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livinginshambles · 3 months

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You'll never compare to her | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: you're in a relaionship with James, but he keeps on comparing you with Lily subconsciously until he says it to your face on a drunken night.

Notes: Hi, sorry I got into a major writer's block and couldn't for the life of me find a fitting ending, because I can't forgive this easily from own experiences, but I do like happy endings cause copium. Anyway if y'all have suggestions, I'll make a part two :)

Not proofread, grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, etc etc. ENJOY!

Masterlist

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“James, wait up!” you yelled across the courtyard, catching the attention of about everyone except James. You watched James turn the corner with Peter, an exasperated expression on your face. You looked down dejectedly but then you saw the stares of people around you. You grinned widely at them, covering up any signs of embarrassment.

“There’s just something about boys and hearing problems,” you joked with a nonchalant shrug, and the surrounding students giggled in understanding.

You hummed to yourself while you walked off. You’d give James his wand later. He probably wouldn’t need it for Potions class anyway.

Peter looked up at James in confusion. “Prongs, did you not hear her call out to you?”

James sighed. “We’ll be late for class if we stopped, you know. I mean, I love my girlfriend, but she’s just sometimes a bit oblivious, and once she starts, we’ll be stuck there,” James explained in a complaining manner.

“But you love her,” came a voice behind him. Sirius parted James and Peter to walk between the two of them. “Right?” He swung his arms across the other marauders’ shoulders.

James gave him an annoyed look. “That’s what I said, but great hearing.”

“Better than you if you couldn’t hear her calling you,” Sirius laughed, but his eyes seemed to have lost a mischievous spark. “Do you think if you keep saying you love her, you’ll actually believe it?”

James glared at him and shook of Sirius’ arm. “If there’s literally any guy I wouldn’t take advice from, it’s you, Pads.” Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “Touchy today, are you Prongs?”

You sat down on the seventh staircase, opening your book. It was a muggle book that Lily had given to you as a birthday present. You looked at the necklace that James had bought you for your birthday. You had been afraid that he’d forgotten and been so thrilled when he had shown up at 10 in the evening.

The pendant was a flower, and even though you were not a botanical expert, you were very well aware that the flower was not a romantic rose or anything typically cheesy. You had a hunch what flower it was, but had refused to look it up, knowing that you would only be hurt.

Lily took a seat next to you. “The seventh staircase? Really? What’s wrong with the third?” She asked, utterly out of breath. You laughed, “hey, you invited yourself,” you defended with a fond smile. “Besides, since this is the highest staircase, it is the only one that is always in in a downward position, and won’t tilt and go upwards.”

“I guess,” she grinned, and she scooted over to see how far along you were in your book. “Oh my goodness, you’re getting to the good part!” she squealed happily. You gave her a warning look and closed your book. “No spoilers,” you sternly told her. Lily rolled her eyes playfully and nudged you. “I would never spoil this for you.”

“Alice and Marlene invited us for Hogsmeade this afternoon,” she casually mentioned, but she fumbled with her hands, signifying that she was nervous about something.

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, well James and I were going to go together, so I don’t think I can join you guys this time,” you hesitantly told her.

Lily bit her lip. “James and the rest of the marauders already told Alice that they were going to join us this afternoon,” she softly explained. There was a conflicted expression in her eyes. “He overheard Alice and me talking about it.”

You pursed your lips. “Oh,” you nodded.

“Y/N, why do you let him do this to you?” Lily decided to ask you anyway.

“I’m not letting him do anything to me,” you defended. “He forgot to mention it to me, not a big deal.”

Lily protested. “We’re literally leaving as soon as their class is over. He wouldn’t have been able to tell you, Y/N. You would’ve-“

“-been waiting for him,” you finished her sentence. You bit on your cheek in thought. “I know, Lily,” you sighed.

“Then why-“

“Because I do believe he loves me,” you quickly tried to defend him, your voice raised in volume and Lily looked down. “He’s not perfect, but no one is,” you convinced yourself, recollecting yourself. You leaned against the stair post and looked down at the other stairs that changed directions, and the panicking first year students, who still hadn’t gotten the hang of it quite yet.

“He makes me feel so loved, you know,” you sighed when you looked back at her. Lily looked at you sadly. “When he remembers you, Y/N. When he remembers he has a girlfriend.”

You didn’t know what to reply because she was right. James could be the loveliest boyfriend when he wanted to. “It’s enough for me,” you eventually replied.

“It shouldn’t have to be,” Lily pointed out, but she sighed, knowing that this was a pointless battle. But she felt the need to bring it up whenever she noticed James discard you like that. She felt guilt. Both of you knew that the girl who was most often on his mind, was Lily.

Lily had finally given James a chance in their third year after a good two and a half years of James’ advances. Having outgrown James and the marauders’ childishness and bullying, specifically after the ‘Snape incident’, she’d broken up with him only three months in, leaving him devastated. You had been his friend, mostly through Sirius and Lily, and you had found him in the common room, disheveled from crying, so you had comforted him.

Something inside James had felt a pull towards you then. A sense of comfort or familiarity no doubt reminiscent of Lily, and his mind had been set on you. Of course, you had rejected his advances for over a year, absolutely appalled by his seemingly quick recovery from his breakup. And so another year would pass.

You hadn't even seen it coming. You didn't have a romantic interest in James, until you did. All of the sudden, you found yourself in love with James Potter. Not that you would ever admit that, of course. No, you remained steadfast in your resolve to keep things platonic, as the mere idea felt like a betrayal of your friendship to Lily.

But Lily had noticed of course. You had looked away ashamedly while assuring her that you were sure that it was just a fleeting crush, something that would blow over soon. Instead of judgment, her face expressed understanding and compassion as she encouraged you to stop pushing your feelings aside, going as far as calling James over, effectively starting your relationship for you.

And now, she watched as James treated her closest friend like crap.

“How about we head down in advance,” you suggested, dusting off your Hogwarts robe.

“Yeah, about time, don’t you think?” You peered over the stairs to see Marlene with her hands on her hips in a waiting manner.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here,” you laughed as Alice dragged herself up the last few steps to stand next Marlene.

“Picking you up of course, the guys are all waiting outside.”

Your heart warmed at the thought. Of course your friends would never have left you waiting by yourself to no avail. With a fond feeling, you and your friends descended the stairs again to go to Hogsmeade.

Sirius was sitting on the ground, knees propped up while they were waiting for the girls. He twirled his wand between his fingers. “Why are we going with McKinnon and such again?”

Remus next to him shrugged his shoulders. “They invited us, I think.”

Peter shuffled his feet uncomfortable. “Alice was inviting Lily and James invited himself and us.”

James grinned widely. “I mean, how awesome is it to go in a big group?” He enthusiastically asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Remus still felt the need to respond. “That’s great and all, but I thought you were going with Y/N?”

James blinked once and then twice. He jumped up from his leaning position against the wall. “Shit.”

Sirius burst out in laughter and threw his head back, hitting his a little too hard against the wall. “Oh Prongs, you crack me up,” he shook his head. “And you say that I am the worst at being in a relationship,” he huffed. James didn’t have time for finding the humor in this situation though.

He started to pace around. He completely forgot to tell you, he realized. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find her,” he quickly made up his mind.

“Find who?”

James’ head whipped around to find Alice and Marlene looking at him curiously. Trailing a few steps behind them were you and Lily, engrossed in a conversation about the book you were holding.

“Your girlfriend perhaps?” Marlene tilted her head innocently, but every fool could see the warning look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ve got her back.”

You and Lily finally caught up to the group. “Hey,” you awkwardly waved, relieved when Remus and Peter threw you a smile, and Sirius got up to pat you a little too hard on the back, making you stumble a little. You smacked him in return, but a friendly laugh on your face. “I will hex you Sirius,” you threatened half-heartedly.

“Not with James’ wand, you’re not,” he replied and nodded towards the wand in your pocket. You huffed. “Well I don’t need a wand, I can beat you up with my bare hands,” you joked. Sirius took a step back to scan you up and down. “Not with those arms, you’re not,” he grinned.

Something tugged inside James, and he surged forward to catch your attention. “Y/N, how was your class?”

You frowned, but before you could answer, Remus spoke up. “She didn’t have class today, Prongs,” he remarked.

You nodded in confirmation but held up your book. “I read this book instead.” James instantly recognized the book “Little Women”, one of Lily’s favorites.

“That’s a nice book,” he airily commented. Your brows shot up. “You’ve read this book?” James nodded. “Well, I listened to it, you could read it to me if you want sometime. I mean, Lily-“

“I knew you would never willingly read a book,” Sirius interrupted him suddenly. And Lily shot Sirius an appreciative look. James quickly looked away. Right. He quickly glanced at you, to see if you had noticed the way he had almost mentioned when Lily would read to him on date nights. If you had noticed anything, you didn’t seem to show it.

James offered his arm, and you tucked the book under your arm before linking the other with his. “What fine weather, do you not agree, Milady?” James exaggerated in a posh accent.

You laughed and looked up at the sky. The sky was covered in dark clouds, and it looked like it could rain any given moment. “Why the weather certainly is… weathering,” you managed with a covered grin.

You handed him his wand from earlier this morning. “And you forgot this in the library,” you added. James twirled it around and the wand disappeared up his sleeve. “Is that why you were calling out to me, darling?”

“So you heard me?”

James’ heart skipped a beat, and he racked his mind to find a suitable reply. A lie. “Well, Peter did, but we were already gone,” he managed to excuse himself. You frowned a little and looked back at Peter who couldn’t look you in the eyes and you sighed.

“You heard me,” you repeated, and your grip on his arm was loosening. He felt you letting go and quickly adjusted himself, grabbing your hand instead. “You’re right, I heard you. I’m really sorry I didn’t wait for you,” he admitted. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

“Okay.”

When you arrived at the Three Broomsticks, James expertly pulled back a chair for you. “Just a butterbeer?” he asked. You nodded in response, but you hadn’t said much to him anymore and James frowned at the lack of your enthusiasm. When he returned with everyone’s order he sat down to your right, with Lily to your left. “Tadah,” he said, and he held up an extra package of sugar triumphantly.

“Merlin, I still can’t believe you drink butterbeer with extra sugar,” Sirius fake gagged. You kicked his leg under the table. “I just like sweet things,” you stuck out your tongue. “Besides, why are you not saying anything about Moony, he is literally crumbling pieces of chocolate in it right now.”

Sirius snapped his neck to Remus who looked up flustered. “Hey, why are you attacking me,” he complained.

James grabbed your mug and quickly sipped away the foam on top that you disliked and dumped the sugar into the mug. “There you go, on the house,” he proudly said. Your heart filled with fondness, and you appreciatively sipped from your drink.

James leaned in. “I love you,” he whispered, and he pressed a kiss to your temple, succeeding in making you flustered. “I’m in love with you too,” you mumbled back.

Gryffindor had won their first Quidditch match of the season and naturally, they threw a party in the common room. You had wanted to go when Remus and Peter had invited you, but James and piped up. “No, she doesn’t like those things. Too loud,” he confidently said, absolutely assuming.

“I like parties though?” you replied. You wanted to hang out with James and the marauders, and you were not scared of disagreeing with James. James looked at you with an unreadable expression. “Oh, well obviously you can come if you want. I just didn’t expect you to want to be among loud drunk people,” he recovered.

“What if she is one of the loud drunk people,” Sirius remarked from behind James. “Just because Li-“ James elbowed him in the stomach and Sirius groaned.

Perhaps it would have been wiser of you not to go. Maybe you should’ve been a little more like Lily, who had stayed in the dorms, snacking and reading. It sure would’ve hurt less.

“You will never compare to her.”

All you could manage was a bitter smile. James looked defiantly at you, but his eyes seemed to find it difficult to find focus. Your throat tightened and you tried to swallow, but still couldn’t find an adequate response to James’ hurtful words.

“I know that, James,” you eventually wryly replied. Of course you knew that, despite your attempts to be a better girlfriend by being more like Lily. You cleared your throat and furiously blinked away tears that threatened to show the impact of his words.

“You should go get some sleep,” you murmured, and you tried to coax him into laying down on his bed, desperately trying to ignore the issue at hand. Perhaps if you paid it no mind, you could pass this off as nothing more than a drunken insult that you could pretend never happened.

But James doubled down.

“You will never compare to her,” he repeated. This time he added some emphasis as well. You inhaled sharply. His words were no longer slurred, and his eyes seemed to bore right into yours. You’ve never felt so small in your life, your skin crawled uncomfortably as time passed in silence. You frowned deeply now and stared out the window behind James. What were you supposed to do with this information? It wasn’t new, but it was the first time the words had outright left his mouth.

You looked him back in his eyes. “Okay. I’m going to go and get you a glass of water for a hangover,” you slowly spoke up, trying to keep your voice calm. “Don’t forget you said this. I want you to remember that you said this because I need you to apologize for it when I get back, James.”

James groaned; his headache started to get worse. “Fine, go, but don’t come back today, I’ve had enough. And I won’t apologize tomorrow either.” James turned around a faced his back towards you. He was drifting off. “You’ll forgive me anyway, you always do. It’s the one thing you’ve got.” He mumbled. “At least you’re easier than her.”

Your face burned in embarrassment; your eyes shifted across the room as if trying to make sure no one had heard him. How long could you hold back your tears to keep your dignity, you wondered. Would you at least make it all the way to your own dorms?

“Okay,” you resigned shakily with a nod, slowly getting up while staring at his back. “I won’t be back.”

His breaths seemed to slow down to a steady pace, and you knew he had fallen asleep. Your arms hung defeatedly next to your body and your hand tapped your leg restlessly before reaching for your wand. You murmured a spell on the glass of water on his bedside. It would help him with his hangover tomorrow, and it would be the last act of affection you would direct at him, you decided.

You closed the door behind you and quickly untucked your hair from behind your ears, letting it cover your face. The path back to your own dormitory seemed longer than usual, each step weighed down by the burden of uncertainty.

You passed Remus in a hurry, who seemed to look at you in a concerned manner. Remus turned his head to see Sirius looking worried as well.

James stared at the ceiling. Against his own wishes, he remembered yesterday evening crystal clear. He frowned as he closed his eyes and sunk deeper into his matrass.

Of course he felt bad about what he said, but you were in so many ways like Lily. From the strange muggle expressions you had picked up from her, to your mannerisms, like the way Lily laughed with a hand in front of her mouth to cover her teeth, to your handwriting. Though he knew it wasn’t fair to you, it was so easy to compare you. If anything, it was difficult not to do so. But he was sure he loved you regardless.

You never left James’ mind as he got ready to head downstairs to the great hall. He should apologize to you, James figured. He walked over to his bed and downed the glass of water on his bedside. He laughed somewhat fondly to himself when his mind cleared up immediately. You had enchanted it, he realized. So how angry could you possibly really be, this time.

Feeling rather confident, James headed towards the Great Hall. The Hogwarts Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter as students filed in for breakfast.

As he scanned the room, his eyes found you sitting beside Lily at the Gryffindor table. There was something different about your smile, a subtle sadness that didn't escape James' notice. He felt a pang of guilt wash over him, knowing he was the cause of your distress.

Lily, ever perceptive, shot James a cold look before nodding toward the empty seat next to her. James approached cautiously, unsure of how to navigate the tension that hung in the air.

"Thanks, Lily," he offered gratefully, though the discomfort in the atmosphere was palpable. Lily didn’t spare him a glance and got up. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she smiled encouragingly. She clasped her hands together and nodded at you before leaving. James stared at Lily.

You cleared your throat, drawing James' attention fully to you. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of your determined expression.

"You look dashingly beautiful today, darling," James remarked, hoping to lighten the mood with his usual charm.

But you met his gaze head-on, your resolve unwavering. "I'm not going to be the one you settle for," you declared firmly, your words sending a chill down James' spine.

Confusion clouded James' features as he struggled to comprehend your words. "Wait, darling, come on," he pleaded, reaching out to grasp your hand gently.

You pulled away; your tone was unwavering. "I'm not joking around, James. To me, we ended yesterday," you asserted, your voice steady. James felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, realizing the gravity of the situation. That this wasn’t a joke or a call for an apology. An apology wouldn’t fix this, he realized. How could he fix this? James’ mind raced.

"Yesterday- What? If it's about what I said, I was just drunk," he protested weakly, desperation creeping into his voice.

You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "You literally doubled down twice, James. Well, it doesn't matter anymore, but I wanted to close this off properly. That's it," you explained, placing your knife and fork on your plate, and pushing it to the middle of the table, where it magically vanished towards the kitchen. You rose from your seat.

