#we drowned it in bleach and it like finally died but it took a while and then we flung it into the woods BYE BUGGY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

Badass || Bill Denbrough x Reader

Day 2 of Fictober

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x [gn] Reader

Requested: how about you do a bill x reader where the reader is a badass but still in the losers club???? just came up with it!!! btw love ya work and love ya!!!!

A//n: Aw thank you so much! That’s so sweet of you. Love you too darling, hope you like it 💛💛💛 and thanks for being so patient like the rest y'all 😘 [also i am in no way a badass so I’m sorry, I tried lol] edit: OKAY IM ACTUALLY SO PROUD OF THIS, HOLY CRAP?? And again, i finished and pressed saved draft 30 SECONDS before midnight, so fight me this counts lol i just had to set up the title and tags and stuff on my computer before posting. anyways, thanks for waiting for this request, i hope you enjoy this, like i said, im actually surprised at how proud of this one i am!

Fictober Prompt: “that’s the easy part”

Warnings: Blood

“ROCK WAR~!”

The next thing you knew, rocks were soaring across the stream straight for your head. Luckily for your skull, your reflexes were faster than you remembered and you managed to duck before a giant stone could knock you out.

And yet you still heard a thump?

You peek out from behind your arms, looking behind you to see Richie laying flat on his ass, his glasses askew. You winced before you caught sight of a giant rock near his foot and quickly made a grab for it.

Your glare stretches across the stream, settling on the leader of the bigoted pack. You kissed the rock as you met his eye, a devilish smirk stretching across your face as you wound up. Bowers was scrambling for ammo but you had already released. The rock found its target with a satisfying ‘thunk’ leaving Bowers on his ass clutching his bleeding nose. He pulls his hand away, gaping at the overwhelming amount of blood that had already painted his hand before locking eyes with you.

“KISS MY ASS, HENRY!” You hollered with a triumphant smile. “YOU TWISTED FUCK!”

“What the fuck?” Belch and Victor began scrambling back, looking around desperately for rocks of their own.

The Losers spared wide eyed glances your direction as they unleashed a storm of rocks on the now deeply unsettled Bowers gang. Bill was the only one who hesitated, his wide blue eyes frozen on you when you turned to give him a smirk. You had been looking for ammo and it seemed he had the perfect one. You cocked a brow, your devilish smirk still dominating your face as you gestured to the stone in his hand.

“You gonna use that, Billy Boy?”

You threw a few quick glances across the barrens making sure your weren’t gonna get hit. Luckily morale seemed to be growing scarce over there.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely gone.

“Ow,” Bill hissed, right hand clutching his left shoulder. “F-f-uck.”

Your head whipped around on your shoulders again to see Victor Criss’s upper lip twitching into a satisfied smile as he looked at Bill. You returned your attention to your boyfriend and the rock he held out for you.

“Let me,” you seethed.

You snatched the rock up, stomping forward with a wild glare in your eyes that was enough to intimidate the bleach blonde. Victor was already on his heels and running, but you weren’t letting him get away that easy. You threw with all your might and watched with pride as it soared through the air and hit him directly on the spine that was poking through his back. He cried out in pain as he fell to the ground, his chin meeting the very rock bed that fueled the fight.

“EAT SHIT,” You spit. “YOU LACKEY ASS FUCK!”

~~~~

“Turn it off!” Beverly cried. “TURN IT OFF!”

The projector in Bill’s garage had quickly turned into It’s stage as It put on a horrific display for you and the rest of your friends. What was just once pictures of Derry, suddenly turned into pictures of Bill’s family - you missed Georgie terribly, having grown so close with him the year before he died when you and Bill first got together. And now you were all staring death in the eyes as It manipulated the very air in the room around you. Every click of the projector put you on edge, the stroking effect and of course the child eating clown tormenting you all.

It was hard to process your own thoughts as they were quickly drowning in everyone’s screams and your own fears. You clutched Bill tightly to your side, your arms linked and your fingers stitched together. Everything was moving so incredibly fast it was near impossible to process until you realized you weren’t holding Bill’s hand anymore.

“Y-Y/n!” He cried, tugging at the back of your shirt before it slips from his grip. “Y/N!”

Mike had already unplugged the projector, that much you knew. But you were fucking desperate. You lunged for the projector, gripping it tightly as you held it high above your head. With a guttural scream, you threw it as hard as you possibly could into the cement floor. It broke instantly into several unidentifiable pieces, the room now completely dark and eerily silent.

Heaving, you finally look up to meet your friends faces. Each of them were gaping at you, an expression they seemed to always be wearing around you.

“Well,” you say finally. “I think it’s safe to say we found It.”

~~~~

“How hard is it,” you seethed, your voice growing in volume. “to NOT wander off? In a FUCKING HAUNTED HOUSE?!”

You took all your anger and fear out on the door Richie was being held in. Your elbows were practically glued to the surface while your fists and forearms repeatedly pounded on the door. First Eddie, now Richie. You swear, these idiots had to me smarter than this.

“Richie!” Bill joined your side, pounding on the door that had closed all on its own.

“RICHARD!” You pounded on the door again, your anger turning to pure fear that was now stinging your throat and eyes as tears began to well. “This is not fucking funny, open the goddamn door asshole!”

Your hand wraps around the doorknob again, and you shake the handle, jostling it around in hopes something will cave. When the door flew open, you didn’t know whether to chalk it up to luck, skill, or it was all still part of It’s torment but you didn’t care. Richie was alive, and tumbled into your and Bill’s grip.

“Richie!” You hugged the boy tightly, then pulled away with your signature glare. “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?”

“N-n-no t-time,” Bill says, looking between you and Richie with determination in his eyes. “L-let’s get outta here.”

A muted thump answered before you could. You, Richie and Bill all looked to the source of the noise to see the moth-eaten mattress from earlier was now shifting by itself. It looked as if it was filled with jumping beans. A melon sized lump grew in the center before the fabric split to reveal the disheveled and muddied up head of your friend.

He smiles at your twisted expressions. “Wanna play loogie?”

Your reflexes are faster than your thought process and you run forward. Just as a strange black goo starts to spill from fake Eddie’s mouth, your leg was swinging through the air. Your left foot connected with the left side of his jaw, narrowly missing the sizzling black ink and Eddie’s head popped off his body as you put it across the room.

It sails through the air, his greasy hair catching several cobwebs as it spins. Specks of the goo go flying landing on the walls and ceiling before the small head collides with a disturbing ‘thunk’.

“What the fuck?!”

“Holy shit,”

Eddie’s head lands in the far corner of the room where it rolls back and forth on his right ear before settling. He was groaning as if all the spinning had made him dizzy. The ooze of black goo came out even faster as if he were ralphing, and it was now pooling across the floor and inching towards their feed.

“Oh, that’s fucking GROSS!” Richie looks quickly to you. “And now you made him angry!”

“At least I did something!”

“Guys,” Bill pleads. “C-come on,”

The pool of black tar is spreading fast and you and Richie don’t have to think twice to listen to Bill. You all turn on your heel, only to find three doors instead of one.

Very Scary, Scary, and Not Scary At All.

Not Scary At All was the winner, Bill and Richie quickly decide. And despite your protest that it was all clearly a trick and the doors were misnomers, they opened the Not Scary At All.

“Where’s My Shoe?”

The light was turned on to reveal the severed body of Betty Ripsom and you had promptly decided you had had more than enough.

“WHERE THE FUCK WERE HER LEGS?!” Richie cried.

“I’ve got a guess but I’m not sticking around to find out.” You growled.

You cast a glance behind you to see the tar had eaten up most of the floor, giving you little room to do what you wanted. Luckily, you didn’t need much. You took a few steps back and looked at the door in the center, your eyes settling deep into the crimson letters spelling “scary.” You were certainly glad you realized when you did that unlike the door that held Richie hostage, this one could easily be broken down from where you stood.

You sighed. “I have to do everything.”

~~~~

“WELCOME TO THE LOSERS CLUB, ASSHOLE!”

Richie’s bat swung through the air and knocked the clown back. Pennywise quickly recovered and lunged for the nearest target with a disgusting growl. You quickly scrambled for a weapon as Mike stepped up to bat. He threw the fence iron rod at the monster but it was stopped midair when It’s jaw unhinged and out came several charred arms holding it in place. More and more reached out from inside It’s throat and made a grab at Mike who was fighting back the force of all the arms.

You never happier to have been too slow to save your friend when you saw Stanley pick up one of several spare iron rods off the ground. With a brave determination, he launched forward with a fierce battle cry as his torch came down on the branch of arms that now recoiled, saving Mike. It stumbled back, the charred arms slinking back into its mouth and disappearing and Pennywise stumbles again when Richie kicks It forward and away from him. Unfortunately that brought It right to Stanley.

“Stan, watch out!” Bill cries from your side.

But it’s too late, It’s head had already changed to the same horribly contorted lady that had you had already found attacking your friend. Only this time it was still wearing It’s clown suit, and it was racing straight for Stan.

“Stan!” You cried, already running forward after him only to stop second later.

Yet again Stanley roared, striking the clown across the face with the most furious look you had ever seen on him. Despite the horrifying circumstances, you were quite proud. You quickly fell back into line, ready to fight with the others and you smiled yet again when Mike followed up Stan’s strike with a devastating blow of his own.

The small moment of victory was soon cut short - a pattern you were currently getting used to - when a pair of red tentacles-turned-crab-claws pulled Mike to the ground.

“Mike!” Eddie shrieked.

Mike was able to barrel roll to safety as as It advanced on him. The end of each gigantic claw striking the earth and narrowly missing him and you and your friends quickly followed not knowing what to do. You couldn’t watch it anymore, and you hated yourself for what you were about to do but you knew you would simply never forgive yourself if you lost Mike, or any of your friends.

For what Bill wished was the first time of the summer, he felt you leave his side as you charged headlong into danger. Another guttural scream left you as you hurled yourself onto It’s back, your iron spike in front of It’s neck, both hands on either side of the rod and you pulled as hard as you could.

Pennywise’s disturbing, maniacal laughter grew even scarier, something you didn’t think was possible as he began to suffocate. You let yourself drop back down to the ground, your grip still tight on your weapon as you used your position to pull It down to the ground. It was still laughing through chocked breathes but it had done what you hoped, and stopped, Mike had gotten to safety with the Losers.

And for one glorious moment you felt indestructible. Until you saw it shift before you’re very eyes and your eyes widened, as did the eyes of your friends and Bill. It’s complete figure changed, starting with It’s head. You and the Losers no longer saw a painted lady, a mummy, a horrible memory, an abusive father, or even a late little brother. But they saw you, their friend Y/n, cowering and crying under the iron rod that pinned you to the ground by the neck.

“Please,” It whimpered, bottom lip quivering horribly. “Please don’t. I don’t wanna die.”

The real you was staring at the sight of yourself, the real fake you that you always tried so hard to push down. You knew it was Pennywise, but it was enough to make you choke completely. You were always so confident, and you were good at sticking up for yourself and the rest of the Losers. At least that’s all they ever saw, that’s all you ever let them see. Deep down you were terrified, and much more than that you were terrified that your own fear would get in the way of protecting your loved ones.

Like now.

“Y/n?” Bill’s soft voice called out to you, breaking you from your spell.

You look down at your blubbering face, tears streaking down your cheeks as you begged yourself for mercy. Several pleas leaving your lips when finally you pulled the rod back. Your eyelids flicker open, gazing back up at you and watch your every move cowering.

“Y/n?” Ben asks.

You don’t answer, you just straighten, your demon double cowering beneath you and it only angers you more to know none of this is It’s own fear. It was yours. It was mocking you.

Which was pretty stupid, considering you still had the spike.

You bare your teeth as you summon your strength, throwing the end of the spike into the ground, going right through your throat.

~~~~

You watched with head on Bill’s shoulder as another drop of blood from your palm fell onto the grass. You were trying to think about anything but the pain, and with everything you had faced this summer, you certainly had the pick of the litter.

“It feels different now,” you say, voice quiet. “And not just cause It’s gone, ya know?”

You even hate to let yourself believe that, but for the sake of your sanity and the chance of every getting another night’s sleep you’d have to believe it. And knowing Bill as long as you did, you know he felt it too.

You pick your head up off his shoulder and look to his gaze break away from the hills in the distance to meet your eyes. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, and you know for sure he’s thinking it too. Beverly was leaving for Portland, Stan said he heard whispers from his parents that they might be moving and that was all on top of the heavy weight of your guys’ trauma that had already begun to drain everyone.

“A-a-at least we-we’ve got each o-other,”

You smiled, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Big sap,” you chuckled.

He smiled a little, enjoying the small moment between the two of you. But it disappears when his mind returns to image that had been replaying in his mind nonstop since Neibolt. The image of your cowering form that bothered you so much. He had never seen you - the real you, that was being confronted, that is - so distraught. He gulps, gathering his strength.

“W-what made you s-see that?” He asks.

You don’t answer for a long moment, and Bill fears he’s upset you. Or confused you, but he doubts that is the case. Finally, you look up at him, and lick your lips nervously.

“I’m scared Bill,” you croaked, heart pounding wildly at the admission. “I’m always worrying about you, I’m always worrying about Richie, Mike, Eddie, Stanley, Bev, and Ben. I’m always worried something is going to happen. I’m always scared something’s gonna happen to the ones I love, and I get scared that I’m not gonna be enough to protect them.”

You take a deep breath, swallowing all the air you lost in your unintentional rant. Somewhere during your confession, your gaze broke away from Bill’s gaze and now here you were afraid to even look him in the eye.

There’s another silence that Bill finally ends after a small thoughtful moment.

“It’s okay to be scared, Y/n,” he says, pulling your eyes to him. “I-I-It’s part of being h-human.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying your best to banish the image of your cowardly form from your mind. Suddenly the sting of your cut didn’t hurt so bad.

You looked back into Bill’s soft eyes, and shrugged.

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel too great either.”

He nudged you again with a charming smile.

“Well, y-you’re still a badass. Y-You’re always s-standing up for us,”

You chuckled weakly, sending him a smirk.

“That’s the easy part,” you say. “It’s looking out for myself that’s harder.”

“T-t-tell ya what?” You raise a brow at his sudden demeanor. “I’ll be t-the b-b-badass lookin out for you,”

You laughed, leaning in and giving him a lingering kiss that turned his cheeks absolutely scarlet.

You smiled when you saw this. “Thanks Billy Boy. Appreciate it. But I’d still like to work on myself a bit, ya know?”

He smiles again, this time triumphantly. “Deal.”

#bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough one shot #fictober20 #fictober 2020 #fictober #fictober day 2 #bill denbrough #jaeden lieberher #jaeden martell #reader insert #x reader #losers x reader #losers imagine #it 2017 #fic

364 notes · View notes

explosionshark · 3 years

Note

how to live here!

here's a special deleted scene that was supposed to go in one of the chapters after rachel and chloe start fighting, but i never really found a place where it made sense. but i always liked it too much to delete it.

The first time Chloe had talked about hanging out in a junkyard, Max had kind of assumed she’d been joking.

She’s been here a few times already since her return to Arcadia Bay, but the novelty of it still hasn’t worn off. Chloe doesn’t seem to mind, letting her wander off, camera in hand, to explore and take photos by herself until she’s halfway through a roll of film and finally satisfied.

Max lets the sound of breaking glass lead her back to Chloe and snaps one more picture. Chloe, broken off hockey stick poised at the highest arc of a big swing, aimed at the sun-bleached head of a mannequin perched atop a splintered milk crate like a fucked up golf ball on a tee.

The arc of the swing is completed. The head goes flying with a sharp crack, landing in a pile of scrap a few feet away. Chloe holds the stick up over her head and cheers.

“You get that, Max?” she calls over her shoulder. “One for the highlight reel.”

“Got it,” Max confirms, reaching up to withdraw the Polaroid as it’s ejected from the camera. She closes the distance between them to show Chloe the shot.

“Sick,” Chloe says, and then twirls the stick in her fingers. “Y’know, I never used to allow press in here before, but maybe that was a mistake. A few more like that and maybe I can finally catch some attention from the big leagues.”

“I can’t imagine they can ignore skills like yours for very long,” Max grins, leaning up on her tiptoes and craning her neck to try to spot the mannequin head in the garbage.

Chloe grins again and mimes another swing. “Wanna take a shot? Ride out my hot streak?”

“I’m good,” Max says.

Chloe nods and shrugs and swings again abruptly, for real, putting the end of the hockey stick through the screen of a boxy old TV on the ground suddenly and loudly enough to make Max jump.

“You sure?” She props a boot on the corner of the TV to hold it in place as she yanks the stick loose. “It’s hella cathartic. You’ve always struck me as having more rage than you’re willing to own up to.”

“Do I really?” Max asks, a little alarmed.

“Maybe I’m projecting,” Chloe concedes.

They wander further, Max trailing behind as Chloe beats the ever-loving shit out of anything even vaguely breakable in her path.

“Remember when you actually played?” Max asks, after the fifteenth minute of uninterrupted smashing.

Chloe pauses, turning on her heel and drawing the bandage on her arm across her forehead to wipe away a bead of sweat. “Oh hell yeah. They called me The Destroyer.”

“No they didn’t,” Max rolls her eyes. “Only you called yourself that.”

“Me and both our dads,” Chloe points out. “Yours even made a sign.”

“Oh yeah,” Max laughs. “Y’know, I think you were the hockey hooligan kid he always wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved when I quit the team.”

Her dad was a huge hockey fan and had been elated when she and Chloe had agreed when he showed them the newspaper ad he’d found seeking players for the local youth hockey team. William and their mothers had been a little more hesitant, Max remembered, but no one enough to really object to their joining.

Chloe took to it immediately, aggressive, competitive, and already more naturally athletic than Max had ever been. Max’s tenure was only a week long, but she’d remained a devoted fan of the team long after, going along with her parents to every game, home and away.

“Relieved, I think,” Chloe speculates. “You were a really small twelve year old.”

“I was appropriately sized for twelve,” Max protests. “You were tall.”

“Pint-sized,” Chloe teases. “Microscopic. Besides, you never had the heart for it. The bloodlust.”

“I liked the skating part. But yeah, you always had more fun with it than me. Did you ever get back to sports?”

Chloe shakes her head, quick and jerky, almost offended. “I never liked sports. I liked hockey ‘cause you guys would always come to my games and stuff. But then…after…”

Chloe missed the first couple weeks of practice, after William had died. It was Max’s dad that got her to go back, at Joyce’s insistence, hoping that the sport could be an outlet, that trying to preserve as much normalcy as possible would help Chloe deal with her grief.

Max and her dad had stayed in the bleachers through that first practice without William. Chloe’s play had been sloppier, and she’d left the ice early, face splotchy and red, thick hot tears running down her face into her jersey. It hadn’t gotten easier from there. It made sense that Chloe had stopped going entirely once Max’s family had moved.

“Anyway, can you even imagine me playing for Blackwell?” Chloe scoffs, brings the hockey stick down on the windshield of an old beat up car. The first blow sends a spiderweb of cracks all through the glass. The second penetrates, a small, fist-sized hole. The third, fourth, and fifth obliterate it completely.

Max closes her eyes, chases the images of a young, grief-stricken Chloe from her mind with this new fantasy. Chloe, hair undyed, strutting through the halls in a red and white letterman jacket. Chloe doing keg stands with Logan and Zach. Chloe with girls like Victoria and Juliet hanging off her arms. Chloe completely and totally ignoring a nerd like her.

“Okay, it’s a little weird,” Max admits, feeling a little embarrassed for the irrational churning in her gut. “You’ve never really been a joiner, huh?”

“Organized sports are so not punk rock,” Chloe says obnoxiously.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine you at Blackwell at all,” Max admits. “I wish I’d come back sooner. Y’know, before you left.”

Chloe’s quiet and Max knew it was a risk to go there at all, but it feels too true to keep to herself so she keeps speaking.

“I didn’t choose to be gone, but,” is it brave or stupid to do this now, actually? Has Chloe been waiting for an apology or will this just make things needlessly awkward and uncomfortable and painful? “I mean I wish I’d handled it differently. That we’d talked more while I’d been away.”

“Yeah,” Chloe shrugs. It feels like Max is on the verge of losing her, so she hurries on before the silence between them stretches too far.

“Can I be honest with you?” Max asks, stomach twisting in knots.

Chloe raises an eyebrow and nods for her to continue.

“I kind of thought,” she pauses and winces. “I mean, I was a little afraid that after I left you just. Wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That you’d replace me.”

“Max, what the fuck?” Chloe lets the words out in a harsh exhale and Max knows that tone of voice. Knows she’s pissed off for real, now.

“I know,” Max cringes, scrubbing a hand down her face. “But, I mean, you were always the cool one, right? And you were going into high school and I was still sleeping with a teddy bear and—”

“This is such bullshit,” Chloe’s voice cracks and Max was not expecting that. “You’re not just— You can’t just replace a best friend! I fucking needed you. I was so… I needed you so much and you hung me out to dry because you were scared I’d stop thinking you were cool?”

“No,” Max hurries to clarify, feeling appropriately breathless for the desperate, drowning sensation overwhelming her. “No, not like that. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I just kept putting it off, y’know? Like with homework. Remember how many times my mom had to bail me out because I’d wait too long on finishing a project and it wouldn’t be ready by the due date? Only no one could bail me out this time. And the longer I waited, the worse I felt, the more sure I was that you hated me, that you’d scream at me and tell me to stay out of your life. And I was too scared to face that so I…”

“I never hated you,” Chloe says, face caught somewhere between fury and despair. “Fuck, for the longest time all I wanted was to leave here, to be where you were instead.”

“The night you called me,” Max cuts in gently, proud at least when her voice doesn’t shake, “when you tried to run away, I was so scared for you. And I felt guilty because I realized I was wrong, that you still wanted to be my friend, and I knew I didn’t deserve it. I cried myself sick on the ride down with my mom to pick you up. It really freaked her out. But when we got there you just hugged me and you let me hold your hand the entire way back to Arcadia Bay.”

Chloe stays silent, chewing her lip hard enough to make Max wince.

“And even after, even though we were talking again the entire time I was away I’d think about being back here instead. I think about all the years I missed with you and I get mad because it feels kind of like my fault. Like if I’d tried harder it wouldn’t have taken this long. But I can’t fix that now, I know, I’m just glad we’re here now.”

Chloe shakes her head, rough, and throws the beat up hockey stick into a pile behind her. “Max, you fucking—”

She cuts herself and stomps over and Max isn’t sure what she was expecting, but she’s definitely surprised when Chloe wraps her arms around her, drags her close until there’s almost no space between them.

As tight as the hug is, Chloe’s hands hovering over her back are gentle. She’s quiet but her breathing’s rough. It takes a long time for her to speak again; when she does her voice is shaky, quiet. “I never, ever hated you, but I was pissed at you for a really long time.”

“I’m sorry,” Max tries to say but Chloe squeezes her tighter until she falls quiet.

“I got tired of it,” Chloe says. “And it wasn’t fair, either. Not really. We were just kids. God, I fucked so many things up so much worse than that. You don’t know how bad. If you did, you’d think I’m so pathetic. You’d hate it.”

“Chloe Price, you’re so many things, but pathetic has never been one of them,” Max insists, a little startled by the steel in her voice. Chloe tenses in her arms, but doesn’t move away so Max continues, gentler, “I wish I’d been here more. I know you weren’t alone the whole time but still, if I could go back and change anything it’d be trying harder to be a bigger part of your life. It’d be not letting it take so long to get here.”

It’s stupid, she knows, it’s ridiculous to think she could have prevented any of the hard knocks Chloe had taken in her absence but the thing is she’ll never know and Max thinks that she’ll probably always feel responsible somehow.

“God, imagine if we’d had a few years together at Black-Hell,” Chloe says and releases her, finally. She stays close, pushes some hair out of Max’s face. “We would have gotten into so much trouble. Me, you and…” She trails off with a wince but doesn’t linger. “You could have cheated off my science papers. I’d trade you rides around the Bay for homework.”

“Hey,” Max laughs. “Presumptuous. How do you know I would have compromised my morals like that?”

“Oh, you would have,” Chloe says, laugh all low and breathy. “When have you ever been able to say no to these baby blues?”

She bats her lashes facetiously, but the blush staining Max’s face is very real. “Okay, whatever. What else would we have done?”

“Oh, pranks,” Chloe says. “No doubt. We would have pranked it up so hard on those nerds. I always had this idea about semi-permanent hair dye and Victoria’s shampoo bottles, but I never lived in the dorms. And for some reason, Rachel refuses to be my inside man on this one.”

“I’d be down,” Max blurts out, not sure what the sudden pained look on Chloe’s face could have been leading to, but desperate to head it off.

“Wait, for real?” Chloe asks, appropriately distracted and Max realizes suddenly that her hypothetical assent to collusion had just been offered in practice.

“Uh, I mean—”

“No take-backs,” Chloe crows, gleefully. “Holy shit, dude, yes. Okay, I’ve got it worked out pretty well, this is something I’ve been sitting on for a few years at least. First, we’ll need a distraction…”

Chloe’s plan is elaborate, but thorough, and by the time she’s done laying out the details Max isn’t sure she’ll be able to follow through, but she does know that whatever lingering doubts about their friendship she’d had this morning were founded in one-sided insecurity.

“Let me sleep on it,” she says, finally.

“Max,” Chloe whines. “You promised.”

“I did not.”

“I mean, practically.”

“No, I didn’t.”

It’s almost like being a kid again, arguing about something pointless under the midday sun, a little dehydrated but having too much fun together to do something sensible like go back inside. Max has missed this for so long.

She’s deliriously happy she won’t ever have to miss it again.

#life is strange #pricefield #how to live here #ask games #explosionfic

33 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 3 years

Text

mixtape | track ten

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Indiana’s mental health class was in her first semester in the pre-med program. Abnormal Psychology, PSY 249, in a stuffy room in a building on the far side of campus. She’d hated it. College was supposed to be challenging, her program was supposed to be the most rigorous, and yet the class was a breeze. They went through condition after condition - depression, PTSD, anxiety, schizophrenia. The inner workings of the brain, the chemical imbalances, the medications that would help people come back to themselves. She passed the class with a 101%, stowed the knowledge in a seperate folder in her brain for safe keeping, and moved on at the end of the course. But she kept one piece of paper out, one piece of knowledge that didn’t make sense.

Voluntary Emotional Detachment. It was a relatively new idea in the world of psychology, seeing that many of its characteristics could fall under depression. That wasn’t what confused Indy. No, that came when her professor lectured on the voluntary portion.

“Emotional Detachment is a useful tool sometimes, when it’s used purposefully. For example, if you have a toxic family member in your life, you may voluntarily emotionally detach yourself from them. It’s a defense mechanism, especially during times of trauma. You’ll find yourself numb, unable to feel even if you wanted to. It happens with loss sometimes as well, where you can’t feel the gravity of what you’re losing. Your mind knows what it can withstand, and sometimes, it pulls back. It shields you from the cruel world we live in. It protects.”

Indy had scoffed in her seat, so loud that her professor looked at her and frowned, which was enough to have her blushing red and keeping her head down as she scribbled notes for the rest of the class.

It was the one time she’d ever been reprimanded by an academic authority. Professor Upton pulled her aside before she could escape out of the lecture hall doors.

“Ms. Cross. You seem like a bright girl, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect.”

“I’m very sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” Indiana had practically stumbled over the words to get them out, her palms sweaty on her backpack strap as she held it on her shoulder.

Indy had a million explanations, but she knew that her professor didn’t care to hear them. And they were lies anyway. The true reason she’d scoffed was something she didn’t want to share.

It was because her professor had made it seem so easy, to just turn it off. Emotionally pull the plug, to sever your ties to someone.

She’d scoffed because if her brain had the capability, and it hadn’t moved to protect her when her mother died, shielded her from the aftermath of unimaginable pain that she’d endured, she wasn’t so sure that she was at all intelligent after all.

But she understood why now.

It was because her mother dying had made sense.

Not in the grand scheme of things. Not in a karma driven universe - there was no justifying losing a light as bright as Nicole Cross in a world that had checks and balances, a world that cared.

