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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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First things First | Jack Kline & Peter Parker

Summary; Peter sees his ex back in town. Last time she was with her brothers, but this time, she has another companion. His name is Jack Kline, and he is her current boyfriend.

Warnings; some angst, jealousy, a bit of trash talk, smidge of violence, one swear word

“You’re back then.” Peter noticed, following you as you walked through the school halls, your head down as you attempted to ignore him. But however, you knew that you couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there forever, and so you softly sighed.

Last time, you hadn’t been in town too long, only a few weeks, cases were sprouting up left right and centre in Queens, and that was enough time for a relationship to briefly brew between the pair of you.

However, when the entourage of hunts came to an end, it had only been fair to cut sweet Peter loose, you hadn’t planned to return in any soon time. And here you were, a year in a half later, back in his hometown.

“You’re eyes are quite inquisitive, Parker, or do you need to ask me to put rock salt on my skin to prove that I’m not a ghost?” You barked back, which earnt yourself a confused frown.

“What?” He asked in reply, confused by your wording.

“Never mind, you wouldn’t get it.” You dismissed, having already had the intel and advice from your brothers that two different worlds didn’t mix.

Peter was but a boy, a smart one, but for all that you were aware, he lived a mundane life. He was bullied at school, but he had a couple of friends, Ned and MJ.

MJ. She had liked Peter before you had disappeared in the impala, it wouldn’t be a surprise if the pair were together now. He had wanted to forget you, for causing him so much pain, he deserved to move on, as you had.

“What I got was that you told me you loved me, and then you went with the wind, and didn’t look back, not once.” He bit back, his statement making your body feel heavy.

It was guilt, a familiar feeling for a hunter. It often came when a life was lost by the life of a monster, and this time, it had been the same. You had taken away the happiness from your own life, you were the beast that ripped out someone’s heart.

“I did, but that doesn’t matter anymore Pete, I’m in love with somebody else. There’s nothing that I am entailed from hiding from him, no secrets, I can be myself with him.” You pursed your lips, relieved that you had got that off your chest.

“You never had to have secrets! Your family business is what dragged us down in the first place, you feel the need to follow your brothers around the world, and for what? To end up alone and unloved?”

“I love her.” Jack entered the hallway, he had been at the front office, asking about the plumbing, he said he heard a noise. It was what the victim had said before he died, and so the spawn of Lucifer was now questioning it.

Sam and Dean were downtown, at some bar, it had been where the victim had been, with a fake id, before his body had been found in the school bathroom. This left the group of you spread out, and operating around the city, wanting to find the creature that had ended the boy’s life.

Jack’s voice had been friendly, as though he were informing Peter of your relationship status. Neither of them knew each other, so he found no harm in letting the public know of your intimate bond.

The nephilim was most often than not a free speaker, he found no foul in letting his mouth run. He was so innocent, so pure, and perfect, you were pleased that you hadn’t tainted him nor gained his spite like you had with Peter.

“Jack, this is Peter. I met him last time I was around here. Peter, this is Jack, my boyfriend.” It was an awkward introduction, you held your hands together, watching as Jack held out his hand for your ex to shake.

Peter hesitantly shook Jack’s hand, lightly glaring at the boy. “It’s nice to meet a friend of y/n’s, not many that she has are her age.”

“Thanks for that Jack.” You laughed lightly, holding sweetly onto his arm, as to ensure him that he had done nothing wrong.

“We’re not friends.” Peter corrected him, squinting at you. “She doesn’t like the idea of any relationship with me, so she can pass on friendship.” He gave you one last look, before he walked away.

“Hi.” Jack saw your ‘friend’ in the hall, whilst you were questioning some other students. Peter reluctantly turned, going face to face with your boyfriend and partner in justifying crime.

“Hey.” His head briefly leant back, curious as to why the new boy was speaking to him. “Jack, right?”

“Yes, that is my name.” Jack nodded with a smile, the adorable gap in his teeth presenting itself clearly. “Have you felt any cold spots here recently, or smelt sulphur by any change?”

His question made Peter frown, he gulped and thought before he decided to answer. “I don’t know why your going around asking questions, but I also do not know why you’re dating y/n. She’ll break your heart, it’s what she does.”