James reached out to stop you, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Y/N, I swear, I was drunk. And I love you," he confessed, his heart was pounding in his chest. He felt his friends look at him in pity and he understood that they had already been filled in the situation.

But your resolve remained unshaken. "Yeah, I'm sure you love a certain part of me," you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile onto your lips. "Look, we can stay friends, yeah? You're a nice guy, James. And a damn good friend too, I just don’t think you were ever ready for another relationship," you concluded.

James was stunned by your resolve, unsure of how to respond, just feeling defeat. He could see that you had closed off. Trying to maintain some dignity, he nodded in acceptance. "Okay.” He whispered quietly.

“Well then, I guess I'll see you later," you managed to say, as you awkwardly nodded, catching yourself as your hands were mid-air, ready to clasp together the same manner Lily always announced her leave. Instead, you awkwardly held two thumbs up before turning on your heels.

As you walked away from James, a whirlwind of emotions churned within you. On one hand, your heart ached with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings and heartbreak. You had been so in love with James.

On the other hand, somewhere deep down, you knew that the only way to get him to keep wanting you, was by imitating the girl he actually wanted. You had let so many things pass, not wanting to break up with James. But you’d done it. It was over. And you almost felt guilty for feeling so relieved.

Taglist: Some of the tags didn't want to work so sorry if you didn't make the list, the rest will be in a reblog

@mellowarcadefun @marauderssimpthings @tortured-artists @kazimierasm @ssc7514 @ietss @chieffanfun @narcissuspetal @jamesweather @nyrasunderwrld

@joeytribbiani18 @rafeslovergirl @peacheerries @littlenerdybee @anglfclulu @folksmione @daisydark @moonys0chocolate @fearlessmoony @vcosette

@moonyslibrary98 @poetsneil @olivshe @ihatethinkingofnames10 @petparkr @iamlizardgod @ttkttt @rosieandthethorns @eedwardss @meepmoopmopsworld

@xcinnamonmalfoyx @k0la22 @quackitysdrugdealer @lovelyteenagebeard @padf00ts-l0ver @littlemisslovestoread @queerqueenlynn @dot-erdana-blog @siimplyalea @stilesks

@daisiesformylove @lixzey @uwiuwi @jeansworld16 @v-loves-frogs @liv2post @nokkoongie @tylerstacobell @momdisappointment @jasminesacademia

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauder x reader #young james potter x reader

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lovifie · 1 month

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An Offer You Won't Refuse

Bottom Price x Top Gaz (2.5k words)

cw: handjob, meanish Price, blowjob, rimming, anal sex and a kiss on the lips hehehe

masterlist

Price knew how important it was to have the team at its peak condition, and to do so; he knew it was important to boost the morale of the team and help with… pent-up energy.

Especially when they would find themselves tucked in a safe house, keeping guard to make sure no enemy could sneak up on them. Which usually required one of them to remain stuck to a window with a sniper, keeping an eye out for any approaching vehicle.

Simon was an expert at it, the man was able to stay in position for days if required. No need for breaks, no reduction of attention while doing the job, the sniper gun one more limb of his body.

Price was second to it, the years of experience making it easier as times passed, but as his responsibilities grew so did his number of distractions, making him lose his focus more easily.

Soap had his own approach to sniper duty, while usually the soldier would stay lying down with the sight on the scope, the scotsman usually remained seated using his own eyes to look out; swiftly moving down to the gun the second he saw anything.

Gaz struggles the most with the sniper position. Too restless, constantly switching positions, unable to stay still for too long. The captain finds it endearing how the sergeant would try his very best to stay still, futile attempt after futile attempt.

He knew it was a tic-tac bomb when he was looking out the window, still; he always loved to sit behind the sergeant. Seeing how he tried to concealedly rub his growing erection against the ground looking for some kind of friction. Cute.

The four men were used to spending months together, within the same walls more of the time or cramped inside a minuscule tent. More than once have they need to turn a blind eye to something that was obviously happening under the covers.

And just as many times have they ignored when two of them have suddenly decided to take the first turn to take guard. Whatever keeps their mind focused on the important task.

So when the young sergeant seems more focused on fucking the floor than keeping an eye out, Price is quick to call him out.

“Focus, Garrick.” His deep voice travelling to the man, the vibrations of his voice running almost through the ground to his dick.

“Shit, Cap’tain, can you… He groans, obviously aware he has just been caught red-handed. “Can you get in for a sec? Need to wee.”

“Don't lie to your captain, Kyle.” Price says, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning on to walk to the sergeant. He can hear Kyle groan, defeated. Price stands next to him, looking down at him and he notices how Gaz’s hips are elevated from the ground.

An evil smile appearing on Price’s face before he set his boot on top of the sergeant’s ass pushing his hips down making him hiss. It makes Price chuckle, slightly rolling his boot over the younger man’s body to create more friction between him and the ground.

He notices Gaz’s hands shake on the gun and he removes his boot from his body, instead lying down next to him, looking up. He turns his head to look at the sergeant, smile still on his face. “So… wanna try that again?”

Kyle’s eyes furrow, not understanding the captain's question. “So-sorry, sir?” He asks, side-eyeing him for a second before looking forward again; he knows he is already in trouble, he doesn't need to make it worse.

And although Price likes to pride himself on his self-control and ability to keep his instincts and needs out of his mind; he too, has fallen for the sergeant’s charm. For his full lips, honey-coloured eyes and perfect smile. The fact that the sergeant also has the best ass he has seen in his life is just a bonus.

That's why only Gaz is surprised when Price moves his hand between the sergeant’s chest and the ground. Slowly but swiftly moving down.

“It's important to focus on the job, Kyle. You can't be distracted with external things.” Price says, looking at the sergeant's face, seeing his slightly opened mouth.

“I know, sir.” Kyle says, eyes focused on the scope, trying his best to ignore the wide hand moving down his body.

“Better to take care of… the distractions, right?” Price asks him, his fingertips resting over the buckle, teasing him.

“Affirmative, Sir.” Kyle answers, fighting every urge to take his clothes off himself.

Price takes a long time to answer, wanting to make the man wait. “This is a really important mission, Sergeant.”

“I know, sir.” He answers, repeating his words. He moves his weight to his side, urging the man to move without talking.

“There is a lot at risk.” Price continues, after a long pause again. His hand still resting on the buckle, not giving Kyle the pleasure he so badly wants.

“Sir, please.” Kyle says, sighing when he no longer can see when all of his senses are on the feeling of his captain's hand so close to his groin. “I can't focus like this… please.”

Price chuckles beside him, his eyes catching how his lower lip trembles, pupils dilating every time his hand twitches. The Sergeant still hasn't looked at the Captain once, so well-behaved that even Price is impressed.

That's why he pities him, getting his belt and pants undone so he can finally free his hardening dick.

The feeling of the captain's calloused hand around his length it's what finally makes Kyle close his eyes, sighing at the satisfaction of finally getting the desired friction.

Price smiles, enjoying the little game that he has created. He was already aware of the power he had over the sergeant, blind trust and obedience in him; but still, it was a different feeling from seeing the man buck his hips against his fist.

His hand is dry, not even having bothered to spit in it; but Kyle doesn't seem to mind the burn of the dry skin against his most sensible member. His head falls down, biting his lips to keep himself from moaning, but his hips still move in a disordered rhythm, as if his mind was telling him not to do it but his body was moving against his will.

“Eyes on the objective, sergeant.” Price orders, smile still plastered on his face when he sees Kyle whip his head back up, eyes on the scope and in the search for any possible threat.

But Price's hand still moves along his shaft, tugging at it on his way down, making the sergeant move his hips along. It's Price the one that manages to get Kyle's hips into the rhythm, making him move them up when he moves his hand down and vice versa, his fist meeting his pubic bone when Kyle thrust forward.

Such delicious sounds and cries fell from Kyle’s mouth, urging the Captain to give him more, make him cry louder, thrust harder, make him unable to hold the gun. But it is his fault for choosing such a great soldier, because from his chest up, the sergeant is focused on outside of the building.

So Price changes his strategy, instead of working along with Kyle, he makes him work for it. He stops moving his hand, keeping it within reach but barely past the middle of the sergeant's thick length. It makes the sergeant thrust lower, his exposed tip rubbing the hard floor making him hiss. “Cap’tain…”

Price looks down, to where the angry tip of the sergeant keeps hitting the ground, the pleasure from his hand enough to make the pain worth it. But he pities him, moving his hand lower and engulfing the sergeant tip on his fist.

“Fuck, harder, please…” The sergeant whisper, his hands twitching on his hold of the gun almost wanting to move it lower along with his captain’s to fuck his fist the way he wants.

“Don't tell me how to wank you off, Garrick.” Price chuckles with an eyebrow raised, closing his fist just a tad harder than what Kyle wanted making him groan as his hips buckle.

“Sorry, sir.” He moans the apology. It was a delicious torture, the touch of his captain borderline painful but still making him unable to hold still, the gun that was resting on the floor still weighed a ton with the way he tried to keep his hands from slipping from it.

He just wants so badly to grab both of Price’s hands, making them cup his lengthy dick and fuck them, his angry tip poking through them with each thrust; spitting on them just to hear the squelching sound of his saliva between his captain fingers.

Instead, he can only shallowly thrust into his hand to prevent himself from peeling the skin of his dick against the floor, trying his best to keep himself from whining at the lack of more friction. But still, the barely there feeling of his captain's hands has him losing control of his lower body.

Price’s eyes are stuck on his ass, on how his asscheeks clench whenever he thrust forward, the sergeant's dick twitching on his hand with his approaching orgasm. He looks at the sergeant’s face, smiling when he notices he has once again let his head fall down. Eyes closed and moans sliping easily off his open mouth, and he decides to make him an offer.

"C'mon, sergeant... I thought you were pent up and that's why you wanted to change positions… I offer you something... If we kill this motherfucker before the week is over... I'll let you fuck the real thing."

And it is that what throws Kyle over the edge, splattering his seed over his captain's hand and onto the floor. He grunts as he does, his captain’s name spilling from his mouth in barely a whisper.

Price wipes his hand on the floor, propping himself on his elbow to pat the sergeant's butt. “That’s a good boy, you can relax now, sergeant. Ghost has been on the top floor for half an hour now with the sniper.”

Price still thought it has been hilarious to tease the sergeant like that, both with making him look out the window during the whole ordeal and with the way he took advantage of the neediness of him to give him the half-assed handjob he gave him.

What he didn't think was so funny, was when Thursday afternoon hit and the head of the organisation they were following got the top of his head blown off and Kyle turned to Price, who had almost forgotten about his offer and said: “My room or yours, sir?”

He still found it slightly comical, the way the sergeant was so eager to close the door, locking it, when he entered his room. Because the last thing Price was expecting from the sergeant was the way he ended up blowing his back.

It all started with the sergeant urging him to take off his clothes, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. The sergeant's hands were roaming his body like it was his possessions, and when his mouth entered the equation, Price didn't really mind.

He felt bad when he felt himself slide down Kyle’s throat, feeling mean for the excuse of a handjob the man had received in comparison. But then Kyle's mouth moved lower, licking his heavy balls like it was a delicatessen, and it was when he felt the sergeant's tongue probe at his ring of muscle that had him throwing his head back.

The sergeant had him in the most committed position he had ever found himself in; both metaphorically and literally. Because with him laying on his back, with his legs clutched to his chest, his sergeant tongue deep into his ass and his hand fisting his length, he has never had more gratitude to the lock of the door.

Price can feel himself clench, his orgasm surprising even himself, wanting to hold the sergeant's head to push him impossibly closer to his body. But before he can, Kyle pulls back, licking his lips and orders the captain. “Turn around, sir.”

Never did he think he would see the hungry and lustful expression on his sergeant's face, intimidating and promising enough to make him roll over easily. The sergeant behind him tugs his own length, slapping it between his captain's hairy cheeks making himself groan.

He uses his hand resting on his captain's cheek to spread him, giving him free access to his spit-covered hole before letting his tip catch on it. Not pushing yet, but he bends forward, coming to rest his head on the captain's shoulder. “C’mon, Cap’tain, eyes on the objective, yeah?”

Price turns his head to look at him, confused with what the sergeant means, but it's the smile on his face when his tip finally enters and makes Price’s mouth open at the intrusion that he understands that the sergeant only wanted to see his reaction.

Kyle chuckles behind him. “What’s there to lose, right?” He says, before kissing his captain on his lips, moaning into each other's mouth when Kyle slowly pushes forward. The both of them feeling more coy because of the intimate kiss than for what is happening below waist level.

The sergeant only waits until Price has gotten used to his girth before he starts to snap his hips, pushing in and out with ease and picking up the pace. His hands find the waist of his captain, using it as leverage to stand kneeling behind the captain.

Price's body is flat against the mattress, his dick chafing against the sheets, but with the way Kyle holds his waist, pulling him back to meet every snap of his hips, the only thing that he can do is moan the younger man's name.

Although he is aware of Kyle’s stamina, it still surprises him when the man doesn't seem to be able to tire himself out. The speed, depth and constant stimuli to Price’s prostate have him babbling nonsense, having come undone more than once at this point, his dick not even able to get hard anymore and spilling out onto the puddle of cum between his flaccid dick and the mattress.

He can feel the bruises forming under his sergeant's fingertips, but he can only grab the pillows, face buried into the mattress as he moans loudly and shamelessly at his sergeant’s mistreatment. It's after he comes after who knows how many times, that he hears the sergeant grunt, his thrust becoming sloppy and irregular, and after what feels like hours he feels him spill deep inside of him.

He can barely keep his eyes open enough time to see the sergeant pull out, laying next to him; only for him to slap the captain’s ass hard, making him hiss and saying: “That's a good boy, Cap’tain.”

And because Price is a good captain, and he perfectly knows how important it is to keep his soldiers happy and with the morale high, he knows too that he would definitely make the same offer to the sergeant in the future.

Taglist: @crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

@lyralein @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @dumb12bvtch1212

@thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock

@arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk

@reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat

@lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @fraserbraw

@rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting

@dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708

@katreintjie @sacvh @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr

@yuki2129 @mikaronn @idk-justkane @shanhalen @thatoneslvt

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mockerycrow · 1 year

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Hello!!!!!! So i was wonderinfg if you could do a piece for cod mw2? A platonic 141 (other characters can be added if youd like) x (preferably 18-20 yr old) gn or fem reader. It can be a oneshot or headcannons, i dont mind either format!!! If you do a oneshot, any scenario (a mission, off duty, etc) is fine w me!!! You basically have free reign, just keep it strictly platonic, not even a smidge of the hints w the reader and romantic relationships 👍❤️

Ain’t That A Kick In The Head? (Platonic!141 x Fem!Reader)

cod masterlist

A/N: YESS!! I LOVE PLATONIC FICS!! 99% of my writing so far has been romantic, kind of funny considering I’m aromantic and queer. thank you anon <3 i’m also sorry for taking so long. your speciality isn’t specified, but it can’t be demolitions, im sorry!! plot purposes.

[WARNINGS: mentioned misogyny, fluff.]

Considering how young you are, you deal with quite a lot of people who have low expectations for you. To be fair, you don’t have much experience, but you are a quick learner and that’s very much needed on this base. You’re a Specialist, one rank above Private in the U.S. army ranks. When people first meet you, they expect you to be a coward, a twenty year old girl—is what they like to call you—who doesn’t know the difference between a 5.56 mm cartridge and a 7.62 mm cartridge, a clueless little girl. Of course you did not know everything, but it was clear you know enough and have enough skill as you’re apart of the 141.

When you were first picked for the team, Ghost was a bit skeptical. Your age played a big factor because he was concerned about your level of experience, but he overall trusts Price’s judgement. A huge part of it was him worried about how you would take in all of the traumatizing sights they see on every mission. How you would be able to take someone down without a second thought, even if they pleaded for their life. He didn’t voice this worry, nor did he do anything to “shield” you because he knows you know what you signed up for.

You physically train/spar with Ghost and Gaz separately frequently. They are different in size and in style of defense/attack, so they both give you great pointers on how to defend yourself and how to initiate an attack. You have a schedule with them; when you’re on base, you train with Gaz Mondays and Tuesdays and Ghosts on Thursdays, preferably early in the morning with Gaz and in the evening with Ghost. Even when you perfect your own style for attack and defense, you keep training with them; “So you don’t get rusty.”

Price knows what you signed up for, and he knows that he picked you, so like everyone else on the task force, he begins to train you. Being an expert in violence and timing—unconventional warfare too, he occasionally sits in on your training sessions with Gaz and/or Ghost. Sometimes, he talks with Gaz or Ghost beforehand to set up a specific scenario for you to find a way to get out of alive.