But physically, it had made sense.

Nicole’s cancer started in her pancreas. Stage III when they found it. 13.3% survival rate. And it spread like wildfire. Indiana threw herself into her books, looked for anything, some medical breakthrough that someone had missed. She looked into drug trials, she looked into synthetic pancreas research. All the while, her mother’s cancer took over cell by cell, multiplied and multiplied the way cells are built to. And when it reached her brain, it took over her brainstem.

When it got to that point, Indiana heard the four words that she would never forget.

“She’s done. We’re done.”

They had echoed out, bouncing off the bleached linoleum, making a cold room even colder. Her father’s voice had never sounded so unfamiliar, and she was glad that her mother was sedated when she broke down. There was no detachment, only raw, searing pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. She sunk to the floor, ragged sobs finally breaking free when she realized what she’d known was coming was finally happening.

The fight was over. It was time to let go.

Charlie hadn’t cried. No, Charlie stood still as stone in the corner of the room, eyes unblinking as she stared at the shell of her mother in her hospital bed and willed it to be a dream, a nightmare that she would finally wake up from.

And then, she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was. And she picked her little sister up off the floor and held her in her arms, like she always had when Indiana was hurting.

Without the vital cues from that little piece of Nicole’s brain telling them to, her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped asking for air, and she died.

And it made sense.

This didn’t make sense. His words made no sense.

There was no one to hold Indiana Cross now, and she had a new set of four words that would haunt her.

“I can’t do this.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Six days. Grayson’s thoughts ate him alive for six whole days. He lived through the odd limbo that the world seemed to find itself in on the days between Christmas and New Years. A pause in the spin on the axis, a time to reflect on everything the year had brought, and what the next one had to offer.

Even in his daze, Grayson could only remember one other December he’d tried to hold onto so hard.

His father’s face was at the forefront of his mind, but not the images that he wanted to see. All he saw was a look of disappointment in his eyes with each hour that Grayson’s lips stayed pressed together while Indiana rested, oblivious in his arms. He towed the selfish line of wanting to enjoy the last days he had with her while his guilt threatened to drown him with every breath he dared to take. He hid it well, as he always did when he really needed to. They had their date nights, with movies and postmates since he still didn’t want her out in public with him. They stayed in the tiny house again to enjoy nature, snuck into Jet’s a few times. He smiled when he was supposed to, went through the motions that were expected of him. It had worked for him before, for videos, for time with friends when all he wanted to do was sit in his room and speak to no one. The only person he could never fool was Ethan, who kept his distance, but stayed close enough to keep his eyes on him. He thought he had everyone but his twin fooled.

But Indiana noticed. Indiana always noticed.

Nicole had called it the curse of intelligence when she was younger.

“Sometimes,” she’d said. “When you know too much about how the world works, how people work, you see things you aren’t supposed to. You understand things you aren’t supposed to.”

Indiana was 12 at the time, sitting on the other side of the kitchen table.

“What do you mean mom? How can you know too much?”

“You’ll know one day. You’ll see.”

The way she’d said it made Indy sit her fork down, her stomach suddenly tight.

And now she’d seen.

On New Years Eve, Indiana Cross leaned in to kiss her boyfriend as the clock struck midnight, on her couch in her apartment, with her picture frames on the shelf over their heads and the sound of fireworks outside her window.

Grayson didn’t lean in.

He leaned back, and he spoke.

“I can’t do this.”

Indiana took a breath. In. Out. Filled her lungs and emptied them again.

She’d noticed. But she hadn’t let herself believe it. She’d pushed every little nuance she’d seen, every time that Grayson’s eyes didn’t catch the smile he tried to put on his face the last few days- she’d pushed it to the back of her mind and justified it. He was just worried about leaving, he was just stressed about Bekah like she was, he was just tired. She’d seen every sign and she’d justified it.

She swallowed air, her throat painfully dry.

“What?”

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Indiana did what she always did, what she’d always done her entire life when anything didn’t make sense, when anything went slightly off track.

She tried to understand why.

She racked her brain for everything that she’d done, every syllable she’d spoken, and every movement she’d made since that first day at Frazier outside, with him in his green pants on the bench, and her with two Jet’s coffee’s in her hands.

Her fingers were cold as she pressed her hands together. There was a finality in his tone that had her chest tight, her ribs pressed together, muscles pushing on bones and squeezing everything until she felt like she was going to suffocate. She opened her mouth.

“Oh.”

Grayson had his head in his hands, leaned over his knees on the couch. He shook in an unfamiliar way, like he was choking, and it took Indy a moment to realize that he was crying.

She felt like she was in a dream, watching what was happening to her from the outside. It was like slow motion as she watched the girl on the couch curl in on herself, her walls reconstructing at ten times speed - he’d been so gentle with each brick that she didn’t even realize they’d been taken down. He spoke after a moment of heavy silence.

“I love you, but we can’t. I can’t do this to you.”

Her brain refused to process it, refused to even try to dissect it, and she spoke the only word she seemed to be able to find.

“Oh.”

“Indy I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I should have said something sooner, I wanted to, I’m an asshole for waiting this long.”

She swallowed and wrung her hands together.

“When is your flight?”

His tears streamed faster somehow as he blinked.

“Tomorrow afternoon. We have meetings on the 2nd.”

In. Out.

“What time?”

Grayson looked up. Indiana was sitting straight up, head up high. The only thing moving were her hands, which she kept squeezing together over and over. It scared him, to see his once bubbly girl so still while his tears continued to fall. He couldn’t read her.

“I’m not sure, I’d have to check. Dee, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She smiled her hospital smile, the one she used when she got bad news, and it was somehow worse than if she’d yelled at him.

“Indy.”

“It’s okay. C’mere, it’s okay.”

She opened up her arms for him, and she didn’t even seem to notice that they were shaking ever so slightly.

Grayson’s eyes were too blurry to see the quiver. He was fighting himself again, wagering whether sinking into her arms would only cause more damage in the long run. But he knew how it felt to be there, and he wagered that it would be worth whatever hellish guilt it was sure to bring later. So he leaned in, and just a single touch from her had him sobbing again. He pressed his face into her shoulder with so much force that she fell backwards a bit, and suddenly they were intertwined with him above her on the couch.

His pain was physical. She could feel it, in the way his body shook and paused when he tried to suck in a breath that his lungs desperately needed, the wet hot air soaking through her shirt with every exhale he choked out. His tears were warm, the salt already stiffening the fabric that soaked them up. Her hands found his back, and she lifted a finger to his skin before she paused.

She didn’t know what to write anymore.

Instead, she moved her hand to his hair, scratching at his scalp, holding him steady. He was heavy against her and she closed her eyes, felt him there with her, took in the weight of him.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” We’re okay. “You’re okay.”

Her words only made Grayson cry harder when he realized what she was doing. He came back to himself for a moment when he realized that all the shaking wasn’t him. He could feel the way she held onto him and shook, so subtle that he could tell she was fighting it. His stomach churned at the thought of how bad her pain must be if it was causing a reaction in her body, and he moved to push himself up.

“Indy.”

She clung to him, panic breaking through the protective numbness that had taken hold so quickly. If it was the last time she was going to get to hold him, she’d hoped it would have lasted just a bit longer.

But she took a deep breath and she let him go, forced her arms to release him.

It hurt worse to see his face again, see the pain in his puffy eyes. She reached back out for him, swiped her thumb across his cheek to catch a tear. Her fingers got distracted in the feeling of his scruff, and she scratched over it for a moment, indulging herself, willing herself to remember the way it felt on her fingertips.

“It’s okay.” It was a reflex to her, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying it.

“It’s not though. Indy, it’s not okay. I’m hurting you.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Her eyes fell to her lap, picking at her fingernails.

“I’ll be okay.” It was a lie, but she would have said anything to bring some of the light back to his eyes. Her pain she could manage, but his was her breaking point.

“Please don’t do that. Please don’t pretend on this.” He brought in a shaky breath, blowing it out quickly.

In. Out.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to scream. I want you to be pissed at me, I want you to be mad that I waited this long to tell you! You haven’t even asked why,” he cried. Indy wondered for a moment why it always hurt more to see boys cry. It seemed to be more painful for them somehow - heavier.

“I think I know why.”

He sat up a bit more at her words. Waiting.

“It was a chance thing, you being here. Us meeting. Your life is entirely different than mine, and you have your people in LA. There’s… I mean there’s plenty of girls there who don’t have the stuff I have. Class, work -” Her voice cracked at the end, Grayson’s outline blurring just a bit as she looked up.

“No. No no no, hey,” he stopped her, hands hovering over her for a moment before he gave in and rested them on her arms, holding her without fully pulling her in. “It’s not that. I promise you, it has nothing to do with anyone else. I want you, I don’t want anyone else. But I know you, and your dreams are here, and I’m not gonna take that away from you.”

Indiana’s confusion only grew. She’d only heard one thing he’d said.

“You want me?” Her voice sounded pitiful, even to own ears.

“Of course I do.” He spoke it like it was the only possible truth, and a flicker of hope rose in her gut, fighting it’s way up. “Indy of course I do.”

“Then… why?”

“Remember when we went to LA?”

His words brought back a flood of memories. The two of them kissing in the ocean, the secret beach, sleeping in his bed with his green wall, piggyback rides around the house, the late night Cudi drives.

“Yeah.”

“You remember how much you hated it there? How bad you wanted to come back home? And what did I promise you?”

Indy couldn’t find her voice. Her brain was otherwise occupied, watching her memories being drug through dark ink, staining them.

“I promised you I would never ask you to leave New York.” He finished it for her. “And I meant it. But I can’t stay here Indiana, no matter how bad I want to.”

“Your life is in LA.” She repeated her words from earlier, monotone and unattached. Her heart fought with her, begged her to tell him everything. Tell him that she was going to start working at Jets and start therapy so she could fly out to see him. Tell him that she was halfway through her UCLA application essay that she’d been working on on nights he fell asleep before her. Tell him that she’d drop everything and follow him anywhere.

“You’re the most giving person I’ve ever met. You give so much to everyone but yourself. But I’m not letting you give up your life for anyone, especially not me.”

She wanted to be mad that he assumed that she would. But there was an understanding, a sadness in his eyes that reminded her that he knew her better than she had ever realized.

“We could make it work.”

He looked like he wanted to believe her.

“You deserve someone who is here for you.”

“You’re here for me.” Her mouth was starting to outrun her mind, a dangerous game that she usually couldn’t stop once it had begun.

“You deserve someone who is here to celebrate your accomplishments every day, not someone in a different time zone on the other side of the country.”

“We could make it work.” It was more of a plea that time, and she saw it register across his face, the pain it caused him.

“Indy.”

“People do long distance all the time, we could do it.”

“We aren’t long distance people,” he said, but Indy’s mind was already running.

“We could set up a facetime schedule, and you wouldn’t have to visit that much, I’ll be busy with school anyways. And if we hate it, then we can stop. We just have to try, we’re never gonna know unless we try it.”

Grayson was silent for a minute, which was enough of an answer. He’d known this was coming. Ethan had warned him that it would happen, that Indiana would try to reason her way through it. He’d told his brother that he had to be confident in his choice or he’d get swayed off course.

Grayson wasn’t sure he’d even be confident in his choice to remove himself from the best person he’d ever known. But knowing that in the long run it would be better for her was the only thing that let him cling to the last bit of resolve he had.

“Indy.”

Her lip quivered, and he felt his heart crack.

“Please,” she said.

“C’mere. Just c’mere.”

It wasn’t a surrender, but an offering of comfort. Indy knew it would hurt her later, but she didn’t have the willpower to resist it. She crawled into his lap, and the last of the numbness that had started faded away. In his familiar arms, she lost her last semblance of control.

She crumpled into his shoulder, broken sobs shaking her frame as she clung to him, let him hold her as she wrapped herself around him, as if it would somehow make him stay.

He rocked her as she sobbed, accidentally pressing a kiss to her shoulder before he realized what he was doing. It was torture in the rawest form, worse than he could have expected to be the cause of her pain.

“I’m so sorry Indy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her over and over, hoping she believed him. She pressed her face against his neck to keep her eyes closed, pretending for a moment that everything was fine.

“I love you.”

The tears returned to his eyes, and in a moment of weakness he turned and pressed a kiss to her hair, her temple. His lips had missed her.

“I love you too Indiana Cross.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Her finger traced against his back. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. She wished she could erase it somehow when his breath caught in his throat again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was muffled by her skin, seeing that he was unwilling to lean back from her.

“I know this is hurting you too,” she said, and was met with the feeling of more of his tears on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“The only thing you did was make me love you too much. Don’t be sorry for that.”

The way her heart squeezed wasn’t natural, and though she knew the phenomenon wasn’t as everyone said, she was sure it skipped a beat in her chest. She squeezed him tighter to her, like she had so many times. She synced her breathing to his, laid her head on his shoulder, committed the sound of his heartbeat to memory.

Their tears dried out over the next hour, the numbness of acceptance starting to blanket over them. Neither of them dared to move a muscle, Grayson especially. All he did was rub his hand over her back, up and down the same as he had been since she climbed into his lap. They both knew that moving would mean having to figure out what to do next.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Indy wasn’t sure, and she was scared to look at a clock, to see her fleeting time left with him wasting away.

“Did you pack your bag already?” Her voice was too loud even though it was barely above a whisper, pulling them back into the reality they wanted to avoid.

“Yeah. It’s at home.”

Indy could see it in her head, his Jersey room, quiet and waiting for him with his orange duffle on the bed. But her stomach filled with a wave of nausea as she realized what it meant.

“So you have to go home.”

Grayson’s hand paused on her back. She was holding her breath.

“I… I didn’t know if you would want me to stay.” It was the first time he could remember not knowing what to say to her.

Her arms tightened around him, her breathing getting a little bit more ragged. He ran his hands over her back quickly, desperate to soothe her.

“Shh, shh hey, I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yet.” She whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he flinched. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

“Not undeserved,” he said, turning and resting his cheek against her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. So whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

Indy sat up. Her eyes had settled a bit, her tears washing the jellyfish blue into a shade of navy that Grayson didn’t recognize. It made his breath catch in his chest.

“Whatever I need?”

“Whatever you need.”

She looked at him, and her head tilted to the side just slightly. A small smile tried to make its way to her face, but her lips quivered.

“Could you kiss me?”

He paused, watching her fight off her tears with a deep breath.

“Is that what you need?”

“Just… just one. I didn’t know, you know. That the last one was gonna be the last one. And we’re here, and I just thought, that maybe - ”

He kissed her. For the first time, he was hesitant. He kept his hands to his sides, not wanting to push anything too far, not wanting to make anything worse somehow. Indy barely reacted either, too nervous to do something wrong.

They pulled back from each other, breathing shallow, nerves taking over as they tried to figure out what to do.

“Thank you,” Indiana said.

Grayson swallowed hard, watched her eyes as they flickered between his own.

And then they were kissing. Really kissing, chasing the taste of each other like air at the end of a sprint. His hands went to her face, holding her to him as her hands went to his torso, bunched up his shirt and tried to pull him into her, closer somehow despite the fact that they were already touching everywhere that they could be. The desperation was palpable, in the way their hands roamed and fell back into their familiar patterns. Indy sucked in the first real breath she’d taken in since the clock had struck midnight, breathed him in as best she could, trying to lose herself in him like she always had. But her mind wouldn’t shut off, reminding her that it could really be the last time she had him like this.

He felt her tears, first on his thumb that was holding her cheek, and then against his own skin. It took all his willpower to pull back from her lips. She let him, her breathing shaky as she tucked her face back down into his neck.

He picked her up effortlessly, standing up from the couch and moving them to her room. The Cudi vinyls seemed to mock him, especially when he laid down and stared up at them on their small shelves. Indy didn’t move an inch, staying wrapped around him, laying on top of him when he rested back against the pillows.

Time moved quickly, and Indy still avoided the clocks, scared to see what had already passed.

Grayson wanted to hear her voice. Wanted her to talk to him, wanted to commit every single thing she said to memory, but he wouldn’t ask. She had given him enough.

He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of her fingers over his shirt, tried to make out what shapes she was drawing like he always did. He felt her hands travel up higher, up his neck to his skin, scratching over his beard.

Her fingertips were gentle as they moved up, over his lips, around his cheek to his eyelids, down over his nose, then to the other side of his face. She traced the pattern a few times, and Grayson waited until she was on his nose to speak.

“What’re you drawing?”

“You,” she said. “Memorizing.”

He didn’t know how he still had more tears to make, but they started to fall anyways, down the side of his face over his temples.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“I know. I wish you could stay just a little bit longer.”

“Me too.”

He traced a heart on the back of her arm.

“I love you too.”

The truth of it was, she didn’t know how to not love him, and that was the scary part of it all. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t love him with everything she had in her.

She didn’t know who she was without it anymore.

“If you ever change your mind, I’ll be here you know,” she said. He took in a deep breath, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

Her heart sank.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do that, to wait for me. I’m not going to string you along, that’s cruel. Once I’m back in LA, I want you to move on.”

Indy shook her head against him, burying her face in his chest.

“No.”

“Indy.”

“No.” Her brain refused to process it, to imagine a single scenario where she felt anything good without Grayson by her side. She knew it wasn’t healthy, and she vowed to never tell anyone but in that moment, she reserved herself to be miserable every minute that she wasn’t with him.

“I know it’s not gonna be easy, but you deserve to be happy. And I’m sorry that I’m gonna make that harder, but you’ll find somebody who can love you better than I do.”

“Does that mean you’re going to just move on when you get back to LA? Just forget about me?” There was a spite in her voice that she didn’t like hearing in her own voice. But Grayson didn’t flinch. It was almost reliving to him. He was getting what he deserved, what he’d earned for breaking her heart.

Her anger meant she cared.

“Indiana I’m never going to forget you. If you think I could, I was an even worse boyfriend than I thought.”

“No, don’t do that.” She pushed off his chest and sat up. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me think that the last three months were bad. That’s the last thing I have to hold onto. Those were the best months of my life, you don’t get to take that.”

Grayson didn’t have an answer.

“Okay.”

“You made this decision for the both of us, I don’t get a say in it. So I’ll hold onto it as long as I fucking want to. You don’t get to tell me I have to move on.”

“Okay.”

“Okay then,” Indy said, reaching up to wipe a tear away. She sucked in a breath and pushed it out through shaky lips, trying to hold herself together.

“Sorry.”

Grayson shook his head. “Indiana you can be mad at me. You should be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you.”

She knew it wasn’t in the way that he meant. Because she wasn’t mad that he’d broken up with her. Because deep down, under all the pain and all the love and all the worry, she knew he was doing it for her. He was doing what she would never have the guts to do, even if it was the right thing.

No, she was mad at him for infiltrating every single part of her. Every thought, every muscle, every cell of her body contained him. Every hope she had for her future was molded around him. He was there in everything. His curls were in the dreams she had about her future children. His smile in the back of her mind every time she closed her eyes. His eyes, bright and green, always there.

“Do you want me to leave?” There was no malice in his tone, only genuine concern.

She pondered it for a moment. Thought about what it would look like, for him to actually walk out the door and never come back through it.

“No.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stay.”

“I can drive you to the airport. So Ethan doesn’t have to come into the city.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Okay.”

They stared at each other for a moment, staying very still, waiting for one of them to make a decision.

“We should probably sleep.” Grayson checked his watch. “It’s 4am.”

“Okay.”

Another pause. Another moment of uncertainty that they’d never had to navigate.

“Do you want me to take the couch?”

She shook her head, and with a sigh, she gave in. Grayson could finally breathe again when she settled against him, pushing her hand up under his shirt, running her fingers over his ribs. He wrapped her up in his arms tightly, focused on the feeling of the weight of her on him.

And he closed his eyes.

His alarm went off at 9:45. As soon as it sounded, Indy turned her face into his chest, a new wave of tears coming forward as the realization hit her

It was time to let go.

He just held her and kissed her head for as long as he could. She didn’t know if she’d slept. If she had, it was only for a few moments. She’d kept waking up, reminding herself that he was still there.

They barely spoke. No one ate breakfast. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and parts of his shirt were stiff from the saltwater of both their tears. It took all the strength he had to keep it together when he closed the apartment door behind him for the last time.

She took his hand in the elevator, and his tears fell, making his cheeks even colder when they walked outside. It felt odd, for him to climb into the passenger seat with her in the driver’s as they continued down the road. His mind was flooded with memories, with doubts. He couldn’t stop picturing the smile that would spread across her face if he told her that he’d changed his mind, that they could try.

He fought it, kept his mouth shut, reminded himself that this was his decision and he had to deal with the repercussion of it.

Indy was quiet too, evidence of her earlier decision to not hurt him anymore than she already had. She didn’t want to make it any harder on either of them. No matter what, she still loved him, and she didn’t like to see him hurting. She kept herself superficially distracted, focused on the colors of the cars that passed, and the number of the exits on the highway.

The airport had never come quicker.

Grayson’s chest tightened when they pulled off. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t push it down and stay strong like his dad had always told him to. An image of him hugging her goodbye over her console came to his mind, and he panicked.

“Would you want to come in? Like park and come in? I know you hate airports, and you can say no. But… I’d like to give you one last good hug before I go.”

She merged into the lane that led to the parking as her tears began to fall. He ran his thumb over her hand until they got out. They found each other again behind the car, Indy linking her arm around his and holding on as tight as she could as they walked. She was ten times more anxious than the last time she had walked into an airport, her usual pertifying fear of Grayson being on a plane the least painful part.

It was hard to keep her sobs quiet but she bit them back as best she could. Grayson heard them, shifted so he had his arms wrapped around her as they walked. Her eyes were blurry with tears but she noticed the bright yellow and orange bags before she spotted Ethan. He gave her a sad smile that she did her best to return. From the look of pity in his eyes, it was even worse than she thought.

Her vision was obscured by Grayson, who moved in front of her. She clung to the front of his jacket with both hands, unable to look him in the eyes. She didn’t know if she could handle it.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, tears so full that they dripped off her chin and onto her shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” His own eyes burned as he watched her. But her next words caused the worst pain he’d felt in a long time.

“Can we have a redo?” As her voice shook, his last barrier fell, and he was sobbing - the kind you try to choke back and keep quiet as he crushed her against him, burying his face in her hair.

“Not this time baby. Not this time.”

They weren’t sure how they could cry harder, but they did. He swayed as he held her, tight and warm. Ethan wiped his own tears away with his jacket sleeve as he checked the boarding time on the tickets.

“I love you. So much,” she said.

“I love you too. I’m so sorry. If you ever need me... “ he trailed off, unsure if his offer would only hurt them both more down the road. She understood what he meant, and she took a deep breath. In. Out.

“Right now, I need you to turn around, and I need you to walk away, or I’m never going to be able to let you go.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t move. She finally looked up at him and held herself together, determined to look at his face in person for the last time without the distortion of tears.

“Take care of yourself, okay? Be safe. Be happy. I’m always gonna love you.” Her voice was as steady as she could make it, and that somehow hurt him worse.

“Forever,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her. He wrapped her up in his arms as tightly as he could, held her to him until he forced himself away, only keeping a hold of her hand.

Ethan, always in tune with his brother, seemed to recognize his cue.

Indy nodded and squeezed his hand one more time, and then she let him go, their fingers tracing over one anothers until they fell away, the distance too much.

A numbness spread over her body as soon as he let her go, and she watched from her spot as he disappeared down the hallway and into the security line.

She didn’t remember getting back to her car. But somehow, she managed to crawl inside and lock the doors before she crumpled forward onto her steering wheel.

#mixtape #this one is a doozy #love you guys #can't believe it's already track ten #wild wild wild #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfiction

68 notes · View notes

mizunetzu · 4 years

Note

hey can i request a kenma x male reader with a fluffy ending please?? thank you so much!!!

Aha ha ha of course dear requester ha ha wink wink nudge nudge

——————

Kenma x reader - the best moments of my life

⚠️ warnings - none

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

These times where we would be on the court together, setter and libero, I thought were the best moments of my life.

“All right guys, good game! Go change and meet outside to board the bus, you have about...” coach Nekomata brought his wrist to his eyes, glancing over the small hands that never stopped moving, encased in glass. “...fifteen minutes.”

The team chorused out a “yes” or “yes sir” as they chugged down bottles of water or wiped away sweat with a towel. Everyone was immersed in conversation, stretching out there tired muscles as they all filed out of the court, and into the locker room.

(Y/n) was no exception, however, as he was absentmindedly strolling down the hall towards the locker rooms, a hand gently rested itself on his shoulder.

(Y/n) turned around and met eyes with a hunched over, bleach blond male. He immediately, and subconsciously, smiled widely. “Kenma-Chan! Good game, you were amazing as always!”

Kenma usually quirked an ever-so-tiny smile, before quietly stating that the nickname “kenma-chan,” was stupid. But when he continued to look at the ground in silence, hair covering his unreadable expression as he kept his arm on his teammate in silence, (y/n’s) expression turned into a slight worry.

“...I want to talk to you. Um...meet me behind the stairs at the entrance once you’re done changing, or...something...”

And with that, Kenma left. He was already out of his Nekoma uniform, and had his bag, so he most likely went to where he wanted to meet with later.

Immediately, a pit grew into (y/n’s) stomach. What if Kenma found out about his little...infatuation for him? Is he going to tell me to stop? Am I being too touchy with him? Am I talking to much? Oh god, oh god, oh go-

“(Y/n)-you look like you’re about to pass out...you good, man?” (Y/n) broke out of his trance to see himself, Nekoma Jersey in his hands, in the locker room. He must’ve walked in here while he was thinking, or something along the lines of that. Yaku quirked his brow up at (y/n’s) unusual silence.

“I’m...good...”

He tore off the remaining articles of his uniform and tugged on his schools jacket. He made a beeline for the door with a quick “bye” and speedwalked towards the exit. (Running wasn’t allowed in the gymnasium, unless you were on the court of course)

Once outside, he nervously jogged down the steps and glanced around. He spotted a mop of bright blond hair, reminding him of those black and yellow ducks.

People always told him his hair reminded people of pudding cups, but to (y/n), it reminded him of happy little black and yellow ducks, swimming along the little pond just beyond his house.

He shook the warm memory from his head, immediately being slapped in the face with his previous nervousness. He walked towards the boy as slowly as he could, as if he would somehow delay the inevitable by boring Kenma to the point of him forgetting what he was going to say. That short lived hope died as quick as it came, when Kenma spotted (y/n) and looked back down.

He was leaning on a railway connecting to the stairs, with his hands on either sides of the bar. His body held a tense expression, with his shoulders up and arms pressing against his sides, as his hair covered his eyes. (Y/n) stopped in front of him.

There was silence. Suffocating, drowning silence. If (Y/n) wasn’t already drowning in that he was most likely swimming in his own pool of sweat by now. Kenma never looked up or moved, just kept his gaze trained on the ground.

(Y/n) decided he could take this silence no more, and croaked out, just as Kenma was about to speak,

“Okay, okay look I’m-im sorry if you think I’m weird or something or that your uncomfortable with a guy liking you but I swear I’ll stop-“

“(Y/n)...” his voice was so quiet you could miss it. Kenma finally looked up, meeting forlorn, (e/c) eyes, with a heavy blush on his face. That sight made words perish in (y/n’s) throat.

“No I...I...wanted to...” Kenma was struggling to speak, as if someone took his Nintendo switch away and only promised to give it back if he took his clothes off. “I wanted to tell you that I love you....”

(Y/n) stood there in awe. The setting sunlight hazily painted Kenna’s face perfectly, highlighting his perfections and accentuating the reserved blush on his cheeks. (Y/n’s) throat closed up, deciding that he used up all his words for that moment, rendering him speechless. The moment was beautiful, with an even more beautiful person standing infront of him. It made him want to preserve this beautiful moment in a small glass box, where he could gaze at it forever.

(Y/n) collapsed himself onto Kenma, as that was all he could do at the moment. He wrapped his arms around his waist tightly, and buried himself into his happy, black and yellow duck hair. Kenma let out a noise of surprise, before quietly snaking his arms around (y/n’s) torso. They stood there, in a much more breathable silence, basking in eachothers warmth. Nothing was said, nothing was exchanged, and nothing was done.