“The two of you don’t sound like very good friends.” He speculated, tilting his head like a puppy dog, his bright eyes filled with curiosity.

“We weren’t just friends Jack, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about me. Maybe there was a reason for that, you should ask her.” Peter crossed his arms, taking note of how he seemed to have angered the other boy.

The son of Lucifer was inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils, he was attempting to remain calm. But he couldn’t, his eyes seared with their golden pigment, and upon witnessing, Peter’s eyes widened and he was fast to sling webbing towards the mutant.

But it had no affect, not as Jack’s mouth opened, and a scream on another wavelength , which happened to throw the spider man backwards into the row of lockers. This was not normal, and Peter worried for the reason that you had the company of such a creature.

“What the hell are you?” Peter asked, wanting an answer so he could figure out a way to defeat him.

“I’m someone that loves y/n very much. Don’t worry, we won’t be in town much longer.” And with that, the strange and peculiar being walked away, leaving Peter stunned. For once, he wasn’t sure how he would improvise.

“You know the boy’s toilets are for guys, right?” Peter asked later in the day, as he watched you, whom was drenched in water, leave said restroom.

“I am more than aware, thankyou for that reminder Peter.” Each footstep dripped water upon the floor. That ghost had been a bitch to send off, but to your relief, you had done so.

“What are you doing here, really?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m going to be leaving tonight, I’ll be all out of your hair.” You spoke, trying to remain calm with your previous partner. “Have you seen Jack?”

“About that...” he noticed how you furrowed your brow with his words, and realised it would be better to get straight to the point. “He’s not normal, there’s something different about him. He’s dangerous.”

“I guess you witnessed something... supernatural?” He slowly nodded his head, thinking about how it could be considered as such. “Jack, he’s a nephilim, half angel, half human. That’s why I can’t stick around, my life is messy, and I have a duty to save people, you understand that, right?”

“Why would I understand that?” He hesitated, his voice stepping over his words in a worried stutter. “Angels?!” He repeated.

“Yeah, not every takes lightly to the news, and a bit of information; the majority are dicks.” You laughed, shoving your hands in your soggy pockets. “You really think I didn’t have a clue that I was dating a spiderman? I investigate abnormal occurrences for a living, it was quite easy to notice something was different about you.”

“So you look into things like cold spots and sulphur smells?” He remembered that was what Jack had mentioned earlier. Perhaps the possibility of angels wasn’t half crazy, the universe was expanding. It was certainly out there, but so was a talking, moving tree that enjoyed digital games and was experiencing puberty.

“Exactly.” You smiled, looking into his deep brown eyes, and finding some kind of peace between the pair of you.

“I think I saw Jack in the library.” He scratched the back of his neck, deciding to be a bigger person and give into the planet’s order.

“Thanks, see ya around Parker.” That expression you gave him shouldn’t have made him feel so giddy, he knew that this was another goodbye you were sending him. But the relief on your faces was beautiful.

You walked momentarily backwards, and he raised his hand in a signalled send off. He hoped that one day, he would see you again, maybe even with Blade as he killed vampires. Who knew?

One thing he was aware of was that you were happy with Jack, and that the two of you shared a life. You had an even amount of knowledge between you, and as much as Peter hated to admit it, you weren’t bound to leave the nephilim any time soon.

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verobatto · 4 years

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The Answer is in Dean

Time to run on the Empty

Destiel meta. 15x19 meta. Meta spec.

How are you my friends??

Some of you might be very mad, but I can tell, don't lose hopes because CAS WILL BE RESCUED BY DEAN IN NEXT EPISODE.

So now relax, and read my rants, you'll feel better after this. I promise.

Mourning!Dean

Dean's voice shaking while explaining how Cas saved him, and then saying 'I'm sorry' to Jack, was one of the most saddest scenes I've seen. Because I know how Dean was feeling, he was feeling he failed to the kid by losing Castiel, and because they lost him for saving him.

Gif credit @dreamnovak

We already know this fellow each time he lose Cas. But this time, it hurst even more.

The Guilt, again, this time mixed with the huge pain and regrets in his soul.

There was a fallen Bicycle in the ground, color blue, as a representation of indirect Castiel.

As we saw, Dean was thinking about Castiel the whole time. When they gave up to Chuck, the first thing he asked for was to bring Cas back. Is like going into that whirlwind of loosing the love of his life all over again.