Being said, Price takes you out as well as the team to a training field, doing the exact same thing but in a more.. realistic scenario. Being so young, he figures you still have an unacceptable type of response with “fight, flight, or freeze”. His plan is to strip away the freeze response because that’s the one that will get you killed. He also very specifically has himself and your teammates as the enemies in this field because while you’re supposed to trust your team with your life, there’s also often betrayal in the field.

Soap is a demolitions expert, as well as a sniper. He absolutely refuses to let you handle real bombs at first because he knows you didn’t specialize in demolitions like he did. After spending a few months with you, he brings out non-dangerous replicas of bombs and replicated parts to begin to show you how to take a bomb apart/defuse it, when it’s best to let it explode, or how to put one together for emergencies. He absolutely 110% makes sure you know it’s for emergencies when he isn’t there. It’s not that he thinks you’re incapable, but he can’t help but worry. Him learning about how Gaz and Price met, how Price only had seconds to shove the hostage with a bomb vest strapped to him over that railing? Fucking terrifying to him.

Gaz also helps you complete your interrogation training—not being the interrogator, but then interrogatee. Undergoing several mentally challenging tests himself of this variety, he tasks himself with giving you pointers. Your task is to keep your mouth shut about intel and escape the facility and remain hidden, uncaptured during the entire test. He’s so incredibly used to uncomfortable situations, so his pointers during this—seeing that he passed this test himself, the only one who past it in his class—his advice is helpful.

Besides training with Ghost, he coaches you ambushes and stealth. Every time you’re caught in a test, he coaches you on how to evade, on how to remain hidden even when the enemy is right in front of you. He teaches you how to set up traps and ruses, what traps are most commonly used and spotted and what ones aren’t.

Overall, they know you’re inexperienced and young, but you quickly take their advice and training into account, and you get to teach them a thing or two when you arrive on base. You learn quick and Price finally feels as if you’re ready for an intense stealth mission, accompanied by the team. They don’t have any doubt held in their hearts for you, 100% trusting your abilities.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #mw2 2022 #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #mw2022 #cod #cod mw ghost #ghost x reader #price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #platonic #young!reader #cod headcanons

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good-chimes · 1 year

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In honor of Life series four, Life Series Bake Off AU

NEW SERIES LAUNCHES:

Nation charmed by fresh crop of 12 amateur bakers including intensely competitive student GRIAN, ambitious cake artists BDUBS and SCAR, scientific bread experts TANGO and IMPULSE, and ETHO who has no discernible social media presence and, rumor has it, doesn’t officially exist. Married couple JOEL and LIZZIE raise eyebrows—will they be able to compete against each other?—but this is settled when Lizzie immediately announces she would murder Joel in real life to win and has bought the kitchen knife set for it, and Joel lovingly declares he keeps an axe under his pillow in case this happens.

The judges as usual are renowned cake chef PEARL, bread expert MUMBO, and our two inimitable presenters: BIGB, beloved by the nation for his gentle reassurances of weeping contestants, and MARTYN whose main contribution is his trademark eyebrow waggles as we find out from the judges who’s in trouble this week.

TART WEEK (1)

Tart week gets off to a strong start, with contestant REN charming both the judges and Martyn with his exquisite tarte au citron and his total inability to let a double-entendre go to waste (‘I’m just a tart triumph all over’ he proclaims, to Martyn’s immediate delighted riposte ‘Mm, but what do you do on the weekends?’). Law student JIMMY is not so lucky when a misreading of the recipe leads to ten times the correct amount of butter and a catastrophic oven meltdown. Star baker goes to early favorite BDUBS for an exquisite three-tier tart showstopper.

Week one elimination is, of course, the hapless Jimmy, and the recaps are united on two fronts: it's always nice to see someone on the show who reminds you of your own midnight experiments, but holy shit Jimmy, did it not give you a clue when the melted butter started pouring out of the oven like you’d stabbed the spirit of margarine to death in there. Jimmy's butter meltdown becomes a meme and he sells T-shirts; Joel immediately posts a picture wearing one.

CAKE WEEK (2)

Week two brings cake week and an impressive performance from SCAR, who embarks on a showstopper Baked Alaska in the shape of a snow-covered mountain. Tranquil in the face of GRIAN’S constant disparaging comments about his whisking technique and browned meringue, Scar perseveres and is crowned star baker for the week, while Twitter immediately declares Grian the villain of the season. A contingent of viewers theorising ‘could this be flirting’ are swiftly shouted down on social media and retreat to a dedicated subthread on a cookery forum.

Last week’s star baker BDUBS seems distracted by his new-found friendships with the quiet ETHO, who spends hours on the surprisingly unambitious Victoria Sponge. A conspiracy theory emerges that Etho invented the Victoria Sponge, refuted by weak counterarguments like “cannot possibly be true” and “he would have to be several hundred years old.” Meanwhile the nation is won over by JOEL and LIZZIE’S chemistry as they trade quips and spatulas, unfortunately Joel is eliminated after a jam mishap, at which he declares “at least I went out after Jimmy.”

TEA-TIME WEEK (3)

Tea-time week brings florentines and shortbread, but it’s a sad week for love as REN is out after his overambitious scones fail to impress. “I’m heartbroken,” Martyn announces, and cannot be consoled even by Scott’s superb showstopper petite-fours. Ren was a good sport to the end, everyone agrees. Ren spotted at a Covent Garden coffee shop with Martyn three weeks later.

HALLOWEEN WEEK (4)

The mood is jovial for Halloween week, with judge MUMBO in fake vampire fangs while ETHO bakes cookies in the form of anatomically correct skulls. LIZZIE starts off with adorable witch-hat cupcakes in little witch hats, then spends the rest of the episode precisely and effortlessly crafting a blood red mirror glazed sachertorte which the presenters refuse to look at because it “makes them uncomfortable”, and is subsequently awarded star baker for the most genuine aura of threat ever achieved by a cake.

Meanwhile GRIAN and SCAR continue to genially snipe at each other throughout. TANGO asks BDUBS to turn his oven off at a crucial moment; unfortunately Bdubs forgets and then blames Tango for relying on him, leading to the charred mess of Tango’s showstopper and a social media uproar dubbed “OvenGate”. Bdubs alternately sorrowful and dramatically dismissive. This cruel betrayal knocks Tango out of the tent; a public petition is started for his reinstatement.

WEDDING WEEK (5)

Puppet theater designer CLEO has her star turn in wedding week with ranks of beautiful marzipan figurines on all her bakes. An intense rivalry develops between her and wedding-enthusiast BDUBS, who declares his magnificent fondant confection a dry run for his impending marriage to ETHO, a stranger he met ten days ago. When asked by presenters how much of this is a joke, Etho laughs and says “I guess?”, which leaves the nation none the wiser. Unfortunately IMPULSE’S canapes are considered uninspired and he is uninvited from both the wedding reception and the series.

BREAD WEEK (6)

The feared bread week comes around and all the artistic cake-makers wobble badly. SCAR and GRIAN just scrape through, but CLEO’S triumph last week turns to tragedy despite the trouble she has gone to to model a realistic centaur out of sourdough. Bdubs makes an impromptu speech to camera about how she was robbed but he intends to triumph in her honor.

MEDIEVAL WEEK (7)

The experimental medieval week takes the bakers on an outdoor camping trip where they will attempt to build their own stoves and use them to replicate historical bread techniques. BDUBS’S enthusiasm for this and his drive to impress ETHO turn out to be his downfall as, distracted, he builds a stove that bleeds heat and fails to brown his bread. Etho meanwhile excels at both the survival and breadmaking aspects, leading to a divide on Twitter on whether this level of competence is hot or just very concerning, potentially the cake equivalent of a serial killer. The Victoria Sponge theory is raised again. Etho alleviates some concerns by getting lost three times in an open field over the course of the episode, which loses him enough baking time that dark horse SCOTT pips him to the post of star baker.

WINTER WARMTH WEEK (8)

Week eight arrives and five bakers remain: LIZZIE and SCOTT are known to be good all-rounders, ETHO is the reigning technical expert, SCAR remains the favorite on the cakes side, and GRIAN is mainly known for his habit of constantly sneaking spoonfuls of Scar’s cake mix so he can mock the taste. Social media opinion is divided into “Grian is a good baker actually”, “Grian is only still in because of executive meddling”, and the small but determined contingent of “no guys we really think they’re flirting??” who have emerged from their cookery subthread unbowed and with compilations of video evidence.

The set gets cozy with winter warmth week. Brandy-based showstoppers are the order of the day, and LIZZIE wins the episode by crafting a biscuit unicorn with a mane you can set on fire. ETHO invents an intricate brandy plumbing system to shoot flaming alcohol above his plum pudding—this attempt is in fact a good deal too successful and instead sets MARTYN’S hair on fire. GRIAN comes to his aid but ends up adding more brandy. Judge PEARL extinguishes the flames with a bowl of cinnamon milk. The judges are clearly not feeling merciful when it comes to the scores and Etho’s run comes to a premature end.

DOUBLES WEEK (9)

Some old favorites return for doubles week, where each of the remaining four bakers is helped out by an eliminated contestant on the other end of the phone. GRIAN for once assesses the limits of his own talents and asks to pair up with ETHO, a plan that immediately pays off when the contestants are challenged with a tricky technical that sees them baking the perfect pumpernickel bread. SCAR, having asked to pair up with BDUBS, is quickly underwater as neither of them understand yeast.

Scar’s floundering proves too much for Grian, who belligerently passes along his pumpernickel tips from Etho, saving Scar’s technical enough for him to scrape through. When challenged by Martyn, Grian grudgingly admits, “I just want Scar to stay in, okay?” Some recaps clear him of his villain status; others are still convinced it’s a fluke.

Meanwhile SCOTT turns in an efficient technical with help from CLEO and also JIMMY, who is apparently sitting in Cleo’s living room just to heckle Scott. LIZZIE calls on husband JOEL, but a combination of overconfidence and flirting distracts them both, leading to a burnt crust and Lizzie’s elimination from the final four.

MERINGUE WEEK (Final Episode)

In the finale, SCOTT, SCAR, and GRIAN face off over a series of escalating meringue-based challenges. Whatever alliance sprung up between Grian and Scar in the last episode is clearly water under the bridge as the two of them obsessively steal each other’s ingredients and annoy each other into trivial mistakes. This escalates into a noisy quarrel over the main challenge of the week: an edible diorama of a cactus ring. Scar’s attempts to ‘aesthetically correct’ Grian’s mountain diorama leads to Grian melting his sugar-spun cacti with a crème brulée torch.

The two are no longer speaking by the showstopper, where Grian embarks on a desperate attempt to make up points with an ambitious trifle in a castle-shaped wall of macarons while Scar builds his own grand macaron diorama. The clock ticks down. Scott is creating an impeccable strawberry pavlova. The trifle is going badly. Grian is covered in sugar and regret. BigB pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

At the last moment, Scar sacrifices half his perfect macarons to donate to Grian’s diorama. Grian, for once lost for words, grabs his apron and kisses him right in front of Martyn’s swiftly-derailed countdown. “Grian had a beautiful artistic vision,” Scar says sentimentally afterwards. “You have to respect the craft!” They snog behind the tasting table. Mumbo gamely attempts to award points. Pearl in a laughing fit behind the cameras. Martyn and BigB solemnly wrap up the shot with Martyn’s best cake-based innuendoes. Grian and Scar do not notice.

Scott wins the series. He got so many more points on the cactus ring technical.

#ethubs #treebark #scarian #zombiecleo #jimmy solidarity #i'm scared to use scott's tag he's on here #for blocking ->#traffic shipping

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

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“Perhaps I should look more into chiropterology or ornithology as a possible future life goal after all this is over, I’m sure I’m more of an expert then others my age if not older and already on the field.”

Damian gave a quick glance over at the large bat hanging next to him on a customized bar set, customized in a way that it might actually just be a small ladder with some steps missing to make sure there was enough hanging room but to be fair it worked and was light enough for him to move around with ease even when the other choose to rest on it has well.

The bat, a Livingstone's fruit bat, just nodded its head at his statement, giving off a seemingly pleased aura at the possibility of a such careers.

Father always did seem happy do indulge them in any chosen path that didn’t involve the family’s nighttime job.

Besides Grayson’s stint as an officer…

And yes, he was sure the overwhelming sized beast of a bat was his Father, no matter what form, he would recognize the man much like he could recognize the others.

Coming home from a patrol, no it was not him and Jon hanging out, they were doing important things like feeding the stray cats, solving a simple case of stolen goods and maybe shattering the kneecap of a few jerks…okay…maybe he was the one doing the shattering but Jon took them to the hospital like the good team up they were, anyway that wasn’t the point.

The point was when he came home and discovered his family and Drake had been cursed to take on their namesake form…he didn’t act as distressed as he should have and instead took absolute delight in the fact everyone was an animal now.

Sure he too would have enjoyed being cursed, which yes, he knows that isn’t the point of a curse, but it was nice to be relied on without voiced concerns questioning him. Why he preferred animal companions anyway…

This was a learning experience for all it seemed.

Father chirped at him, head tilting in a questioning manner and eyes studying his face…concerned…

Luckily before Damian would subject himself to explaining his feelings about being the odd one out and how it seemed they all have gotten closer miraculously, the ding of the elevator caught their attention leading to Pennyworth stepping out looking neutral as a bulldog bat let its feeling known as it screeched on the gentleman’s shoulder.

The screeching most likely caused by the Asian Koel that was flying around screeching back.

Seems like Todd and Grayson have gotten in another argument…how when they are literally unable to speak was a mystery in its own…

He could hear the others starting to shrill back at the commotion and it wouldn't be long till he was surrounded by the flock of birds and bats trying to see what was going on.

The slight movement under his hood had his newest companion peeking their tiny head out in interest, the Honduran White bat just sneezed at the sight at the group crowding around the batcomputer, a few even climbing over and on Father as though he was just another hanging point or a big fluffy nest.

Damian was unsure who this was, besides the fact they obviously had something to do with this mess since every time the small bat was out and by itself, one of the others would pin it down with their weight, screech unholy at it, or even take off with it in their talons.

Most of it was scare tactics but since the last incident left his new friend with an injured wing and a few very remorseful family members. Their guest had decided Damian was the best place to hide and depend on and had refused to come out near the others.

Which was fine, it made it easier for them to work this out when both parties obviously wanted to return everyone to their right species.

They just needed a starting point…

“Master Jason please stop biting your siblings!”

And to get everyone to stop attacking each other…

Just a quick little drabble, wasn’t sure what to make everyone else but I figured others would know, hope you enjoy it though!

Livingstone’s fruit bat: One of largest bats. Wingspan can grow up to 6 ft plus.

Bulldog bat: The loudest bat. Face of a bulldog and sharp teeth.

Asian Koel: Black cuckoo bird with tint of blue in its feathers, known to be one of the most annoying bird breeds. It call sounds like its going uwu.

Honduran Bats: Tiny little white bats with leaf shaped noses.

Pfft, yes! Absolutely!

Someone else suggested Danny being the bio brother/son of one of the batfam and Desiree granting his wish to know his family and somehow turning them all into animals. Maybe she does it just for lolz her powers aren't entirely clear.

Anyway they all blame him for the animal thing and Danny is just chilling out in Damians hood/pockets. Danny likes being a bat and being spoiled taken care of, especially if he's not dealing with Amity anymore for whatever reason.

He has no place to go and no reason to leave so maybe he stays a bat even after the others are returned to thier true forms. Everyone assumes hes some type of magical bat but doesn't question it too much further until a long time later when one of the kids are in a part of the mansion that no one but Alfred ever really goes to and finds a room decorated in a space theme. Sus.

Also the tiny white bat follows Damian everywhere. School? Check. Car? Check. Patrol? Check. He just can't shake it. Frankly he doesn't want to.

#the alien answers #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #bat au #literal bat au #i love this #i have wayyy to many asks in my inbox

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

Nothing is Certain

CW: Heavy angst (character death); unrequited love; idiots in love; drunken confessions

Word Count: 3664

Other Pieces: The final installment. The first part is here, the second part is here.

A year passes. Marcus doesn’t see you, doesn’t hear from you, and he tries to be okay with that. He tries to accept that he was never a real friend to you and that you’ve made your choice to move forward in your life without him.

He tries to be okay with it. He often fails, and he is tempted all the time to reach out, to find where you live, to accidentally run into you. He knows that’s stalking territory, creepy behavior territory, so he doesn’t. When the FBI needs an art expert and when they reach out to you, he always passes the communication off to another agent. He refuses to cross that boundary.