The quiet drum of (y/n’s) fingers tapping out the super mario brothers theme on Kenmas back was the only thing that could be heard in a 20 mile radius, lulling their heartbeats to a soft, slow beat.

These times where we would be on the court together, setter and libero, I thought were the best moments of my life.

The best moments of my life?

Looks like I bettered them.

——————

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #kenma x y/n #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kenma x reader #kenma x male reader #kenma fluff #nekoma #haikyuu x male reader #kenma x you #kozume x reader #haikyu

393 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Cage Canary.”

Was a bit rushed this morning. Sorry in advance. Also I updated the master post yesterday, finally.... sorry about that lol :)

Adam leaned his head against the bars. His stomach growled horribly and his head ached. It was almost like having a really bad hangover accept without the memories of having fun or doing stupid shit the night before. Instead he was suspended in a cage high in the air, watching as the ugly ass prodigum galumphed around the room preparing it for his next ‘guests’.

He would have used a more normal word to describe how the creature moved, except for this thing was nasty Jaba the Hutt level ugly.. Sort of made him feel like Han Solo though he supposed that was supposed to make Sunny princess Leia. The only problem is they didn’t have a Luke Skywalker or an R2D2 to come and rescue them.

He sighed as his stomach groaned.

He glanced over at the other cages making a face at the bleached white skeleton which hung in one, and at the two humans sitting in the other.

They looked horrific.

His stomach growled again.

“Don’t worry.” His cage neighbor said, ‘You get used to it after a while.” “What.”

“The hunger.:

“Do they not feed you?”

The other human shook their head, “No, that’s how it works here. They put us in these cages and then use us for entertainment while we slowly starve to death, and then, once we are dead, they feed on our decomposing corpses..”

The commander made a face, “Shit, that is really, really disgusting.”

She shrugged, “You don’t seem so worried.”

He held up his hands, “I can start crying if that would make you more convinced, but otherwise I don’t see much use in freaking out.”

“I suppose that is a good way to do things. Who knows, the clients might actually like you, and they might bother to feed you longer.”

“How do you make the clients like you?”

She waved a hand, “ignore what the prodigum said, they know a good singer when they hear one.” She patted her throat, “That’s why I’m not going to last long.”

“Tone def?”

“No, I’m actually a voice coach, but due to extenuating circumstances, I’m not supposed to be singing for my own health.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He groaned and leaned back against the cage, “I’m gone in that case.”

She leaned up against the cage, “Why, you tone def too?”

He snorted, “not hardly. I can carry a tune, but I’m not a solo act. I’m sort of just average.”

“For fear of sounding too much like a voice coach. Most people are only average because they weren’t trained to be good. It’s all about breath control, than anyone can be pretty good.”

“Well then I'll just have to-”

He was cut off in that moment as the lights over his head began to flash. He looked towards the door and watched as the doors were thrown open. The prodigum opened his huge, ugly arms wide as his guests entered the room.

Adam stood inside his cage to get a better look displeased when he watched more of the prodigum, burg and a couple of Tesraki. He thought he even saw an Iotin or two somewhere in there, or was that a Gromm. They filtered into the room as the ‘slaves’ were dragged onto the floor.

He pressed up against the bars as he saw sunny being dragged onto the floor.

Both sets of her hands, her feet and her neck had all been chained together. She could barely move, though she was still being forced to carry a tray of drinks.

“Welcome my friends, welcome please come in, we have something new for you today and-” His voice was mostly drowned out by the intervening voices.

He tried leaning closer to hear, and was only able to tell what was going on when the prodigum turned towards him and held out a hand, “Behold, the long reaching arm of my empire.”

There was a sudden muttering around the room as so many impressed clients recognized Adam.

He made a point of flipping them all the bird and spitting out the bars towards one of the burg, who leaped away with a hiss. He laughed, “And there’s more where that came from assholes.”

The prodigum gurgled in amusement the little breathing tubes on the side of its neck opening and closing with a wet sort of slapping noise. The commander grimaced, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, commander. He motioned with one hand towards Sunny, and at that moment he watched as a group of others moved forward grabbing her by the chains and throwing her to the floor.

She choked against the chain around her neck.

“SUNNY!”

“This really is simple, Commander. Behave or she dies. These are the rules. You sing, and when we want the song changed we will throw something at you. Don’t do what we want and your friend here gets it.”

He grinned his floppy bulbous cheeks dangling down towards the ground as the little face tentacles wriggled about in the air, “Now, get to work.”

He glanced over at sunny his first instinct to tell the guy to screw off, but when he looked over at Sunny, and saw her pinned against the ground. Well, he knew he couldn’t do anything. He licke dhis dry lips and took a deep breath.

Perhaps his first song shouldn’t have been an adlipped ditty that began with the line.

Suck a dick

Sung with great gusto and feeling, and definitely shouldn't have been followed up with the line

You big ugly cock sucker

He was stopped a moment later when some random object was launched at his head.

He fell back against the cage, suddenly alerted by sunny’s cries of pain.

He turned over to see the prodigum pressing his hand spike into her back.

He grimaced, “Alright, alright! Stop, just let me think of a song ok.”

Off in the other cage, the two other humans were chuckling to themselves, “Nice On that last line. I really enjoyed the use of vibrato, you know especially on the cocksucker part. Try to get a deeper breath next time though”

“You gonna teach me to sing before we all die.”

The crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the bars, “I’m going to try and keep you alive for as long as I can. For your sake and for your friend down there. I am also hoping, that since you are the commander, you have some sort of panic transponder on you, and that helping you will help me survive long enough to get out of here.”

“Fair.”

“Hurry up human! I don’t have all day.”

Close to panic he began to sing the only thing he could think of in the moment.

The ABC song.

Yeah sure it wasn’t one of his greatest moments, but he was under pressure.

That didn’t go over so well, and he had to duck out of the way as a can came soaring up towards his head.

The party was almost in full swing now.

At a time like this, he had to go back to his roots. When he was a kid, his mother had always been a fan of music from the late 20th and early 21st centuries. He had carried her love onto his adult life, so that’s all he could think of on such short notice.

He went for a little Journey to start off with though he knew he wasn’t nearly good enough to do any of the songs justice. Unfortunately he did not have a nine octave range to work with.

He honestly couldn't help throwing in a few songs with lines like.

I hate everything about you assuming that the context would be enough that he wouldn’t get something chucked at his head, but apparently he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Across from him, the Vocal coach was leaning against her bars prompting him with comments when she could be heard over the conversation from below.

Wake Me Up

Numb

Creep

Iris

It’s Not My Time

“Shoulders back, try breathing from your belly and not your chest, make it deeper, Open your mouth a little more. Try using an O and not an A on that line next time.”

They were somewhere in between Sweet Dreams and Boulevard of Broken Dreams When his voice began to falter. The coach insisted that he needed to breathe better to last longer.

But he was so tired.

His voice was beginning to crack and he was growing light headed.

Below him on the floor he caught eyes with Sunny who was being dragged behind the prodigum.

Unwell

You and Me

Drops of Jupiter

He was dying. Did he even remember what songs were? He was pretty sure he didn’t even listen to some of these, but songs he heard when he was a kid were mostly sustaining him. Most of the songs he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off.

Kryptonite

One Last breath

My Immortal

He was ninety percent sure if any of these long dead artists could hear him singing from rock n’ roll heaven whey were getting to rock and roll him straight into hell for his egregious sins.

The sound of Silence.

He broke into a coughing fit.

Something hit him through the bars and he tried to control his breathing as he choked back into life.

What now?

Disney songs.

Um hold on? Which ones?

He was going to die here singing Let It Go in the voice impression of a dying toad, and that would be his legacy.

heaven or hell, whichever, was going to be awkward.

He barely noticed when the doors were opened again and people began to trickle out. He only noticed when the vocal coach yelled his name, and he looked up from his state of misery finally allowed to break into a horrendous coughing fit.

“That was pretty good for someone who doesn't sing, but I think we can work on your breathing and your technique, otherwise you are going to destroy yourself. Plus if you keep singing rock songs we are going to have to teach you how to use distortion properly.”

He groaned, falling onto his side one hand clutched onto one of the bars as the cage gently swayed back and forth.

Beneath him, sunny looked up with an expression of worry, though she was dragged away and out of the room before he could do or say anything. He held his hand out, but she vanished out the door.

This was a really shit day.

Krill had been right when he had complained that the commander needed a panic button.

Honestly he hadn’t thought he would be kidnapped again, but it turns out he was pretty wrong about that .

He wondered where the rest of the crew was, and what they were thinking.

Where did they assume he and sunny had gone. Did they even know something was off.

He was so thirsty.

He was definitely expecting to die here.

Because he had no good plans this time.

“You know why they like humans singing so much right?” He groggily turned his head to the side where the vocal coach was sitting her hands clasped in her lap before her.

He shook his head.

“It can affect the emotion of the Prodigum. I know it sounds weird , but I have been watching. The better the singing is, the better it works. Happy songs make them happy angry songs piss them off etc. etc. Even more so than humans.”

“And?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, just an interesting thought.”

He rested his head back on the cage floor.

Sure, being a siren was kind of cool, but being a siren in a cage very much was not cool.

354 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

There’s A Dragon At My Doorstep

an old AU from last October i found in my school account’s docs

for the record, this is not a DnD AU. i just used some of the races because i thought they were Cool. i have never played DnD in my life

Word count: 6840

------------------------

All things considered, Aragon was doing a very good job at keeping herself calm.

And, honestly, it could have been worse. They could have been dead or used as a sex toy by now, but they were still alive. Really, they were lucky. The rain was steadying up, too.

Aragon and Anne sat beside each other, wrists shackled together with a chain that attached to a tree. There were many hunters around them, and they couldn’t fight them off since their weapons had been taken. They kept exchanging nervous looks, wondering how exactly they had gotten into this big of a mess.

It’s simple. And it was Anne’s fault, really, since it had been her idea in the first place. They went a little too deep into the bad parts of the woods. Now they were chained up and surrounded by mad men.

You see, these weren’t normal hunters. They didn’t track down just animals. They stalk other races that weren’t human and killed them for parts. Lizardfolk for their scales, Aarakocra for their feathers and wings, Leonin and Tabaxi for their pelt, to name a few. It was highly illegal to do this--it was murder--but they didn’t care. They were good at covering their tracks, too. But what did they want with two humans if they didn’t kill them? Simple.

“You’re royals,” Said the leader, pacing in front of the pair. “I’m sure the council wouldn’t want anything to happen to their precious queen and mistress.”

“So you’re going to use us for blackmail?” Aragon spoke, keeping her voice strong. “How cowardly.”

“Would you rather me kill you? Or use you as our personal plaything?”

Death sounded better than being these men’s whore. Aragon shut her mouth and looked back down at the ground.

“That’s what I thought.”

The man was a brute, bigger than both Aragon and Anne. Without their weapons, he could easily take down them both single-handedly. Maybe even when they did have their swords. He had a scarred face and tangled black hair that reached his shoulders. His hands were like bear paws, large and strong, and his eyes could pierce anyone’s soul with a single stare. It would be best to not make him mad.

“What do you hope to gain from us?” Anne decided to ask, taking her turn at speaking. “The throne?”

“Of course not.” The leader chortled. “Why would I want such a thing? To be bound to a velvet chair for the rest of my life? Ha! No, I’m in this for the gold, the treasure.”

“Should have guessed.” Aragon muttered under her breath.

She looked at Anne, who was, once again, trying to pull her hands free from the shackles. Like the other four times, it didn’t work and only achieved skinning her wrists raw.

“Where are you taking us?” Aragon asked.

“Back to our camp,” Answered the leader, looking down at a map. “We have a special something to get ready for.” With a wicked smirk, he unpacked something from the caravan and held it up to the pair of royals.

An egg.

A dragon egg.

The dragons were said to be killed off long ago, in a great purge. The stories said it was for safety, that the creatures would regularly kill people for no good reason. They had to be culled from the land.

“But they’re all dead!”

“Not as dead as you think,” The leader chuckled.

He turned away from the pair to speak to some of the other hunters, probably to discuss plans or directions. Somewhere in the conversation, one of the hunters pointed to Anne and Aragon and said something to the leader, making him look at them, too.

“Joan!” He called out loudly. “Get over here!”

Rustling came from the grove nearby, and then a girl came out. She had sun bleached hair done in a braid that made her silver eyes stand out like bright diamonds in the night. She was clad in furs, a size too big and drowning her petite frame. Her arms were dripping with gore; clearly she had been at a gutting post for dinner. Rivulets of blood ran down too-sharp-to-be normal fingernails, thickly dyeing freckled grey skin. Coils of bramble were caught in her small, branching horns, and mud was staining her long, thick tail, which was tipped with tufts of black fur at the very end.

Aragon blinked at this girl in interest. She had never seen a tiefling before. This one was very young, too. What was she doing with these cut throats?

“Joan, watch our guests.” The leader said. “I’ll get someone else to finish gutting. Chop off a finger if they try anything.” He tossed the tiefling a wickedly curved dagger, which she looked at with a sickened expression. But still, she nodded wordlessly and stood guard beside the tree Aragon and Anne were chained to.

For a long time, it was quiet, aside from the chatter of the men further into the temporary camp. Aragon’s and Anne’s guard wasn’t doing a very good job at watching them, as she was completely focused on carving a piece of wood she had snapped off of the tree. It wasn’t long before Aragon’s mind began to waver, and she drifted off without realizing it.

------

It was raining when Aragon opened her eyes again. The forest was shrouded with grey mist, hanging above the wet ground. Overhead, the sky is obscured by an impenetrable mass of dark clouds. In those early hours of the morning, everyone was asleep.

Aragon stirred in the mud she lay in, jumping when she realized someone’s hands were on her. She instinctively swung her arm up, jabbing her elbow at the person. A hiss let her know she landed the blow.

When the haziness in her eyes receded, she saw the tiefling child crouched beside her, rubbing her jaw.

“It’s you,” Aragon said softly.

The tiefling’s ears twitched slightly in recognition. “I’m going to get you out of here.” She whispered.

Aragon raised a suspicious eyebrow and inquired, “Aren’t you with them, though?”

“Not by choice.”

Joan ended it there and slipped a key out of her fur covers while Aragon shook Anne awake. Aragon then noticed something on the younger girl. She squinted, seeing red marks around her wrists and neck. It looked like painful blisters, ones shackles would usually create.

In a few seconds, the chains binding Anne and Aragon fell off. Joan gave them each a dagger before standing to go get the horses. And that’s when she ran right into one of the hunters.

He was up on his feet in an instant, glaring down at her. Joan struck too late; he had already bellowed for the others to wake when her knife sunk into his chest. His battle cry died on his lips as she pulled her blade free, moving to the next opponent.

She ducked smoothly under a clumsy swing and jabbed her knife up into the second man’s armpit, tearing open a large gash. Twisting on her heels, she hauled the body around to shield herself from an oncoming sword. The blade pierced the hunter’s flesh instead of hers and she released him to bleed out and die. When she was turning to strike again, something heavy smacked into her head.

Joan tottered before sinking to her knees, pressing one hand to her skull while the other clumsily tried to fend off the hunters gathering around her. Her vision began to darken as she was shoved to her back. The leader was above her, a sneer on his scarred face.

“Next time, you’ll stay in the chains.”

Without another word, he swung his boot savagely into her chin, and, with a crunch, Joan’s world went black.

------

“I don’t understand why we’re keeping her alive.”

“She saved us.”

“She’s one of them! Plus, she’s one of those things…”

“Don’t say that, Anne.”

“What? It’s true! You know what her kind--”

“Shh. She’s waking up.”

Aragon lifted the cloth she had pressed to the tiefling’s head and watched as the child slowly came to. Her ears twitched first, then her tail lashed like a snake in the mud, and then her eyelids fluttered before finally peeling open. Joan flinched backwards when she saw Aragon.

“Easy, easy,” The queen murmured, holding her hands out in front of her harmlessly. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart.”

Joan’s ears twitched again, and then she relaxed slowly. She nodded slightly.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” Aragon said. “I thought that rock cracked your skull. You were bleeding.”

Joan winced when she seemed to notice the pain. Aragon pressed the cloth back the area of impact on her temple, and she looked up at her with big, sparkling silver eyes, as if this were the first time she had been touched with so much gentleness.

“What about the other..bandits?” Joan slurred her words slightly.

“Took care of them.” Anne said. She was standing a few feet away, sword in hand, eyeing Joan wryly. “Wasn’t that hard when they all grouped up after you blacked out. Really, it was their fault they died for getting together.”

Joan nodded slightly. With a grunt, she pushed herself up into a sitting position against a tree. From beside her, Aragon made a noise of disapproval.

“What are you going to do with me?” She asked softly.

“Bring you back to the kingdom, of course,” Aragon said. “You saved us!”

“What?” Anne yelped. “Wait, I didn’t--”

“Really?” Joan looked up at Aragon in wonder.

“Yes, really.” Aragon smiled at her.

Anne didn’t have a say in this decision, though she continued to spitter over it on the ride back to the kingdom. Especially when she saw that Joan had grabbed the dragon egg from the caravan.

“She’s going to kill us all, Catalina,” Anne whispered to Aragon. “I hope you realize that.”

“She is not.” Aragon said. “Will you stop being so rude?”

Luckily, Anne shut up for the rest of the trek.

The guards posted around the city and at the castle alike were relieved to see Aragon and Anne return safely, but they all eyed Joan with great suspicion. The girl merely hunched her shoulders and sunk into her saddle, trying to make herself smaller than she already was.

Upon stepping into the grand palace, Aragon and Anne both were bowled into by a furry mass.

“You’re back! You’re finally back! I was so worried about you!”

It was Anne’s younger cousin, Katherine, or Kitty for short. She was a satyr, with neatly combed, light brown fur on her goat-like legs and big, furry ears. Her amber eyes were wide and beaming as she grasped tightly to Anne’s hand.

“Sorry to worry you, Kit,” Anne said, ruffling her hair.

“Are you okay? You aren’t hurt, right?” Kitty asked, inspecting the two.

“We’re fine.” Aragon assured her.

Kitty sighed in relief. “I’m so glad.” She turned her head, “Anna! Catalina and Annie are back!!”

Heavy footsteps thumped down the hall, and then all three of them were lifted off of the floor and squeezed tightly.

“Ack--” Aragon gasped.

“Good to see you, too, Anna!” Anna laughed wheezily.

Cleves set them down and stepped back, grinning widely. She was a large minotaur, with thick red-brown fur, powerful hooves, and long, pointy horns. A golden hoop glittered from her nostrils on her broad snout.

“Sorry about that,” She said. “I didn’t break anything, did I?” Being as tall and big as she was, she had to stoop down to inspect Anne and Aragon.

“Not this time,” Anne said, laughing.

“EEK!!” Kitty suddenly shrieked, leaping backwards in fright. “A tiefling!!”

It was only then that Kitty and Cleves seemed to notice the stranger. Joan stepped back slightly, ears drooping. She coiled her tail in close to her.

“Why is there a tiefling here?” Kitty asked shakily, hiding behind Cleves.

“This is Joan.” Aragon said. “She saved us. That’s why she’s here.”

“And what’s that in her arms?” Cleves questioned.

“A dragon egg.”

------

“No, no, absolutely not.” Jane, an elf, and the queen’s advisor, said, pacing around the library. The dragon egg was sitting on a table, which she kept eyeing suspiciously.

“Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a baby dragon around here?” Aragon said. “We can bring them back!”

“They’re dead for a reason.” Jane growled. “We should kill it.”

“You can’t just kill it,” Bessie, a lady in waiting kenku with messy feathers, said. “It’s a baby.”

“It’s a dragon.” Jane said. “They’re dangerous monsters. It’ll kill us all.”

“Killing it would be like stabbing a pregnant woman.” Bessie argued. “It’s wrong.”

“When did you start caring about things?” Kitty muttered brattily. “I thought crows were supposed to be omens for death.”

Bessie ruffled her already-matted feathers until they were even more in disarray and glared at Kitty. Her talons scraped dangerously across the floor.

“You think we should just let this thing hatch and rain terror down on our kingdom?” Jane said. “So many people died at its claws.”

“I am the queen and my word is law.” Aragon said firmly. “And I say let the creature live.”

------

Two weeks.

For two weeks, Joan watched over the egg, unsure on if it was doing okay. She didn’t sleep very often and barely left her room without the egg in a sling in fear of it hatching when she wasn’t there. She created a nest of her blankets and pillows to try and keep the little thing as warm as possible. Sometimes, it moved. Sometimes, it didn’t. In the third week, that changed.

It was around dinner time, raining. Joan was strumming lazily at a lute she had been learning to play on the window sill when the egg began to jump and shake. Flakes of shell fell from a cracked area. Joan saw a curve of a beak, silver claws, an edge of a foot. As a flash of lightning lit up the sky, the rest of the egg splintered into a thousand glittering pieces, and the tiny hatchling, shiny with albumen, was left before her.

“Oh,” Joan gasped.

He was perfect. Perfect in every single way.

Shiny black scales with hints of dark blue glimmered in the torchlight. Sparkling white wings with a scattering of ebony and emerald and sapphire speckles underneath stretched out and flapped in the air. Tiny horns tipped his elegantly narrowed head. The adorable little forked tail swished across the ground. Big mossy green eyes blinked around in wonderment.

Joan didn’t even realize she was crying until she breathed in shakily and hiccuped. She crouched down, holding out her hand, which the baby dragon nibbled on curiously. She pulled him into her arms, weeping tears of joy and relief.

“You’re alive,” She breathed. “You’re alive!”

Even with the heavy rain and thunder, surely everyone in the castle could hear her cheering.

“What should I call you, little guy?” She paused. “How about Scales?” She giggled. “Silly, isn’t it? Do you like it?”

The hatchling’s tail wiggled in excitement, so Joan took that as a yes. She held Scales close to her chest, tucking his head under her chin.

This meant there was still a chance.

A knock came at her door. Joan jumped and slowly turned her head to the side to see Aragon and Anne peeking in.

“Good Lord!” Anne exclaimed, her eyes bulging. “It actually hatched!”

“It’s a shock indeed.” Aragon said, slowly crossing over to the nest of blankets. She crouched down and let Scales sniff her hand. “It’s adorable.”

“He,” Joan corrected. “His name is Scales.”

“Fitting.” Anne said, slowly walking over.

“How can we help?”

Joan was actually quite surprised upon hearing Aragon’s question. She hadn’t expected them to help her with the hatchling. It made her happy to know some people were looking out for her.

“Some.” Anne said. “We can help some.”

“I need to keep him entertained if I’m not here.” Joan said. “Do you think you can bring some old toys for him to play with?”

Aragon nodded. “I have some lying around. I think he’ll like them.”

“Thank you.” Joan said. “Do you think I could use the training field sometimes to help him learn how to defend himself?”

“Of course,” Aragon said, ignoring the look Anne was giving her.

Joan nodded and smiled slightly. “Thank you. This means a lot.”

Aragon gently rubbed the top of the girl’s head before standing up.

“Dinner’s calling,” Anne said. “Good luck, Joan.”

And with that, they’re gone. Joan’s left alone in her room with a hatchling in her arms. She looks down at Scales and feels her throat tighten. She's never been needed like this. It's just her and him against the whole world.

------

For four months, Joan almost always took care of her hatchling alone. She slipped out of castle business, stole extra food, and forgot what it feels like to get a full or good night of rest. Scales required almost all of her attention, but she didn’t mind, even when he wakes her up wanting to play.

He’s getting bigger. He’s just below her thigh, now. His horns and teeth were growing sharper, too. But even with his natural weapons that could easily tear someone’s throat out, he was like a little puppy. He loved being pet or playing pounce. He was the light of Joan’s life.

The two of them soon became inseparable. Joan taught him different kinds of songs, becoming the best duet England has ever seen. Joan would play her lute or the castle piano if she got the chance while Scales sang in off-tune, but charming keens and whistles. It was hard to see why people wouldn’t love him. But Joan knew that many would feel like that. She knew right away when she decided to take him to a banquet with her.

Many people stared and made disgusted faces at the little dragon perched on the tiefling’s shoulder with his tail curled loosely around her neck. That night, Joan realized how many were against her. She couldn’t find a friendly face in the crowd anywhere. Aragon looked very worried and Anne wouldn’t even make eye contact with her. Cleves at least made an effort to be nice, while Kitty completely pretended like she didn’t even know Joan. But the person who seemed to be the most unhappy was Jane.

Jane was a beautiful, but cold-blooded elf. She was a part of the high council of this kingdom, the queen’s eyes. If you tried anything sneaky, she would probably find out first. It was best to tread carefully around her, Joan decided, or just keep her distance. The woman obviously had some kind of grudge against her.

Attending parties was a rare occasion, but Joan liked letting Scales get used to other people and socialize. Or, try to. Most of the people ignored his clicks and coos.

“They just can’t see how great you are,” She would tell him, scratching under his chin.

One day, Joan was out at the training field, running Scales through a few drills she had made up. He had learned how to fly pretty easily, but still needed some help on using his fire and frost correctly. It would take work, but practice made perfect.

And that’s when it happened.

A group of struggling knights came hobbling into the area, limping and bleeding. It got Joan’s attention, so she inched closer.

The guards spoke of how they were on patrol when they were attacked by something. They fled, but some were left behind; they needed reinforcements.

This is what Joan and Scales were training for. They could finally prove themselves! She whistled to the dragon and hurried over to the stables.

Finding the place wasn’t that difficult, she just headed to the normal patrol spot in the forest and listened. She followed the sound of growling and moans of pain.

Dismounting and peeking through the underbrush, Joan got a glimpse of a large and ugly pig-like creature. It was hunched over holding a mace. A few feet away, lying against some rocks, was a bleeding knight.

This was it.

Joan whistled a command and Scales leapt off her shoulder, claws brandished and mouth open. She jumped out of the bushes to distract the monster while the dragon latched onto its back, sinking his talons and teeth into its hide.

The creature shrieked in pain, swinging its mace around wildly and nearly hitting Joan. She ducked underneath its flailing weapon, slipping in the mud, but balancing herself out. Leaping back, she called another command and Scales let go, taking off into the air in a spiral of black and white. He hovered for a moment before orange and gold erupted from his beak. Even from where she was standing, Joan could feel the heat from the flames and realized how powerful the little dragon really was.

With a final moan, the monster collapsed into the charred grass. Scales landed on its head, grasping its throat between his talons, looking triumphant. His pelt was blood-soaked and, for a moment, Joan couldn’t recognize him as the little hatchling she raised. But this was always going to be his purpose.

Shaking her head, Joan hurried over to the wounded knight. She crouched down, shaking him, smearing blood all over her shirt. He was gasping and wheezing, grasping a gouge in his thigh. Muscles and tendons were dangling out; it was bad.

“I got an idea,” She pulled out one of her daggers, “Heat this, Scales. I might be able to cauterize the wound.”

It would be painful and maybe a little messy, but it could save this man’s life.

Scales obeyed and breathed a small plume of flame on the blade. He was situated on a rock just above the man’s head, looking down at him curiously.

Joan was just bringing the dagger to the gouge when heavy hoofsteps thundered through the forest.

At least a dozen knights, including Anne and even Jane gallop into the clearing. Anne looked horrified. Jane was disgusted. Holding a dagger over a gash while smeared in blood probably didn’t look too good.

“This isn’t what it looks l--” But Jane didn’t even let Joan finish.

“Arrest this murderer!” The woman shouted, her voice dripping with venom. “And bring its monster along, too.”

Before Joan can even think to run, a knight was on her. He’s at least two heads taller than her and much stronger, seizing her painfully by the forearms. She dug her heels into the dirt and struggled, but was still shoved forward.

“Please, listen--” Was all Joan can choke out. The knight backhanded her head hard and shoved her onto a horse, tying her to the back like she was a sack of flour. The stallion took off running, fast.

The world was falling away. Joan was Scales behind her, grabbed tightly, screaming and shrilling. When their eyes met, he squirmed harder and extended his claws to her. Then, even he was gone.