But Chuck won't let him, why? Because he wanted to watch them suffer, feeling the despair and loneliness and sadness for the eternity, and i will explain in the next meta how this represents Chuck himself.

Another hard scene was watching Dean on the floor, passed out because of alcohol. The only way our poor boy can conciliate sleeping, was through alcohol. And he wasn't even in his room. He was somewhere in the bunker, depressed and passed out.

Castiel, the Miracle

As I pointed so many times, Cas is a miracle. Dean said it when he made Donnie coming back to life in the hospital in season 14 and then a woman called him that when he healed his son in the woods in 15x06.

In season 12 Castiel was called roughly as the Winchester's dog, but Dean reworded that in season 13, when Scooby Doo was a cute mirror of Cas for Dean. He adores that dog.

So, Dean decides to call that dog MIRACLE, because it represented HOPES, just what Cas means to him. He even said to this dog: MAYBE YOU CAN SLEEP IN HIS ROOM. Which was like a consolation. Dean is so sad....

But the dog disappears and then, thanks to Jack, comes back. Miracle comes back. Is a foreshadow of Castiel coming back.

Lucifer Call was the last mocking to Destiel

The fake call from Castiel, was a mocking game from Lucifer, again, the devil making jokes about Destiel, but mostly, about Dean mourning Castiel.

Dean's face when he thought it was really Cas the one calling him, broke me. He was this slightly moment of hopes in his face, i wanted to die. Damn...

The answer is in Dean

Okay, i know everyone was screaming because Jack didn't bring Cas back, BUT BUT. What Jack said, it has a lot of Destiel sense, because it will complete Dean's arc.

If Jack would brought Cas back with one snap, would be easy, and Dean wouldn't be able to say the words he has to say to him.

But, taking what Jack said THE ANSWERS ARE IN EACH ONE. IS JUST PERFECT.

Why? Because if Dean wants his angel back, he will have to find the answer inside of him. Which answer do you say? The I LOVE YOU BACK answer to Castiel. Using his words to express the amount of years loving him in silence, or secretly, or repressing it, because he just thought he couldn't have him as a lover.

Is perfectly poetic and philosophical, and it will close the Healing!Dean's arc.

Because when Dean faced Chuck and said HE WASN'T WHAT CHUCK WROTE, which means HE IS KOT A KILLER, is because Castiel's words are still resonating in his head. Because CASTIEL CHANGED HIM, FOREVER.

Keep you love alive

Now, pay attention to this... Because this is the song that was playing at the end of the episode...

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels

Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields

In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-oh-one

I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on

Despite of the smiles on their faces, this lyrics here is very angsty, 'I'm just running.' Dean is just running without knowing where to go.

Running on, running on empty

Running on, running blind

Running on, running into the sun

But I'm running behind

Okay people, if this is not talking about Dean getting inside the Empty to rescue Castiel, idk what else. It says RUNNING ON EMPTY. The Empty!!!! RUNNING BLIND because is dark, and he can't see Cas. RUNNING INTO THE SUN!!!!! @weird-dorky-little-deana CASTIEL IS THE SUN!!!! BUT I'M RUNNING BEHIND, it speaks about how hard will be fine him, maybe. I'm screaming.

Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive

Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive

In sixty-nine I was twenty-one and I called the road my own

I don't know when that road turned, into the road I'm on

To keep your love alive!!!!!!!!! OMG, i can't. To keep Cas, his love, alive!

Everyone I know, everywhere I go

People need some reason to believe

I don't know about anyone but me

If it takes all night, that'll be all right

If I can get you to smile before I leave

Dean feels it doesn't matter how long it would take him to bring Cas back, but he will!

Honey you really tempt me

You know the way you look so kind

OMG this is Castiel's love confession, Dean is tempted by him hdjxdjfkfkfj. Sorry.

I'd love to stick around but I'm running behind

You know I don't even know what I'm hoping to find

Running into the sun but I'm running behind

People, have faith, Cas is coming back because this hunter won't let him go so easily.

The answer is inside of Dean, he has those words to say to Cas, he has to say I Love You to him. And that's the very ending of this show. The perfect closing arc for Dean. If Cas saved him once from Hell, is time for him to save him from the Empty. So, to bring him back, Dean will have to say tht answer that was inside of him this whole time.