He goes to therapy. He gets a rescue dog he names Rothko. He dates casually, but he finds the desperate drive to not be alone has died down a little. He can be alone and be okay. He doesn’t need to fall into one bad relationship after another.

He hopes you’re not alone. He hopes you’ve found someone who recognized your worth the minute they saw you, and he hopes they cherish you every single day.

He considers that growth: to pray fervently every night for your happiness instead of his own. For the first time in his life, he’s considering someone other than himself.

-----

A year passes, and Marcus calls home every Sunday night to talk to his parents, but mostly his mother.

When his mother calls in the middle of the day on a random Tuesday, he knows it can’t be good news. He answers, hears his mother say your name.

“Her dad died,” she says, and Marcus can hear the tears in her voice over the line. “Just this morning.”

He sits down at his desk, hard. He listens to the rest of it—how it was sudden, unexpected, a likely heart attack. How there’s no arrangements yet, obviously, but how you’re already on your way home to Texas to be with your family.

“Mom, what should I do?” he asks, bereft. He has no idea what to do. Should he go home to Texas too? Or should he leave you alone as he has been?

“Oh, honey,” she says. “You know her best, but I can tell you: moments like these make all the petty stuff fall away.”

Breaking your heart and mistreating your love for him hardly seems petty, but Marcus books the ticket home the moment he hangs up with his mother.

-----

He knows he’s made the right decision the minute he finally sees you.

He goes with his mom over to your childhood home, his mom bearing a tray of tamales and him carrying a small flower arrangement. Despite being friends as kids, Marcus rarely ever went to your house—you always went to his. Your family was a step lower on the socio-economic ladder, and you had seemed embarrassed as a kid by how much smaller your home was, how much shabbier. How your mom worked while his was able to stay home and keep their house clean and make homemade meals each night.

Your older sister answers the door, hugs his mom. Takes the tray and the flowers with a murmured thanks, then calls your name.

He knows he’s made the right decision to come to Texas to be with you: the moment you catch sight of him, you run straight to him. Straight to his arms.

And for the first time in his life, he’s there to catch you.

-----

Marcus doesn’t have much experience with funerals. Two of his grandparents are still alive; the other two died before he was born. His parents are still alive. He’s never lost a coworker in the field.

The closest he has is the death of his childhood dog, and that hardly qualifies.

When he sees you that moment at your house, he only holds you. He murmurs against you that it’s okay, but then he stops because of course it’s not okay.

He says he’s there, that he’s got you, that whatever you need he’s there for you, and that seems better.

He leads you through the house and takes you outside into the backyard, and he urges you to sit on the steps of the back porch beside him. He puts a tentative arm around your shoulders and you sag against him, grateful.

“No one saw this coming,” you tell him, your voice hoarse with tears. “He just had a checkup. Clean bill of health.” You pause. “They think it was a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You start to cry again, quiet, as though you are exhausted. You must be, Marcus figures. Your world’s been upended, you probably threw together hasty travel plans, and now you’re in your childhood home, surrounded by your siblings and their young, noisy children. Now you have to say goodbye and bury your father.

He sits with you like that for a long while. He keeps his arm around you, takes your hand in his. He keeps you tucked against him, safe, and he lets you cry until you can’t anymore.

-----

If Marcus has learned anything in therapy, it’s this: he’s not always the main character of a moment. Sometimes he has to step back, content himself with the role of a supporting character.

Which is what he does now.

Old Marcus would have forced himself into your family’s inner circle, pushed his well-intentioned kindness onto you and everyone else. Which is why it was a tough thing to learn in therapy—because his intentions are always so well-meaning.

New and Improved Marcus thinks of himself as being on standby. Of waiting in the wings for his cue.

At the wake, for example: he stays off to the side with his parents, but he keeps an eye on you. When you seem to reach a point of…something, he pulls you out of the receiving line, takes you to the private room for family, and presses a glass of water onto you.

“You doing okay?” he asks, and you nod. You drink your water and hand him the empty cup, then fix him with a grateful look.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

At the luncheon, for example: he doesn’t get in the middle of it when you and your sister start to bicker. There’s old resentments there; she stayed in your hometown while you went away for college. There’s accusations of snobbery, of thinking you’re better than your family from her. From you, there’s accusations of martyrdom, of thinking your sister is the heir to the family matriarchy.

Old Marcus would have stepped in. New Marcus only goes to you when you and your sister part, exasperated with each other. He only waits for you to make the first move, and when you turn to him with a look of despair on your face, he hugs you, tells you that everyone is just spread thin and grieving, emotions roiling near the surface.

And at the graveside service: Marcus notices that your family is paired off. Your mother sits with your older brother, your sister is with her husband. Your other sister is paired off with her fiancée. Only you sit alone, your hands clasped in your lap, your head bowed.

Marcus doesn’t sit beside you. He hasn’t earned that right, but his heart breaks to see you alone, sealed off from any comfort.

He sits behind you, his chair right behind yours. He leans forward, puts his hand on your shoulder, and you startle, turn and see him.

“I’m here,” he says, his voice low, and you nod.

Then you unclasp your hands and reach one out to him. You reach back and he reaches forward, and he holds your hand tight while your father is laid to rest.

-----

Afterwards, the two of you go for a walk. You’re restless—relieved for the ceremony of burying someone to be over, but exhausted from the grieving…and dreading the grief to come.

“What can I do to help?” Marcus asks, and you shake your head.

“Just being here…it means more than you know.”

“It was the least I could do.”

You start to say something, then shake your head. You walk another few blocks in silence before you finally offer, “I’m sorry about how I left it with you. At the coffee shop. After the Jerzy painting.”

“Hey, no, don’t even—”

“I was mean about it,” you interrupt. “You were trying to tell me about Theresa—”

“And you didn’t need to hear it,” he cuts in. “You weren’t mean at all. You were standing up for yourself.”

“No, I—”

“Stop.” Marcus stills, and when you do too, he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to face him. “You gave me the kick in the ass that I needed. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I started therapy.” He pauses, then adds, “I finally realized how badly I’ve treated you.”

“Marcus—”

“No.” He shakes his head, squeezes your upper arms. “You did a good thing that day.”

You look skeptical. “It doesn’t feel like it was good.”

He smooths his hands down your arms, then takes your hands in his. It makes his stomach flip: all the times he touched you in the past—the hugs and incidental touches—and it was never like this.

“I needed to hear it. I took you for granted for so long. You are…were my best friend, and I treated you terribly.” He pauses, sighs. “I’m sorry for never being there for you. For all the things you’ve done, amazing things, and I wasn’t there to celebrate you.”

You squeeze his hands and offer him a soft smile. “You’re here now. That counts for something.”

-----

Your father’s death and its aftermath…it’s the beginning of your reconciliation.

You return to your friendship, each of you different than you were before. You’re sadder, still grieving—but more willing to speak up, to not blindly follow him. He’s more self-aware, more deferential to your needs.

Back in D.C., you rekindle your friendship. You text each other; you get lunch together. You ease into it, but before long, the two of you are going to galleries together. Going for walks with his dog. Exploring the touristy stuff in D.C. that you both had missed before.

It’s the most miserable Marcus has ever been.

You loved him as a teenager and carried that love well into adulthood. It had been a precious gift he squandered as he chose women like Chloe, like Theresa. You had loved him, then mourned him, then moved onto a true friendship with him.

It’s a tragedy, then, to Marcus—how he falls in love with you far too late. How he only falls for you long after that bright light you carried for him has been extinguished and replaced by a chaste camaraderie.

And worse than being miserable, he’s trapped—because now that you’re friends again, he can’t go anywhere. He can’t ghost you, he can’t fade away. Every lunch, every text is the same: the same fluttery feeling in his stomach, his chest…then the sinking feeling, the sick-to-his-stomach feeling.

Now he finally knows what you had gone through, all those years before. Karma can be cruel in her neat simplicity, Marcus finds.

-----

Six months pass. A year. You return to Texas for the one year anniversary of your father’s death, and Marcus stays in D.C. He stops by your townhouse every day to feed your cat, bring in your mail.

Alone in your space, he allows himself to wallow a bit. Your home is so perfectly you: warm and cozy, neat. You have, unsurprisingly, an excellent eye for color, for lines, for the art you hang on your wall.

Marcus goes from room to room, checks the place out. The bedroom smells like you, the light coconut scent of the lotion you wear. The giant, ragged sweatshirt you wear around the house hangs over a chair, and he scoops it up, takes in the cozy scent of you.

It’s easy to pretend that this is his home too, that you’re only at work and will walk through the door at any moment. That you’ll make dinner together, eat together, swap stories about work. That maybe you’ll crash on the couch, put the T.V. on and he will rub your feet or you’ll pull his head into your lap, finger-comb through his curls.

He doesn’t even allow the fantasy to extend to the bedroom. He never lets it get that far. It’s difficult enough to even imagine the mundane, day-to-day intimacies. To imagine loving you like that, taking you to bed and being joined to you…then surfacing to his sad reality…it’d be too much. It’d break his heart entirely.

-----

Marcus knows you go on dates. You mention them obliquely sometimes; you pass on plans with him because you have “a thing” or are “meeting up” with someone. You never say the word “date,” and he wonders if you can guess his feelings for you and are trying to spare him the pain of knowing you’re going out with other men.

He goes a single date. It’s a friend of a coworker, and she’s lovely and funny…but the date goes miserably. Marcus can’t summon up his usual charm. He can’t stop thinking of you, in your townhouse with your cat, curled up on your couch. Probably reading, in your pajamas and your ragged, oversized sweatshirt, bare feet tucked underneath you—

Marcus is as miserable as he’s ever been.

-----

He’s trapped. He has no idea what to do other than suffer as he has been.

It’s a sweetly torturous suffering, because he has you back in his life. His oldest, dearest, best friend. The girl who sat beside him in art class, who grew up to be a woman who makes him laugh, who bolsters his flagging spirits. Who gives him a soft place to rest when he’s tired or heart-sore. Who cooks her signature buffalo chicken mac and cheese when he needs a comfort meal. Who sketches ridiculous little caricatures of him and tucks them into his coat pockets, the glove compartment of his car to find days or weeks later.

-----

He resigns himself to a lifetime of this: of being your friend, of never having you completely.

Isn’t friendship better than nothing? Isn’t a half-life better than none? Aren’t washed-out watercolors better than no color at all?

He settles into the sweet pain of this life, and he succeeds for months. The pain becomes familiar and loses its sting. He learns to live with it.

But ultimately, he fails. Of course he does. The heart wants what it wants, and Marcus wants nothing so much as he wants you.

-----

It happens that you both spend the holidays in D.C. It is unplanned, but his unit is shorthanded and he can’t spare the time to go home to Texas. You have a project you’re working on and can’t leave either and besides—the coolness between your sister and you remains, and you don’t feel especially welcome in her home for the holidays.

“We should do our own thing,” you suggest, and of course he agrees. There’s no plausible reason why you shouldn’t—hell, even his dog and your cat get along, curling up together after chasing each other when he brings Rothko over.

You plan a sleepover on Christmas Eve. Marcus packs an overnight bag, brings Rothko. It’s so similar to those nights when he was getting over his divorce and you were working through your thesis. He slept over a lot back then, slept on your couch and woke up to you making him breakfast.

For Christmas Eve, the two of you keep it simple, homey. You make a big pot of spaghetti, split a bottle of red wine for dinner. After dinner, Marcus does the dishes and you mix a pitcher of tequila sunrises. Then the two of you retire to the living room to watch old movies together by the light of your Christmas tree.

Marcus can blame any number of things. There’s the atmosphere—dark except for the colorful lights of your tree and the light of the television. The room is warm, and he’s in comfortable clothes. You’re in your pajamas (and old sweatshirt), curled up on the opposite end of the couch from him.

There’s the movies themselves. You both love old movies, the old black and white screwball comedies and romances and thrillers. Hitchcock mysteries. Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Jimmy Stewart.

There’s also your pitcher of drinks. You always pour with a heavy hand, and when added to the wine from dinner, Marcus finds himself well on his way to being drunk without even meaning to.

But the evening is a perfect representation of his deal with you now: close, but so far. You’re within arm’s reach, and yet you may as well be miles away.

He gets through most of “Sabrina.” He watches Audrey Hepburn fall for William Holden, then Humphrey Bogart, watches Bogart fall for Hepburn and think himself too old, unworthy. Getting more and more drunk, Marcus makes it all the way to near the end, when Bogart tells Hepburn to suppose he was younger, suppose he was his brother, suppose he had the courage to ask her to join him in Paris—

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you look over at him in alarm.

“Marcus, what—” You untuck your legs from under you and shift to kneel by him, your hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He can’t look at you. He’s ashamed and depressed, and a year’s worth of misery and desire come spilling out in equal measure.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, and he tries to keep his voice level but he knows he sounds hysterical, a man standing at the edge. He knows he sounds drunk too, slurring his words just enough to be noticeable.

“Can’t do what?”

“This. Us. I l-love you, and I fucked it all up, and I thought…thought I could just go back to being friends again, but I f-fucked it up so bad and if I hadn’t been so fucking s-stupid, we’d already be m-married. I would have married you, not Chloe, not wasted time with Theresa, and now I’m miserable all the fucking time—”

“Jesus,” you breathe out, but you put your hands on his face, cup his cheeks and steer his face to look at you.

“Marcus, you’ve been miserable?” you ask, and your voice sounds so sorrowful, your eyes look so sad that his own eyes fill with tears again.

“You’re my dearest friend,” he tells you. He hooks his hands on your wrists, and he can just feel your pulse under his thumb, fast and solid. “You…you mean more to me than anyone. I’m just…I’m just sad. That I messed it up and can’t f-fix it.”

“Oh.” You gaze at him; you brush your thumbs softly against his cheekbones. “Marcus, I never went anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“I’m right here.” You sigh, then shift one hand to stroke through his hair, finger combing through his curls just as he imagined. “You’re pretty drunk, aren’t you?”

He grumbles, “you use too much tequila.”

He’s too drunk to understand the look on your face. He’s too deep in his feelings, too far gone in his fear of losing you. You sigh again, then take your hands from him.

“How about I get you a glass of water, and then we can start a new movie, okay? And maybe we can pick up this conversation once you’re feeling more like yourself.”

-----

You switch off “Sabrina” and put on “Blazing Saddles,” and as Marcus rapidly sobers up, he works out how he’s going to escape this horrifying, mortifying evening.

He’s FBI. He could, say, throw himself out of your living room window to escape. Do a neat roll on your front lawn, then spring to his feet, take off running for shelter. He’d have to leave Rothko behind but after his humiliating admission, it’s every man and dog for themselves.

The reality is more mundane. He sits forward on the couch, his hands on his knees, and he mutters that he should get going.

“You aren’t staying?” You sound surprised, and a little hurt too.

He can’t even look you in the eye. He stares forward, off to the side, at your tree. “I don’t think I can stay.”

“If you…if you only said those things because you were drunk, we can just forget it, okay? Nothing has to change.” Your voice wobbles on the last word, and he glances back at you to see your eyes wide, shiny with tears.

Well, shit. Now he’s made you cry. Again. Who knows how many times you’ve cried over him in the course of your life, and here he is again…making you cry on Christmas Eve.

“I meant those things,” he say solemnly. “Of course I meant them.”

“And you think I don’t feel the same way?”

He raises his hand, drops it in a gesture of helplessness. “Why would you?”

“Oh, Marcus.” You reach out, take his hand in yours. “Do you really think I just stopped loving you after that day in the coffee shop? Really?”

He snorts, shakes his head. Bitter. “I would have.”

“Well, I’m not you, then.” A long pause, and he chances to look at you—you’re gazing back at him with the same big doe eyes, shiny with tears.

“I never stopped, Marcus Pike. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Even when I hated you, even when I very much disliked you, I still loved you. Still love you.”

What other choice does he have? He leans forward and kisses you: the girl who sat beside him in art class who became his dearest, oldest friend who became the love of his life.

#marcus pike #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #tropes-and-tales

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j-eryewrites · 1 year

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Love Story

MAIN MASTER LIST

ANON Request: Can you do a fic based on “love story” by Taylor Swift? Sherlock and the reader are in a relationship, but he's older than her and her mother is probably not for this marriage, so they meet, hiding from others, and like the song he proposes to her.

Author’s Notes: OMG this was so fun to write! Super fluffy and slightly OOC Sherlock. I hope you guys enjoy it! I tried to not make this one too long, but oh well…

Warning: Just major fluff

Flashes of gold and silver twirled around the room. Under the lights of the chandeliers, partners waltz hand in hand. The women dressed from head to toe in the finest silks and fabrics. They wore the shiniest and most entrancing of jewellery. The men were sharply dressed. Not a wrinkle in sight on their tuxedos as they led their partners around the room. Their elegance and grace exceeded your own as you admired the view along the wall.