------

There were many rumors regarding the dungeon tower. Some say there were ghosts of the people that had been tortured to death inside. Others talk about how the place broke down a person’s mental stability. Even the guards go mad, they say. After three days of being in there, Joan started to think they may have a point, whoever they were. Everything about her tiny, grimy cell made her feel miserable.

The first day inside, she bawled and wept uncontrollably. The second, a few tears and hiccups would slip. And by the third, she was too dehydrated and exhausted to even cry anymore. Her body just couldn’t make tears. Now, she just sat against the bars or peered out the tiny window.

It was around dusk and Joan was trying to sleep on the dirty rags that made up her bed. Somewhere down the hall, she heard the guards talking, so she got up and moved closer to the bars to listen.

“I’m telling you, that’s the one that had the dragon.” Said a half-orc guard with tired eyes and messy hair.

“And killed a knight.” Added a hobgoblin. “I was there. She was pulling a knife right out of the gash in his thigh, burning his flesh with a heated dagger while also stabbing him. Poor Sir Lance. He didn’t make it.”

He might have if they would have let her help, Joan thought. And she didn’t ever touch him, anyway! These people only see what they want to see.

“Figures,” Sighed the third, a bronze kobold. “Poor man, indeed.”

“Cauterizing, actually.”

The guards turned to stare at the tiefling leaning against the bars to her cell, studying her dirty and bitten claws. She looks up with narrowed eyes.

“If I would have stabbed the knight with the burning knife I had, it would have cauterized the wound instantly, doing no real damage. So, yes, I definitely killed him. You deserve a pie for figuring that out.”

The guards just stared for a moment.

“What? If you’re going to tell a story, at least tell it right.”

“You really think we’re going to believe you?” The hobgoblin said, frowning.

“No.” Joan shrugged. “But you don’t know for sure.”

“Don’t speak to the prisoners.” The kobold said. “You know better.”

With that, the guards turned their attention away and talked amongst each other again.

After that, the night was quiet and dragged on slowly, turning to day, which was just as boring.

Around midday, Joan heard a familiar biting voice from the stairs. She was lying in her bedding, tired. Finally, she felt exhausted enough to sleep, so she didn't move.

“Madam, we were told to not let anyone see her.”

“I don’t care what you were told,” Snapped the voice. “Take me to her at once. I am a part of the high council. That’s an order!”

There were a few more murmurs before heels clacking on the stone floor approach. Someone hit in the bars of the cell, making them rattle.

“Get up, pest. And give me your name.”

Joan stirred and got up, stepping towards the bars. She gave Jane a tired and slightly agitated look. The woman knew her name, but she just wanted to make her obey. With Scales on her mind, the girl does:

“Joan.”

“Ahh, yes,” Jane said. “You came in from a bunch of bandits. And a dirty tiefling. You’re just what I expected.”

Joan said nothing.

“Though, I thought you were smarter than this, really. Why did you do it? Why did you bring a monster to our city? Why did you kill a man?”

“I didn’t.” Joan said. “I didn’t hurt him. I was trying to help. And Scales would die without me. I couldn’t leave him alone.”

“You are a liar,” Jane hissed. “We’ll just torture the truth out of you. Then we’ll kill that abomination you brought in here.”

“No!!”

“Shut up, you poisonous little mite!” Jane spat. “I’ve heard enough.”

Before Joan could reprimand, Jane turned away and strode to the stairs. She listened to her footsteps until even those fade.

It was well past noon now, and, somewhere, Joan heard something screaming. She can’t help but think it was Scales.

Someone new entered the dungeon. A cowl-wearing kenku with highly unruly feathers. Bessie, if Joan remembered her name correctly, the only kenku in the court. Or the entire kingdom, apparently. She was talking to the guards. Maybe she could listen to some reason.

“Hey,” Joan called out. “May I speak to you?”

Bessie looked cautious, but she walked over. Her talons scratched against the stone with each step.

“What do you need?” She asked.

“I just want to talk. Might be the last time. The guards don’t speak to me and it’s not like anyone comes down to visit with me.”

Bessie shook out the feathers on her arms. “Go on.”

“Where’s Scales?”

He was the only thing on Joan’s mind.

“Locked in a quarantine shed, from what I heard.” Bessie said.

“What’s going to happen to him? After I’m gone, I mean.”

Bessie frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Joan nodded and looked at the ground.

“Listen--” Bessie sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you never wanted this to happen. I don’t believe that you murdered that man, but it’s no use what I say. There are too many people against you.” She paused. “The least I can do is give you a request. Is there anything you’d like me to do for you?”

Joan felt her throat tighten and she braced herself for one last difficult conversation.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to say goodbye to everyone. Can you do that for me? And tell Catalina I said thank you for all she’s done for me.”

Bessie nodded. “Of course.” She said, her voice tight. “I have to go now, but I’ll make sure to pass your message.”

She started to leave, then stopped.

“Be brave. This isn’t goodbye.”

------

The next day rolled around, another night of no sleep washing away. Joan stayed up watching the sunrise and wondered if this would be the last time she ever saw it.

When evening came, she was led out of her cell. But instead of being taken to the chopping block, she was guided down a hall.

“Where are we going?” She asked her escort, who was tying her wrists with rope. “I thought--”

“To the trial,” The aarakocra guard said. She was frowning deeply, a look of pity in her eyes.

“Trial? I’m getting a trial?”

“Every prisoner gets a trial. It’s only fair.”

They stopped at a large door; the guard even looked nervous.

“Well, kid,” She said, taking a deep breath like it was her about to be judged. “This is it. I wish you luck.”

Joan gave her a small smile and hummed in thanks. She was very anxious, hands trembling. She had to make a good impression and try to get free. Though, it would be hard to do that when she was still covered in four day old blood.

Regardless, this was it.

The door swung open. Inside is a giant room with marble floors and crimson carpet. On the left side were civilians who decided to attend, sitting on row after row of elevated wooden benches, while the right held nobles and people of higher standard. There was a raised dais at the end of the room where the council awaits. Three council members, Thomas Cromwell, a large leonin, Catherine Parr, a sophisticated-looking half-elf, and Jane. Aragon was also there, with Bessie and Anne beside her.

Joan approached with as much confidence as possible. It would look bad if she came barging in in hysterics.

“Let’s begin.” Jane said. Joan could tell she was imagining how nicely her head would look on a pike.

“Very well.” Thomas said. “Joan, you are accused of bringing a dragon into the city. Do you admit to this?”

“Yes, honored Council.”

“You are also accused of murdering a man. Do you admit to what you’ve done?”

“No.”

There were a few gasps on the side with civilians. Jane sneered. Cathy looked interested and Thomas straightened himself more.

“I see.” He said slowly. “Well, let’s see the beast you’ve brought into our city.”

A set of doors beside the dais open and Cleves led Scales by a chain. There were a series of gasps and murmurs when he was brought in; some of these people had never seen a real dragon before.

When Scales saw Joan, he strained on his chain and reached his talons out to her. He started whistling a song she taught him and, suddenly, Joan was fighting tears.

The guard beside the tiefling sets a hand on her shoulder- a silent warning. But Joan doesn’t listen. Maybe she can show these people how important and beautiful Scales was. She could impress them.

“Easy, boy,” She murmured in a broken, but soothing and velvety voice. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Joan waited for Scales to settle before whistling and giving a few hand gestures. The dragon jumped into the air and did a few flips, letting his frostbreath stream from his mouth, before landing again. Mist wisps from his nostrils; he looked pleased with himself for the tricks.

There were a few murmurs of approval and even some hesitant claps, but nothing more.

“Refrain from interacting with the beast.” Thomas scolded. He shifted himself in his seat and leaned forward. “I’m sure it was very hard to get your hands on something so valuable. What I want to know is why you decided to take it here.”

“I had nowhere else to go.” Joan said.

“Why did you keep it in the first place?”

“Because he makes me happy and I deserve a little happiness for once.”

It’s not a cry for pity, it’s the simple truth. Joan sees Anne wince off to the side.

“You think your good mood is more important than your life?” Cathy asked, not criticizing but actually curious.

“Yes.” Joan said. “All I do is get ignored and forgotten. Dusk to dawn. Year after year. It’s all the same. I’ve never been needed before. Let me ask you this: do you know what it feels like to be abandoned? To be left all alone to die? Why would I want the same thing for him? I got Scales and, for once in my life, I thought I could be important. I’m going to enjoy him.”

Well, she did.

“We can hardly fault her for that motive.” Cathy said, turning to the other two council members.

“But we can fault her for her crime.” Thomas said.

“Exactly!” Jane snapped. “We can’t let her run around threatening everyone’s lives. Don’t feel bad for killing her. She’s a filthy tiefling.”

“And you’re a snake.” Joan said coolly. “What’s your point?”

There was a small swell of impressed coos coming from both crowds. Scales chortled. Joan felt a small bout of pride, but it didn't last long.

“If it was my choice, you’d be dead by now.” Jane hissed, even more agitated now.

“Enough,” Thomas said sternly. “There’s no need to argue.”

Jane muttered something and sat back against her chair, almost looking like a pouting child. Joan wanted to laugh, but her throat hurt too badly. She wanted to be with her dragon already. His longing stare and soft churrs were killing her.

“If you have any, ask your questions.” Thomas said to Cathy and Jane.

Of course, the elf snapped back up and got the opportunity first.

“I think we’re all skimming over the worst crime. This pest killed a man!”

“That wasn’t a question,” Cathy muttered.

“Actually,” Joan managed a laugh. “No. I didn’t. You see, if anyone in here had any brains, you would have seen how the knight’s thigh was torn, not stabbed or sliced into. The wound was deep; to the bone at least. I was wielding a rather blunt dagger that couldn’t possibly make that wound in such a short amount of time.”

Jane growled and was quick to strike again.

“You’re covered in his blood.”

“Yes, that happens when you try and help someone. It gets on you.”

“Bold and intelligent,” Cathy chuckled. “Though, you must learn when your words will help and hurt.”

Joan dipped her head. Her guard squeezed her shoulder, but she didn’t know if it was physical scolding or for reassurance. Her wittiness won’t hold out for long. She was exhausted and felt dehydrated. Dizziness was coming at her in violent waves; this is what she got for not sleeping.

Finally, she raised her head and was met with three different expressions. Cathy looked both concerned and pitiful, while Jane was annoyed, but amused. Thomas looked rather patient.

“Finished with your nap?” Jane crooned, making Joan wonder if she actually nodded off.

From the side, Aragon dug her nails into the arms of her chair. This was cruel. It looked like the young tiefling was being forced to function through a fever.

“You say your beast can help this kingdom, yes?” Cathy said, finally able to address deeper into the topic. “How can he do such a thing?”

Jane made a soft “tsk” sound when they got off of her topic and crossed her arms.

“Would you like me to show you?” Joan offered, even though it would drag this on longer. But she would do anything to protect Scales, even risking her own health.

Cathy looked at Thomas, who nodded.

With the word given, Joan turned to Scales. Even though her lips were cracked and painfully dry, she whistled a command and gave a few subtle hand gestures.

The dragon lunged forward, ripping free from Cleves holding him back. He was flying for one of the guards, claws out, jaws open. Mere inches away from tearing through the armor, he snapped up, moving as fast as a bullwhip, spiraling into the air. Golden flames leaked from his mouth as he glided back and forth through the room, obviously showing off at this point. Joan doesn’t mind. If it helped them, then he could do whatever he wanted.

When she whistled for him to stop, he started to go over to her, but she looked away- a silent command that he could not be near her. The joyful look on Scales’s face faded and he settled back on the ground, growling when his chain was taken back into a strong grip.

“Very impressive.” Cathy said. “He’s well trained for a beast. He listens better than some of our knights.”

Joan smiled slightly. “He has charm.”

“But I think the decision is clear.” Jane said, glaring at Scales. “This is a killing offense. You just saw what the creature can do. It’s a killing machine. Even if the beast could be used, it’s ruined by this girl. It has to be culled.”

At that, Joan jerked violently, looking like she would attack if she could. She struggled with her arms, like she was trying to get free from her binds. Red began to wash on the ropes. Her tail lashed furiously.

“No!” Joan shouted. “Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt Scales!”

The dragon sensed his keeper’s panic and began to keen and shrill loudly, tugging at his chain again.

“How sweet of you,” Jane purred, enjoying the show. “But there’s no other option. We can’t have either of them tainting our people.”

“Please, listen,” Joan said breathlessly. “You don’t have to do this. Please, he’s just a baby! He’s more than some monster you accuse him of being. He can protect the city! Just give me a chance.” The tears were coming back and she doesn’t know how much longer she can fight them.

“Why do you risk so much for this fiend?” Thomas asked.

“Everything I’ve done has been for him.” Joan answered, almost choking on her words. “This is all for him. He means more to me than you people will ever know.”

Scales made a soft churr and Joan smiled weakly at him.

“Please,” She started to speak again. “Let us prove our worth to you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room. The court was silently making their choices.

“Well then,” Thomas said, “I think we’re ready to make our decision. Cathy?”

“I don’t want her killed. I’d be a waste. If she can tame a dragon, then she can help us.” The half-elf said.

“It was a baby.” Jane scoffed. “When a dragon hatches whatever the first thing it sees is usually what it gets attached to.”

Joan quirked a brow. How could that snake know that? She doesn’t seem like one to know things about the kind she despises.

“Anyway, I vote to have her killed.”

Thomas cleared his throat as everyone held their breath.

“Joan, while you have done things many of us look down upon, you’ve shown promise. Your life will be spared this time. I hope to not see you in this situation again. I can’t promise you’ll be as lucky.”

Joan was paralyzed. Around her, there are some angry people, some relieved, and a few who are actually happy. She saw Aragon and Bessie celebrate amongst themselves, hugging tightly in relief. Anne actually looked at her like she wasn’t a stranger.

“Thank you,” She murmured hoarsely. “Really..thank you.”

“Mhm,” Thomas said over Jane’s griping. “I hope you heed my words, Joan. We are putting our trust in you.”

“You won’t regret it. I promise.”

The guard started to untie Joan’s bindings. Her wrists were rubbed raw and they would be tender for a while, but it was worth it. When she got the word of permission, she raced to Scales, who rushed to meet her. She threw her arms around the little dragon, holding him close to her chest. She buried her face against his head, weeping softly about how much she missed him.

Whatever happened next, happened. They would do it together.

#six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #katherine howard #anna of cleves #catherine parr #bessie on the bass #joan on the keys #there's a dragon at my doorstep

25 notes · View notes

book-addict-03 · 4 years

Text

Hello, starting a Tenrose fic and wanting some advice. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated <3

Chapter I - The Beginning and The End

Rose knew it was a stupid idea, even as she was sitting, watching the house full of Torchwood agents. The only reason she even considered it was because she was so tired of running. She was even more tired of losing people. It didn’t matter that there was no one left. It didn’t matter that she was finally going to give them what they wanted.

She listened to the fallen Autumn leaves crunch under her boots as she stalked towards the house. The rustling sounds of the trees and the chatter of distant birds soothed her as she headed towards what would surely result in her torture. After all, why hunt someone for over 60 years if you didn’t have a truly malicious plan in mind?

As she kicked the door open, she couldn’t help the small smirk that graced her features. She had planned to surprise them, of course, but she was pleased to see the shocked and flummoxed looks on the faces of all 15 Torchwood Agents. She would take this sight with her, to pass away the time while she’s strapped down to a table in the Labs.

They had started hunting her when she turned 40 and it became clear to everyone that she hadn’t aged past 20. Of course, they’d suspected it throughout the years, especially when paired with her rapid healing. She’d had the extent of her healing tested throughout the years, obviously, but when it became clear that her young looks were truly unorthodox rather than good genes, Torchwood had started seeking her out for tests on top of her usual quarterly examinations. She hadn’t planned on going into hiding, but eventually she was left with no other choice.

So here she was, aged 107 years old looking no older than 20, surrounded by confused Torchwood agents, finally handing herself in. It had taken over half a century, but they were finally seeing it. Rose Tyler had finally given up.

She didn’t fight back, even as four men jumped to wrestle her to the ground, all flailing limbs and elbows. Truly terrible form, she thought, their training regime really must have changed if they thought this sort of performance would suffice in the capture of London’s most wanted criminal.

Of course, she could have fought back if she’d wanted to, years of running and fighting had left her with a toned and strong body, as well as a full martial arts skillset from her training and employment at Torchwood. So no, she hadn’t been overcome, she had submitted. She knew the distinction wouldn’t be made in the records or to the public, but she had to keep her pride intact if nothing else. Honestly, who would expect anything else from the long-lost heiress of the Vitex fortune?

“Hello boys!” she said with a wide grin, seemingly nonplussed by the agents currently holding her to the cold, hard concrete floor, “Honestly, is this how you greet your guests? I must say, this is really poor hospitality. I mean, I’ve been in some really bad establishments, and when I say really bad, I mean really bad but honestly, this is unrivalled.”

“Shut up, you bitch” said the person wearing the boots that were currently right in front of her face. The man laying across the top of her back prevented her from angling her neck to see the speakers face but from the burly voice, she decided it was safe to assume the person was male. “Goodard, get up and chain her.” Also in a role of power, she noted as she was roughly jerked upright and put straight into a cold metal chair. She tried to cross her knees but the men chaining her down wouldn’t allow it. With an exaggerated huff, she allowed the young men to chain her to the chair, ankles tied firmly to the legs of the chair.

Finally allowed to see the man that would probably be hailed as her captor, Rose took a few moments to observe his harsh features. If she was being honest to herself, he looked like a stereotypical Disney villain. He sneered down at her with a sharp, elongated face, greying hair and a rapidly receding hairline. He could be no older than 50, but he had only a small amount of hair left.

“If you’re tying an old woman down with truck chains then I must be making a good impression.” She said, with a smirk. She was bored and wished, not for the first time, that she could just fast forward through certain moments.

“You and I both know your age is not an accurate depiction of your strength or abilities, which is precisely why we’ve been looking for you for so long, Agent Tyler.” He said, clearly enunciating her previous title from her employment at Torchwood. If he expected a reaction, he must’ve been sorely disappointed, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“Fingal! Jab her, get her in the truck and let’s go” followed by a sharp prick in her neck and a veil of black taking over her consciousness.

…~oOo~…

Six months later, Rose was recovering from her 17th surgery while also preparing for her 46th MRI. This time they were going to try drowning her to see what would happen afterwards. It was one of the least imaginative deaths they had come up with so far, but she still wasn’t looking forward to the time spent swimming in a swirling haze of pain that always followed her death.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time she’d died.

The first time had been a shock, she had been hit by a stray bullet, fired by a hunter who must’ve thought her to be a deer or some other sort of animal. Her mother and Tony were still alive at the time. They had discussed what was to be done in the event of her death a while beforehand, so they had carted her body off to a cave deeper in the woods to wait until nightfall so they could light a pyre. Just as twilight peaked, Rose woke up with a gasp and scared the absolute shit out of her family. Her mother had been yelling at her for weeks after that, saying that Rose had surely knocked 10 years off her life span.

That time she’d been out for over 5 hours, lately they had been cut down to an hour or less. Rose assumed it was a ‘practice makes perfect’ sort of scenario. Well, she hoped.

…~oOo~…

Rose knew something was different from the moment she stepped into the room. Her skin felt tingly and she felt slightly invigorated, she knew her evolved senses were picking up on something, something she was unable to interpret. Of course, the strange occurrence didn’t change her actions. She didn’t even falter, she knew doing anything other than what they asked was pointless. No matter what, they were going to force her into the tub of cold water. She could do nothing to stop them, she’d tried before on several occasions. They always sent her with multitudes of armed guards who were instructed to use brutal force if she showed any sign of resistance. So, she’d pretended nothing was amiss and forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, climb into the tub and accept the blanket of numbness that was handed to her as the water blacked out her vision.

She swam in the inky depths of her mind, waiting for her body to come alive once again. Usually, it just felt as though she had been asleep, sometimes she would remember different moments of her life or dream of a different future for herself. This time was different, she was aware of everything going on outside of her own head but remained unable to do anything. Instead, it was like she was in a viewing panel inside her own mind. Weird.

“Hello, my Wolf,” said a mystical voice from behind her. She turned to see herself, wearing different clothes and with the bleached blonde hair she had grown out decades ago, but still her. She immediately knew who was speaking to her through her own image, because who else could it be?

“TARDIS” she greeted with a nod and grin, “it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. Though I must say, we don’t really speak, do we? It’s usually like a telepathic game of charades. This is new,” she said, waving at the whole of the entity in front of her.

The TARDIS smiled and nodded to Rose, “I have no other corporeal image for myself other than you, the one who shares my heart. You must know by now that your link to Bad Wolf was not removed from you, as my Thief had thought” Rose wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but she nodded anyway. “Good, that makes this easier”

“Makes what easier?” Rose asked, with a suspicious expression marring her features.

“My magnificent plan, of course. I know that your journey since the Bay has been taxing on your soul. You have lost many, and I want you to know that I cannot fix that. I wish to give my Wolf and my Thief the second chance they deserve… I believe that you both need each other; you know that as well as I do. This is my gift to you. I can take you back to your own universe. I can take you back to him.”

The TARDIS said this with an air of finality that didn’t sit well with Rose. Her passionate yet detached deliverance of her speech didn’t do anything to help either. She was sick of detachment. She hadn’t spoken any of this to anyone, so when the TARDIS prodded at such painful memories, the floodgates of thoughts and feelings hidden away over decades of life faltered and she broke.

“What if I don’t want to go back? I have lost everything since Bad Wolf Bay, I lost my chance at a normal life, I lost my family, all because your thief didn’t give me a choice! What makes you think I’d willingly go back to him?” She was pacing, her minor rant had made her realise how exhausted she was and the warmth on her face alerted her to the fact that she was crying.

“You need home. The TARDIS is and always will be your home. I will care for you, as I always have. I can’t help you while you’re here though. You don’t belong in this universe; you already know that they will not accept your modified biology. You know that my Thief will at least understand your situation and the loss that has followed. I wish for no more than to allow you both the comfort you desire, but it is still your choice. Do you wish to stay here, or are you ready to come home?” Her soft-spoken words pierced Rose’s armour and she crumpled to the floor. Decades of loss, sorrow and pain suddenly cascading through her barriers.

“Please. Please, take me home” She sobbed. The TARDIS gave a small, affectionate smile. Her plan would work. She just knew it.

Of course, she knew her Wolf’s anger and nonchalance were a shield to protect her already worn-down heart, much like her Thief and his indifference towards others who seek to help him. The fact that the Void had warped time a lot more for this universe than her own was likely going to be a slight issue, but that couldn’t be helped. She would take care of them; she would make sure they were happy again. Together.

#dr who tenth #rose tyler #tenrose #tenth doctor x rose tyler #doctor rose fic #tenrose fic #fanfic #fan fiction

20 notes · View notes

vvvracket · 4 years

Text

Stubborn Git

on ao3

As he stumbled through the blindingly white corridors, struggling to keep up with the speed of his own feet, Harry was acutely aware of the fact he felt numb. So startlingly numb, that at one point he stopped, only for half a second, to take a deep breath and make sure he still could- that at some point he hadn’t died and ascended to wherever it was you ascend to next.

From the moment Harry had got the call, from the moment he’d felt his heart drop like a lead ball in his chest, he’d felt numb. There weren’t hundreds of thoughts, all trying to push their way to the front of his mind, as was usual for Harry in a crisis. There was no panic, no deafening screams that only Harry could hear, telling him to hurry up and prepare for the worst, oh god oh god he might be dead. There was only the pounding of Harry’s worn out trainers on the gleaming hospital floors, squeaking when he made sharp turns. All Harry could focus on was what was ahead of him, was following the unclear signs that pointed him in the right direction.

Harry didn’t stop when he sprinted through the hospital cafe, didn’t stop at the sounds of babies laughing, people crying, quiet chatter. Harry didn’t stop when he almost ran into a group of nurses clad in blue talking to the patient they were wheeling in the opposite direction to the way Harry was headed. He didn't let the panic set in when it seemed he had got lost, only glanced at the closest sign and turned back around, righting his direction.

He stopped only when he came to the doors of what he was sure was the right ward, bent down to wash his hands in the small basin with too-hot water, and it was only then that everything set in.

Suddenly, the stark lights on the ceiling above him were too bright. The rush of his blood pumped in his ears so loudly that it drowned out the silence of the empty corridor he’d just run down. As if he’d been in a trance before, Harry was now alert, and that was when the panic pushed forward. He shook the droplets that the paper towel hadn’t caught off of his hands, and turned towards the swing-doors that led into the ward the nice woman at the front desk had directed him to.

Muggle hospitals were horrid. St Mungo’s was filled with the smell of dittany and surrounded you with the strength of healing magic. They were filled with promise and hope and the prospect of better times. Muggle hospitals were filled with crying babies and mourning and loss and no way to save the loved ones that lay in the bleach white sheets.

But the ambulance had reached him before Harry had, as always, so the muggle hospital would once again have to do.

Harry frantically looked around, head spinning as his heart stretched tighter and tighter the longer he went without the reassurance that he would be okay. He’ll be okay, they had said on the phone, just a few scratches, and a broken wrist.

He’d be okay, Harry tried to tell his beating heart. He’ll be fine, He told his pounding head. He’s going to be-

Relief flooded through Harry like a heating spell. He broke into a wide, open-mouthed smile when he spotted a tuft of unkempt white hair over the shoulder of a nurse who was holding a clipboard a few beds down. His smile kept as he jogged the few meters over, not leaving even when he saw the black eye that looked like spilt ink on white parchment.

“Draco.” He sighed, before he’d been spotted.

Draco looked up in surprise, and the stern face of concentration he’d had as he listened carefully to the nurse was washed away by a small smile. The nurse looked up too, and on seeing Harry, murmured something about improvements before wandering away to the next patient.

Harry lent down and kissed Draco delicately on the cheek, avoiding a small scratch that had obviously been an open and bleeding one not long before.

“You’re okay.” He said, sighing again, and leaning back to look into the bright grey eyes that were staring back at him.

“Of course I’m okay you dolt. I’m always okay.” Draco replied with a snort, but he didn’t lose his fond smile as Harry sat down onto the chair beside the hospital bed where Draco lay.

“I was so worried, Draco.” Harry said, his wide grin finally wavering as he remembers the panic he felt only minutes ago.

“You always are.” Draco said calmly, glancing over at Harry with the expression of adoration he reserved only for him.

“Well if you’d stop getting yourself beaten to a pulp every two months, maybe I wouldn’t be close to having a heart attack everytime the phone rings.” Harry said, feigning annoyance, when in reality he knew none of this was Draco’s fault.

“Hm, it is about time I see you lying in these scratchy hospital sheets rather than me.” Draco laughed. Harry loved the sight of Draco laughing, possibly more than anything else. It had taken so long to see it. Taken so long to coax so much as a smile out of the frail, damaged boy he’d met at the doors of Hogwarts their first day of eighth year.

For most of the first term, no one heard so much as a word out of Draco. Everyone knew his father was on house arrest, but had gotten off easy because of his last-minute alliance switch, and that his mother sent owls to Draco twice a day. Nearly everyone who had been directly involved in the Final Battle, certainly all of those that had been labelled as War Heros, had received long apology letters from Draco, all handwritten and personal. It seemed that, for a long time, Draco would never forgive himself, even after everyone he’d tormented, everyone he’d bullied, and everyone who could see how much pain he was in, had.

Harry reached across to clasp Draco’s hand in his own, remembering with a frown just how sorry Draco had been for everything, how apologetic, how remorseful, and wondered how four years on, people were still intent on punishing him for the actions he’d made as a scared sixteen year old boy.

Harry tried to pull Draco’s hand up to kiss, but the blonde winced, and Harry gently lowered it.

“Hurts?” Harry asked stupidly, worried green eyes boring into amused grey ones.

“A little, but that’s to be expected isn’t it?” Draco chuckled, and once again Harry was in awe at how strong the twenty-two year laying in front of him was. “While I’ll forever be impressed with how far muggles have developed without wands to help them, there is still only so much they can do without magic.”