Miscellaneous spec: i heard Jack saying: Amara was inside of him and they were in harmony, and I'm sorry, but i took that as another clue for my vessel sharing Destiel endgame spec. Just saying.

To Conclude

Why do I stick to Destiel happy ending? Because if this was the ending of season 15 as Jensen said, the ending for the whole show is waiting for us. I hope we will be able to see our angel again, for sure, and not just him, but more of our lovely characters. Even Eileen.

There was a lot of clues in this episode that foreshadowed Castiel's return. So wait for it.

Tagging @gneisscastiel @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @weird-dorky-little-deana @michyribeiro @maleansu @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @mybonsai1976 @anarchiana @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @feathered-castiel @bre95611 @zoerayne2426 @justmeand-myinsight @that-one-fandom-chick @proccastinate @studio-hatter @pepevons @poorreputation @mrsaquaman187 @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @dwstiel @ladygon @shippsblog @la-random-fangirl @lets-try-this-again-please @mychemicalobsession514 @destiel-shipper-11

@asphodelesauvage @2musiclover2

Buenos Aires, November 12 2020, 11:57 PM

#destiel #destiel meta #destiel spec #15x19 meta #castiel is coming back #castiel #dean winchester

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peppersteakss · 3 years

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so... you wanna know the dream smp lore as of dec 19th, 2020

you have come to the correct place

the dream smp in a nutshell (somewhat)

ok so despite the server itself starting in april, the lore doesn’t start until wilbur joined in like june. the basics are that wilbur tommy and tubbo started a drug business and that didn’t sit well with dream sapnap or george bc it was their server, so tommy tubbo and wilbur (and eret came in at some point) decided to separate their land on the server and call it l’manberg. they built a wall, they had their own national anthem. this again upset the dream team. eret then gets revealed as a traitor and causes everyone in l’manberg to lose their first lives. (there’s a 3 live rule for almost every character in the smp, the only exception being philza - he only has 1) eret did this in order to become kind of the server. then dream bombed l’manberg after wilbur tried to negotiate with him. at that point, independence for l’manberg was no longer looking like an options

then came an agreement between tommy and dream, they’d duel for l’manbergs independence, but if dream won he’d take one of tommy’s music discs (why the discs are so important? i literally could not tell you). dream won, taking tommy’s second life. and somewhere in there fundy enters the server as part of l’manberg, and starts all the weird family dynamic stuff

here’s a little tangent on family dynamics in the smp:

philza is the father of techno and wilbur (twins), and it’s confirmed their mother is a samsung smart fridge. he also fathers tommy, who’s mother is unknown, and tubbo, who’s adopted - his bio parents unknown, but there’s a really popular theory going around that schlatt is his bio dad

wilbur is the father of fundy, and fundys mother is apparently a fish - sally the salmon. it’s complicated, at some point the idea of sally being a shapeshifter was brought up but never confirmed

back to the lore, tommy came back on his last life and then negotiated with dream for the independence of l’manberg and in exchange he would give dream both of his discs (again, i have no clue why they’re so important to him but they play a huge part in his character) so with that, the war between l’manberg and the dream team was over. l’manberg wrote a decree of independence, officially exiled eret, then started a government - tommy was assigned treasury of the state and later the vice president, tubbo was the secretary of state, and fundy was just wilbur little champion. wilbur took the title as president

jack manifold then joined the server and l’manberg, dream begged him to join the dream team but he stayed with l’manberg. then tommy, jack, and tubbo decided to cause chaos and get revenge against dream for the destruction of l’manberg and for tommy to get his discs

there were a few minor events in between the war and the election that i don’t really deem that important, the most notable thing is that quackity joined the server. but if you’d like to read about the events - they’re on the wiki! i’d also recommend keeping up with the wiki because the plot moves very fast, and the wiki is a good source that always keeps track of everything that happens and just the members individually! there’s also a channel on youtube that uploads the vods of every member but only their smp streams, it’s just called dream smp members vods (if you’re at all interested in watching this rather than reading it)

