” He looked down at my red plaid scarf and gloves and he joined in my laughter, pulling me into a one armed hug and kissing my forehead. I beamed, practically glowing. We look like a couple. I thought to myself. My heart did backflips at the idea. I knew I needed to put a stop to all this touchy-feely stuff, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be close to him. Even if it meant I was going to have my heart broken again. You’re only here for two weeks. How’s it going to feel when you have to say goodbye? You’re going to hurt the both of you.

I shook the thought away, cursing the more reasonable voice in my head, and looked up at him. He looked like a lumberjack with his trapper hat and usual flannel, axe thrown over his shoulder. All he needed was suspenders and a beard, and maybe to lose the biker jacket.

We trudged through the snowy woods for a while, trying to find the perfect tree. Many of the evergreen trees in Fox Forest had been there for generations, making them much too large to bring home. We needed to find a younger tree, just tall enough to fit inside Sweet Pea’s trailer. After about forty five minutes we were lucky enough to find a small cluster of young fir trees. We evaluated each one for shape, height, and fullness.

“This one,” Sweet Pea stated, standing in front of a roughly eight-foot-tall, snow-covered conifer. He had a hand on his hip and stood proudly, determined that this was the tree he wanted. “It has to be this one.” He handed me the axe so he could put on the work gloves tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

Taking the axe again, he gestured for me to stand back and began chopping down the tree. I watched, impressed, as he swung the axe over and over, cutting a deep notch in the trunk. Who knew felling a tree was so sexy? After several minutes the tree began to tip, and quickly fell to the forest floor.

Sweet Pea wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow, breathing heavily. “That wasn’t so hard,” he said as he handed me the axe.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I questioned.

“Youtube,” he replied casually. I rolled my eyes and swung the axe over my shoulder as he picked up the fallen tree by its trunk and drug it along the ground.

It took far less time for us to make it back to the truck than it had finding the tree, Sweet Pea’s arm draped over my shoulder and mine tucked around his waist as we marched through the snowy forest. Sweet Pea let go of my as the truck came into sight. His muscles bulged against his jacket as he lifted the tree into his truck and I blushed at the thoughts I knew I shouldn’t be having.

By the time we made it back to Riverdale it was getting dark and the stolen lights on the truck suddenly sprung to life, despite being plugged in to nothing. Sweet Pea and I looked at each other, confused.

“Must be solar powered,” I shrugged.

Sweet Pea’s brow furrowed. “I did wonder why they didn’t have a plug.” We both laughed.

We pulled up to the end of my parents’ driveway and parked. My hand hesitated on the door handle, not ready to say goodbye.

“I had a lot of fun today, Pea. Thank you.” His eyes shone in the glow of the Christmas lights. I leaned over and hugged him, resisting the urge to kiss his full, pouty lips. He returned the embrace, but didn’t say anything as I opened the door and climbed out. I began walking up the drive when I heard the truck door creak open and slam shut.

“Hey!” Sweet Pea called. I turned. “I don’t really have any ornaments or anything for the tree,” he explained. “Would you help me pick some out tomorrow?”

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. “That depends,” I began, “are we going to steal them?”

He smirked. “Why don’t we play it by ear? Pick you up tomorrow? Four o’clock?” I nodded silently and waved, turning on my heel and heading up to the house, listening to the roar of his engine as he drove away.

I made myself some dinner, not wondering why my parents still weren’t home, and started a fire in the living room fireplace. I tried not to be too excited about seeing Sweet Pea again tomorrow as I fell asleep reading a Christmas Carol by the blazing fire.

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