“Yes, well, I’ll send for Hermione the minute we get back and it’ll be fixed faster than you can say paracetamol.” Harry smiled, “They did give you paracetamol, right? You’re not in too much pain?” He added, trying desperately to push down the bubble of panic that threatened to rise again. He couldn’t bear to think about Draco in pain.

Draco laughed, nodding, “You’d think after the amount of times this has happened, you’d have brushed up on your healing spells by now.”

Harry immediately lost his smile, and on seeing this, so did Draco.

“Who was it this time?” Harry asked darkly, not able to avoid the issue with pleasant chit-chat any longer. “If it was Knowles again, I swear Draco, I’ll kill him.”

Draco ruefully shook his head, “What good would that do? And it wasn’t Kowles anyway, I haven’t seen him since you and Weaselby did Circe knows what to him.”

“He had it coming.” Harry said simply, “You can’t keep letting them get away with it Draco! It’s been five years since the Final Battle, for Merlin’s sake! It’s not up to you to be the punching bag of those who lost people.” Harry said exasperatedly, knowing full well that Knowles had lost nothing but himself in the years after the War, and had found that firewhisky was a good companion for a broken soul.

“Harry, how many times?” Draco rolled his eyes, “You can’t blame people for being angry. You and Luna still see mind-healers, and Ronald and Herms only stopped seeing theirs last July. The pain is still fresh for so many people Harry, and that pain is in part due to me.”

Harry had heard the speech a hundred times, but it still made no sense. Why on earth should Draco have to pay for his past mistakes, when he was just as young and vulnerable as the rest of them had been? But Harry would never in a million years want to make Draco upset, and if that meant not filing reports whenever twisted vigilantes took their turn on the only Death-Eater they could find, so be it.

“Who was it though Draco?” Harry asked, determined to pay them back for the damage they caused to Harry’s heart by hurting Draco. Draco rolled his eyes, and Harry tried again, “Please, babe? You know I can’t stand to see them just get away with it.” He pleaded, doing his best impression of the puppy he’d bought Teddy last christmas.

“Even if I did agree with your endearing need to avenge my honour, I couldn’t tell you. They must’ve obliviated me before anyone called an ambulance, try as I might, I can’t remember their face.”

At that, Harry groaned in annoyance.

“Oh don’t be stupid Harry, it’s not as if i’m close to death, it was just a few scratches.” He smiled weakly, and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking.

“But what about when they go too far Draco? What will happen the next time i’m at work and you’re alone in muggle London? What happens when they go too far and end up, end up- ?” Harry seethes between gritted teeth, it’s too painful to imagine.

“That won’t happen Harry.” Draco insists.

“How do you-”

Their conversation was cut short when a different nurse from the woman earlier walked to the foot of Draco’s bed.

“You’re free to go Mr. Potter,” The man smiled, “I do hope this time will be the last I see of you.”

The man made some notes to the card at the end of Draco’s bed, then smiled once more and walked away again.

Draco turned towards Harry with a tight smile, “I know that that won’t happen, because I can’t think of one person in wizarding Britain mad enough to kill The Harry Potter’s husband,” His smile turned genuine, “Even if he is Death Eater scum.”

Harry smiled, but reminded himself to bring the conversation back up later, and stood up, helping Draco out of bed.

“Was Death Eater scum,” he corrected, as the pair made their way back down the hospital’s corridors, “Now you’re just a stubborn git- Ouch!” He squealed when Draco pinched his side.

“I am not a git. There’s only one Potter I know that fits that description, and he’s far more stubborn than me.”

#Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #drarry #hermione #ron #ronmione #hp #ficlet

20 notes · View notes

zecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Fic: A Long Drive Home

to: @electric016

from: @gyaxaofficial

Merry Christmas Jinger!!!!!! I’m so happy to have had the chance to write the best OT4 on Earth. I tried to incorporate some of your other prompts and/or headcanons, too. I hope you enjoy!

Their kitchen is quiet. The only sounds are the cat purring gently from his spot beneath a chair, oyster sauce boiling gently on the stove, and the rhythmic noises of Akane and Junpei dicing up cabbage and carrots by the sink. It certainly doesn’t look peaceful, however: all their ingredients are sprawled out on the table, there’s a light dusting of flour over nearly every flat surface in the room (including Akane’s cheeks), and the garbage can is already almost full with the evidence of their first failed attempt at making dough.

“Next time I suggest doing this,” Junpei says after a few minutes of busy silence, “just remind me that there’s a perfectly good takeout restaurant down the street, okay?”

Akane doesn’t turn to look at him, but he can hear the cheeky grin in her voice. “I tried, but you said yourself that it just doesn’t taste—”

“—authentic, yeah, I know. I’m gonna kick past me’s ass later for having good taste.” Junpei leans back against the opposite countertop, watching the Saturday afternoon sunlight play across Akane’s shoulder blades as she works. “Hey, are you sure you should be doing that? I seem to recall that you didn’t get much sleep…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies, singsong.

“You don’t remember? Because I’m pretty sure I remember waking up at 3 A.M. to pee and you were still scrolling through Wikipedia on your phone.”

Akane whips around to look at him, jaw dropped in an exaggerated pout. “That was important reading, okay! Did you know the most recent reported sighting of the Men in Black was—”

“What, the movie?”

“No, the real ones, silly. It was just last year!” She lowers her voice ominously, pointing the tip of the knife toward Junpei. “And who knows what happened to that guy?”

“Whoa, okay, can you put that down?”

“Oh, sorry.” She gingerly places the knife on the table. The muscles in Junpei’s shoulders relax a little. “Anyway, promise me that if a strange old man in a suit ever comes to our door asking about aliens, play dumb and don’t tell a soul, got it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sidles up next to her and kisses the top of her head, then picks up the knife to resume work on the vegetables. Akane begrudgingly scoots over to let him stand by the cutting board, turning her attention to her phone instead. He hears a pensive hmmm. “Any updates?”

“None.”

A thoughtful pause as Junpei tries to think of something reassuring to tell her. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s got a long drive.”

Beside him, Akane kneels down to the floor to pet the cat gently behind the ears. “Too long.”

—

Carlos drums his fingers against the steering wheel, worrying at his lower lip. Another moment passes in standstill traffic and he decides to turn the radio up louder to drown out the horns blaring around him.

He’s barely an hour into the six-hour drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and if this is how it’s gonna go, it’ll probably stretch into seven or eight. He keeps considering picking up his phone to send Akane and Junpei a quick text explaining the situation, but his law-abiding firefighter brain keeps stopping him.

This is the first New Year’s Eve he’s spent out of the hospital in eleven years (not counting the one at D-Com), and it’s painfully clear to him now that he’d underestimated the holiday traffic patterns. The same anxious voice in the back of his head is now reminding him that he could be back at home with Maria instead of spending half the day alone in his truck. They could spend the evening taking down the Christmas tree that she’d insisted they keep up for a few extra days just because it’s the first time in a decade that they’ve had one, and Carlos could still be keeping a watchful eye on her in case she collapsed again. She’s made astonishing progress in physical therapy, but her muscles had atrophied over all those years lying in bed and her full strength still hasn’t quite returned.

But Maria had encouraged him to go, in that gentle-yet-firm way of hers. Every excuse he could possibly come up with, she’d already covered behind his back. A family friend had promised to come check on her regularly, his boss at the fire station had already approved the time off, and (perhaps most importantly) she’d assured him that yes, really, Carlos, she didn’t mind him leaving, and she was even looking forward to the chance to prove her independence.

“Alright, you could’ve left that last part out. Makes it sound like you’re excited to get rid of me,” he’d ribbed as he hugged her goodbye in the driveway this morning.

“Maybe.” Maria laughed too, but her smile was sincere as she pulled back. “And you’re excited to go! You haven’t stopped missing them since they left.”

It was hard to coordinate, since they were all tied up with work (both at the fire station and with the investigation), but Akane and Junpei had managed to visit him once in the past year since leaving the test site. The pair had bought bus tickets up to San Francisco as soon as they heard that his sister had finally been discharged from the hospital. Maria took to them immediately, as if they’d known each other for years — similar to how Carlos had felt when he first met them. An immediate sense of trust despite all logic indicating otherwise.

She had also picked up on everything else Carlos felt around them almost immediately, which made for an awkward conversation after they’d dropped Junpei and Akane off at the bus station a few days later. (“You’re in love, Carlos. I can tell just by looking at you.”)

“Don’t worry about me. Just have fun,” Maria continued. “They miss you too, you know.”

A blush crept up Carlos’ neck. “You think so?”

She’d rolled her eyes at him and sighed good-naturedly. “I know they do, Carlos. In fact, you’re being cruel to make them wait a single minute longer. Just get in the car already, won’t you?”

So he did. And to Carlos’ credit, he’d only looked back at her distant, waving figure in the rear-view mirror once.

—

Two hours, three different vegetables, and another rubbery, overcooked pot of soba later, Akane is explaining the difference between a UFO and a flying saucer when there’s a knock at the door.

“Akane, you’ve said too much. The Men in Black are here,” Junpei deadpans.

Akane’s eyes grow wide and round as the flying saucers she’d been describing. Her voice drops to a solemn whisper. “Junpei. I have to hide. Remember what I told you.”

He salutes her as he leaves her in the kitchen to continue kneading their third batch of buckwheat dough. The cat leaps down off the currently-unset dining table to follow him curiously down the hallway.

As Junpei approaches, he hears another short knock, then another, then an obnoxious repeated tapping that only stops when Junpei jerks the door open as fast as he can. He catches Aoi with his hand still raised in midair. A slow grin spreads across Aoi’s face as their eyes meet.

“Ah. Should have known it wasn’t Carlos. He’s not a dick.” Junpei lets Aoi hook his fingers in his belt loops and pull him in close. “Showing up uninvited again, huh? What makes you think I want you in my house?”

“Uh, I was invited.” Aoi kisses him in greeting and Junpei feels him still smirking against his lips. He absently runs his fingers through Aoi’s hair, noticing the dark roots starting to grow in. “By your fiancée, actually. So before you give me an attitude…”

Junpei turns to shout down the hallway toward the kitchen. “This was your idea? You knew this was happening?”

“We need him, Jumpy!” Akane yells back. “We’re on our third batch of soba already!”

“See?” Aoi teases. He lets go of Junpei’s waist, pushing past him into the apartment. “Your wheat-to-buckwheat ratio is probably off.”

Junpei won’t admit it out loud, but he knows Akane was right: Aoi is a phenomenal cook, more by necessity than by choice. Akane has told Junpei stories of how Aoi took it upon himself to pack her lunch for school every day; how he learned to prepare all of her comfort foods whenever she was sick; how he baked every one of her birthday cakes after their parents died and always let Akane decorate them with frosting and sprinkles.

Akane talks about Aoi frequently, about all the times Junpei wasn’t there for, but Junpei can’t find it in himself to get tired of it. Not when he technically has Aoi to thank for — for everything. For all of this.

As Aoi heads into the kitchen to greet his sister, he drops a duffel bag full of clothes on the floor by the couch. Junpei arches an eyebrow and nudges the bag with his foot. “Planning to stay a while?”

He pauses to glance back over his shoulder at Junpei. “With your firefighter boyfriend around?” he scoffs. “You bet your ass.”

—

The nine of them stood over Delta’s body, the old man’s blood seeping into the sand. Akane’s voice was the first to break through the silence. “It’ll be alright,” she’d said to them. “I know who to call.”

Carlos’ hands, still trembling, fell to his sides. Seven other voices suddenly began speaking all at once, but he couldn’t hear any of them over the echo of the gunshot ringing in his ears. He locked eyes with Junpei through the crowd, and Junpei nodded once in assurance, his mouth set in a grim line.

A man with bleach-white hair around his own age pulled up in an Infiniti in less than an hour, flanked by probably no less than a dozen people in sunglasses driving equally expensive cars. Carlos saw Akane throw herself into the man’s arms as soon as he stepped out of the car, Junpei watching from afar but then approaching the pair not long after — and as Carlos silently observed all of this, wrapped in a blanket that Diana had retrieved from somewhere inside the shelter, a name calmly floated into his mind as if carried on the wind. This must be Aoi Kurashiki.

How did he know that? Did he hear Akane talk about him before, somewhere very far away from here-and-now?

“Hey.”

Carlos looked up at him from where he sat on the ground. He managed to find his voice, finally, after a few seconds of trying. “Hi, uh. I’m—”

“Carlos. I know.” The white-haired guy looked amused; Carlos could not relate. “Good work back there.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’d have done the same thing.” Aoi extended a hand to help Carlos up. “My sister might not have. Her boyfriend could’ve gone either way, too. But me? I say that bastard deserves to rot, and he knew it.”

Even after Carlos stood up, Aoi continued to hold his hand out, palm-up. Seeing Carlos’ puzzled expression, Aoi sighed as patiently as possible. “The gun, dude. I need the gun.”

“Oh.” Then, his instincts finally kicking in, suddenly suspicious: “Why?”

“We’re gonna destroy it. Your fingerprints, DNA, gone. No one will ever know.”

“Oh.”

Aoi flashed him a smile that somehow managed to convey both pity and pure, mischievous delight.

Later, after the Crash Keys had made quick work of the crime scene, Carlos found himself in the backseat of Aoi’s car with Akane and Junpei. Aoi rode in the passenger seat this time, busy scrolling through two different tablets as a higher-ranking Crash Keys member (a Crash Key?) sped them down the highway.

Akane was squished in the middle between Junpei and Carlos but didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest. Junpei’s hands rested in his lap, relaxed, as he gazed out the dark-tinted window. Beside him, Akane reached over to slip her fingers inside Junpei’s palm. Junpei closed his hand around hers, like a reflex.

Carlos looked down at his own, the ones that had just taken an (arguably) innocent man’s life hours before.

He knew Akane and Junpei had killed before, too, he’d seen it, but in this timeline they hadn’t. Hadn’t they? Sitting in the back of the Kurashikis’ luxury car — one of their cars? — Carlos realized he wasn’t so sure.

He met Aoi’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They held each other’s gaze for just a moment before Aoi turned his attention back to whatever he was reading in his lap. Akane’s hand squeezed his just a little tighter, and when he looked over, Junpei offered him a weak smile, too.

Soon, they would be home.

—

Eight o’clock at night and Carlos can finally turn off his GPS. His truck looks far too big to fit in the driveway, especially next to what he thinks is Aoi’s car. (Is it? He can’t remember. He’s only seen it once.) But he manages to squeeze it in without running over any bushes, and the whole process only takes an extra three minutes or so — not nearly long enough to stall for time as he steels himself to go inside and face the people he’s been dreaming about for the better part of a year.

He stands on the lawn staring up at their door, digging his nails into his palms. What if he’s different? What if the person they’ve invited into their home six months after they last saw him isn’t the same man they had hoped to see?

They’ve missed you too, Maria had said. At the time, he’d believed her, because it felt as true as anything else he’d ever known. But she could have just been trying to make him feel better, and now he’s four hundred miles away standing alone in their front yard feeling like an idiot but his feet are moving on their own and he doesn’t have time to answer any of these questions for himself.

When he gets to the top of the stairwell, he can’t even manage to knock twice before the door swings open.

“Carlos!”

Akane’s cheerful voice is, as always, the first to welcome him, and she’s the first to pull him inside. She throws her arms around his shoulders — which is difficult, at her height — and kisses him before he has time to react. She does it two, three times, light, excited pecks, before he remembers how to move again and hugs her tightly, marveling in the familiar scent and weight of her in his arms.

A few feet away, Junpei stands wearing a sheepish smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Carlos returns the smile over the top of Akane’s head — Akane, who turns to look at Junpei and gestures quickly for him to come closer — and once he does, Carlos tilts Junpei’s chin up gently to kiss him hello, too.

“This is so weird,” Junpei mumbles, his cheeks flushed, “I keep forgetting what it’s like to kiss someone taller.”

“Oh yeah? Then who the fuck am I?” Aoi retorts, coming in from the hallway, carrying a cat tucked under one arm.

Junpei rolls his eyes. “Like, a lot taller. You know what I meant.”

“No, I heard you. You think I’m forgettable. Whatever.”

“Carlos,” he hears Akane ask, “didn’t you bring any bags?”

He must’ve left them in the truck, is what he means to say. He also wants to tell them, god, I’ve missed you, and whatever you’ve been cooking smells incredible, and I can’t believe you’re finally in front of me when I’ve been aching for it for months, and I can’t believe I went so long without doing this, I’m such an idiot, but I’m here now and I hope that’s enough, is it enough?

But instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “You have a cat?”

Hearing the soft chime of Akane’s laughter to his left and Junpei and Aoi’s banter to his right, one hand on both Junpei and Akane’s waists, Aoi sauntering up to join them too (with a cat!) — it’s perfect. It’s everything.

He’ll go back for the bags later.

A weight has been lifted from Carlos’ chest that he didn’t even realize he had been carrying. Of course he’s relieved that they’re happy to see him, it’s nice to have that irrational fear quelled at last, but he hadn’t quite been conscious of the dull ache nestled in the pit of his stomach that he no longer had room for: the misery of being separated from the people who truly know you, gone and replaced by the unbridled euphoria of finally coming home.

#zero escape #zero time dilemma #c-team ot4 #zecret santa 2019 #submission

12 notes · View notes

jay-and-dean · 5 years

Text

Love me once, shame on me Chapter 3 : Teach me.

Dean x named reader (is this a thing ?)

Love me Once, Shame on me MASTERLIST

Serie Warnings : Violence, swearing, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex (you are smarter than this), Fluffy fluff.

Chapter warnings : Violence, swearing, angst, smut, loss of virginity, fluff.

Words : 7k (yeah... I know)

Chapter summary : Dean can’t say no anymore.

I walk through Lebanon, tired, terrified. Dean will pick me up and I’ll have to be close to him, I’ll have to sit in his beloved car and smell him everywhere. And he will take me home… Sometimes I wish I had never met him, sometimes I wish I could forget just like he did. But most of the time my memories are the only precious thing I own and I play his voice telling me he loves me in repeat in my head.

My phone rings and it’s a text from him. The first one in fourteen years, the very last one said “Can’t wait. Love you so much”, this one says “Hi it’s Dean, where are you ?”. I’m going to be sick.

When I start to write an answer, looking around me to give him precise indications, the Impala parks next to me. He comes out of it and my heart stops again. It’s like my life had been in black and white all those years, dark and cold, he’s the colors, he’s the sun, just him being here lights up everything. I look at him coming toward me in his grey flannel and black jacket and my stomach hurts. Perfect Dean, how could you forsake me ?

“Hey” he says with a light smile.

I try to smile but I know it’s sad, I can’t do better.

“You okay ?” he asks with that deep velvety voice I love even more than the one he had when he was mine.

“Yeah… yeah. Thank you for your help and your invitation you know… about the case”

God, I sound so awkward.

“No problem” he says opening the passenger door.

This car is so much more than a car, its smell, above all, makes a tornado of memories rush inside me, threatening to drown me for good. While he goes around the car I can’t help but open the glove box?

It’s still there.

The mark he carved one night, hidden inside the glove box to prevent his father to see it. “One day I’ll carved it next to mine and my brother’s initials” he had said. And I had believe him. I close it before he enters and smile at him the best I can.

“Let’s go” he says starting the car.

And for a moment I loose myself in the sound of the engine, thinking of that time I fell asleep, head on his knees, with him stroking my hair.

“So… any hunt since the last time we saw ?” he asks a bit awkwardly, trying to break the silence.

“Hum, no. I… I have to find a job, I’m broke. My car died and can’t be fixed, I have to by a new one…”

“Maybe I could” he says with a shrug.

“No, I don’t think so, it fell off a cliff. Long story.”

“Ooookay… I want to hear that story one day !” he says with a warm smile I still can’t offer back.

******************************

2005

I kissed her. I fucking kissed her. I put her in danger, told her about the supernatural and kissed her. She’s in high school for Christ sake !

I kissed her twice, once chaste and once passionate. And I fucking left. I am a mess, John would kill me and he would be right. Now all I can think of is to see her again because she’s my friend and I can’t imagine spending the evening alone, knowing she’s too. I should leave town. Tell her I have to go and leave before I make more mistakes.

The motel room is not only dirty, ugly and smelly, it’s also sad. I try to call dad but he didn’t answer, so I’m cleaning my guns in silence, thinking about her.

Three knocks on the door. Maybe it’s dad ! Or, maybe it’s the fat smelly neighbor again, asking for condoms, yuk.

“Hey Dean, if you felt bad about this kiss you could just have told me ! I thought something bad happened to you !” she says lifting her hands.

I can’t believe she’s here. I look outside, seeing her old car parked next to the Impala.

“How… how did you find me ?” I ask, not even thinking to invite her in.

“I looked for your car, took me some time” She says with a hint of sadness I rarely see in her eyes. “If, if you don’t want to see me again, just say so, I’ll leave you alone.”

“No… no. It’s just… It’s complicated. Come in.” I finally say.

She looks at the guns on the bed and at the Chinese box food on the table. After I told her I have nothing here to give, no beer, no coffee, nothing, I offer her to sit on the bed. She does, carefully, not to mess the guns up, looking around her.

“I’m sorry about the kiss…” I dare and she lifts her beautiful eyes on me.

“You don’t have to. It was a great kiss” she smiles.

“I don’t usually kiss my friends. Even less illegal ones” I joke carefully.

“Okay” she just says. “So I’m your friend” she adds with a wide smile.

“Of course you are !”

She makes it so easy as always. And the day after, I pick her after school again, not even trying to pretext a reason, she’s just my friends and it’s the weekend now, we can hang out.

At her place, outside as always, we talk, drinking a beer and eating the mac and cheese she made in bowls. I tell her about my mom and the quest my dad and I are in since then. I tell her about Sammy, without realizing it, I talk to her about what I felt when he left, and about my dad’s wrath. She’s so good at listening.

She talks to me about the abusive foster family she lived with, about the street, the hunger and the fight to keep her dignity, to resist selling herself for food… She talks to me about her dreams : She’s good at learning, and maybe one day she’ll go to college, if she works hard enough. She’ll go to college and she will travel the world. She says she needs to see the world out of this stupid town. She has a lot of dreams… And under the tiny lights she puts in her world to lighten it, I drink her words.

When I ask her for the bathroom, she lets me in for the first time. It’s very small in here, but she made it sweet too. Her bedroom is not a bedroom, it’s just a large bed, like there was a square big hole on the wall leading directly on a mattress, with a lot of pillows. It’s like she was sleeping in a solid camping bed, and, like the little lightbulb stars outside, this is enchanting.

She as only one little table, with a unique chair (apart from the ones outside) and the table is covered by books and notebooks. I never realize she worked so hard. I barely fit in the bathroom and I can grab her shower product while peeing. Her shampoo smells so good, I shouldn’t be smelling it I guess.

“It’s nice inside” I say going out again, making her get up to pass by her, before she sits on the step again.

“It’s small, but as you can see I’m outside all the time. At least the weather is great here” she says handing me another beer.

When I take it, my hand touches hers and I can’t help but look at her deeply. She’s beautiful, not only because her eyes are so bright, and her skin so soft. But it’s her attitude, the way she moves and talks, that habit she has to play with the hair that escape her messy bun on her neck, the way her eyes become mischievous every time she smiles.

I want to kiss her again.

“What ?” she asks reading my face as usual.

“Nothing” I whisper looking down, peeling the beer label.

“Okay. So you were telling me that story about the…”

“I was thinking about kissing you again” I cut her and she freezes.

“I… I guess I can’t blame you Dean…” she murmurs.

“Why ?”

“Because I have to concentrate not to think about it every time I lay my eyes on your lips” she smile shyly biting her lip.

I throw myself at her and capture her lips with mine, loudly sighing with relief. This time she wraps her arms around me and touches my neck eagerly, kissing me back. Her tongue dance with mine like we were making love and I feel myself getting hard. I should break the kiss to breath, I should break it before she feels my enthusiasm, but I can’t stop kissing her.

And I already know I won’t be able to stop.

***************************

The rest of the drive is silent. We’ve never been silent. I mean, we have, because we wanted it, because we were laying in my bed, looking at each other with love after sex, or because I was studying and he was just looking at me, drinking coffee almost naked. But we’ve never been silent like this, like we don’t know what to say, like things weren’t easy between us.

When I look at him, I see Dean, my Dean, my love. But also a total stranger, like he was another man. This makes me incredibly sad because the more I see this Dean, the one that isn’t mine, the more I miss mine. But maybe it is a good thing, maybe I won’t love this new Dean. Maybe my scars will heal… Maybe.

When he opens the bunker’s door, my breathing stops. I’ve never seen such a beautiful, huge yet so intimate place. It smells like leather and old books and Dean. Heaven. We go down the stair in silence, me following him and he starts to talk.

“This is the war room, you remember I told you we inherited it from the Men of Letters ? So this place have been built for this job, which is, you know, convenient” he says. “Sam is in the library… as always…”

Sam shows me the place and I love it even more. I will never have something this nice, and I think about the crappy motels I sleep in. I remember telling Dean, my Dean back then, that I’ll never want a home. I was wrong, so wrong. I thought I didn’t need it just because I already had one, it was tiny and humble and lonely, but at least it was mine. My bed smelled like me and even like him after that, it didn’t smell like stranger’s sweat, mold and bleach. I had a home and I thought travelling meant living on the road, but it really meant that you had a home to come from and to come back, otherwise it’s just roaming. And I burnt it down. My tiny little nest, I burnt it to the ground.

“You can put you bag in here, this bedroom is free, and not too cold at night, you can have it while you stay” Sam says opening a door.

“Thank you Sammy… Sam” I stammer.

Dean always said Sammy, it came like that. He looks at me with a hint of amusement and leaves me alone in the room.

After my bag is on the bedroom chair, I take a minute to breath. This is a lot to take in and my legs are shaking.

“Hi!” says a smiley voice behind me, making me jump. “I’m Jack, and you must be Jay.”

“H-hi Jack. I heard a lot about you” I smile easily as his own thrilled face is contagious.

Dean cooked. And he cooked well. No marshmallow on nachos or cereal in orange juice like he told me about. He made burgers, and it’s delicious. He sat in front of me at the kitchen table and I have trouble eating, my throat is tight and my stomach hurts.

Sam is talking about angels and their ability to erase memories. He asks me a lot of questions and I try not to use unnecessary lies.

“So your friend suddenly lost every memories of you fourteen years ago ? That’s what you said, right ?” he asks.

“In fact, I don’t know when she lost her memories. We were good friends and then she disappeared, and after that I learned that she didn’t remember me at all, like I never existed. No medical issue, no head trauma. And she remembered everything but me.”

“Why would angels erase just you from her memories ?” Jack asks.

“That’s complicated” Dean grunts. “Maybe someone did that to protect her, sometimes it’s the only way”.

I can see Sam and he know something Jack and I don’t. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but Dean seems to be justifying this choice, so I guess he already did it : use an angel to erase someone’s memory. Shit I’m so lost.

“Why me ?” I ask in a whisper. “She was my only friend, we were both human. Why an angel would bother to take me from her life ? I always… I always thought it was a monster. I just don’t know which one and why.”

“It would be easier if we could talk to her” Sam says and I panic, even if I thought about that.

“You can’t. She’s dead now.”

“Do you know how she died ? Was it supernatural ?” Dean asks and I look deep in his eyes.

“Nothing supernatural…” I say more sadly than I expected.

**********************

2005

I kissed her for what feels like hours I think and I feel like a teenager. Horny and exited, addicted to her and nervous. She’s straddling me on that folding chair, looking in my eyes while I randomly kiss her lips and her jaw. I slip my hand under her tank top and rub the skin of her back, she shivers. She suddenly seems nervous, and I can feel her thighs contract.

“Are you okay ?” I ask almost breathless.

“Yeah” she smiles but I can see she’s hiding something.

“If you don’t want me to go further, tell me now, please” I say, feeling my body will soon take control of me.

“No, I want it…I just. I don’t want you to be disappointed…” she looks down, taking my pendant in her trembling hand.