we now get into the election. a lot of people weren’t really happy with wilbur as president and they weren’t taking him seriously, so wilbur tried to fix this by holding an election that originally he thought only he could win. quackity then formed his own party to run against wilbur, thus leading to SWAG2020 (quackity and george) vs POG2020 (wilbur and tommy). later joining the election would be Coconut2020 (fundy and niki nihachu) as well as Schlatt2020 (it was just schlatt). this was a real poll left up to the viewers, and Schlatt2020 ended up winning as for some reason his results were supposed to be combined with SWAG2020s results - together they had 46%, just 1% above POG2020 - so Schlatt was now president of l’manberg. (despite only joining the server once the campaigns had started and almost ended). schlatts first decree was to exile wilbur and tommy from l’manberg - he then kept tubbo as secretary of state and demanded he hunt tommy and wilbur. it’s also worth noting that he ordered the walls of l’manberg to be destroyed. this ends the l’manberg independence arc as a whole (yes all of that was one single arc) as l’manberg was renamed manberg by schlatt. (one last thing worth noting is that wilbur lost a life during the election, so he only has 1 life left)

this then starts the manberg rebellion arc. this is actually the longest arc at the moment as it lasted for almost 2 months(sep 22nd-nov 16th), but the next arc is still ongoing so that could change. also it’s now important to note that important events always happened on the 16th, so if you plan on ever watching streams live, you should always try to catch any that happen on the 16th.

wilbur and tommy created yet another independent part of the smp called pogtopia. other members of pogtopia were technoblade (who had just joined the server) acting as a mercenary, and tubbo, the pogtopia spy. this then caused another split of the server, and dream became part of pogtopia but only in secret. there were also third parties, that being manifold land and the badlands.

a festival in manberg was announced, and tubbo was supposed to give a speech and organize the event. this then caused wilbur to question his morality, and this sparked the idea that wilbur should blow up manberg for good, tommy didn’t agree with this, and dream sided with wilbur simply because he wanted schlatt gone. tommy and tubbo then decided they could only trust each other (THATS IMPORTANT PLEASE REMEMBER THAT)

the festival happened on oct 16th, where tubbo was outed as the l’manberg spy, techno was then ordered to kill tubbo (which he did, causing tubbo to lose a life and bring him down to one life) but he then basically caused a massacre in manberg. niki then joined pogtopia in hopes to save manberg with tommy and tubbo while wilbur and techno planned to destroy it. wilbur originally had plans to blow up manberg at the festival, but was unsuccessful as he lost the button he was supposed to use in order to do so

quackity was removed from his spot as vice president, then joining pogtopia. then an ultimatum was established within pogtopia - deal with schlatt, or wilbur blows everything up. that did not stop wilbur from attempting to blow up manberg yet again at nikis birthday party but was stopped by quackity, karl jacobs, and niki. the ultimatum was then given a deadline, november 6th.

quackity tried to meet with schlatt, who had tried to blow manberg up yet again only for schlatt to reveal that he moved the tnt wilbur put in manberg to pogtopia. fundy then revealed he’d been spying for pogtopia in secret - and wilbur began to realize that under schlatts leadership, NO ONE was on manbergs side. except dream who then revealed he actually was going to protect manberg for some reason idk dreams motivation and just dream in general is really confusing, but regardless he negotiated war with pogtopia, and the decided date was nov 16th

schlatt ended up dying of a heart attack in front of everyone in pogtopia, leaving the presidency to tommy, who then handed it to wilbur, who then handed it to tubbo. wilbur took this as his chance to blow up l’manberg, as in his eyes it would never be the same. philza then joined the server and tried to stop him, but he was unsuccessful. wilbur then convinced phil - his own father in canon - to kill him, and he did, causing him to die in all actuality this time as that was his last life.

techno then caused another massacre right after wilbur literally blew up l’manberg because he was angry that l’manberg was just replacing one dictator with another, and set two withers. he swore that he would destroy any government that rose in the dream smp. (i actually recommend watching wilburs video on this event, it’s his most recent dream smp video and probably his final as his character is dead now. techno also tells the story of theseus and he explains it much better than i can, and the role of theseus does play in later in the lore)(it’s also just a fucking cinematic masterpiece but maybe that’s just me)

that ends the manberg rebellion arc, and so starts the l’manberg retribution arc (which is still ongoing) and although the last arc currently stands as the longest arc, there’s much more lore in this arc at the moment. like i’ve said, the lore just moves very fast

the remaining citizens of l’manberg start to rebuild with the help of ghostbur, which is just as he sounds - the ghost of wilbur. he only remembers happy memories from his life and generally just likes to follow people around a lot, he’s not on anyone’s specific side. also somewhere during all of this, eret decided to adopt fundy, so eret is now in this complicated family dynamic mix

quackity was angry with technos actions and started ‘the butcher army’ so he could take techno down, despite tubbos wishes to not start any more wars and to keep l’manberg peaceful, and also the factor of technoblade now having nothing.