You’d never seen a live orchestra before, let alone have one accompany the dancers at a ball. It was London’s greatest charity event of the year. All those who oozed importance or wealth attended. Never in your life could you have imagined you’d be one of those people. You wouldn’t say you were anyone of importance or wealthy. However, you were important to someone.

“Meet me in the garden.”

You don’t need to see to know who whispered into your ear. The sharp constants, slight coarseness, and tone seething with intelligence only meant one thing–Sherlock.

You don’t even get to reply because he’s out of sight by the time you turn around. You looked back once more at the ball letting the music and dancers spin you into a trance before the cool air of the outdoors called for you.

The garden itself was just as breathtaking as the life of the ball. The moon showed brightly that night, as did the stars. The sky seemed to dance to its own song. The silver light cascaded down illuminating your path. In the garden, Sherlock had said. Where you did not know, but something told you that you’d find him, just like you did all those years ago.

We were both young when I first saw you

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

I'm standing there

He said he needed an expert. You didn’t understand why it was you. You were only a freshly graduated art student just making your way into the world. Name after name you gave Sherlock, all people who were better qualified than you to give the world’s only consulting detective advice.

He proved you wrong. You were the freshest mind of them all. Your mind was still structured by the greats and the lessons your schooling gave you. You didn’t have experience or time to make art your own, unlike the others you suggested instead. You didn’t forget your schooling, how could you when it was all you knew?

You gave your advice. A case was solved and soon there was another. One after the other it came. How could you refuse? After all, he said he needed an expert.

See you make your way through the crowd

And say "Hello"

Little did I know

That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles

“Here,” Sherlock said before dropping something smooth and small into the palm of your hand.

You pry away your fingers and smile. A pebble. A rock. The shiniest thing you’ve ever seen. If you looked at it just right, there were hints of green and blue. You peer up at Sherlock.

“It reminded me of you,” Sherlock muttered. His cheekbones were ever so slightly blushed, and his sapphire blue eyes averted yours.

“Sherlock–” You grinned.

“I read that penguins present what they deem the most perfect stones to those they wish to court,” Sherlock explained.

You look down at the small stone in your hand.

“Yes”

Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

It's a love story, baby, just say yes

Mycroft. You were wondering when you would meet Sherlock’s brother. You never expected to be forced into a black car and driven to the middle of nowhere. The man was just how you pictured him: Stern, cold, tall, and intelligent.

He told you to stay away. Sentiment is a chemical defect in the brain. A defect that Sherlock must not have. He offered you money and anything your heart desired. You shook your head. You already had your heart’s desire.

(Takes place at a ball/gala. Reader and Sherlock are there, and he’s asked her to meet him in the garden. As she’s walking through the garden, she is getting flashbacks on how they met: Reader needs help on a case and they meet Sherlock, then cut to after the case on the back of an ambulance, Sherlock asks the reader to go for coffee sometime, then it cuts to Mycroft meeting with reader basically paying her to stay away from Sherlock since Sentiment is a chemical defect in the brain. She refuses and now we come to the ball. She finds Sherlock in the garden and he’s proposing to her. It ends with yes and then the song lyrics (these are scattered throughout)

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said

"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone

I love you, and that's all I really know

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

Your hands were cold from the night air, but you never cared. “Meet me in the garden,” he said, and, in the garden, you did find him. A head full of dark curls that you loved to brush your fingers through. Eyes that sang of home and you wished you could never leave. Sherlock stood there in the garden next to the roses and the lilies.

He held out his hand to which you placed yours. His lips meet each of your knuckles before pulling away. There was something on your finger. It was small, round, and smooth.

The pebble glimmered under the moonlight. You gasped, cried, and smiled. A small stone you thought you had lost now found home on your finger.

“Will you marry me?” Sherlock whispered.

Yes

_______________________________________________________________

Comment below if you would like to be added to the Sherlock one shot tag list.

Tag list: @bartokthealbinobat @astudyinlaura @sherlockstrangewolf

_____________________________________________________________

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xxlovelynovaxx · 6 months

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Fine, I won't reblog this with "well actually"

I'll screenshot it and tell you to fuck off with your sanctimonious universalizing of an extremely varied experience.

Anger holders/persecutors/other demonized roles? Communication doesn't work for every system.

You're not bad if you "lock up and mistreat" parts because it works to keep your system safe and healthy.

You're not bad if you treat abusive people, entities, or monsters in your system as such and refuse to give them the time of day.

As a large system who the above post is usually true for, but who also has literal personifications of our suicidal depression that have abused us and tried to kill all of us stalking the lower reaches of the headspace... no actually, communication is not always the answer.

Some headmates are villains and monsters. Full stop. Maybe not in your system. Maybe in your system communication is always the answer. Maybe in MOST systems, even.

But moralizing how someone deals with intensely interpersonal issues within their system because it would hurt the headmates YOU have that have acted similarly (especially when not all systems even are made of multiple PEOPLE, my gods respect systems who DON'T see their headmates/facets at people, I'm not asking) is ironically, just demonizing another set of headmates and treating them as a villain.

And I'll tell you what I would tell any person, who shares a body with me or not.

I will treat you as well as I can without compromising my own safety and well-being.

If I can only treat you as a rabid animal without getting bitten by you and contracting whatever it is making you lash out and be wildly unsafe, then I'll treat you as a rabid animal.

(Also, most people who know anything about rabies just... call in experts who can safely capture and sedate animals with a horrific terminal illness to put them out of their misery? Idk about you, maybe it's just a turn of speech, but if my headmates had some sort of deadly cognitohazard transmitted by abusive treatment of others it would just make sense to treat them that way?)

Anyway, no, it's not always abusive to treat harmful/abusive headmates the same way you'd treat an external abuser or person threatening or harming you. Like do you see headmates as people, or not? Because people don't owe their abusers, hateful bigots, or anyone else that's directly harming them jack shit.

Just because you have to share a headspace and/or body doesn't make that less true.

And while we are prison abolitionists and rehabilitation-minded for people all the way...

We also want to recognize that first of all, that is not the responsibility of the victims, ever, and second of all, not all headmates are people.

Not only do parts based systems exist but so do headmates that are monsters. That are dark extraplanar entities. That give no quarter and don't want any either. That are utterly amoral and utterly alien to most sapient life. That are committed only to destruction, harm, or similar.

So no, you're not only "making it worse", you're not even always harming a person or living thing by doing this, and even if you are, fucking self-defense is a phrase for a reason.

So fuck right out of here with forcing your personal insystem moral systems and ethical codes on other systems.

Have some respect for systems different than you.

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yourssinfullyquiche · 2 years

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RANDOM headcanons (PART II)

*Pictures do not belong to me and are taken from Google and Unsplash

I've had to cut one of the headcanons out T^T. It's just too long & it's exceeding tumblr's word limit. Maybe I'll include it in one of my future fics ^_^

Gavin x you

WC: 2298

Beta: Quiche

Enjoy reading~

When you turned away from him for how shocked, angry and disappointed you were when the fatigue, sullenness and bruises you slowly discovered were actually from experimentations they were doing on him, something he actively volunteered for. It’s always the same spiel, “I did it to protect you”. You couldn’t stop the groan of frustration that escaped. Why? Why does he always think that? As if you’re incapable of understanding anything he does, as if that’s going to somehow remove or placate the dread you feel every time he leaves for a mission—the warmth of his kisses fading as soon as the sound of the engine disappears—as if everything he tells you will stop your thoughts from spiralling into the deep dark cold void of emptiness. Of course his words led to a painful fight and the next thing you knew, he fell on his knees hugging your belly so tightly, fingers digging into your hips refusing to let you go, burrowing into your warmth which quickly dampened with his silent tears. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Pl-Please… don't. I’m scared.” It was the first time you heard him utter those words, panic and genuine fear in his voice and eyes. He never allowed himself to admit to being afraid. Maybe it was the harsh upbringing of his father or lack thereof, maybe it was his guilt for not saving his mother, maybe it’s because he felt like he would lose you if he did show his fears. Whatever the reason, your heart was torn asunder and you couldn’t bear to see the light of your life losing its core strength. Dropping to your knees, bringing his head gently to your shoulders, you caressed his back and combed your fingers through his soft amber strands, massaging his scalp. As his sobs mellowed, you cupped his cheeks forcing him to look you in the eye. “I was only going for a drive. I’m not going to leave you. Not ever. But please listen to me, I can’t bear seeing you like this. You do so much for everyone but it’s not worth gaming your own life. You’re not protecting me like this, you’re only pushing me away. We promised, remember? To be there for each other no matter what, happy or sad. I can’t lose you too. So please, moving forward whatever happens we talk about these things and then we face it together.” With a shuddering breath, swollen eyes and a red nose, he nodded, conviction gleaming in his orbs. Regretful and determined, a little salty but most of all sweet, sweet blissful relief. That was how the affectionate adjoining tasted.

“Hey, stop that.” Those words coupled with a bewildered look were the first to greet you when you turned around—one hand holding a jar of crunchy Biscoff spread, the other, a butter knife with patches of the spread still evident. “What? I’m just eating”, you shrugged at his nonplussed face and continued scooping more of the spread. Satisfied with the amount, your taste buds were about to rekindle its experience with the textured caramel nutty, gingery flavour when the utensil was snatched from your palm. “With a butter knife??” Gavin's voice engaged a higher pitch matching his incredulity. “It’s dangerous! I don’t want you to get hurt. Why don’t you use a spoon like a normal person?” This from the man who climbs in through the windows of your shared home instead of using the perfectly able door which has you suffering from mini heart attacks all the time. But you pushed that thought aside as you were more interested in satisfying your taste buds. “Butter knives are blunt, it won’t hurt me. Shouldn’t you be the expert of that?, your tone quiet but sassy as you grabbed the butter knife still covered with spread, quickly licking it before Gavin could pull it out from your grasp, a triumphant look forming on your face. And that began the cat and mouse chase with you brandishing the utensil—only you could go so far as you were no match for Gavin’s athletic body and speed. One muscular arm quickly scooped you up as if you weighed nothing and placed you on the marble counter—both hands on either side of your waist effectively trapping you. You stared at his face laughing at his expression—he sucks at being upset with you. So you coyly lifted the butter knife again just to provoke him. He grabbed it and glared at you. “Stop doing that. Or I-I’ll...” he trailed off, all bravado disappeared in an instant as you provoked him further, teasing for a consequence when you sensed Gavin’s reluctance. So, you were utterly surprised when the words “no kisses” were thrown. As much as his glares and smugness might fool others, it was not fooling you. You knew Gavin risked losing in this too, there was no way he was going to give up kisses. Daintily wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his hips, you brought him closer and whispered coquettishly, “You sure about that? We both know who loves kisses moreee.” Cheeks tinted pink, Gavin suppressed his embarrassment with a cough and protested but was interrupted when a quick kiss wetted his lips thereby whetting his appetite with need. One kiss teased another and a two and before you knew it, he had his tongue down your throat, the remains of Biscoff sweetening the taste. The kiss, eager like its owner, had you arching your body towards him, hands grasping fistfuls of his hair. With a bite to your lower lip, Gavin pulled away, heavy shaky breaths warming your nose and you were finally released from your daze. “See,” you said but your own breathless voice was betraying your stance. “We both lose,” Gavin said with an air of conspiracy while smirking in his victory. “I may have started all the other kisses after the first but you were the one pulling my neck closer and that led to our last hot kiss.” You rolled your eyes at his mirthful glance and exaggeration, groaning out a reluctant “fineeeee”. Acquiescence was gained but no promises of completely abandoning your habit were made—that chase ended with one final Biscoff filled kiss.

The wails of the baby had Gavin kissing your sweaty temple, thanking you for giving a gift so precious he swore he would protect him with every fibre of his being. When he held his baby boy in his arms, like all new parents, he was afraid if he could be a good father to his son—one that was unfortunately missing in his own life growing up. But when those big curious brown eyes stared at him, feeling comfortable in his father’s presence, Gavin sealed a promise with tears that this child would never grow to feel the loss of a father’s love. The boy, cautious and quiet but a kind soul that loves so fiercely, revered his parents. The girl gave a scare at first when her cries were not heard. An inexplicable pain, terror and defeat coursed through your body causing you to howl in anguish—Gavin remained beside you failing to comfort you as he himself was overcome by emotions, when ever so slightly her soft wails echoed in the room. No amount of words could describe the utter relief and joy felt as the both of you shared a tearful hug. Gavin was overjoyed to spoil his honey-eyed little princess. A rambunctious soul that brings a smile on both your faces even on the darkest days. So sunny and cheeky in personality, and protective of her family but cries so easily that at times can only be comforted by her father. The boy was quietly happy to have someone to play with, someone that he knew if fights were to happen, he could still count on her—someone that he will love and cherish.

A/N: Thank you for reading and welcome new followers!❤️

Delve into my world~

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streets-in-paradise · 2 years

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Best Friends Till the End - Andy Barclay x (fem)Childhood Friend!Reader - Part 4

Masterlist

Word Count 7.5 K

Warnings: Discussion of Chucky induced traumas, massive amount of fluff and romantical tension.

Summary: Catching up talks go in different directions as you bond with Andy and his sister sharing about your past and trauma. Her friendly approach becomes a new source of comfort for you while you begin to grow closer with your old best friend in ways neither of you would have ever imagined.

Notes: There is a Halloween analogy structuring part of a scene, it was left open to interpretation if the two universes coexist. Also, I’m %100 sure I will write a part 5.

Tags: @losersclubisms

After so many years of being separated,the moment presented itself in the most unreal of contexts. You were finally face to face sharing about your lives and solving each other’s wonders about how you have been going. His sister was also there acting as Andy’s mediator on his tale and you wished yours would have been available to be part of it as yours. Although she wasn’t physically available then, it wasn’t like you weren’t about to call her so she could be warned of the imminent danger. You weren’t sure of how she would take the news about Chucky, but you knew she would ask to have a few words with Andy because his memory had some impact on her childhood despite never getting to meet him. Of course, he wasn’t aware of that because he didn’t know how hard you stuck to the promises made when you were little children.

“ You start, I can’t wait to hear about you.” You sweetly begged him, insisting on making him a priority on the telling turns. “ Are you aware of how strange-awesome all of this is? When I was a kid you were my greatest hero, now you come back as some monster hunter expert. My infantile dreams have become true somehow, you grew up a hero.”

There was real adoration in you matching the feeling of your phrasing, sweet admiration that never faded and only remained asleep to be awakened through its own inside process of transformation. By the way you were looking at him, as if he was the most amazing man on the planet, Kyle guessed there was something going on with you. Some aspects of reality matched the image of him you had plenty of years to build alone and you were fascinated.

Maybe it was too early to speak of that, but you looked like a crushing girl silently swooning over the boy she likes.

“ I’m just an ordinary man with very bad luck.” Andy humbly corrected you, refusing to see the motive of your surprise. “ More people near me have died than the ones I have actually saved. I told you I won and that’s true, but I didn’t state the price. Chucky took care of destroying everything around me, very few people have survived being in my life and most have left for good.”

Fearing the sentence would be easily misinterpreted by you as a reproach, he corrected it before you could begin to blame yourself.

“ I’m glad you did, (y/n). We were too little to understand that was the best.”

“ I never did. Not spiritually, at least.” You corrected him before you could have burst into tears. “ I never got over it. Look around you, Andy. I dedicated my life to you, to make the sacrifice you made for me be worthy, but I didn't do it only out of guilt. We had a special vincule, our friendship was the very first social experience of my life. If Chucky taught me to fear, you taught me to love. I learned how to platonically love with you, when we were kids you were my world. I have had romantic breakups that didn’t hurt as badly as losing you did.”

The blatant honesty impacted him, what you were saying was the exact opposite of what his guilt made him imagine.

“ I’m proud of you simply for making it this far, even if I had to disappear for that. “ He didn’t have the strength to accurately answer you, to talk about his feelings about your separation. “ Raven grew up safe, you two stuck together and you are alright.”

Kyle knew exactly what he was thinking of when saying that. Barbara and Nica Pierce: one dead and one possessed. That was perhaps one possible fate he imagined for you if he would have reappeared in your life sooner. She held his hand from underneath the table, a subtle sign of comfort trying to get him out of the overthinking.

“ Ray dragged me into a scouts troop just for the knife training, Chucky would have been the one scared of her if he would have met her as a little girl.” You commented, hoping to tranquilize him within the joke. “ So you know that about us now. He better watch out: we got girl scout training.”

The cuteness in that silly self mock got him, which left him ready to twist a sad memory into some impressive anecdote to tell you.