“Why would I be ?” I ask taking her hand in mine.

“Because I’m not so experienced, at all… Dean… that kiss last night… it was… my first. Kiss” she whispers and my hearts starts pounding.

“Are you serious Jay ?”

“Are you mad ?” she asks with worry, letting my necklace go.

“What ? No ! I just… I can’t do that. You’re too young and I’m not… I’m not a boyfriend, I’m your friend. A horny friend. But you deserve better than that for your first time.”

She told me she was okay with me going back to the motel. She smiled and she told me everything was okay. But I still feel bad. I shouldn’t have stolen her first kiss, I shouldn’t have gone so far, why can’t I just keep a friend ? She’s not a sexy waitress, she’s a high school student. What am I doing ?

I messed up, again. I didn’t want her to think I was avoiding her like last time, and I desperately wanted to see her, so I came to the trailer.

And here I am, hardly an hour after I joined her, taking her in my arms to kiss her again. Shit. She wraps her arms around my waist under my leather jacket, my Henley the only thing keeping her soft hands from touching my burning skin.

“I’m not having sex with you” I say against her mouth, taking her lip between mine straightaway.

“I know” she sighs in my mouth. “I know…” she whispers kissing my jaw.

I press her against the trailer and deepen the kiss. I’m so fucking hard it hurts. This is ridiculous. I break the kiss, leaving her panting, and take a step away.

“I don’t care that you’re not boyfriend material, Dean. I would really love my first time to be with someone I care about, with someone I trust” she pants.

“No.”

She shrugs and throws herself at me, kissing me again.

“Dean” she moans and that sound makes my cock twitch.

“No” I pant.

The water is cold. Of course ! I already took two long showers today, it’s the only place in this motel room that doesn’t smell funny. I stop the water and keep touching myself anyway, my hand moving in steady movement around my cock, my breathing heavy. I don’t have to think about much, just remembering the feeling of her against me makes me hard as rock, and now I just think about her moan of my name“Dean”, imagining her hand in place of mine. She must taste so good, has she ever come like that ? I don’t think so… Her body is, fuck, her body must be so reactive… Is she touching herself thinking about me right now ? Oh fuck ! I come with a groan and rest my head on the tiles.

I thought touching myself before joining her would help, but it’s even worse. Now she’s stuffing pizza in her mouth searching through my tape collection and all I can think of is her hand around my cock, like I imagined in the shower.

“This one is great !” she squeals. “I wish I had something to play them. But my radio broke and now I have nothing to play music. Nevermind ! It’s always a party in here” she says pointing at her head and I smile moved by her enthusiasm.

Despite myself, I bend and kiss her lips softly, it makes her chuckle and she puts a hand on her lips for a moment, chewing faster and swallowing her pizza quickly. She’s so adorable. Then she smiles and bites her lip, taking my face in her hands. I kiss her tenderly, not rushing this one into a horny makeout session. I just want to feel her face so close to mine.

After a while, she looks me in the eye and sighs.

“Dean… Why don’t you want to be my first ? I swear I’m not planning a wedding, just…”

“No.”

“Does it disgust you ? Is it a problem ?” she asks seriously.

“Of course not, there is nothing disgusting about it, or about you…”

“If I wasn’t a virgin we would have had sex, am I right ?” she asks and I see her genius brain working behind her eyes.

“I guess, but…”

“So If I’m not a virgin anymore you won’t be afraid to deprive me of a romcom deflowering or whatever ?” she smiles.

“What ?”

She suddenly gets up and takes her glass in the air, yelling toward nothing.

“Beware boys ! I’m putting my virginity on sale ! If any of you have the guts not to be a gentleman, he can have it right now !”

I can’t help but laugh, catching her in my arms and putting a hand firmly on her mouth.

“Stop that ! That’s not how it works ! Don’t be stupid” I say, I little afraid she would do that for real.

“And how does it works ?” she asks in my hand.

“You’re too young” I state.

She puts my hand away and rolls her eyes.

“Come on Dean I’m eighteen !”

“Not yet” I state pointing my beer at her.

“Smartass” she sighs.

“You’re the smartass !”

I open my eyes and blink at the intensity of the light coming from outside. I feel chilled and warm. Jay is there, her eyes closed, her head resting on my chest, arms around me. Just then I realize I’m sleeping in her bed, we fell asleep talking and kissing in the middle of the night.

I look at her. Her face is always so expressive and now she’s still and quiet, she looks so peaceful. Her hand is firmly wrapped on my ribs, like she was afraid of letting me go, and I love feeling her so close to me. I gently stroke her hair not to wake her up and keep looking at her. Shit I want to spend the day like that.

“You keep being my first everything” she murmurs in a light smile, her eyes still closed. “I had never slept with anybody in my life.”

“Really ?”

“Yeah… No one ever picked me up after school, and no one ever offered me chocolate. Plus the kiss….”

“You are barely awake and you’re already asking me to have sex with you !” I say lifting one arm in the air.

She smiles and gets up suddenly, making me wince. She laughs and puts her feet on the ground, rubbing her adorable sleepy face.

“Coffee ?”

I nod.

I don’t go back to the motel. Not once during the entire weekend. I sometimes check my phone, but there’s no news from dad. After coffee she asks me if it bothers me that she finished writing an essay, because she doesn’t want to do it on Sunday evening. It doesn’t. I tell her I have some shopping to do and she just shrugs as she is already focused on her work. Our dynamic is well-founded, like we’ve been friends for years.

I buy food and beer, and at the store, I come across her shampoo. I smell it like a fucking creep… Then I buy a radio that reads tapes.

She is so thrilled when I give it to her, I think she almost cries. And we spend the rest of the day listening to my tapes, talking about the meaning of the songs, replaying guitar solos, debating about our preferences.

When she loves a song, really loves it, she can’t help but dance. Always. She’s there, moving her shoulders with the drums as I assure her this is not the best song of the album.

“Shut up ! You know nothing about music !” she says getting up to mime playing guitar.

Before I can hold back, I get up and kiss her with desire, moaning on her lips while she clings to me, flattening her breasts on my chest. It’s like the music goes louder and louder around us, like the climax scene of a movie. The enchanting tinsel embellishing the sky with more stars, the warm wind of the young night, the smell of the wood, the touch of her tongue… everything is overwhelming. I want her so bad. Her kisses are more confident than the first time, and they’re perfect. She learned to kiss on my lips, it’s like she’s made for me.

I start to nibble her jaw and her throat, she lets her head back to grant me full access. Her hands comes under the hem of my Henley, the soft very shy brush of her fingers making me shiver. I take two steps to steady her against the trailer and she wraps her legs around me.

“Wow… stop, Jay, stop” I manage to say before my brain totally shuts down, taking her hands away from my skin.

“No ! Not again, Dean. Fuck you” she says getting off of me and pushing me back.

She pants and looks at me in the eye, flushed and shaking, with an angry frown, her lips mime a fuck you, and she goes inside her trailer.

After a few minutes alone outside, I don’t know if she wants me gone or not. And I can’t let this perfect day finish like that, so I knock on her trailer.

“Who is this ?” she yells.

“Are you serious ?” I ask lifting my hands on disbelief.

She opens the door and looks at me biting her lips. With her hand she tells me to come in.

“I’m still mad at you” she says sitting on her bed, with a pout. “Would you stay tonight, just to sleep ? Or am I too young ?”

***********************************

I'm looking at the ceiling again, trying to ease the pain in my chest. I hear nothing, Sam went to bed so I went to my room, I can't be alone with Dean again.

A knock on my door. I get up and arrange my long sleeves shirt to hide the scars. Even at night I keep it, giving myself only small times of intimacy to look at the lines on my forearms.

Dean. Dean is at my door, I was hoping it would be Jack.

"Hey, I was thinking... maybe you'd like to have a drink. I just opened a nice bottle of whiskey" he says showing me the bottle in his hands.

He looks at me with kind eyes and I want to slap him. Why would he want to spend time with me ? After what he did... Except he doesn't remember, according to him we just met.

"Hum. Okay Dean" I just say with a little more bitterness in my voice that I intended to.

Sitting at the library table I watch him take two glasses to serve us. I just can't get over how perfect he is to me : This smooth pain behind his eyes, this incredible way of being big and strong, moving like a warrior, while being the most comforting figure I ever lay eyes on, this way he rubs his face when he's tired -he still does that...-

"So..." he tries. "When did you start hunting ?"

I sigh and breathe painfully. He looks at me strangely, like he was afraid of bothering me. I haven't been so friendly to him, I have to be nicer. He did nothing to me, I mean, this Dean has done nothing to me.

"I hunted a little with my boyfriend by eighteen. When he..." I clear my voice. "Left. I started hunting alone."

"I started with my dad" he says, obviously embarrassed by the sorrow in my voice.

"Yeah I know" I smile kindly, the best I can. "I read the books."

"Oh, come on ! Not you !" he rolls his eyes and that makes me smile for real because I always loved his annoyed look…

Morning. Sam is sitting at the table reading a spell book. I put a coffee in front of him. This night have been awful, sobbing in my bed for hours, tortured by exhaustion and the massive hole in my chest. Talking with Dean for almost two hours made everything worse and I couldn't breathe properly for hours, feeling the ache caused by his absence in every cell of my body. It took three pills to put myself to sleep for only four hours, and a very cold shower to reduce the marks of pain on my face.

"What if it was a spell ?" Sam says taking the coffee. "What if a witch made your friend forget ?"

"Maybe, but why ?" I say.

"I'm calling Rowena."

When Dean comes out of the bathroom, my entire body starts to shiver.

"Who is he talking to ?" he asks me with his grumpy morning voice and I can't stop staring at him.

"Rowena" I say.

Just then I realize he's staring too. With a strange look on his face, he searches my face. Almost like he knew, like he felt the connexion for an instant.

"Rowena is in Scotland, she comes back in three days." Sam says breaking the strange silence between his brother and I. "You could stay. I mean, if you want."

"I hum..." I look at Dean and feel a hint of panic grow inside my stomach. "I don't know."

"Oh okay..." Sam just says.

And I realize how ungrateful I am being, the man is trying to help me.

"I just, I just don't want to bother you guys" I say trying to be nicer.

"Don't worry about that" Dean says with this low voice that always makes me quiver.

On the first day I stayed in the library with Sam and Jack, looking for everything that could talk about memory loss. We eliminated strange theories about ancient gods and a Chinese monster. Dean stayed in his room almost all day until he came out with his laptop in his hand.

"I've got a case" he said. "I can go alone."

The idea of him being so close is painful, but the idea of this bunker without him in it is unbearable. So when Sam looks at me asking if I wanted to stay here doing research, I tell them we should go for that hunt together, while wanting for Rowena.

*****************************

2005

I look at my watch. She must be out by now, almost every student left school, but no sign of Jay. I Start to worry, what if something happened to her ? I dropped her off just here this morning, after spending every damn minute of the weekend with her, she knows I'm waiting for her, we talked about going to that diner that serves the best chocolate milkshakes according to her. I check my phone, no news from dad.

Then I see her, she talking with a boy. I frown looking at the spiky hair douche bending to talk to her closer. What is she doing ? The way she's acting, I never saw her like that, not even with me she's pulling her stomach in and laughing like she had no brain. Fuck, she's flirting !

Without even thinking twice I get out of the car and walk toward them, clenching my fists in my pockets. She sees me and smiles with that real, wide smartass smile of hers. The guy turns around and stares at me unimpressed, I want to punch he's stupid little snot's face.

"I was waiting for you" I groan.

"Dean, this is Matt. Matt is nice and I was thinking about inviting him home tonight" she says with a smirk that makes me want to slap her.

"Are you serious ?" I ask, looking down at the boy.

"Who are you creep ?" says Matt.

I have to clench my fists not to punch him. I take her by the arm and drag her with me toward the car. I hear the guy ask her how I am and she yells I'm her brother, laughing. When she's in I slam the door and try to calm not to yell at her. I want to tell her she's acting inconsiderably but the truth is I am jealous. Burning with fear, nauseous at the idea of that boy touching her, fucking her quickly in a locker room, without even looking at her, and telling his friends how he just fucked the weird girl. I hate myself for thinking so low of her.

When I park next to her trailer, I haven't said a word yet, and her impish smile has fade. I get out of the car and so does she. She stands there, looking at me with a serious look.

"I'm going back to the motel" I say coldly.

"No" she says surprising me.

"Yes I am, Jay. This is stupid, you're going to far" I try not to scream.

"You're stupid" she shrugs.

"I am... What ? What were you doing there, huh ? Trying to make me jealous ?" My anger is creeping.

"Tell me you don't want me" she orders and I notice her burning eyes are wet.

"What ?" the sadness in her tone makes me answer softer. "You know I do."

"Tell me you don't want me or take what you want" she repeats coldly. "Or I'll sleep with Matt."

"Are you... Fuck !" I say taking my head in my hands. "Are you serious ? You want a douche bag to screw you selfishly in the back of his truck ? Is that what you want ?" I finally yell.

"This is what I get, Dean !" she yells back at me, tears filling her eyes.

"What are you talking about ?"

"Come on Dean ! I live in a stolen trailer ! My microwaves broke a year ago and I still eat my pizza cold because I have no money to buy a new one ! I'm a weirdo ! I never had real friends and I never got out of this shitty town ! I'm not even sure I ever will ! What do you think ? That I will have many friends like you in my life ?" A tear comes down her cheek and she stops screaming. "When you leave I'll never see you again, and eventually it will be Matt or another Matt for me... I just... Maybe you just don't want me, say it."

I take her in my arms, squeezing tightly. I sigh. She thinks so low of herself it hurts to hear.

"It won't be Matt, or any Matt. You're a warrior and everything you dream of will come true because you'll fight for it. Just like you fight for me. Nothing can resist you" I kiss her forehead and she breathes heavily in my arms.

Night fell and I everything went quiet again. I asked her if she was hungry and, as she was, I took her to that diner we were supposed to go. After her burger she couldn't finish her milkshake, so I drank it after mine, and now I feel so full I can't even drink that beer she gave me back to her trailer.

"You look tired" she says to me and I shrug, not sure if I'm tired of sad, really.

Why everything has to be so complicated in life ?

"Come on" she says, dragging me inside. "I'm taking a quick shower and we can sleep... If you still want to sleep here."

I smile and she disappears inside her small bathroom. After a few minutes she comes out wearing her sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Fuck, no bra. I was already sitting on her bed and she climbs it like a cat, laying behind me. I take my jacket and shoes off, and lay.

Turning toward her I look at her face, she already is staring at me. She smiles and reaches for the light to turn it off as usual, but I catch her and before she can.

I bend on her and slowly brush my lips against hers. She takes a shaky breath. I kiss her once, twice and then deepen the kiss, caressing her tongue with mine. My hand comes to her side and she wraps her arms around my neck, playing with my hair as she always does. As I kiss her, my body comes above hers and she spreads her legs.

This is it, I want her too much. My hands come to her chest and I take one covered breast in my hand, moaning at the feeling of her nipple finally poking my fingers. She slips her two hands under my shirt and takes it up my back touching my skin eagerly all the way up.

"Dean" she moans and I break the kiss to look into her eyes.

She's flushed and burning, her eyes dark with desire, but her breathing short with nervousness. I let my hips down to let her feel me through our clothes. Her eyes widen when my crotch comes in contact with her pussy.

"You can still tell me to go home" I pant.

"No. Please no. I want you, I'm just..." she stammers.

"I know. What did you experienced yet ?" I ask, trying to resist the urge to thrust against her.

"Hum... Nothing" she says biting her lips with worry.

I take a deep breath and kiss her jaw.

"Not even to yourself ?" I try while nibbling at her throat angrily.

"I touched... Wow, this is... Dean this is... Oh God" she moans.

I smile against her and start to gently move my hips, just to give her, and me, some friction ; her body shivers and she lets out a deep moan of pleasure, her hands coming at my butt to try and press me more against her.

"More" she begs and I get up to open my jeans.

"Can you..." she starts shyly, and then she hides her face in her hands.

"If we're going to do that, I want you to talk to me" I say taking me belt off.

"Can you take off your shirt, Dean ?" she finally whispers.

I take it off, kneeling between her thighs and she bites her lips in a sigh.

"You are..." she starts.

But her hands come up to reach my chest and she starts exploring me, her soft hands everywhere on my skin. I come down to kiss her again, her palms never living me, wrapping around me.

Going slow, I take her tank to above her head and her hands come to hide her chest.

"No, no" I say taking her hands away. "You have nothing to hide."

When I bend to take one of her nipple in my mouth, she squeals in surprise and her body starts to shake. She's delicious, and her skin makes me go crazy.

"Dean, this is..." she moans.

"Tell me" I order, kissing and biting at her sweet skin, rubbing my thumb on her other nipple. "How do you feel ?"

"I... Han ! I don't know. This is…" her breath is short and her hands are gently tousling my hair. "My lower belly is burning up. And... Fuck Dean my... I'm soaking my sheets."

Fuck. I have to stop and breathe because her words and the desperate tone in her voice is making me lose my cool. I can feel my cock pressing against my jeans and it starts to hurt.

I get up again and take my jeans off, carefully keeping my underwear not to make her too nervous just now. Then I slip my fingers in the waistband of her sweatpants and slowly take it down. She's not wearing panties so I swear under my breath, looking at her, my mouth watering. She's shaking now, her legs trying to close, but I come between her thighs again, soaking my boxers with how wet she is.

"Wow, she says." You... you're..."

I can see the worry on her face, the feeling of my cock rubbing against her is scaring her. I'm not small, and she must be asking herself how she is supposed to take me in.

"Hey don't worry baby" I say kissing her softly. "Do you want me to stop ?"

"No" she says trembling. "Just, do you... is it always... Do you think I can ?"

"Of course you can, but if you don't want to..."

"I want to Dean. Kiss me, please touch me again"

One of my hands is in her hair, the other comes down slowly. I kiss her like she begged for and feel her all body shake when I brush my fingers against her pussy. She freezes and looks me in the eye. I can see she's trying not to panic, but she's terrified.

"Do you want me to stop ?" I ask again.

"No, but... What are you going to do ?" she whispers shyly.

"I need to prepare you. I'm going to put a finger..."

"Okay, okay !" she cuts me burning red, hiding her face again. "You're the expert."

"Look at me, Jay. Don't hide, kiss me" I ask. "You're beautiful. You're perfect."

My fingers find her clit and she loudly moans on my lips. I take my time, rubbing her clit carefully with my thumb while my fingers find her entrance, not entering yet, just exploring. She's panting and shaking.

"Dean I..." she tries but her words died on her red throat.

"You're about to come, let go baby" I say trying not to follow her down the cliff.

"But you..." she moans, her eyes unfocused, her hands grabbing my shoulders.

"Don't worry about me. You're perfect, baby."

Saying that I slip a finger insider her and she clenches around me. She swears incoherent words and I slip another, making her dig her nails on my skin. She's so tight I start to get nervous too, will I hurt her ? What if we can't... It feels like I'm filling her completely with just two fingers, how am I supposed to...

But all of my thoughts suddenly fade when she comes ardently. Her mouth opens wide without making any sound, her body shakes like she was convulsing with pleasure, her beautiful breasts pointing at me, her pussy clenching hard around me, keeping my fingers inside her and trying to reject them in the same time, soaking my hand. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and felt.

It's like I'm the virgin, I feel like I could come right now, my dick still in my pants. Getting up I take my boxers down my thighs, and grab a condom in my wallet, on my jeans pocket. Just touching myself to put it on me is a challenge.

She’s looking at me dizzy and breathless. Her hands search me hazily and grip me when I lay between her thighs again. My cock is at her entrance and I can feel her body tense.

“Don’t tense, baby” I kiss her lips and her face.

When she deepens a kiss, lost in me, focused on my mouth, I start to push inside her slowly. She frowns and opens her mouth slightly, her beautiful eyes piercing mine. My forehead comes to rest on hers and I feel how intensely I am stretching her, feeling her body resist a bit.

“Are you okay ?” I pant, pushing deeper languorously.

“Yeah…” she winces. “Is it okay for you ?” she worries again.

I moan at the feeling of her pussy fluttering around me and put my head on the crook of her neck. I would like to reassure her, tell her she doesn’t need to worry but I’m lost in the feeling of her, in the intimacy of this moment ; my own body begging me to chase the pleasure I crave. So I just pant a strangled “yeah” on her skin, and I feel her walls clench when I moan. Not sure my voice is making her react like that, I groan in pleasure loudly and her legs wrap around me, keeping me deep inside her. She whimpers… I can feel it. I can literally perceive her body accepting me, her pussy getting wetter and wetter, allowing me to go deeper, her walls opening to welcome me. For a moment, a new fire starts in me, possessiveness. I conquered her and now she’s mine, nobody can touch her…

I start thrusting gently and she relaxes, holding me tight, a hand on my hair, trembling, kissing my temple like she was the one taking care of me.

“You feel so good” I whisper in her ear, thrusting deeper, and my voice makes her hold me tighter.

I am already close I know it, and I try to hold on, one of my hand wondering on her sweaty skin, taking her right breast like I could cling to it. My hand goes down and finds her clit, gently rubbing it. Her head goes back and her eyes roll, her stomach shake and she tries to tell me something, her lips moving, but no sound comes out.

“Tell me” I pant, winded by the beauty of her, and by the closeness of my own orgasm.

But she can’t answer. She comes again, clenching me so hard I come forcefully without any control. Her legs are crushing me, and her hand is clinging on my short hair.

I feel empty and blissed, lazily thrusting inside of her, getting softer.

“Dean please” she wails.

I understand she needs me to withdraw, because she too sensitive now. So I do, and take the condom off, stretching my arm to throw it in the kitchen trashcan.

“Are you okay ?” I ask her, getting on my elbows to look at her.

“Yeah…” she smiles. “Just sore. I didn’t know…”

As she stops I kiss her lips and beg her :

“Talk to me, don’t be shy with me. I need you be open…”

“I didn’t know I could come the first time” she says avoiding my face.

I smile, I can’t help it, I wasn’t sure either, considering she was anxious and it hurt a bit in the beginning. I am proud and grateful.

I get on my knees and notice a bit of blood on the sheets, so I get up to clean her with a wet towel. Her shyness is back, because her arousal is coming down, and she tries to close her legs.

“Don’t” I say. “You are beautiful. Don’t hide from me”.

“Can I…” she hesitates but dares after a deep breath. “Can I look at you ?”

Wow she makes me nervous now. I lay on my back and let her roam her fingers on my skin, kissing here and there, scratching me lightly. Then she looks at my cock and I feel myself burning red, I can see she wants to touch it, but she stays still. Nobody ever looked at me like this, so naively, so tenderly.

She finally smiles and lies against me, drawing invisible patterns on my chest. She kisses my cheek.

“You really know what you are doing, Dean” she says and I just smile at her. “I want to learn. I want to learn how your body works. Would you teach me ?”

I nod.

She can have all of me.

Feedback is was keeps me writing :)

@mirandaaustin93 @tftumblin

#supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fic #dean winchester fic #Smut #angst #fluff #SPN

203 notes · View notes

regdaran · 4 years

Text

Revenant~Noir Chapter 2:Painfull Developments

1 . 2 .

Also see it on Ao3: Here!

(Marinette)

Alya had, reasonably, freaked out at the news that the new mystery enemy was in fact the returned Chat Noir. She had panicked more when she found out about what he had done to Ladybugs shoulder. When Nino heard how he shredded her suit, he paled. He picked up his phone and opened the copies of The Miraculous Book he had saved on there. he was still reading. Chloe... still hadn't shown up. She was the only person who took Adriens death harder than Marinette did. Even with all the panicking, and worry... Marinette had to admit, this was going better than she had hoped. Alya had only screamed 'WHAT' twice when she had explained what happened. Though she wished Tikki would contribute to the conversation a bit more, but she had to recharge. Oddly, transforming twice in one night is hard. Speaking of night, it was practically morning. It was 3 AM before she even got home, 4 by the time she was done explaining everything.

"That's not right." Nino muttered to himself. "That's not how 'Cataclysm' is supposed to work-" Before he could finish, another voice piped up. "That wasn't 'Cataclysm'! It was something different."

Tikki appeared from out of Marinette's bag, and continued. "Whatever that was, it didn't feel like the miraculous. It felt wrong, while 'Cataclysm' would have destroyed the suit it would have only done that. It would have broken her transformation and stopped there."

Nino gave Tikki a look, and said: "That is exactly what I was going to say. According to The Miraculous Book there are protections against 'Cataclysm' built into the magic of your suit. A wielder of the can destroy Miraculous, though eventually they'll reform, and even rip apart the magic of the transformation. He shouldn't be able to hurt a transformed wielder, at least not with any abilities." Marinette interrupted him here. "Like Tikki was saying, I don't think it was 'Cataclysm'. He didn't say the trigger phrase before he attacked. He just... had the power in his hands." Everyone, Tikki included, looked worried at that.

" Look. " Nino started. "I'm not sure about a lot else here, I still can't decipher most of this thing. Maybe there is something I missed." While Nino had made great progress as a self-taught guardian, the majority of the book was still gibberish to him.

Alya had apparently had enough of being shocked, because she then asked: "How is this even possible? We all saw him die, my god , we went to his funeral! If he dug his way out of his grave, wouldn't it have made the news or something?" That... was a good point. Marinette nodded her head and spoke up. "We can visit his grave tomorrow morning. Er- this afternoon. Right now, we need to figure out what Chat actually is at the moment. Tikki do you have any idea?" Marinette looked at Tikki with a questioning gaze. Tikki responded with "I... might... It's be ages since the last one was seen." She started to hesitate. "Tikki, please if you know something... anything. Please tell us, even if its just a hunch or seems weird. After all, this isn't exactly a normal situation." Since all of this started, back in school, 'weird' had become a very subjective term. Tikki looked at the floor. then said, in hushed tones: "He is a Revenant." The silence after was deafening. While Marinette and Alya both wore confused expressions, Nino had blanched again. This time so hard he looked like someone had dipped him in bleach.

"Well... Shit..." Marinette was surprised, Nino was rarely the type to curse. "Is it that bad?" Mari asked. "Hold on, I think I have a chapter on that bookmarked in my copy. Give me a sec." Said Alya, who then made to read her copy of The Miraculous Book. Nino stopped her there with: "Don't bother, I memorized that section about a month ago. It was hardly even encoded... A plain warning for all to see. Revenants are-" Then for the second time, he was interrupted. "Revenants are powerful undead that return from the grave with a strong sense of vengeance. When someone is killed, or their death is caused by the action of someone else, If the person dying has a strong enough desire for revenge or justice they will return as a Revenant, and... hunt down their killer or killers." Alya looked up from her phone for the first time in minutes. "What?" Nino looked her, and sighed. "Nothing..." a chuckle "Nothing I wasn’t about to say. Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm the new Guardian." He shook his head, and continued. "I'm not sure, but I don't think the book mentions anything about miraculous wielders ever becoming any kind of undead. The Miraculous and the Kwami are supposed to ensure a peaceful afterlife!"

"Plagg always did get too attached..." Tikki started. "The Cat Miraculous is a conduit for negative energy and destruction, the opposite of me. It's possible that when Adrien died..." She stopped again.

"Marinette."

"Yea Tikki?"

"Remember how I help you heal from any wounds you sustain after a fight. Remember that fight with Mayura, when her sentimonster broke your arm and I was able to heal it after the fight. I'm not the only Kwami that heals their wielder. I'm just the best at it." She said with a small note of pride. "Plagg, could never heal wounds well. He would always leave scars at best, or make his wielder sick at worst..."

"You don't think that..." A turtle spirit said, joining the conversation. "It's taboo! Even you could not complete the ritual. It just takes to much." Wayzz seamed in a panic now, practical orbiting Ninos head.

"What are you all talking about?" Marinette asked looking between Wayzz and Tikki.

Everyone was silent. while it was clear that the other Kwami all knew the story, it was obviously Tikki's tale to tell. "When... When my first wielder died." She began with. emotion painting her words. "We had been together for years and years. I loved her so much, and then she was gone. So, I tried to 'heal' her... It didn't go well." Her voice started to strain mid way, and it fell apart by the end.