dream along with captain puffy started defacing and destroying the sever as a whole and placed all of the blame on tommy. most notably he targeted skeppy and badboyhalo in the badlands (who for some reason have one of tommy’s discs). dream left a fake note about the disc, which is what let to the belief that tommy actually did commit these crimes.

on nov 19th, a funeral was held for schlatt, to which the crowd who attended made fun of him and celebrated his death, and trying to cause trouble (basically quackity made a piss portrait of schlatt and ate his heart) the rest also took pieces of schlatts body. he was put to rest in the side of a mountain outside of l’manberg

badboyhalo actually encountered the grieving of him and skeppys houses done bg dream, promising to burn tommy’s discs. everyone else was finding out about “tommy” greeting bad, meanwhile quackity was replacing schlatts remains with fucking glass, trying to resurrect him - he then gave this task to awesamedude, but whether or not he’s going to do it is still up in the air

ranboo then joined the server and became close with tommy, and they both george’s george’s house. this caused dream to build and obsidian wall around l’manberg, and then everyone found out tommy grief led george (which is not a good look for the vice president (tommy is the vice president btw)) and this is when the idea of exiling tommy came up. tommy was then brought to court simply because dreamed wished to see tommy get exiled for things that he didn’t even do

a lot of stuff happened but i’m really trying my best to keep this brief, again you can read the wiki if you’d like more detail! it’s a great source of information! but in the end the decision to exile tommy was left to a twitter poll, it was close but the winning option was to exile tommy

before tommy got exiled, there was the introduction of mexican l’manberg also known as el rapids. in el rapids, a lot of conflict happened with dream, and at this point it really seems that no one is really on dramas side (which like rightfully so dsmp!dream is fucking horrible)

still before he was exiled, tommy brought up the idea of waging war on dream because it seemed that really everyone in l’manberg was against him. there was even the idea of getting people outside of l’manberg involved (like techno, sapnap, bad, etc). tubbo then had dream escort tommy out of l’manberg to his exile. he’d just betrayed his best friend, the person who he agreed was the only one he could trust, which confused a lot of people because it was almost a last moment decision - but apparently it was the only logical thing to do (bs imo) but then tubbo agreed to work with quackity in killing technoblade

dream stayed with tommy often while in exile, and they stayed together for about 11 days with occasional visits from ghostbur. dream was very violent towards tommy during all of this, threatening to kill him if he didn’t do as he said, blowing up an old house tommy and tubbo built, and saying that he could /never/ go back to l’manberg. tommy actually began hiding important items from dream so that he wouldn’t destroy them, as that was a common thing as well - he’d make tommy drop all of his items to dispose of them for good. there was one item he’d never drop, though, and that was a gift from ghostbur - it was a compass that pointed to the whitehouse in l’manberg called ‘your tubbo.’ similarly, tubbo also has a compass called ‘your tommy’ that pointed to logstedshire (the place where exiled tommy and dream would stay)(‘your tommy’ was destroyed, most likely by dream, and even though tubbo got a second one - tommy doesn’t stay in logstedshire for long)

dream unfortunately found out about this as well, and the. disposing of all of his hidden items. and after 11 days of experiencing all of this with dream, tommy left to find somewhere much safer, ultimately deciding to make a burrow under technoblade and philzas house, as no one in the smp except them had known its location.