“ I got actual military training.” He commented, carefully evaluating your reaction to see if that would impress you.” As a teen, in a military academy, after I failed the foster system.”

It did, but the attempt of a self-deprecating joke got a quite intense reaction from you.

“ Never say that, ever again, did you hear me? NEVER” You corrected him. “Institutions failed you, that’s not on you. I feel someone needs to tell you that because the amount of shit my sister tells me about the system is abysmal. She is away working on her thesis, the last step to get her degree in social work and that’s precisely her topic. Even today, It keeps failing the kids and then blaming them for it.”

“ A kinder teacher and a social worker starting as girl scouts, you two are the definition of nice.” He teased you to avoid dealing with the effect on your sayings. “ I'm chronologically messy, I got into the academy at sixteen. What do you want to hear first? The story of how Kyle and I met and got our foster home raided by Chucky or how the bastard followed me into the military school? “

“ I know you have always wanted a sibling and I like that you got to be the little one.” You indirectly decided, then smiled at Kyle. “ You have each other despite everything and that’s a wonderful thing. I’m really sorry that he had to screw up everything else.”

Kyle appreciated your heartfelt comment.

“ It 's alright, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger i guess.” She answered to then later drop a casual joke before getting into the story. “ Your parents were real assholes with your sister’s name.”

Naturalization made you think twice before realizing what she meant, but you did laugh once you got the joke.

The food was getting cold and you were barely touching it, too into the stories you were sharing to realize you weren’t paying attention to anything else. Andy began the tale and the tenderness in your beautiful eyes completely fixated on him was making him melt a bit. It was the best comfort he could get for the grim aspects of what he was sharing with you.

“ I spent an entire year being passed from place to place like a packaged bomb, nobody wanted to deal with me, untill Phil and Joanne took the risk. Of course, they kept the bomb for too long and it tragically exploded on them.”

“ What he tries to say is that Chucky came back and killed our foster parents while trying to get him.” Kyle corrected him.“ You were not a bomb, Andy. You were a seven years old kid, for god’s sake!”

Your expression showed agreement with her viewpoint and she was encouraged by that.

“ Sorry, you will always hear him saying stuff like that. Inside of him there is more guilt and regret than man. Maybe you will be able to help me out with that.”

“ It’s alright, maybe we can start from another angle.” You followed her. “ How is your mom, Andy? I remember her fondly because, you know, your apartment was like my second home.”

“ It took many years, but she got released.”

“ THAT’S WONDERFUL! See? After all you did have one piece of good news to tell me.” You happily cheered for him. “ I would love to visit her someday, just gotta make some arrangements and I can go anywhere you take me on my next vacation period.”

Andy understood by the implications of your words that you weren’t seeing your accidental encounter as an isolated incident. You wanted to stay, to get back in his life, for what he only hoped that the stories he had to tell would help you desist.

“ So, in this new foster home I was staying there was another Good Guy left by some other kid. “ He reformulated, getting his narration back on track. “ I liked the place and I liked to be with Kyle. I didn’t want to leave but in order to stay our foster parents were demanding that I show normality. I was supposed to prove I left Chucky behind, that I ‘adapted’ because nobody wants a weirdo.”

“ People think that because we were kids we had to forget easily. One year passes and all our problems get magically solved. The crap I got from the‘ they aren’t in full conscience, they are children! Give them time to repress it and done’ mentality got me where I am. Do you think I became a kinder teacher only to spot Chucky? I want to help children. “ You agreed with him, interrupting him for reassurance. “ I’m so sorry that even in the place you felt the most comfortable you had to stand shit like that.”

“ It sucks, they have no idea of how it fucks you up even more. The thing is that I picked this doll and began pulling a fake show of how I was best friends with it once more, all just so they would think I was normal by whatever bullshit standards were expected of me. What I didn't know was that the doll was playing pretend too.”

It took you an instant to show a reaction, shock impeding you to do it quicker.

“ NO, NO, NO ,NO. Don’t you tell me that?”

“ Chucky destroyed it and took its place.” He confirmed for you. “ That's how he got into the sort of name switching he recently used with Camila.”

“ My darling, that was so cruel. WHY PLAYING WITH YOU LIKE THAT? Of course you have trust issues, that’s even worse than what he did to you the first time!”

The overly sweet way in which you addressed him was a new one.

“ I found him tied to his bed, the doll was on top of him.” Kyle followed, continuing the story so he would get a rest. “ Andy tried to tell us, but we obviously thought it was more bullshit. I did, at least until Chucky killed Phil and Joanne kicked Andy out. I threw one doll in the trash, but found the other smashed and buried in the yard underneath the swing. I went to check the trash can, but Chucky was gone. He killed Joanne, then attacked me when I discovered the body and held me hostage so I would drive him to Andy.”

“ That’s exactly what he did to me. ” You interrupted again, disturbingly amazed as if you would have discovered the most incredible bonding point with her. “ Except that I was bait and he didn’t get to kill my mama because he was threatening me with killing her and my then unborn sibling.”

“ She was four years old at the time and she still dares to say she wasn’t brave.” Andy commented to Kyle, showing evident pride for you both. “ Chucky must have convinced her of that; she would always say that to me.”

She felt the immediate need of comforting you.

“ I was a teen and scared to shit anyways, you shouldn’t at all go so hard on yourself.”

“ To Chucky I will always be the weak bitch, I have feared him from before death. That's probably why he hasn't come back for me. There is no fun without chaze, if the prey is too scared to run, and I was.”

The reasoning was slightly twisted, but the roots made it somewhat understandable.

“ You are not a coward, ok? You are not.” Kyle insisted, her kindness reached you in a very special way despite you being almost strangers to each other. “ I have been there, I know how it feels. If there is someone you should believe in, it's me because unlike Andy, I don't know you well enough for you to assume I just want to make you feel better. It’s what I truly think: my little brother and you were tiny badasses, both of you.”

You smiled as if those words meant the world to you.

“ I bet you didn’t hide in a closet like I did. “ You mocked yourself for her. “ How did you stop him?”

“ A car chase, Chucky kidnapped Andy and I drove all the way to the Good Guy factory to save him.”

“ I wish you could have seen how furious he was when he tried to possess me, but found out it was too late and got stucked.” Andy followed her trace of the tale. “ We made him explode by forcing an air hose into his mouth, that’s how we killed him.”

You were clapping with your fingertips, eyes wide open, probably impressed by such an end but suspecting it had to be more behind it.

“ I wanna know more about that, he couldn’t have died in the first take. Do you remember how much it took you, Karen, Detective Norris, his partner and me to strike the asshole down? “ You stopped your friend from considering the story finished. “ Why don’t you tell me about this factory fight like if we were all kids and you two just killed Chucky? Any detail you remember, don’t be afraid to be disgusting and try to imitate his last words for me. I wanna picture him in my mind getting what he deserves.”

Odd request, but he loved you for it. Andy took a sip of beer, then acceded to get into a prolific telling of his memories about that fight adding the gory details that Kyle wouldn’t recall as well as he did. However, you did begged her to include her contributions or remembered feelings of it because you were very impressed by her referenced actions. A case of reversed identification, you were living your vindictive fantasy through her because you never got to win on Chucky like she did: taking the more active part in an epic battle.

As soon as the story ended you got up immediately to hug Andy, giving him no chance to correct you in any way.

“ That was fantastic! “ You praised both while giving an extra of love to him. “ You are my hero, Andy. You will always be.”

He giggled out of nervousy, a cute dumb smile on his face after as he realized you were the only woman on the planet he could have possibly impressed with a Chucky anecdote.

“ You haven’t lost your sweetness to Chucky and that’s enough payment for me.”

“ No, it’s not.” You corrected him in a sweet but snarky tone. “ You deserve every good thing in the world. If I could, I would do anything just to see you happy.”

There was no doubt that it was an instant crush. You were all over him; if you would have been a cartoon there would be hearts in your pupils everytime you would mention his name.

“ Mind if I hug you too, Kyle?” You asked the blond woman, back to earth from your infatuation. “ I’m like a Good Guy, I really like hugs and you deserve a strong one.”

She got up to hug you herself, showing how far behind were her initial doubts on you, to what Andy felt a strange feeling of warmness as a witness of the moment. He loved to see you getting along, the part of him that wanted you to stay was made stronger.

He later chose to pause his many other stories for you so he could get to hear some of yours. The implicit agreement was advancing according to stages of development, which meant it was your time to tell something about your childhood before he would tell you about his teenage years and Kent.

“ Nothing was the same since you were gone. We stayed in Chicago, in that same damn apartment, but nothing ever felt the same for me.” Was the strong, introductory phrase of your story. “ Therapists had no real Idea of what was wrong with me because I couldn’t tell the truth, I really couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I was alone in the world, everyone who could understand me was put away. My sister was my only motivation: she became my world when I lost you and I got very concerned about being strong enough to look after her. I forced myself to grow up faster for her: tie my shoelaces, don’t cover my eyes on scary movies, sleep with the lights off like big girls are supposed to. That was the hardest of my bravery exercises to pointlessly prepare for Chucky, the darkness would make me automatically imagine his voice in my mind and he wouldn’t shut up. Asleep I would dream, awake I would imagine him. You were the only thought stopping him, Andy.”

“ I missed you too, (y/n).” He confessed, moved by your words. “ I carried you with me anywhere I went, have no doubt of that.”

The comment had you showing a special kind of light to your eyes.

“ Buckle up your seats, because here is where it gets weird. “ You mischievously warned your small audience. “ My mother has always been a woman very open to the paranormal, but she has her limitations: she would believe in ghosts, but not in a killer doll. Karen’s explanation, OUR explanation, didn’t convince her. While I was spiraling and therapy wasn’t helping as quickly as she thought it would she started to search for her own answers. Our apartment was suddenly full of occultism books and she began to attend parapsychology conferences in order to elaborate an explanation she could believe.”

“ You told me this was gonna be a ride.” Andy commented, remembering some past casual saids of yours. “ What did she come up with?”

“ To her it was as if we would have been in a Conjuring prequel and I was little Lorraine Warren discovering her powers. “ You simply explained. “ I was talking with a dead man, I predicted my sister’s sex from the womb; she had enough circunstantial pieces of information to believe I was a psiquic. “

The news impacted him, but he tried to dissimulate it.

“ Still less crazy than a voodoo possessed killer doll. I doubt her theory can get crazier than reality.”

“ I got your apartment haunted by accident and a violent ghost got connected with both of us. Remember how my father used to scare me as a joke with the Lakeshore Strangler news before he was catched? My mother thought and still thinks that my fear triggered an early awakening of my ‘powers’ and a natural psychic response made me summon the ghost of Charles Lee Ray in your apartment the night Maggie died. I got years of ‘ I know you are scared of what you saw, but you can’t close yourself to your gift’, ‘ You are special, that’s why Chucky chose you. He was a horrible man, but there are plenty of good souls who need your help.’ “

Kyle tried to soften the impact with a joke.

“ What a prideful parent, that lady was desperate to make her girl the star of the scene.”

“ I didn’t need her pride, I needed to be heard. “ You insisted. “ Mom confused my ptsd induced dreams with Chucky as visions, my craving to see Andy as some psychic connection with him that was distressing me. He was the last person who made me feel safe, of course I was desperate to see him! I had a breakdown in front of the door of his old apartment once: sat there in silence and wouldn’t move, told everyone I was waiting for my friend. After that mom made me quit therapy and searched for a medium to treat me.”

“ Nadia, right? The woman you told us about.” Andy asked you, disturbed by a suffering he never imagined on your part. “ That’s how you meet her? When your mother irresponsibly refused you therapy?”

“ She was convinced it was going to help me and, in some way, it did. Not like she thought it would, because I am not a psychic and Nadia knew it. She listened to me when no one else was willing to, she was there for me and that was what I needed. Mom got to her seeking for confirmation, she would have left if she wouldn’t have been told what she wanted to hear so we kept the farse together. “

“Wait, you pretended to be a psychic for years just to please your mother?

“ I grew up between meditation sessions and tarot cards. Nadia became a friend of the family just to keep helping me for real, but we had to pretend she was teaching me to control the power my mom thought I had. I learned divination readings of all kinds, every system out there, and some other cool shit like those symbols you saw. She was the most awesome adult friend; she explained Chucky for me to my sister when she reached the age to start asking questions.”

“ Really?” Andy questioned you, marveled. “ How did she take it?”

“ It wasn’t that hard, she was already used to weird shit by then. We got the Chucky talk as soon as we could because I couldn’t wait to start telling her all about how you saved us, as I promised you I would.”

You were especially interested in letting him know that you fulfilled your saids.

“ That’s, well, nothing like I have imagined your life would be.” He hesitantly interrupted. “ But wonderful. Someone believed in you, supported you and your sister understands you thanks to her. It’s beautiful, although not normal. I'm happy for you.”

“ Thank you, it means a lot that you are not looking at me like I was a witch.” You pointed out, expressing an understandable fear. “ Nadia passed away in 1998. She got sick, the cancer was terminal so there was not much that could be done. It hitted me hard, like losing a mother.”

The mention of that year activated an old alarm on him.

“ No way, that was the same year Chucky came back for me… Are you sure that’s how she died? Maybe this lady saved your life and you didn’t know it.”

“ I was the only one in my family who had the guts to enter the room to see her go when the time came, probably because I was exposed to death before.” You clarified for him. “ Natural causes, I’m absolutely sure because I was there.”

A coincidence, those existed in his life for once.

“ You know? She would say that stuff like that isn’t random, this sort of date match between your suffering and mine. I can imagine her blaming it on destiny or kindred spirituality, as if even from afar our lives would be meant to tangle. “ You added after reading his guess on his expression of relief. “ Maybe we were meant to meet again, Andy.”

The softness in which you delivered that conclusion got every fiber of his being weak and he still had to remain strong to tell you about the massacre at Kent.

Everything about you was a comforting surprise, you were making him feel insanely good and he had no idea on how to deal with that. Part of him, the one he considered most rational, was sure it was too good to be true. He wanted to disappear as as soon as he would be sure you were going to be safe to keep going with your calm life without him.However, what the rest of his conflicted self wanted was to wishfully wonder if it would be alright to ask you out someday or that would be weird to you coming from him.

With you there was no awkwardness while talking about his life. Everything that would scare any other woman away, you admired him for. It was precisely your reaction to his Chucky stories that convinced him that you were perfect for him. He found you attractive pretty much since the very first moment he saw you at the preschool center, but that initial strike was intensifying at every moment spent with you.

Thinking of the past bringing you back together, his child self would have exclaimed a strong 'yikes' to the way in which Andy was seeing you as an adult. When you were kids he sometimes used to get the casual teasing adults at that time would do of strong friendships developed between little boys and girls. Everytime someone would call you his girlfriend he used to internally cringe and reject the claims. Ironically, like everything in his life, finding you in adulthood had him begging that you would be completely single for him to take. Knowing that you weren't married was a good start to get hopes, but he still wasn't sure that there wouldn't be any partner that you weren't mentioning yet.

Insecurities disencouraged him when he made an accidental new finding about you. You were showing him pictures on your phone and he took a brief peek of your photo gallery. Mixed between pics of your cat, selfies, stuff the kinder kids do for you and other cute stuff there were a few ones you quickly scrolled through. He catched a glimpse of those and saw you adopting romantical posings next to a man that was his physical opposite. There were only two possible scenarios in which he interpreted that: the guy was your current boyfriend or an ex. In either case, he himself wasn't your type. Andy was a master in overthinking: on a matter of hours he managed to get a crush on you and assume you would never be interested in him all in one take.

It became the main conversation topic during a stakeout he did with Kyle near the last hotspot of Chucky sighting. He managed to let you out of it explaining that they needed to be sure another Chucky wouldn't go after Camila but you couldn't be seen spying on the family of one of your class' kids. You were no fool and absolutely aware it was an excuse to make you stay away, but allowed it that time despite it frustrated you only because you had context for his attitude.

Andy tried to dissimulatedly ask his sister for advice, but she could have bursted into laughter hearing his conjectures. Your interest in him was evident, she spotted it easily observing your peculiar approach. It wasn't just the sweet complimenting, you were showing clear signs that he wasn't catching. Hiding underneath all that hero worshiping you were practically throwing yourself at him, so obviously fascinated with the man you were discovering.

The waiting for them to return felt eternal and the imprevisibility of the moment was killing your nerves. If Andy and Kyle would find a Chucky, they would be facing risk, but there was still the possibility of him being outside your house waiting for his best shot to get you. In the worst case, there could be two Chuckies handling everyone of you at once. They were used, probably felt ready for it, but you would be completely alone and he would find a way to mock your security. The worry for your old friend and his nice sister was more intense than the personal one, but the combination of both was fatal. For so, you ended up going along with some of your learnt strategies to calm the anxiety, starting by calling your sister once more.