Tikki flew into Marinettes arms, seeking comfort from the memory. Then Wayzz spoke up again. "After that, it was made taboo to try and resurrect a wielder. The after effects of all who have tried... created tragedies and horrors alike."

Tikki shuddered. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. The best outcome of the ritual is a shadow of the wielder. A shade. Not a Revenant. This should be impossible. If even I could not bring back someone, Plagg should have simply failed."

"He should have let go!" Wayzz yelled. Quite a feat for a 2 inch tall turtle. "We have all been taught to let go when our wielders time comes. Plagg has gone to far this time. Raising Adrien as an undead if not only forbidden, but it could damage the boys very soul!"

Alya, once again tired of being confused, stepped in. "Whoa. Hold on you two. First, Tikki. What are you talking about? You have brought people back from death before a lot. When Siren attacked most of the city drowned, when that zombie hoard came through plenty of people were killed and brought back as undead. What is different this time?" Marinette had to admit she was wondering the same questions. What was different about Adrien? How had he come back? Was he even him anymore? Does he remember her? She was falling asleep. She could feel herself slipping into it. It was so early. What time was it? It had to be at least 5 by now. Just a few more hours and they could go visit his grave without being incredibly suspicious.

"Marinette?" Tikki's voice shook Marinette awake. "As I was telling Alya: In order, Miraculous holder are effected by... its not a curse per say... If a wielder dies, they are meant to be unraisable. They are supposed to have magical protections in place to stop errant casters from creating undead with their enhanced bodies. This also means that the soul of a wielder is meant to pass on instantly, making it very hard to contact and or raise." This was new information to her, though Nino just nodded his head. "When I bring people back, its always with the miraculous cure." Marinette was getting sleepy again. "Which uses both the magic from the akuma, and my lucky charm power." Tikki had told her about this time and time again, though it still made little sense to her. "The negative energy from the akuma, and the positive energy from my lucky charm feed off of each other until there is enough power to undo the damage that has been done. Its similar to what happens when someone makes a wish with the ladybug and cat miraculous. The reason I can heal people and bring back the dead caused by an akuma attack is because of all the negative magic in the air from the akuma. Even if-" Oh god, Tikki was on another lecture. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment. "Marinette, stay with me." Nope. "Finally what happened with the zombies was the reanimation of the bodies, no soul involved. The ample amount of necrotic energy that filled the area more than made up for the energy I need from an akuma. Which is what made healing them easy and quick. Damage to the body is nothing compared to even a metaphorical scratch on the soul."

Marinette, after a few minutes of processing, realized to her shock that she had never stopped to think about how it worked back then. How had she never though to question it before? This past month she had realized there were a lot of things that she never questioned before. Like how she never noticed all the similarities between Chat and Adrien.

"Look" Said Nino. "That was a great speech and all, but I'm pretty sure Alya is asleep standing up, and I'm not sure if I understood half of what you just said. We need to get some rest before we continue to investigate. Marinette, you said something about checking where he should be buried. You and I can go and take a look after we all get some damn sleep. Alya... ALYA!" Alya jumped like someone had shocked her with a cattle prod. "What?! I'm awake!" Though she said that her eyes were crossed and her head was drooping already. "Me and Marinette are going to check out the grave yard. While we do that, you need to find Queen Bee and have her help you search around for Chat or Adrien." He saw the delirium mounting inside her and still continued. "I know that she is not your favorite person at the moment, or ever, but we need to work together. If this is one of Hawkmoths plots we need to know. If Chat is back... There is a chance that Adrien is too. Unless this is another Copy Cat situation. Understood everyone?" Before anyone could raise a question, he walked over to the couch and said: "Now let's get some sleep." Then he promptly fell to the couch and passed into sleep.

(Nino)

It was gone. Not upturned. Not disturbed. Just Gone! No headstone, no hole. NOTHING! How was this even possible? They had been there when he was put into the ground! The entire class had shown up to his funeral! They had all talked about afterwards as part of Miss Bustiers therapy session afterwards. There was no way He had imagined it. He and Marinette had gone to both the funeral home where the actual funeral service was held, and the graveyard next too it. They had checked the coroner's logs, the funeral records, even the financial reports. None of them showed that anything had happened in the last month. Even the Employees here seemed down right oblivious! None of them even noticed he and Marinette were even there until they actually grabbed on of them and shook him to get his attention. What the hell was going on. Nino turned his head to ask Marinette if she had any ideas. Oh crap, she looked worse than he felt. She was just standing there, staring at a part of the graveyard. Was she shaking? He was so stupid to bring her here, he should get her out of here, but... he still had to find some shred of evidence for anything!

He went over to her, hoping that a break from questioning the apathetic staff would let his brain rest. It felt like someone was squeezing his head. "Are you alright Marinette?"

What the hell was he asking? Of course she isn't alright. This is an insane situation.

"It should be right here." She was staring at the large space between headstones. The same space they had all been gathered around for Adrien's funeral. Marinette was right, it was the spot where his grave should be. It's not, but it should be. She had been staring for at least as long as Nino had been talking to the employees of the funeral home. He looked down at his watch. Which showed 7 P.M. on its face. How long had they been here?

"I know Marinette... Hey are you with me here?" Now that he was paying closer attention to her, he could see her eyes were glazed over. "Earth to Marinette, maybe... we should leave." What was he saying? No. Leaving was an over reaction. Surely. He still had things to do here. He still had to figure out what was going on here. Wait, what was it he had to figure out? His head felt like someone had turned on a blender inside his skull!

" MASTER! Can you hear me?" When did Wayzz leave his backpack? Wait. "Wayzz dude! what are you do-" And again. For the 5th time in, what? 12 hours? Nino was interrupted. Wayzz cut in saying: "Now is no the time to worry about our secrets. As no one here will notice. Master can not you feel it? The magic at work here. Something is wrong. Very Wrong. I have been working to shield your mind." His mind? Oh is that why his head hurt like crazy? "Wayzz what's going on? Wait. Oh my god. We've been here for 5 hours. Wayzz we need to go. Now."

Wayzz floated in front of him for a moment. "Master, we must be careful. The same force that tried to trap you here will try and keep you from leaving. You need to see what I do." Then the kwami started to shake his hands above Nino. A shining dust fell from them, right into his eyes. "Ack. Wayzz dude! What are talking abo..." This time he could blame no one but himself for not being able to finish. The sight before him was stunning. In the air drifted streams of colors. Like someone had dropped a color palette into water. A sinister purple wove its way around and through the heads of people who work here. The same purple that was circling and probing at Marinette.

"There... now... you can... see the magic... I have to rest now. Hurry, and escape." Wayzz phased into Ninos back pack.

Nino snapped out of his daze. "MARINETTE!" At this she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Wha. What? Nino. What's going on with your eyes?" She looked at him like a horn had sprouted on his face. Which for all he knew, one had.

"No time to explain. We have to leave."

"Leave? Don't we still have to... wait... What are we..."

He could see the way the magic rippled around her head. How the purple writhed and tried to dig into her head. He grabbed at her wrist, and started to run toward the gate. When he reached for Marinette, he saw how his had was rimmed in the same green of 'Shell-ter'. He also saw how it was spreading slowly to Marinette. Whatever Wayzz had done, it was more than just enhanced sight. HE was going to get him an entire shipping container of cookies later to make up for the energy Wayzz had to be spending.

Even as Nino was running with a sobering Marinette in tow, he could see a shade of magic similar to, but different from, the same purple magic that had tried to snare both himself and Marinette. This new purple was pooling in places around the path leading out of the grave yard. The pools also seemed to be moving toward them. Nino looked around, still clutching Marinettes forearm. "Nino? Whats going on? Why are we running?" Oh good, shes coherent now. "No time to explain, we have to get out of here now." He let go of her arm, and pointed to a path that would lead to the fence surrounding the graveyard. "Over there, we can't take the gate. To much bad magic. Trust me on this one."

Marinette seemed perplexed for a moment. Nino really hoped that she was not falling under the effects of what ever was going on again. The green magic that covered him also coated Marinette in a thin shell. The purple energies didn't seem to like the protection she now had, as it was dissipating. Then she said: "Ok, but I am going to want one hell of an explanation as to why my head feels like someone tried to make scrambled eggs inside my brain." With that, they started running for the fence. One of the masses of purple magic shot itself toward Marinette. Nino reacted on impulse, shifting his stance to block the incoming blob with his shield. Which he only had... when transformed. The magic hit his arm, and it went slack and numb. Also. It hurt like hell!

"GA! Shit! Run faster! We must run Faster! " He said while holding his arm. The got to the fence and started climbing. In a matter of second Marinette was over the top, and giving a hand to Nino. Right as he was about to round the top and scramble down, he felt a jolt of pain in his leg, and it went numb from the shin down.

They were over and out. Both of them laying on the ground winded from their mad dash through, what as far an Nino could tell was damn mine field of malicious magic.

Then, Marinettes phone started ringing. Or did they just now notice that it was ringing? Nino couldn't especially care. Running at such speeds... Why the hell was that so exhausting?

"Come on. We have to get to Alya and Chloe. Something went wrong... Its Harbinger, their back."

(Alya)

(During the hours that Nino and Marinette spent at the graveyard)

It wasn't fair. Not fair in the least. Why should she have to be the one paired with Chloe of all people? She knew the answer, and it was more than necessary. Nino had explained it again after they had all woken up to the alarm he set. If Marinette and Chloe where left alone they would either both breakdown and cry, or start fighting each other in their grief. Nino didn't want Marinette to be the one searching for Adrien. Er- Chat? And He himself had to go and look over the documents from the Morgue or wherever they went. He was better with paperwork she'll give him that. All of this meant that she had to be the one to team up with Chloe, and go cat hunting. Maybe she was being a bit harsh on Chloe.

Chloe had not, in fact, taken well to the news that Chat was back and was probably killing people and running around attacking his old team. The poor girl still looked like she was one scare away from having a complete mental break down...

Not that Alya would admit to it, but she actually felt bad for her. If anyone loved Adrien more than Marinette, it was Chloe. If anyone was processing all this worse then Marinette, it was Chloe.

They had spent hours combing the streets, but it looked like their quarry would only come out at night. She guessed she had some time to kill until true night hit. though it was only a couple minutes away from 7. Now that Alya was paying less attention to the surrounding city, and more attention to her partner for the night, she was noticing the way her suit was filled out more than usual. especially in her waist of all places.

Before Alya could stop her self, she blurted out "Have you gained weight?" Her hands were around her mouth in an instant! "I'm so sorry, I have no idea why I said that!" She was blushing hard enough to contend with the red of LB's suit. Her eyes were closed shut, and she was braced for a slap, or at least a very indignant rant.

Chloe just let out a sigh. Then she said evenly: "I suppose that's the effect of stuffing my face with desserts. It's about all I've done for the last few weeks. What have you been up to?"

Alya was taken aback, she remembered how she found Chloe. Nearly trapped inside an ever increasing fort of pillows and sheets. Just sitting there with empty ice cream boxes around her, Pollen in a food coma on the couch. She had been crying, just laying there. It was several moments before Alya had realized she was asleep, and weeping on the floor. Bringing her up to speed had been painful. It was a full hour before Chloe had composed herself enough to transform, which seemed to settle her more than anything Alya did. Now Chloe was admitting to pigging out on junk food and ice cream? She had seen the evidence before her, and even tried to bring it up before they went out, And now Chloe was talking about it and making an attempt at chit chat?! This, more than anything else in this crazy situation, surprised her.

"H-Hey" She started in an uncertain tone before continuing more steadily. "We all cope in our own ways." She glanced around, using their search for Chat as an excuse not to make eye contact. "I.. I worked as much as I could this past month... Nino has been trying to make a new tape for his DJ gigs... neither of us has actually accomplished much..."

After a moment. "Still better than me. Hey... How is Mar-" A crash and scream broke through the afternoon air. Alya and Chloe shot up into a standing position and started looking around for the source of the sounds. Alya's hearing was almost better than Chats, and her ability for pick out people from a distance was second to none. She spun around trying to find who she assumed would be Chat.

Someone jumped onto the roof, and started toward the pair.

Long dark robes fluttered in the now fetid wind, thick stained rope was tied around their waist. Black cloth hood hiding a skeletal face, which spewed fog and mist from every opening. White glows served as eyes. Eyes that lock onto the 2 heroes like a hawk finding field mice. A curved scythe made of a sickly looking wood and rusted iron fitting sat in their right bone hand. They were holding a human heart in their left hand! IT BEAT!

"Where is he?" The hollow voice, like foul wind blowing though dead tree branches, demanded.

"Run!" Alya Screamed. Her brain was locking up, both from the fear that the akuma commanded and from the terror that was all Alya. She glanced over at Queen Bee, who looked as horrified as she felt. It was them, the only akuma made in over a month, the only akuma to truly hurt them in any way that lasted.

It was Harbinger. The only akuma to kill a Miraculous team member, and make it last.

Queen Bee collapsed next to Alya. All she could do was pick up her friend and start running. It was about 3 city blocks before she realized that Harbinger was chasing after them, demanding "WHERE IS THE DEAD CAT?" How could its whisper of a voice yell so loudly? "Queen! Call Ladybug and Carapace." No response but muted sobbing. "QUEEN!" It was useless. Queen Bee had curled up into Alya's arms, and was crying the same thing over and over again. "Oh god, its our turn. He's going to kill us. No no no no no no." Iterations of this were the only things passing from Chloe's lips. Shit, they had to get away from Harbinger. Enough distance to call the others and maybe break Chloe out of her stupor. If a distraction was needed, Rena was fox for the job.

"Mirage" Yelled Rena Rogue, as her flute awkwardly danced in her hands. Exact doubles of Rena Rogue and Queen Bee appeared and started running near the originals. Both sets passed behind a billboard, breaking line of sight. Then they sprinted in opposite directions from each other.

Harbinger stopped for a moment, and had to choose a target, He held up the hand with a heart and started swaying it from left to right. "Guide me." Guide me so that i may slay your friends." It pulsed and Harbinger raced after the pair that went left. They went across the roof of an apartment building, he floated above it. They went behind a wall, he went through it. For 30 minutes the chase went on. Until, they stopped and Harbinger reached out with his scythe, and cut the pair in ribbons. Which then became motes of light as they dissipated, laughter filling the air. "NO! You lied!" It squeezed the heart so hard a normal one would have been crushed. This one simply beat faster and harder.

While Harbinger had been hunting the illusion down, Rena Rogue had run out of time. Trixx had spent all of his energy to maintain the magic until Harbinger had destroyed it.

Alya put a still transformed Chloe down on the ground, who then started groping around for her legs and held on for dear life. "

Glad to see you have your priorities straight."

Where did she put her- Ah there it was. She turned her phone back on and called Marinette. She hopped that the girl was still in her civilian clothes. If Marinette was LB at the moment, she doubted her call would connect.

"Ah, Alya. Are you there?"

"Thank god you picked up Mari. Get over here quick by my place. It Harbinger it's back! and-" She was cut off mid sentence by the third scream of the night.

This one was throaty, and ragged. It also sounded familiar, Bone chillingly familiar. She brought her head up from behind the ledge of her roof. Where she saw Chat Noir tearing Harbinger apart.

Post Script: Earlier when Rena and Queen had to run around the city. Just before the scene above takes place:

"I can't believe you took so long to catch up to me."

"YOU POINTED IN A DIRECTION AND RAN OFF! Be glad I remembered I could find you on my top."

"It wasn't even him, now we have to... did you just say you found me with your top..."

"Well yea, our weapons can show us... the other... members of... our team."

"Are we dumb-asses?"

"Yes we are. Lets agree to say we though of this earlier on when we report shall we?."

"We shall!"

#revenantnoir #Revenant~Noir #No one here is qualified for this!#i did this instead of studying #please dont repost #undead #Ladybug #Rena Rogue #Carapace #Chat Noir

1 note · View note

thesealskin · 5 years

Text

It was the summer of '93, though it being Tasmania, it felt more like Autumn, the first time they kissed. Well, it wasn't the first time they'd put their lips together, but it was the first time that the action had been one of love, and not so they could pass a breath back and forth to each other under water in the middle of the Tasman sea so they wouldn't drown.

God, that had been a terrifying moment. Guy still remembers Cecil's long, gnarled fingers gripping his forearms like a lifeline, like Guy would've been swept away if he loosened his grip in the slightest, and chances are, the way the waves were batting them around, he would have.

That was two years ago, though. No longer were they running through a storage facility in Mornington Peninsula on the mainland with three teenage girls and a Spirit of Tasmania employee, trying to uncover a story about a missing seal skin that kept getting weirder and weirder. Now, Guy sat next to Cecil on the old, rotting pier that sat over the beach they first found the selkie. God, it still felt so jarring that all of this was real, all that shit about mythical creatures hidden below waters of behind trees was real, or at least some of it was.

Cecil sat beside him, a bright blue Zooper Dooper he had bought him from the milk bar in his hand. It was half melted, and Cecil was sucking on the opening of the packet, drinking the melted syrup inside. Emma had taught him about doing that, saying it tasted better that way. Whether that was true or not, Cecil now refused to eat the icy treats any other way.

The sun was beginning to get to that point in the sky where it bathes everything in this strong, warm light, making everything look as though it had been touched by King Midas. Cecil looked stunning, the warm sun basking him in a golden light, his dark brown hair practically glowing as the sun caught on it, frizzy chocolate curls, slightly sun bleached, that cascaded down his shoulders, having grown a considerable amount since they'd first met. His skin finally had some colour to it with the light that bounded off if it, a strange sight with how he typically walked around looking like he had just gotten done donating Guy's body weight in blood.

"'ey, wha' colah is m'h tong?"

Guy snapped out of his daze, realising that Cecil was now looking directly at him with a lazy but content look in his eyes, the packet of the Zooper Dooper still in his mouth.

"Huh?"

"A said" Cecil pulled the packet from his mouth, wincing as the sides of the plastic cut into his mouth on its way out "What colour is my tongue?"

"Sorry, between the packet in your mouth and that God awful accent, I couldn't understand a word you were saying. Plus, can't tell you that if you don't show me, idiot." Guy said, a smirk spreading across his face, using his patented tactic of playful bullying to cover over the fact that 10 seconds ago he had spaced out staring at how pretty Cecil looked, he had a big enough head as it currently stood.

Cecil scoffed and rolled his eyes at Guy, turning his body to face him, and leaning back onto his hands, before sticking his tongue out. Guy inspected it for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

"Blue. You look even more like a lizard than usual. You know those ones with the blue tongues? That's what you look like."

"Oh shut up, you fucking tosser."

"I hope you're not using that kind of language around my little sister."

"Oh please, she swears way more than I do."

"Not the swearing, the pommy insult. Seriously, tosser?"

"Fuck off." Cecil groaned, rolling his head back. Guy laughed and pulled his pack of Camels from his shorts pocket, fumbling through his other pocket for his lighter.

"Hey, Guy?"

Guy looked over at Cecil, who was now completely facing him, legs crossed in front of him, no longer dangling over the edge of the jetty, his hands clasped in his lap. He looked nervous.

"Yeah? What's up?" he asked, popping a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, using his hand to shelter the flame from the winds.

"Do you remember, when we were on that ferry to the mainland...? And we were standing on the deck, and you were apologising to me a-"

"Is this about me apologising about the whole 'fag' thing? Because-"

"No! Well, kind of...? I just... Remember when you apologised... And you... You told me that... That you were scared... You were going to tell me you that you like something, and then your sister ran up to us with her friends, and you stopped...?"

Shit. Guy hoped he had forgotten that conversation, that when he said they'd put a pin in the discussion for when they were alone again, he didn't totally mean it. The moment they were having had been so nice, he didn't want to ruin this nice little thing they had going between them.

"Listen, I-"

"Do you like men?"

He froze up, the cigarette fell from his lips, burning as the tip of it hit his calf, causing him to wince in pain as he battered his half smoked cigarette off of his lap and onto the space next to him. He slowly turned his body to face Cecil completely.

"Cecil..."

"I'm not going to judge you if you do. I know what you said about humans being shit with that whole thing, but I'm not human, and I don't care, I just want you to know that you can tell me anything, that you don't have to be afraid..."

Guy's brain clouded over the rest of what was being said as Cecil rattled on his little acceptance speech. All he could focus on in his head was that night on the ferry, when Cecil had listened to him apologise as sincerely as he could, Cecil's large hands, kind of disproportionate to the rest of him, resting gently on his biceps with a look of patience on his sharp features, his wide mouth set into a soft, understanding smile. The harsh lights of the empty dock blacked out the half of his face that faced the sea, the rough sea winds battering his curls around his head. Guy had rested his hand next to Cecil's face, tucking a lock of hair that was flying around his face behind his ear, not missing how Cecil's breath caught. He knew then. He had known when they sat in that fishing shed together, listening to old records together and passing a joint back and forth while bundled up in itchy blankets in an attempt to stay warm.

Cecil was still talking when Guy leaned forwards, but whatever he was saying died off into confused stutters as Guy took his face in his hands, surging forwards and pressing his lips to Cecil's. It wasn't like the last time their mouths were pushed together, where all Guy could taste was fish and salt as they struggled to keep passing that breath between the two of them, their hearts pounding loudly in their ears as they both clung desperately to each other. This time, it was soft and slow, with the taste of the Zooper Dooper settling in his mouth, a strange taste when combined with the cigarette Guy had been smoking not long beforehand. Cecil was frozen on the spot for a second, before he felt him relax and reach his hands up to keep Guy's hands in place, kissing back gently.

In that moment, Guy felt nothing but love. No panic, just pure love, flooding his body and forcing itself into every single crevice inside of him. Cecil felt so soft under his hands, just like how he felt on the deck when Guy tucked his hair behind his ear.

Remembering that they're in public, remembering that homosexuality was still illegal in Tasmania and that anyone could spot them and completely ruin them both, he quickly pulled away, looking around them to make sure there wasn't anyone who had seen them or could hear them. The only people who were currently around was the woman walking her dog on the other side of the beach, walking in the other direction from them. Even if she had seen, maybe she'd think Cecil was a girl from the distance, with how long his hair is. He turned his head to look at Cecil, who sat there, blushing and stammering, his sharp brown eyes now wide and doe-like.

"I like you... That's what I wanted to tell you on the boat... I like you, and I was scared... I was scared... I'm sorry..."

Cecil's face instantly softened, a smile stretching across his face, as he reached over to move his hand through Guy's crewcut, as if to tuck the barely there spikey hairs behind his ear somehow. His hand lingered on the side of his face, and Guy leaned into it, smiling back at him, feeling safe with that smile shining at him.

"I like you too. Are you still scared?"

Guy thought for a moment, before he finally decided on a response.

"Yes, but not with you."

1 note · View note

th-em-vibes · 5 years

Text

Sam Angst

Prompt: “Can you stop dying, I’m trying to work.”

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Plot: First person reader has gone thru some serious shit and came out suicidal. And immortal. Reader fucks around, gets triggered, and Sam comforts. Questionable backstory? But fiction, so suspend your disbelief.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, established Sam x Reader relationship

Word Count: 958

Warning: Death of Reader (multiple times, never sticks), mentions of trauma, suicidal tendencies, it’s a dark fic tbh. But Sam helps you through it because he loves you. Definite trigger warning tho so if you’re depressed or suicidal maybe don’t read. This is just a big catharsis for me, so please don’t read if it will make you uncomfortable.

“Ok, we’ve tried slitting my throat, stabbing me with both the angel and demon blades. I’ve chugged bleach, cyanide, and acid for fucks sake. I think we need to get creative. I know I’ve burned at the stake once, but what if I was doused in holy oil?” At this point, I’m just muttering to myself. Sam isn’t paying attention, he’s doing research for Dean who’s on a case three states away. “Really, Sam, it’s just a salt and burn don’t you think he can handle it?”

Sam huffs out, “Can you stop dying, I’m trying to work,” and continues with his research so I decide to continue on with more of my own. I’ve drowned and been hanged so I know suffocation doesn’t work. Being immortal is hard, especially when you’re suicidal. My entire life I was treated as an outcast. I never truly felt like I fit anywhere, I was never happy with any part of who I was. Finding out I was a nephilim, the daughter of the Archangel Gabriel no less, didn't help. Finding out I was part demon because of a blood ritual performed on me as a baby, and part witch through my mother’s lineage- that just completed the cocktail of fucked up that I always knew I was.

The first time I ever died I was 15. A few days before, I had found a little baby bird dead on the ground, and when I picked it up, it came back to life. I hadn’t known what I had done, but a few local men saw, and one night they dragged me from my bed and into the woods. I was kicking and screaming but nobody stopped them. They tied me up like in those movies about the Salem witches and the next thing I know I’m up in flames. I remember every second, vividly and painfully, and I relive it every time I close my eyes. When I showed up at church the next Sunday the men that did it nearly had heart attacks. They never touched me again, but they’re with me every day.

I closed my eyes and shuddered, the memories wreaking havoc on my body for a moment. When I opened my eyes, they fell on the rope that was already neatly tied into a noose. A warm, heavy hand falling on my shoulder startled me, and I jumped in my chair.

“Hey! Hey, it’s just me. You okay?” Sam’s voice calmed me immediately, but what I wasn’t expecting was the wave of tears that followed. He gathered me into his chest, sinking us to the floor as my body was wracked with sobs. I clutched onto his shirt as he rubbed one hand down my back and placed one hand in my hair, combing through it with his fingers, knowing the best way to calm me. I melted immediately into the comforting gestures and relaxed my hands against his chest as my sobs settled. The tears didn’t stop for a while but he held me until they did.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked so quietly I almost didn’t hear him, but I nodded my head against his chest and sniffled, scooting a little closer on his lap and wrapping an arm around his waist. He wrapped his arms around me and settled in a bit, keeping one hand running through my hair.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. Dying. In old ways or new ways. But every time I close my eyes all I see is fire. And sometimes it’s like I can still feel it. I just want it all to go away, but it never, ever will.” Now that the tears have stopped, the apathy has settled in. My voice has gone monotone and I can’t feel anything anymore. Just how I like it. I’ve even learned how to do it without the drugs and drinking anymore.

“Doesn’t that scare you? Not being able to feel anything?” Oh. Guess I said that last part out loud. “Because it scares me. The only time I ever felt like that was when I was soulless.”

“That’s just it, I kind of am. Depression takes all that away, it takes away your identity and what makes you happy. The apathy is just a defence mechanism, because once all the good things are gone, that just leaves all the bad things. And nobody wants to face the bad things.” My voice wavers at the end so I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment. When I exhale, Sam takes my face in his hands and makes me look up at him.

“You have to face the bad things, you have to. But you don’t have to face them alone. You have me. And Dean, and Cass, and we know what happened to you. You don’t have to hide, from it or us, anymore. Let us help you find the good things again.” I’m crying by the time he stops speaking, and he presses his forehead to mine. “Please. I love you. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” came out in a broken whisper, and Sam nodded his head, before he slowly leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft and I know that when he darted his tongue along my bottom lip he could taste my tears. I opened up to him and he deepened the kiss, practically cradling me, and touching me so, so gently. When we parted, he wrapped his arms tighter around me and held me to his chest, resting his head on top of mine. I nuzzled into him, relaxed into his arms, and took in the warmth that radiated off him, feeling content, and maybe (finally) happy.

#sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic

5 notes · View notes

terriblelifechoices · 6 years

Note

how about arranged marriage and time travel for credence x percival?

From the fanfic trope MASH-UP meme. I am having heaps of fucking fun with this guys, feel free to send more.

Confession time: time travel has never really been my thing, because paradox makes me crazy. So I stuck Outlander and Terry Pratchett’s Night Watch in a blender, in true fanfic trope MASH-UP fashion, and …. Well.

I have accidentally committed fic. The beginnings of fic. It was an accident, that’s the important part to remember, okay? I DID NOT MEAN TO DO THIS IT JUST HAPPENED.

Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts and sex education that honestly makes the stuff Americans get in health class look good by comparison.

New York, 1926

Graves liked drinking at the Fountain of Youth.