he thought he could stay hidden but techno found him literally the next day after being hunted by the butcher army that quackity had built, and being ordered for execution in l’manberg only to be saved by a totem of undying and escaping l’manberg through the sewers with the help of dream. (it’s worth noting that philza was also captured, is now on house arrest, AND was almost forced to watch another one of his sons die right in front of him) and guess when all of that happened???? DEC 16th. also everyone in l’manberg now thinks tommy is dead and they’re planning a funeral for him because they saw some sort of explosion debris that somehow links to tommy(i think it was blown up logstedshire)

techno and tommy then formed an alliance in order to get back technos stolen items (the butchers from l’manberg took everything) as well as rescue phil, and to get tommy’s disc back. i’m doing this, techno revealed a secret room that no one but himself knew about prior, revealing to tommy a room full of wither skulls and a full set of netherite armor, uttering the fucking ICONIC line ‘welcome home, theseus’ and therefore referencing the last big event, showing that tommy has made progress since then (at least in the eyes of technoblade)

so tommy stays with techno with more visits from ghostbur, and visits from dream - although tommy has hidden during both of his visits with invis potions. techno is set on protecting tommy now, and tommy is still struggling with trying to separate himself from dream. the first time dream visits it’s with techno, and techno convinces him that tommy isn’t at his house. dream also points out that techno owes him a favor bc he saved him in l’manberg. the second visit is when ghostbur was there, and ghostbur slips up quite a lot when interacting with dream. dream reveals he knows tommy isn’t dead and that he’s with techno somehow, and i think that’s just about it

one last thing worth noting is that this story is almost always looking at the fans for inspiration and has included a lot of fan theories into the canon (techno and wilbur being twins, and most notably the ‘welcome home, theseus’ line) so i’d highly recommend in participating in fan stuff as much as you can! there’s also just a lot of creative people in the fandom if you stay out of the weird side lol. but with that, i think that’s about all of the lore as of now

(i wrote all of this from midnight to 3 am so i am so sorry if i forgot things and i’m sorry about spelling mistakes)

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livesincerely · 3 years

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im not feeling the best right now emotionally so i am here presenting you with a free space to ramble about whatever you want because your writing genuinely cheers me up so much

Hello darling!! I’m sorry you’re in a rough mindset, sending all the good feelings and well wishes your way 😘💕✨💗⭐️💕😊✨💗

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about that most recent, how would a proposal/wedding happen in the domestic au? prompt.

It’s so funny, I’d never really thought about a domestic au wedding until I got the ask, but now that the question was put forward, I’m finding that I have a lot of thoughts about it (because of course I do lol.)

I’m not sure yet if this will end up being a whole thing like the holiday fic did, but I definitely have a solid idea for a single moment/one shot that I’m excited about—hoping to get that finished in the next few days!

Here’s a sneak peek at what I have so far! Most of it is stuff you’ve seen before in that original ask but more polished, but there’s some new stuff in there too.... ☺️😉

00000

“So, when are you gonna get married?” Tony asks apropos of nothing, looking between him and Davey with keen interest.

Jack barely manages to keep from choking on his cereal. Davey, who’d been in the middle of spreading a bit of lox on a bagel, slowly sets down his knife.

Charlie aims a kick at Tony under the table.

“You’re asking them now?” he hisses. “I thought we were gonna ease them into the idea!”

“There is no easing them into the idea when it comes to Jack and Davey,” Tony says, his expression tight with the exasperation of the long suffering. “You gotta give it to ‘em straight, right from the get go, ‘cause they’ll never figure it out on their own.”

“Hey,” Jack says weakly, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they all know it.

“So, I’m asking,” Tony determinedly continues as if Jack hadn’t said anything. “When are you gettin’ married?”

There’s a long pause where he and Davey just stare at each other, neither of them quite sure how to respond.

He gets this from you, Davey’s expression says, clear as day.

I know he does, Jack says with a commiserating look, holding back a sigh.

“Well?” Tony demands when the silence stretches on for too long.

“It’s probably a little soon to be thinking about marriage,” Davey eventually says, far more delicately than Jack would’ve managed. “We haven’t talked about it at all yet⁠—”

“Because we only just got together yesterday, Tony,” Jack dryly interjects. “In case you forgot about that little detail.”

“—And we should probably start with the question of if we want to get married before we jump to the when,” Davey concludes.

Tony’s nose scrunches up, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Of course you’re gonna get married,” he says, as if this is plainly obvious. “You’re basically married already, I just wanna know when the wedding’s gonna be.”