Exactly as you imagined, you two didn’t get much time to talk on the first call of the day because as soon as you told her Andy was with you she begged to speak with him and he gave her the needed instructions to keep precautions. The beautiful smile he had when he got to hear her thanking him for everything he has done for you made you feel a fuzzy, warm feeling close to bliss that you couldn’t explain. You weren’t going to tell her about that, but you wanted to talk your fears away. Raven’s idea of comfort was highlighting the positive elements in the news about your enemy. If the whole doll body was permanently weak, not just the heart, then she was ‘ finally able to perform a colonoscopy on him with his own damn butcher blade’ and so were you. Although quite sadistic and imprecise, it was an encouraging thought. Chucky was, in some forms, weaker than before and the surprise element remained his main advantage. He didn’t have that with you, not completely like in the case of some disgraced fool getting to know him for the first time.

You had to stay focused, but busy with something that could calm you down nerves wise. Instead of doing some mindless scrolling on the phone before starting to fall asleep, the best was trying various true comforting activities in the wait. By the time the heroes arrived back you were baking cookies and watching your comfort film.

“ We may have a killer out there, isn’t that enough for you?” Andy teased you as soon as he peeked at the tv screen. “ I thought you were going to relax, but you are just watching Michael Myers do what Chucky could be doing to us for real.”

The movie playing was Halloween and that choice showed your quite curious definition of comfort.

“ I use this to cope.” You calmly informed him. “ This movie has a special place in my heart, the plot is really touching. There are two kids escaping from a killer they call the boogeyman and the prick really wants to kill their babysitter.”

“ I bet Chucky has never been that tall, not even in his human body.” He mockfully recalled. “ Do you revive that night through this?”

You had a very simple excuse ready.

“ It’s cathartic, here the babysitter wins.”

He sat next to you and your immediate reaction was to cling, hugging his side.

“ Did you find him?”

“ I look way too clean to have fought a Chucky, don’t you think?” He mocked himself, attempting comfort. “ Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave until I know it’s safe for you and your class.”

" I have no rush for that, I'm just worried for you. Are you in a hurry to go? I'm all alone and thought this place could be like our Mystery Gang ClubHouse, the center of operations. There is safety in numbers, If we separate Chucky splits then dolls 1 and 2 kill us one by one. "

You were trying very hard to justificate yourself while implícitly asking them to stay with you without sounding like you were begging for it.

Kyle guessed what the fuss was about through what she learned of you in your conversations. You were scared and didn't want Andy to leave you, but you hated to be seen as a coward.

" That would be a smart move. Thanks, (y/n)" She contributed to your justification without pointing out her observations. " I'm very tired, is there anywhere...?"

" Take my sister's bedroom, we had a talk about the situation and she felt way better knowing you both are here with me. "

" I take the couch, if Freddy is fine with that. " Andy followed with a joke. " I don't want to start a territorial fight with your cat."

" For what I have seen, it's most likely he will abandon me to sleep with you. " You teased back. " Not that I mind. Nadia used to say cats can spot when your energy is low and they are like little rechargeable batteries of positive vibes. "

" See, Kyle? I am not a cat magnet, I am just depressed. "

The conversation got interrupted by the ringing of the timer and you had to rush to the kitchen. She followed you out of curiosity about what the hell you were doing at that hour.

There were many plates with freshly baked cookies getting cold over the counter and you were taking out the last ones from the oven. You must have been on that for hours.

" Are you baking in the middle of the night?" She wondered out loud. " I guess asking if you are alright is pointless."

" I had to stay up and focused. My two standard reactions to distress are either insomnia or shutting down my brain and that last one ain't an option tonight. " You excused yourself. " Besides, I want to cheer up my kids with a little something tomorrow."

In a closer inspection, she noticed you made two kinds of cookies: regular round shaped ones and others shaped like dog treats.

" Scooby Snacks?"

" Shhh, those are a surprise for Andy." You clarified in a complicit whisper. " Go ahead, pick one."

She did so and shared with you more than just her verdict.

" Great, really good. I'm sure he is going to love it. This is sweet, the kind of sweet he doesn't get often. His first instinct is to take off but, even when he doesn't do it, things don't get like this for him. If you want him to stay, keep giving him more of that. "

You were slightly disconcerted and didn't hesitate in letting her know.

" Why are you telling me this?"

" Andy needs to let more people in and he has never closed the gate to you. "

There was a wide smile on your face when you returned to the living room holding a full Scooby Doo cookie jar.

" Andy, I have something for you!" You announced yourself with a quasi musical tone. " It's a little reward for your courage, you deserve it. "

He turned back to look at you, then noticed what you were all about.

" Is that what I think it is?"

Your mischievous expression worked as confirmation.

" Aren't you exhausted from being so lovely? " He teased you, blatant honesty coming out from him because of the great surprise. " You have to be the sweetest woman I have ever met. Look at that, those even look like Scooby Snacks!"

His reaction was better than what you imagined, what forced you to try to dissimulate a bit.

" I have an entire set of Scooby Doo cookie cutters."

He tried to pick one cookie from the jar as fast as you approached, but you stopped him and he knew the reason.

" There is only one ríght way of having Scooby Snacks and I know you know it. "

Andy was simply astonished with your softness and the particularly sweet way you had to evoke your purest memories. His líps parted, allowing you to delicately feed him the cookie in shared excitement.

You were staring lovefully at him, your inner child feeling like healing while your adult self couldn't help find him incredibly adorable.

He tried to return the gesture, but your first reaction was refusing.

" I don't deserve one unless you have a scary task in mind for me to do."

He found you so cute that he was barely able to believe his own feelings.

" Your scary task, (y/n), will be standing me tonight. " He replicated mocking himself to avoid what he thought would make you uncomfortable. " I'm a light sleeper and even when i am tired i don't fall asleep easily."

" So, not looking for clues in some dark abandoned toy store. " You followed, in tone with the joke. " Those have to be the easiest earned Scooby Snacks ever. "

" You helped me win the trust of the kids and your classroom activity forced that girl to bring her Chucky. Without you that one would still be out there. " He insisted once more, proving to you the impact of your contribution. " Open up, you earned it. "

You obeyed, circumstantially convinced by his words. Worries and fears faded almost exactly like when you were kids, but with one big difference. Feeling his eyes following the action, as he felt yours before, brought a kind of tension nonexistent back then. You glanced at each other's lips like you never thought you would.

Andy finished the rest of the movie with you feeling in disbelief with what was happening. You weren't afraid of seeking intimacy, cuddling on the couch with him and talking about your experiences babysitting as a teenager. To increase his surprise, that closed the circle explaining how Chucky marked the path of your life. You went from hyper responsible eldest sister acting like a mini parent to highly recommended teenager babysitter with girl scout reputation to kindergarten teacher, all of that with the side ingredient of the secret occultist hobby your mother imposed on you.

The closeness was there, both physically and sentimentally.

" You have warm hands." He heard you whispering in a fully relaxed tone " A chiromant would say that means you are a passionate man. "

He instinctively retired the hand he had posed over your shoulder as if he would have done something wrong and you chuckled.

" I am not going to hex you, Andy. My friend wasn't a witch. " You softly teased him, believing he got scared of you. " She was a woman of special sight. All we discussed was rules of the ghost world,exorcisms she performed and divination because that was all she used to work on. Actually, the first nice thing Nadia did for me was describing Charles after seeing him on a vision in her first reading of me. She helped me draw him so I could give my monster a face. A human face, something that could make him stop being the boogeyman with a doll mask. "

" The masked man." He recalled. " You weren't entirely wrong on that. "

" There was a mystery to solve, just not the one I thought first. I do wish I could have seen his face for real like she did."

In the TV screen Michael Myers was getting unmasked through the fight with Laurie, irony making you laugh together when it happened. Andy didn't remember that part and you weren't aware it was coming because you were distracted with him.

" Is that why you want so badly to fight Chucky?" He asked you, quickly connecting dots. " Do you want to be like her?"

You nodded in affirmation and the innocent expression on your face made him wish he could treasure you forever.

" What if i tell you that you already are, even if you never got to single handle the bad guy? Daphne never did and she is amazing. "

You had a quick objection to make.

" What about the live action?"

" Forget the live action, I'm talking of classic Daphne. "

Andy wanted to cheer you up, but he was about to masquerade some very personal impressions of you through it.

" She is kind, positive, and sometimes helps the gang with common objects she finds in her purse like freaking Mcgiver. I don't need a Buffy Daphne, I have always loved her like she was. She has been the villain's bait a few times, so what? She is sweet and beautiful. Shaggy is ríght there being a stoner dumbass and he has been the gang’s bait for the villians more often than her being taken away."

" Don't talk shit about my true love! " You cheerfully complained. " Shaggy may be a stoner dumbass, but I love him. "

Andy felt so thankful of the fact that you were paying attention to the movie's ending instead of looking at him, because he was a weak mess. Through that description of Shaggy he was thinking of himself: you grew up into becoming the sweet, beautiful woman and he was the stoner dumbass.

" LOOK, LOOK! You are going to miss the part when the doctor shoots him!!" You were commenting with excitement. " I always get massive throwbacks here."

He pulled you a bit closer and you were very receptive, holding his free hand.

" Nice warm hands, indeed. You are either full of passion or anger... or both. "

He looked at you skeptically.

" Do you really believe in that? I thought it was bullshit your mom made you learn. "

" It's a system of symbols like any other, Andy. I can read palms as I would read a text. " You patiently explained. " I don't have the power allowing me to go further, but I can interpret in base of what I know the symbols mean. "

It awakened some curiosity in him.

" So, you can't know for sure if Chucky is going to kill me tomorrow. What can you actually learn from my hand?"

" I can get to know you better." You mischievously commented. " Chiromancy is to me more about discovery of personal traits than divination of the future. "

He turned it into a challenging proposition.

" Go ahead, read me. If you guess ríght anything about the mess I am in, you can consider double checking if you actually lack psychic abilities."

You accepted, turning off the tv and indicating him the perfect posture to adopt for his reading. He extended the palm of his ríght hand for you and you began to concentrate in a prolific examination.

The experience was way more intense than what he imagined on the initial discredit. The proximity, mutual staring involved and the delicate touch of your fingertips all in once was too much for him. Your touch was following the lines of his hand, his knuckles, even the softest trait mattered to you as if you were discovering him as a whole through that.

" Since I want to know first how much of that warmt is passion and how much is anger, I'm gonna go straight to the source. Venus and line of heart." You were explaining to him, reasons falling in a numbled mind whose only thought was you. "mmhh .. That's a surprise, Andy. Are you a repressed romantic? "

He didn't know how to react.

" Excuse me?"

" Means that there is a shit ton of love inside of you with no clear outlet. " You replicated." Mars shows us some anger, frustration, but that's not the end of it. That warmt you have inside is more than just hate for Chucky. "

It was starting to get scary, but he didn't want you to stop.

" What else do you find?"

" A persistent want for love, romantical love." You continued. " Dating you must be a delight, I bet you are the kind of guy who knows how to treat a girl ríght."

One second of eye contact while delivering that phrase and he was done, praying that your grip of his hand wouldn't show him melting to you as he was.

" Tell that to all the women who ran away after a quick google search. " He casually commented, confessing himself through the intimate moment. " It hasn't been easy, I can't be open with anyone and if i would they wouldn't believe me. "

" You know? I may not appear in page number one of the case search, but if you dig deep enough my name shows up too. " You tried to comfort him. " A few failed relationships afterwards, I can assure you I would have prefered to have the Chucky talk on the first couple of dates. It's part of my life: if he can't love me despite that, then he ain't the man for me."

" Do you really think that or are you just saying it to make me feel better?"

You chose to elaborate on that because you both needed it.

" From all the bullshit he said, Chucky was ríght in just one thing: my dad never loved my mom. By the time she realized she wasn't going to divorce because she was afraid of creating more trauma, the real trauma was living among them. The thing is that I'm always afraid of repeating the cycle and, to me, that would be like letting Chucky win."

" In his twisted way, he has raised us.. Didn't he?" Andy commented, trying to soften the impact. " Never listen to anything he says, he is a specialist on eating brains with crap."

" I have never felt loved to a level that would make me stop fearing. " You added without thinking. " None of my partners had made me feel that much safe about their feelings. There was love, of course, but not enough for any big steps. Passing the initial dating phase means nothing if you don't feel safe enough to give yourself completely because you fear the other half could not retribute the same amount. It may sound silly and childish, but after what I have seen on my parents..."

" You want a man that would be willing to give you all of him." He completed your phrase. " Did I guess that ríght? "

You pressed a kiss on the inner side of his wrist, right at the pulse point, and both of you pretended not to feel it rise.

#chucky 2021 #child's play #andy barclay #alex vincent #andy barclay x reader #alex vincent x reader #kyle simpson #christine elise #chucky 2021 fanfiction #andy barclay fanfiction

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widerimmigrationconsultant · 11 months

Text

Top Immigration Consultants in Delhi: Your Guide to Securing a Canadian Visa

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kariachi · 2 years

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So, pretty sure it’s that time over by @angelo-gray, which means birthday fic is upon us! Hap birth, we’re all glad to have you!

He hadn’t even done anything wrong, and this was a claim Garfield would take to his grave.

It wasn’t often a kingdom experienced both a plague of crop rot and a drought at the same time, and somebody had had to do something. So, he’d done something- packing a bag in the dead of night and running to the lands of the Fae Lord in search of a boon. There had been a challenge to pass, of course, and he had done so, perfectly well and in good time.

And alright, maybe he had cheated a bit (a lot) and for that maybe there should have been consequences. But ‘my hounds tear you apart in the form of a stag’? A bit extreme. Enough so, apparently, that once he’d pleaded the tense circumstances the Lord had deigned to forgo the ‘hounds tear you apart’ portion. Not the stag thing though. He couldn’t be so lucky.

At least the bastard had been kind enough to fix things for his people anyway.

~~~

All Kevin had wanted was to be left alone.

It was a sad fact of life that to be a young royal was to be seen as a commodity first, and he had plenty of experience with that. Between the wealth of his brother’s kingdom and his grandmother’s handsome features, by twenty he’d had three engagements fall through for various reasons and seen enough suitors come and go to make his eyes about roll out of his head. All the same as well, looking for riches and power and seeing him as nothing more than a trophy at best and a puppet for their own ambition at worst.

That was enough to worsen anyone’s temper, and so he felt he could be excused when a potential suitor- too old, too forward, too ambitious by miles- had sidled up in a corner of the palace grounds and been rebuffed more fiercely than was polite. He’d already made his disinterest plain twice before, it should have been the end of it. But no, of course he couldn’t be that lucky. Of course, this relative newcomer to the court would have some trick up their sleeve.

And so suddenly he was a monster.

~~~

The sad thing was, it wasn’t even the fact that he couldn’t go home that had made Gar take action to fix the situation. It had burned in his core, but he’d figured losing everything that’d mattered to him was a fitting price to pay for the lives of his people. Even the fact that, talking stag or no, nobody seemed to have any problems hunting him, hadn’t made him take the effort.

But the day he’d gotten his antlers stuck in a bush, that was the day he’d decided he needed to talk to an expert.

~~~

The first few days after his transformation had been sort’ve a blur. Guards had run up, driven him from the palace grounds. He’d found an old cave to hole up in while he had an episode about the situation. The next day the bastard had shown up with promises of fixing him in exchange for silence and his hand and been summarily eaten. Soldiers had come armed, refused to listen, and been killed as well.

The court thought he’d taken, eaten, himself. Wanted him dead, as a threat to the kingdom. Much as it’d stung his pride, he’d known he needed to do something.

~~~

“Well,” Raven, the young witch who had originally pointed him toward the Fae Lord, said when he returned, giving him a look that said ‘I’m really not surprised by your circumstances’ better than words ever could, “True Love’s Kiss generally clears these things right up.” Gar blinked slowly, images rising unbidden of a community packed with former suitors unwilling to take in a deer no matter who he said he was.

“And my other options are?”

~~~

Gwendolyn, who owed him damnit and so shouldn’t have been spouting that sort’ve bullshit, raised a nonplussed brow as Kevin glowered her down.

“If you’re going to be that way about it,” she said, magic filling the air around her. “It’s a long journey, over a year, but if you head to the north-west you’ll find the answer to your problem.”

~~~

“If this works,” Gar said as she slipped the compass around his neck, “I’ll owe you my first born.” Snorting, Raven rolled her eyes.