The Fountain was a proper wizarding bar, all gleaming grey marble shot through with streaks of silver and elaborately complex goblin-forged steel fixtures. It was named for the fountain set into the wall at the back of the bar, which fed the reflecting pool that ran the full length of the room. Some enterprising soul had spelled the surface above the water as hard as the marble around it, so that patrons could cross over the pool without fear of getting their shoes wet. Or, if you believed the rumors, without fear of coming into contact with the water, which was supposedly cursed. Graves suspected that last bit was pure fiction. St. Brigid’s Hospital notified MLE of all curse-related injuries – assuming MLE wasn’t already involved – and no one had ever reported a single incident at the Fountain.

He didn’t really care one way or another. He liked the Fountain because it was far enough away from the Woolworth Building that he was unlikely to encounter anyone who worked there. It was also expensive enough to ensure that that if he did encounter someone he knew, it would probably be a politician or a fellow department head with someone who very definitely wasn’t their spouse rather than one of his subordinates and was therefore disinclined to talk shop with him.

No one bothered Graves at the Fountain. It was peaceful, a little oasis of calm at the end of a shitty day.

“Another round, Director?”

Graves set his empty glass back down on the bar. “No, thank you, Hawthorne. I think I’m done for the evening.” Magic knew he wanted another drink – his day had been far too fucking long, and tomorrow wasn’t going to be much better – but all another drink would do was ensure that he started tomorrow with a headache instead of finishing it with one.

He reached into his pocket for a trio of dragots to pay for his drink. He wanted to go home and collapse into bed, but there was a small mountain of case notes waiting for him in his home office that he needed to review first.

Fucking Grindelwald. He’d stopped rampaging across Europe two weeks ago, and the entire wizarding world was waiting to see where he’d turn up next. The intelligence community suggested he was turning his attention towards America, but there hadn’t been a sighting yet.

Hawthorne shook his head. “No need.”

Graves glanced down at him. No one drank for free at the Fountain.

The house elf tilted his head, indicating a wizard tucked into a shadowy corner with one large pointed ear. “Gentleman in the corner paid for youse.”

“Did he,” Graves murmured. “Did he say why?”

Hawthorne gave him a pitying look. “Ain’t youse supposed to be some kinda hotshot Auror?” he asked. “Why does any wizard by somebody a drink?”

He had a point.

“Maybe he wants to be friendly,” said Graves.

“Yeah,” said Hawthorne. “Friendly. Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Sometimes I really wish Seraphina had decided to uphold Prohibition,” Graves told him, just to piss Hawthorne off.

“Yeah, but then where would you drink?”

Graves snorted in amusement, slinging his greatcoat over his arm as he headed towards the wizard in the far corner. He wasn’t in the mood to fuck his frustrations away – or have them fucked out of him, depending on what the other wizard wanted – but good manners dictated that he at least thank the other wizard for the drink.

“Percival Graves,” he said, by way of introduction.

“Oh,” purred Gellert Grindelwald. “I know.”

New York, 1693

The surface of the lake in Morrow Woods was smooth and cold as mirror glass, undisturbed by man or beast. Nothing lived inside the lake – not fish or fowl or any other sort of creature. No one swam in it, not even in the height of summer, when the cool water might have provided some blessed relief from the heat. It was cursed, or so Credence had heard it said. Even magical creatures gave the lake a wide berth. There was something about the lake that disturbed them.

Credence stripped out of his clothes, shivering in the cold night air. Curses frightened him far less than marriage. He dove into the water before he could lose his nerve.

The cold drove a startled shriek from his lungs. Credence sucked in water and choked, surfacing with a wretched sob. For one long, terrible moment he had more water in his lungs than air. He forgot how to tread water, splashing noisily while he tried to suck air back into his lungs. His feet hit the bottom of the lake – he must not have dove in deep enough, he was still too close to land – and he managed to stand, hacking up the last of the water.

“Please,” he rasped, pleading with the curse. “Please, take me away.”

No one drowned in the lake, or if they did, their bodies were never found. The curse took them instead.

“Please,” he begged.

The water was so cold it burned. If he stayed, he risked freezing to death. Or maybe drowning. Drowning did not seem so very bad, compared to the certainty of what lay ahead of him.

Suicide was a mortal sin. Credence had convinced himself that if the curse took him, that was magic and therefore the extension of God’s will, even if he died of it. But if he stayed in the water and let the cold take him, that death would be the work of his own hands.

A brief mortal life full of suffering was probably better than eternal damnation.

Credence thrashed his way out of the water, his limbs heavy with cold. He fumbled his clothing back on and went home, weeping silently.

“Get up.” Ma’s voice was as implacable as iron. She had no patience for sluggish layabeds, and having to come fetch him for his morning chores had likely already roused her ire.

Credence opened his swollen eyes and tried to obey. For once, his swollen eyes weren’t because of tears. The cold from the lake had settled into his bones, burning him up from the inside out. His head ached, a throbbing counterpoint to the rest of him. He couldn’t stop shivering.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “M’sorry.”

Ma frowned at him. “You’re ill,” she said flatly. She pressed the flat of her hand against his forehead. Credence almost wept with relief. Her hand felt blessedly cool against his skin.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Ma pulled her hand back. Credence almost fell over trying to follow it.

“Lay down,” Ma said. “I’ll bring you a potion. We need you healthy when Mr. Graves arrives.”

“Yes, Ma,” Credence said. His head felt like it was filled with cobwebs. He couldn’t think.

Ma made a faint noise of disapproval when she came back with the promised potion. “You wretched, miserable boy,” she sighed, but for once the words held none of their usual sting. Her hands were gentle as she helped him back into bed. She hadn’t raised them to him at all since his marriage to Mr. Graves had been arranged. Credence was Mr. Graves’ property now, and Mr. Graves wouldn’t allow anyone to mistreat his property but him. He had been very clear about that. “You were finally going to be useful to us and now you’ve taken ill. You’d best pray to get your strength back quickly, for Mr. Graves’ sake.”

“Yes, Ma,” said Credence.

The potion she gave him tasted vile, and it only served to make him even sleepier. Credence closed his eyes and let it drag him down into the dark, where the nightmares waited.

New York, 1926

Graves drew his wand. “Gellert Grindelwald, you are under arrest for crimes against wizardry –”

“Oh, don’t be tiresome, Percival,” Grindelwald chided. He had been handsome in his younger years, but there was something unsettling about him now. His blonde hair had been bleached an unnatural white, and his pale, mismatched eyes burned with frightening intensity.

Grindelwald had no intention of going quietly.

“Please,” said Grindelwald. “Sit down.”

Grindelwald hadn’t drawn his wand yet. He felt comfortable, clearly in control of the situation. No one else was in danger yet.

Graves intended to keep it that way.

“If I sit down, will you let everyone else go?” he asked.

Grindelwald smiled. “If you like,” he agreed. “I am not an unreasonable man, Percival.”

Graves had some doubts about that, but he kept them to himself. He tucked his wand back into his sleeve and snapped his fingers for Hawthorne instead.

Hawthorne disappeared from behind the bar and reappeared at his side, his expression startled and wary. Graves had never summoned him before, not like that. Only an asshole would mistreat a creature who couldn’t fight back; house elves were meant to be honored for their servitude. Decent wizards treated them kindly.

“Clear the room,” Graves commanded.

“Director –” Hawthorne began.

“Tell no one,” Grindelwald warned him. Graves shivered. There was an eldritch note in his voice, something ancient and awful. It sounded the way the Imperius felt.

Hawthorne made a startled, hurt sound.

Graves rounded on Grindelwald. “What did you do?”

Grindelwald frowned at him. “I forced him to obey my commands.”

“You didn’t need to do that!”

Grindelwald sighed, as if he found Graves tiresome. “He’s just a house elf,” he said, dismissive. All around them, the other patrons of the Fountain were gathering up their things and leaving. Hawthorne urged the last of the stragglers on, jaw working as he looked back at Graves.

He was trying to say something, Graves realized. Trying to warn them, despite Grindelwald’s command. Hawthorne clawed at his mouth, drawing blood.

“Stop!” Graves cried, unable to watch Hawthorne hurt himself. Hawthorne flinched at the command. “Just – leave me, please. I’ll be fine, Hawthorne. I swear it. My word as a Graves on it.”

Hawthorne gave him an unreadable look. For a second, Graves thought Hawthorne would try to disobey him too, and then Hawthorne vanished.

“So soft-hearted,” Grindelwald mocked.

“Only an asshole mistreats a house elf,” Grave snarled. “What do you want, Grindelwald?”

“Why, you, Percival,” Grindelwald said, sounding genuinely surprised that Graves hadn’t figured that out already.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last wizard in the world,” Graves told him. “Thanks for the drink, asshole, but you’re under arrest.”

Grindelwald laughed. “I’ll grant that you’ve a certain brutish appeal, Percival, but that’s not what I want you for.”

“What exactly do you want me for, then?”

“I want your life,” said Grindelwald. “I want your position and your name. I want your face.” Already his own face was shifting, his hair and eyes darkening. The shape of his jaw changed to match the stubborn set of Graves’ own. In less than a minute, Graves was staring at a man who might as well have been his twin.

He meant to take Graves’ life for his own, Graves realized. Grindelwald wanted to wear Graves’ own face like a mask to serve his own ends – to hurt Graves’ people.

“Fuck that,” he snarled, drawing his wand and firing off a curse.

“Dilaceratio!”

The slashing hex caught him in the wand arm. Graves’ grip on his wand weakened, just for a second, before training and experience took over. He took a firmer hold of his wand and ignored the bleeding, countering with a “Relashio” he hoped would make Grindelwald drop his wand instead.

Grindelwald hit him with lightning instead. Graves screamed in pain and fury, bringing his wand up to fling Grindelwald across the room.

Fuck, but the bastard was fast. Powerful, too.

“I see rumors of your prowess have been greatly exaggerated,” Grindelwald said. “How … disappointing.”

“Fuck you,” Graves retorted.

“I thought we’d established neither of us want that from the other,” Grindelwald said, surging up with a volley of hexes.

Graves blocked the first two and missed the third. The fourth took him in the chest, momentarily blacking his vision. Instinct took over and he returned fire.

There was only one way for this to end. Either he died or Grindelwald did.

Graves had cast the killing curse three times over the course of his career as an Auror. He didn’t count the times he’d used it during the war. The war was different.

This felt like the war – the chaos of battle and the certainty of his conviction. It was him or Grindelwald, and Graves would do whatever it took to ensure that if only one of them survived, it would be him.

“Ava –”

Grindelwald sent him crashing into the marble fountain behind the bar. Graves hit it hard enough to fracture the spells on the reflecting pool. He landed on hands and knees in the fountain, still clinging tightly to his wand.

Something strange happened when his blood touched the water. The reflecting pool shone bright as the heart of a star, just for a second, and then the whole world went white.

New York, 1693

Credence’s nightmares were filled with the day Ma sold him.

“We need men like you,” Ma said. “Good men.”

Gondulphus Graves scoffed. “You don’t want me because you think I’m a good man, Goody Barebone. You want me for my wand arm and my willingness to use it.”

Ma kept her back straight to look Mr. Graves in the eye, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “Yes,” she said flatly. Mr. Graves was not a man who appreciated artifice or flattery, preferring plainspeaking to pretty words. “That’s what I want. What will it take to get it?”

Credence was not sure why Ma was bargaining with Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves was clearly going to join them anyway. Credence had heard it said that Gondulphus Graves was powerful, but there were plenty of powerful wizards out there.

Mr. Graves turned cold eyes on Ma. For a second, Credence thought he would ask for her, and he was not sure what he would do if Mr. Graves did. Challenge him to a duel? He was little better than a squib; he didn’t even have a proper wand. There was no point in giving him one.

After a second, Mr. Graves’ cold eyes slid past Ma and landed on Credence. Credence resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion; he felt trapped by Mr. Graves’ eyes, as though Mr. Graves could strip him down to his skin with just a look.

“That’s a comely lad you’ve got,” he said.

“Adopted,” Ma said. “But no less dear to me than my own flesh and blood.”

“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Graves. “Is he a virgin?”

Ma bristled. “Of course!” she snapped, a hint of steel in her voice. “As if I would tolerate such behavior under my roof. You insult me, sir.”

Mr. Graves held his hands out in a placating gesture. “No insult was intended, Goody Barebone. Truth be told, I’d prefer it if the boy were untouched.” His smile sent chills down Credence’s spine. “I prefer to break them in myself.”

Ma stared at him coldly. “I will not,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately, “tolerate such behavior under my roof.”

Mr. Graves considered that. “Give him to me, then,” he said.

“Give!” said Ma, going pale with rage at the insult. Credence knew better than to think that it was on his behalf. Ma was just insulted that Mr. Graves thought she would sell him so cheaply. “Bad enough sodomy is a sin, but sodomy out of wedlock? No, sir. I will not stand for it.”

“Neither of you needs to stand for it,” said Mr. Graves, laughing at his own wit. “He only needs to lie back and spread his legs.”

“Ma,” Credence whispered, terror forcing him to speak. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Mr. Graves.

Ma got up and backhanded him swiftly. “You will speak when spoken to,” she commanded, sitting back down again. Only Credence’s bleeding lip gave any sign that she’d moved at all. “I raised him better than that,” she told Mr. Graves. “He’d be a good helpmeet for you. Knows his way around the domestic chores.”

Mr. Graves eyed Credence. “May I?”

Ma made a be my guest gesture.

Mr. Graves got up, cupping Credence’s chin with hard, calloused fingers. He turned Credence’s face this way and that, releasing Credence’s chin so that he could wrap it around Credence’s throat instead, squeezing in clear warning. He used his other hand to stroke down Credence’s chest, his buttocks, between his legs. Credence squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to be over soon, cheeks burning with humiliation. He couldn’t stop the frightened whimpers that escaped, but Mr. Graves seemed to like that.

“Give him to me,” said Mr. Graves, “in marriage, if you must, and I will join your cause.”

No, Credence thought, desperately willing Ma to hear him. To care, just once, about what he wanted. Please, please, don’t do this.

Please don’t give me to him.

Ma nodded once, decisive. She held her hand out for Mr. Graves to shake, the way a man might.

“You have a bargain, Mr. Graves.”

“Good,” said Mr. Graves. He shook Ma’s hand. “Feed him up a bit, would you? He might have the Barebone name, but I’ve no desire to fuck a little pile of them. I’ll be back to marry him by midwinter. I’ll join you then.”

Ma pressed her lips together, but she nodded.

Mr. Graves pressed a mocking kiss to Credence’s trembling mouth. “Smile, sweetheart,” he told Credence. “We’re to be married.”

Credence looked at Ma in mute appeal. It did no good. Ma had made her mind up.

“Yes, Mr. Graves,” he said.

Credence did not know, exactly, what passed between men in their marriage bed. He understood that sodomy was a sin, but he was less clear on what it involved.

“He’s going to put his prick up your bum and roger you,” said Ned Ponsonby, who worked at the stables of the inn. Ned was a No-Maj, but he knew about Credence’s kind and didn’t care, as long as their coin was good. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but Credence knew he took coin from men in exchange for certain services, and was thus the closest thing Credence had to an expert.

“He’s going to what?” Credence asked, numb with horror.

Ned clucked at him. “Put his prick up your ass,” he said again. “And fuck you until he comes.”

Perhaps ignorance was bliss after all.

“That’s – that’s –” Credence gave up. “Does it hurt?”

Ned shrugged. “Sometimes. If he’s big, or if you don’t stretch well enough ahead of time.”

“Stretch?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say like a nervous virgin?” Ned asked, squinting at him.

“I am a nervous virgin, Ned!”

Oh, God, he hadn’t meant to say that. Terror had stolen his control over his tongue.

Ned sighed, taking pity on him. “I know that, Credence,” he said, almost kindly. “Everyone knows that.”

“Oh,” said Credence, utterly humiliated.

“Look, I don’t know what your people do, but us ordinary folk, we use a bit of grease to get ready, yeah?”

“No,” said Credence. “I mean, not no, we don’t do that, no, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” muttered Ned. “It’s like watching a lamb get led to the slaughter. Coat your fingers in grease, rub them around your hole, ease ‘em in and make some fucking room, alright? If this man of yours is half the brute everyone says he is, he’ll tear you if you don’t.”

“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go, the first time?” Credence asked. “Women bleed.” There was talk if they didn’t. He didn’t want there to be any talk about him, not if everyone already knew that he was untouched.

“You’re not a woman, dumbass.”

“I – Yes, but –”

“Just – Oh, hell. Just take my advice, alright? Get yourself ready as best you can, and if you can’t do that, then come see me after. It’ll be easier to explain things to you once you know how everything works.”

“I – yes. Thank you, Ned.”

“Credence,” Ned said firmly. “My coin?”

Credence passed over his meager savings. It was wizarding currency rather than No-Maj, but coin was coin.

He walked away from the stables and resolutely did not weep.

Graves surfaced with a howl of rage, thrashing in water far colder and deeper than the reflecting pool of the Fountain. He twisted, trying to find Grindelwald, but there was no one else in his immediate vicinity. He was entirely alone, floating in some kind of lake that literally had not been there a minute ago.

“What the fuck,” he said.

Fuck, he was cold. The water was freezing. He had to get out of the water before the cold sapped his strength.

Get out of the water, find Grindelwald, then kill him, Graves told himself.

He swam towards shore, grateful that he was near the edge of the lake and not in the middle. His waterlogged clothing made swimming difficult, and he had to resist the urge to kick off his shoes and rid himself of a bit of the weight. He’d need his shoes once he was ashore; the area around him was entirely forested.

Where the fuck was he?

At a guess, Graves thought he might be somewhere in upstate New York. The trees were oak and ash and sycamore, just like the ones around Graves Manor. The air even smelled the same.

How the fuck had he gotten to upstate New York?

What the fuck was in the water at the Fountain? And it had been the water, Graves was sure of that. Everything had been – well, not fine, but normal – until his blood had touched the water. Was that how the rumored curse worked?

Find Grindelwald, then kill him, he reminded himself. Everything else could wait, including getting answers to every last one of his questions.

Graves spelled the water out of his clothes, casting a wordless warming charm.

Grindelwald was unlikely to be lurking behind trees. And while it was tempting to wait and see if Grindelwald surfaced in the lake as Graves had, Graves suspected that Grindelwald was somewhere else.

Grindelwald was also probably wearing Graves’ own fucking face, just to add insult to injury.

“FUCK!” Graves yelled, startling several birds into flight. The trees accepted this silently, offering no censure for his outburst.

Graves felt ridiculous anyways. Yelling like a toddler who hadn’t gotten a cookie wasn’t going to do any good.

He sighed, looking around himself for signs of human habitation. There was a dirt road leading towards the lake, the dirt lined with ruts from wagon wheels.

Graves frowned at them. There was something not quite right about that.

He followed the dirt road away from the lake, pausing only to bandage his still bleeding arm and occasionally curse his shoes, which were perfectly fine for sitting at his desk in the Woolworth Building and completely useless for wandering through the fucking woods. He couldn’t even run in the fucking things. How had his life gotten to the point where he owned shoes he couldn’t run in? He was an Auror, for fuck’s sake. He needed to be able to run.

After twenty minutes or so, Graves thought he could hear the sound of people, somewhere in the distance. He stopped short once he crested the hill, staring down at the small settlement the dirt road led to. The buildings were short and made of wood, smoke rising from chimneys and cookfires. There were people, too, dressed in clothing Graves hadn’t seen since he was a boy at Ilvermorny, learning about the original Twelve Aurors and the Founding. Women in petticoats and men wearing stockings and breeches.

Maybe they were just historical reenactors, he thought, but Graves knew himself well enough to know when he was grasping at straws.

Graves realized, somewhat hysterically, that he’d been asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t have been asking where he was.

He should have been asking when.

#my fic #tumblr fic #i have accidentally committed fic #graves/credence #fanfic trope mash-up #tora42

23 notes · View notes

slytherhell · 6 years

Text

THE RHYTHM OF US (D.MALFOY X H. POTTER )

━ ❛ THE START AND DOWNFALL OF SOMETHING (THAT WAS ONCE) BEAUTIFUL. ❜

"the rhythm of us is so complex,

so fuckin' chaotic,

and yet,

it's the most beautiful thing i've ever seen."

( i was feeling pretty angsty,

and i'm not very good at explaining myself,

nor am i good at poetry.

so don't expect this to be (too) good.

-teia )

THE RHYTHM OF US STARTED OUT STEADY.

Two young hearts found their way to one another,

and still made it seem like they'd been together for a full lifetime.

We'd hug,

like we'd been apart for years.

We kissed like,

it was our last one.

We laughed until we cried.

and we stayed in each other's company like we were the last two,

on Earth.

Pain and heartbreak,

jealousy and envy,

there wasn't any between us.

Just from those around.

Snickers, and rude remarks,

of whether or not we were accepted,

went in one ear and left out the other.

Pride was something,

we were not afraid to show.

They'd always question,

of how we went so well together,

considering our backgrounds,

And even we didn't know,

It just happened.

You lead,

whether it be down the street,

down the hall into the bedroom,

or the relationship in all.

And I followed,

the smile never leaving my face

as we created new memories,

and new moments.

I loved every second,

but not more than you.

It was steady and nice,

and oh-so perfect.

So tell me...

What went wrong?

THE RHYTHM OF US BEGAN GETTING MESSY.

Our hearts began getting confused,

and sad,

for we listened to our brains,

our thoughts,

instead of them.

Mine cried for yours,

and you ached to hold me one last time,

but we didn't listen.

Because we never do.

Ignorant,

they'd say.

Independent,

we'd say.

You wanted to do this,

and I wanted to do another.

You tried to lead,

in a way,

like down the stairs,

but I refused

and failed to follow,

us both falling down on different ends.

We were in pain,

but didn't dare utter a word,

because we said we could take care of ourselves.

But deep down,

we needed one another.

But our inner emotions conflicted with everything else,

and suddenly,

this new feeling,

this new emotion,

was on the rise.

It was mutual,

and against each other,

and it burned.

It burned our souls,

and our throat with the words on that seeped out,

so badly that tears were constant flooding out of our eyes.

And we didn't know why.

I laid on my back on the cold cement ground,

while you had your back against the last step.

Neither spoke,

neither cried.

Though the tears were still there.

And in the moment,

it was evident that,

our perfect world was fading.

THE RHYTHM OF US WAS GETTING WORSE.

We were miserable,

and exhausted,

and everything was simply sloppy.

So we tried another song,

another rhythm.

It wasn't like our previous one,

but we held onto it,

as we struggled to keep us alive,

to keep us as one.

I tried to lead as you once had,

and you tried to followed,

as I once had,

but we failed,

oh,

so fuckin' badly.

Filled with embarrassment,

and utter frustration,

we stopped for a moment,

silent as we stood impatient.

Neither lead,

and neither followed.

The feeling was weird,

and uncomfortable at first,

but after adjusting onto,

it became our favorite thing.

The downfall only being,

we danced alone,

and alone,

only,

is how we danced.

THE RHYTHM OF US WAS TIRED.

It was tired of trying,

tired of caring,

And it was tired of suffering.

Tired of suffering from our constant bullshit,

of keeping to ourselves,

instead of returning to each other.

We stopped blushing,

and our cheeks,

didn't heat up at the mention

of each other's name.

Our hearts no longer raced at the thought of one another.

We didn't even look at each other.

And it went on for so long,

that we began to forget to get each other's features,

how we looked.

And when we did,

we were always frightened.

To see one ,

that we loved so much,

looking and acting,

like a completely different person.

Our hearts,

they weren't sad,

they weren't happy,

and they weren't angry.

They were just there now,

keeping us alive.

Unlike our love.

But we were still here,

living this miserable life,

of complex love.

So despite the inner protests,

despite the nights spent crying to ourselves to sleep,

we gave it a break.

THE RHYTHM OF US TRIED GETTING FIXED.

But like the fools we were,

we tried yet again.

It started back slowly,

slower than most,

and just when we thought we were getting it back,

just when our favorite part of the song was beginning,

it vanished.

All our hopes,

the love that was still evident,

the smile we shared,

gone.

We were dancing,

we were there,

together,

but we were alone.

You were on one side,

and I was one the other,

yet we were staring at each other.

I was moving at a fast pace,

quicker than lightning,

and more complex,

than how we were now.

And yours was slower,

steady,

melodic,

and just utterly beautiful,

just like how we started out.

Your eyes opened, revealing a calm grey,

though,

they remained empty.

And mine,

still evident of tears,

were greener than usual,

still full of hope.

You took a step forward,

but still behind me,

for i'd taken four.

But just like earlier,

no matter how hard we tried,

it just made things worse,

than they already were.

I stepped on a spot you didn't like,

and you yelled.

You made a wrong move,

so I criticized.

We kept at it,

throwing words harsher,

and stung worse,

that the fires that raged on in hell.

We stood there,

our breathing heavy,

as if we'd been swimming,

and just survived a near drowning.

As if we'd woken up from a nightmare.

Your silver grey eyes showed a storm

while mine revealed lightning.

They went together,

yet,

didn't always work out.

You stood back,

and I continued to rage out,

before you let out your thunder,

silence now between us.

Our eyes were now dark,

yours signaling danger.

A shade thicker than prowling clouds of a thunderstorm,

that sat overhead a pirate's ship during a trip gone wrong.

But with streaks of silvers peaking out,

I knew you were still there,

but just barely,

for your gaze was cold,

so cold,

that I shivered like I'd been stripped of my clothing,

and laid out on the winter's ground,

with an expectation to survive.

And mine,

smoked with green,

and black flecks that intertwined,

clashed into an intimidating shade,

so intense,

that you flinched upon looking,

flinching as if you'd been slapped.

We waited for tears,

that never came.

So with a look,

you went one way,

and I went another,

calling it quits.

THE RHYTHM BETWEEN US HAD FAILED.

I'd found someone else,

like you had.

Mine was a guy,

while yours was a girl.

Two different people,

yet they resembled us.

May had untidy black hair,

golden-honey skin,

and also had a slim face,

along wobbly knees.

Except she didn't wear glasses,

and her eyes were olive,

instead of my signature emerald.

Finn also stood at six feet,

had paled out skin,

and had an extended vocabulary.

He had grey eyes,

though,

his were tinted with blue,

and his hair had been dyed bleach blond,

instead of your natural platinum.

May couldn't follow like I could,

instead,

questioning of your intention.

And Finn didn't understand why I played the song I'd played,

why I danced the way I danced,

nor did he tell me why he wouldn't lead,

instead,

telling me it was meaningless,

and that I should stop.

But it wasn't meaningless,

nor should I stop.

Because it reminded of what once used to be of us,

and I didn't have the ability,

the motive,

to stop.

I still longed for you,

and I hoped it was the same for you.

Because despite looking like you,

Finn couldn't kiss me like you had,

and despite looking like I do,

I knew May couldn't hug you like I had.

And somehow,

we met back on the dance floor,

with our song playing,

everything remade,

as it had been from the starting day.

We stood there,

hoping something would signal you,

to start,

and for something to push me,

to follow.

But it never did happen,

no,

it never did come.

Our lips parted as we began to speak,

but you stopped,

and gave me one final look before leaving the floor.

a fool,

stood there,

hoping one last time you'd come back,

but you stayed on the other side of the room,

looking back at me.

So I finally got tired,

like my heart,

and not only did I leave the floor,

but I left the building all together,

us both realizing,

that we had failed.

THE RHYTHM OF US DIED.

Our song never played again,

and the dance floor had been destroyed.

Creating a new place in our hearts,

that can only be described as a void.

The building that started us,

had been burned.

Our love,

becoming a lesson learned.

Not only physically,

but also within our minds.

Free of the misery,

and guilt,

we are no longer confined.

As the flames went on,

and the memories began to fade,

we knew that today would be,

that last time we'd see each other's face.

Neither cried,

we just went about our lives,

our last memory,

a semi-goodbye.

The music stopped,

and so did we.

I guess it shows,

that some things,

were,

in fact,

not meant to be.

-fin

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #sad #poetry #failed relationship #shorts

12 notes · View notes