“Promise me a room in your home and we’ll call it even.”

~~~

There was, it turned out, a plus side to being a monster, and that was that when one was following a magical compass to who knows where, you at least didn’t have to worry about finding food. It could come in the form of anything from pre-emptive offerings by terrified commoners to knights and soldiers who won’t take a ‘leave me alone I’m just passing through’, but food would find you.

It wouldn’t, however, come in the form of a talking stag, because he’d see the compass around your neck, and you’d see the compass around his, and both of you would be smart enough to go “you too, huh?”

~~~

He was willing to admit that at first sight he’d been more than a little scared of Kevin. Even not taking the size of him into account, he was more than a lot to take in, and when you were shaped like a prey animal anything with that many teeth set off alarm bells. But he’d turned out to be reasonable enough and they were heading in the same direction.

Far be it from an extrovert like him to refuse company on the road.

~~~

His name was Garfield. He’d been cursed by the fae and abandoned by the very people he’d suffered to save. Had given everything only to be rebuffed in his own time of need.

He also had a kind and honorable nature, even towards someone like Kevin as he was now, and that just made his anger on his behalf burn brighter.

~~~

Kevin wouldn’t tell him much. He was transformed by an unwanted suitor and hunted by his own kin, a pain Gar could relate too just a little too much.

A foul cloud sat over him that Gar tried his best to lift. It took over a week of every joke he could think of before he laughed, really laughed, and told one of his own. It was horrible in the best way.

~~~

He’d never thought himself a thief, no matter what the kitchenstaff, librarians, and anybody who’d ever met his mother’s father had to say on the matter, but Kevin quickly found himself getting into the habit of slipping into places someone his size had no right to be to grab essentials. Hairbrush, books, treats for Gar so the poor man didn’t have to live off twigs and leaves.

After a point the ‘poor man’ in question demanded to be taught the tricks himself, spouting some nonsense about a deer breaking into someone’s house being far less conspicuous than a beast the size of ten men going the same.

~~~

It took far longer than he’d like to admit for Gar to realize Kevin’d been going around naked this whole damn time. In his defense the man’s, situation, made things inapparent, and it wasn’t as if he was rude enough to look anyway. Still, the next village they passed he snuck into a house and stole a length of cloth for him.

Neither of them knew how to turn it into clothes, Gar wouldn’t be able to even if he did, but still Kevin thanked him and, with a good bit of fiddling, folded, draped, and tied it into something approximating a skirt.

~~~

“Okay, Garfield, here’s one- Why do illuminators always draw snails?” Kevin’s tails flicked in amusement as Gar heaved an overly dramatic put-upon sigh.

“Why did I ever get you started?”

“Because the centipedes won’t sit still.”

~~~

Kevin’s hair was thick, draping for seemingly miles, when they met, and the less said about what happened when Gar’s antlers inevitably found it the better.

~~~

“-so what does she do? She starts talking about ‘True Love’s Kiss’, like I’m not a fucking deer.” Clicking his tongue, Kevin shook his head. Some people.

“Do you know if she’s into women? Because I know a fae she might like.” Gar snorted, stepping close enough to brush his shoulder against him.

“Gave the same talk?”

“Yeah, like I’m not this.” Kevin gestured at himself as he said it, then shook his head again. “Also, she still owes me five books and a desk, which shouldn’t be legal.” He’d entreated Kay about the matter years ago, but been damn near laughed from dinner. Gar laughed too, ears flicking back and forth, but he found himself less aggravated by his amusement.

“Not even a little bit.”

~~~

Something Gar noticed, as they traveled, was that as fierce as Kevin’s temper could be- and it was a force to be reckoned with- and as many people as he’d eaten, he didn’t try to kill. Even when it was people out for his blood, he tried to scare them off, disarm them, wound them into retreat, before going for the meal.

He wasn’t sure under the same circumstances, hated and feared with a predator’s gnawing hunger in his gut, he’d have fared so well.

~~~

Kevin was fairly certain they weren’t going to get to wherever they were going on time and he blamed Gar entirely. After all, it certainly wasn’t him running around insisting they scare off every band of brigands they came across within a few days walk of a settlement. Or who kept wandering off to find and deliver home missing children. And had to be carried away from the homes of unjust lords before he got himself turned into a trophy.

He hadn’t realized people like that even existed outside of storybooks.

~~~

It wasn’t much, but Gar was still proud of his accomplishment the night before. The better part of a pie, a hunk of salted venison, and a small bowl of crab apples. A sparse meal between the two of them, and having venison even present given the circumstances felt odd at best, but the stark difference from wild forage and game made it all the sweeter.

“Garfield,” Kevin laughed as he looked at what was hardly a bounty, “you’re a marvel.” With a pleased little grunt, Gar let himself preen under his smile.

“I do try,” he said. “Just do me a favor and don’t get a taste for the meat.” Kevin just laughed harder.

“The day you’re on the menu is the day I’m lost forever.”

~~~

The fifth time somebody tried to kill Kevin since they began journeying together, the would-be-hero turned out to have a belt buckle shaped like a stag. Gar huffed about it, swearing up and sideways that he would never threaten him and that anyone who would bearing an item even tangentially related to him was an offense to his own honor, but Kevin just laughed and stole it off the corpse. A bit of broken metal pieces and some finagling later and he had a fine pin to replace the knot of his skirt. One he’d shown off to the only person there to see with a wide and teasing grin.

“In honor of my deerest friend and companion.”

Gar didn’t talk to him the rest of the day, but the fond amusement in his eyes was more than worth it.

~~~

“Kevin, what happens,” Gar asked, “if we get to wherever it is we’re heading and only one of us can be turned back?”

“Then I keep looking,” Kevin answered without a moment’s hesitation, and Gar immediately knew he couldn’t let that happen.

~~~

Creeping as quietly as he was able along the wall of the little canyon, Kevin watched his target with a hunter’s eye. His tails quivered with the effort to stay in line, wings drawn in close to minimize drag. His prey was seemingly oblivious to his presence, carrying on like nothing was watching, and certainly not predators from above. As deep eyes turned to the side he tensed and pounced.

Soaring over his back, Kevin twisted in the air to land facing him, lips pulled back to expose too many teeth in what could only be a grin. He hissed as threateningly as he could manage without a hint of malice as Gar reared back and bared his antlers playfully.

His laughter would echo in his chest like bells for hours afterwards.

~~~

“You know,” Gar half-joked one evening, as they curled up around their fire, Kevin’s bulk keeping the chill from his back, “if you’re going to be wearing my face, then it’s only fair I do the same. When we’re turned back the first thing I’m doing is commissioning someone to make me a pin featuring, whatever you are.”

“Generic unholy monster,” Kevin answered with far too much ease for his tastes.

“You’re not a monster, Kev,” he countered before he could think, “whatever you look like, you’re a wonderful man.”

Kevin’s eyes went wide for a moment, before his expression slipped into something so soft it felt like it stamped itself, warm and gentle, in Gar’s gut.

Even as the night wore on and sleep and morning came, that warmth stayed.

~~~

They were sat on the side of a mountain, curled up and watching from safety as a man and boy ventured out to hunt, when Kevin spoke.

“My first-time hunting,” he said, the memory as clear as if it’d been yesterday, “my brother took me out, just the two of us. Told a joke about how that would be when the younger brother would kill the older in a ‘tragic accident’ to take his place. So, I took a potshot at a tree off to his side.” He chuckled. “The shot ricocheted and got him in the foot. His wife laughed her ass off when we got back, once it was confirmed Kay'd be fine.” Gar laughed as well, though there was a distance to it that Kevin yearned to ask after.

He didn’t, but he did stick close the rest of the day, trying to lift his mood.

~~~

“My uncle actually tried it, once,” Gar said nearly out of nowhere the night of Kevin’s first story, after being notably quiet the whole of the day. “My parents had died, and he was my next of kin, so… You know how it goes.” He didn’t look at Kevin when he said it, instead focusing on the stars in the sky outside their little cavern, but it was impossible not to notice and appreciate the comfort of a clawed hand running down his spine.

“I’m glad he failed,” Kevin said plainly. “The world would be a lot dimmer without you, Gar.” If Gar’d had the ability to smile he would have done so, instead he had to settle for lifting up into the warmth of his touch.

“Thanks.”

~~~

They were halfway through the mountains before the question of ‘what then’ got Kevin right between the eyes. He knew what he wanted- to go home, see his family, hope for forgiveness for the lives he’d taken, the faces he saw when he closed his eyes. But where Gar would go, when they were themselves again, hung in his mind. No doubt he would want to return home as well, but the thought burned in him. They hadn’t appreciated him there, not enough, and he deserved better. He was too bright, too kind, too good for fair weather friends and no family to be mentioned.

‘Maybe,’ he thought, watching him pick his way through the rocky terrain, ‘I could get him nicely settled in court.’

‘He deserves at least that.’

~~~

“You could always come home with me, if you wanted.” Gar tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, like his focus was really on the fruit they were stealing and not the way Kevin’s footsteps faltered.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” It was a stupid offer. For as bad as things had been when he left, Kevin loved his family and of course would want to go back to them. Just, as much as Gar loved his home, he couldn’t help but feel like it would be too quiet without him. Fuck, even silence felt bright and warm with him there, and a crowd would surely feel empty and quiet with him gone. But it was a selfish thought, one Gar was almost ready to retract when a soft laugh came from the other side of the orchard.

“I was gonna tell you the same thing.”

~~~

Nightmares weren’t new to either of them, not with what they had been through. At first they’d tried to keep them to themselves, but as time had gone on it had seemed, foolish, to bother. Near every hour of every day was spent together, they knew each other better than anyone ever had by now, and suffering alone had begun to feel pointless. So, they had opened up. Not completely, but enough. Neither discussed the looming dread of death against their backs, but Gar spoke of memories of friends and family lost to accident and famine, and Kevin of old friends’ blood on his hands and kin taking up arms.

It was one of the latter from which he woke. He didn’t know what Gar had looked like before, and even in his nightmares there was no shape to him, just a man he knew too well with his sword raised. And like with his kin, what could he do against such an attack? Always his eyes opened before the killing blow, always it was more relief than he cared to say to see Gar calm and quiet against his side, but this night was different, just a touch.

“I’m here, you’re safe,” Gar muttered, hardly loud enough to hear, his head lain across Kevin’s neck. “Nobody will hurt you.” The words were like a balm on a wound and drew a million responses to sit uselessly on his tongue.

“Gar,” sighed like a prayer was the best Kevin could manage, his tails curling around Gar, pulling him closer as he let the warmth that radiated from him lull him into a fitter sleep.

~~~

It became ridiculous, the more time passed from their initial meeting, for Gar to think that he’d ever feared Kevin. Even now, a bloody mass of teeth and claws and too many parts, all he could see was a worried and wet puppy. One who cared enough to sit there in the rain, wing raised to keep Gar dry, and tend to his leg with all the gentle care something his size could manage.

“Kevin, I’ll be fine,” Gar told him for the third time, nudging his shoulder until he looked up from triple checking his bandaging work was snug but not damaging. “The dogs hardly got a grip, and I’m pretty sure those hunters aren’t going to enter this forest ever again.”

“Still,” Kevin huffed, pulling away from his work with a look like he didn’t trust it. He heaved a deep breath as he met Gar’s eyes and reached to carefully stroke his cheek. “Somebody should take care of you.”

It wasn’t a new concept, not even a little, but the way he said it, like there was a silent ‘properly’ in there, like there was something he deserved and wasn’t getting, was enough to make Gar indulge his concern.

~~~

The fight was a bad one. It had been too long since Kevin’d eaten, the weather had been atrocious, and they’d been walking nonstop for two days, day and night. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and so had seen no point in stopping when he could simply carry Gar when he had to. Simply enough, he wasn’t in his best shape, and up against an opponent who, though not the best equipped he’d fought, was certainly the most experienced with fighting beasts like him. Both had landed good hits on the other, and Kevin had just managed to take out a chunk of the man’s armor before his spear went down past his shoulder and into his chest, grating along the inner edge of his ribs.

He hadn’t even had time to react before a good 400 pounds of deer had collided with the man antlers first. Somehow this struck him worse than the wound. Even people hunting him specifically Gar was loathe to see hurt if it could be helped, and watching him back away with antlers covered in blood and gore- It wasn’t right.

Gar stood and stared as the man hacked up blood, the barest tremble visible across his back.

It was on instinct that Kevin yanked the spear from himself and cast it aside, no worry about his own wellbeing in face of the burning need to get Gar as far away from this man and this scene as he could. Biting back a whine of pain, he scooped him up with ease and bolted in some random direction, running until his legs gave out under him. Even then, with grey at the edges of his vision, he clutched his shaking stag to himself like he might keep all ills away.

“Shh, it’s alright, everything is fine, I promise…”

~~~

“Be okay, Kev, please, you promised-”

Between how long he’d gone without sleep, the fight, the bleeding, there had really only been so long Kevin could stay awake. Still holding onto a smile and handing out reassurances even as he slumped and passed out. There had only been so much Gar could do about it. The lack of hands was a killer and even with them he had no idea how to heal a wound like that. He’d had no choice but to lay beside him, covered in blood (god, he’d never killed a man before, he’d never wanted to, but the spear had sunk so deep and all he could think-) and wait for what felt like forever to see if he woke. He had to wake.

“I can’t lose you too. I’ve lost everything else, not you too…” And not so close, they couldn’t have been far off from their goal, they just couldn’t, and Kevin deserved it. Deserved to continue with his stupid jokes and thirst for books and fiddly things, to find somebody who could properly appreciate him for the wonderful man he was. Not to die here-

“…m f’n…” Gar’s heart stopped a moment at the sound and he drove his head forward to press it against Kevin’s throat, feel his heartbeat as he forced a chuckle. “‘m not dead.”

“Please stay that way,” he said, shaking as Kevin managed a chuckle and smile, hand settling over the back of Gar’s neck.

“‘course,” he said, “I promised,” and turned his head with a tired blink to carelessly brush his lips over Gar’s muzzle.

He couldn’t have described what happened next to you. Only that he had gone warm, like that night by the fire when Kevin had looked at him so softly but all over, and all he’d been able to see was him. Then, as suddenly as the first change, Kevin had managed to be larger, glorious in full color, and Gar’s fingers- Neither of them breathed for a long minute as it sunk in.

“Damn,” Kevin said, mostly awake now, “and he’s pretty too.” Gar sobbed a laugh, all the tears he hadn’t been able to shed since the Fae Lord’s realm bursting forth as he glanced down at the compass around Kevin’s neck. The needle was spinning lazily. With a deep, shuddering breath and a hopeful grin he threw himself forward and kissed Kevin like it was the only way to live.

He could see light through his eyelids, feel him changing, and was overjoyed for him even as he relished being able to bury his fingers in his hair. Within heartbeats Kevin was kissing him back, with the same passion and adoration that was beating in Gar’s chest. It was like magic, it was magic, and the only reason he didn’t try to stay like that forever was so that he could see him again. He’d never actually thought about it, what he’d looked like before, and even as he pulled away found his eyes first going to the wound, now sealed with a fierce scar because he had to get lucky at least once in his life.

Kevin was looking at him with that same old soft gaze, the loveliest thing Gar’d ever seen, bringing his free hand up to untangle and grasp Gar’s. He took a good, long moment to just stare, both of them needing the time to just take each other in.

“How,” Gar finally said the first thing that popped into his little head, “are you still so much bigger than me?” Kevin’s snorting laugh was even sweeter now.

“Blame my grandmother, supposedly I’ve got maybe three inches on her.”

~~~

The next twelve hours consisted of savoring each other’s company, huddling against the night’s chill beneath what was the only piece of cloth between them, savoring each other’s company, and putting together some sort’ve makeshift clothing for the two of them until they could figure out how they were going to get a hold of anything presentable with nothing but their good looks, two ‘true love’ seeking compasses, and a pin Kevin would lose a limb over between them.

~~~

“So, now would probably be the time to mention that I’m a prince, huh?”

“I’m sorry, what? You’re a prince and you didn’t tell me?!”

“It never came up!”

“For fuck’s sake… Oh god… Please tell me this doesn’t mean your brother is a king.”

“My brother is a king. I’m fifth in line after his kids.”

“Oh, thank god for that, at least. I don’t think I could survive a throne.” Chuckling, Kevin drew him close and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“We’re lucky to have them then, huh dear?” Gar glowered at him, though he couldn’t manage to put any heat behind it.

“You are not calling me that the rest of our lives.” Kevin’s grin was bright and sharp.

“Oh, I think I am.”

#fanfic #and then they lived happily ever after

6 notes · View notes

thatmcgwords · 12 days

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