“Um.” Davey’s gone faintly pink. “Well, like I said, Jack and I haven’t talked about anything like that yet. We’re comfortable the way we are now, no need to rush into anything⁠—”

“And since we literally only just got together yesterday,” Jack says again, a little more emphatically, just to make sure the point lands, “getting married right off the bat would be all kinds of crazy.”

Tony levels him with the flattest look in all of existence. “You’re crazy if you think you haven’t already been married to Davey for years.”

Jack’s voice catches in his throat, a little blindsided by the truth of that statement. Davey’s mouth opens and closes, the rosy flush of his cheeks shading a touch deeper.

“We’re not thinking about gettin’ married just yet,” Jack says once he’s steadied himself, in a tone that brooks no further arguments. “Dave and I will talk about it when the time comes, if⁠,” he stresses clearly, “we decide that’s what we want.”

“But what, exactly, is holding you back?” Tony asks, stubbornly brooking further arguments anyway. “Like, do you have any actual reasons?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Jack snipes back. “Given that that’ll be a conversation between me and Davey.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Tony says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Pretty much nothing would change, except that the next time someone assumes that you two are married, they’d actually be right instead of simply noticing what was so obvious that even complete strangers clue in to it⁠—”

“Tony,” Jack groans.

“—coming to the perfectly understandable conclusion that you’re together⁠—”

“Tony, that’s enough, we get it,” Jack says.

“—instead of the inexplicable reality of the situation which was that you were, in fact, not together, despite being in love with each other for eight entire years because you’re idiots⁠—”

Jack covers his face with his hands.

“—and given that, like, every aspect of your lives are already tangled together, it’s not really that big of a step for you to just go ahead and make it official.”

Jack sighs so hard he feels it in his bones. “If we promise to talk about this, will you please stop talking about it?”

“Eight years, Jack!” Tony cries, impassioned. “That’s half of my life! That’s more than half of Charlie’s life!”

“Do not bring me into this,” Charlie quickly interjects, “I am a passive witness and nothing more.”

“You’re such a fucking turncoat, Choo-choo,” Tony mutters with no real heat. “You’re supposed to have my back on this.”

“Maybe if you could ever actually stick to a plan,” Charlie grumbles back.

“We’ll talk about it,” Jack says loudly, interrupting their bickering before it can gain any ground. “Okay?”

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

Then Tony says, “So, like, right now? Or…?”

“Sure!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Why not? Clearly, I’m not gonna get any fucking peace until this is sorted—

“Finally!” Tony exclaims. “God, was that so hard?”

“—so go away,” Jack finishes.

Tony’s mouth falls open.

“What do you mean, go away?” he protests, looking genuinely shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m not gonna let you sit here and fucking… moderate our conversation, dumbass,” Jack sputters. “Get out!”

“But I really feel like this is the kinda conversation that needs moderating,” Tony disagrees. “It’s not like either of you have a great track record for effective communication⁠—”

“Anthony Ethan Higgins,” Jack warns, nearly at the end of his rope.

Tony rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the motion. “I am literally just trying to help, you don’t gotta get all defensive about it⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Jack says, completely and utterly done. “Will you please just⁠— Just go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“But are you gonna talk about it?” Tony insists, really digging in his heels. “Because if you’re just gonna not talk about it the second I leave then I think I should⁠—”

“Tonio, juro por Dios—”

“Tony, honey,” Davey finally steps back into the fray, far calmer than he has any right to be, and somehow, miraculously, Tony’s mullish expression softens into something a little chagrined. Jack gapes, wrong-footed by the sudden change. “I think you’ve made your point and given Jack more than enough heart attacks for one morning, yeah? So why don’t you go ahead and give us a few minutes, and I promise we’ll talk about it.”

Tony deflates. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Tony shuffles away, mollified for now. Davey pauses, then says, “Charlie, that means you too.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Charlie protests. “I’m just sittin’ here, tryin’ to eat.”

He takes an exaggerated bite of his bagel as if to prove his point, eyes extra wide and innocent.

“Charlie.”

“But my food!”

“Take it with you,” Davey suggests, very patiently.

Charlie looks as though that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his plate and scurrying after his brother. He hesitates in the doorway, then adds, “My vote is for an autumn wedding, if that counts for anything.”

“Charlie.”

“Going!”

Once he’s sure they’re both gone, Jack heaves another massive sigh.

“They’re such a pair of little shits,” he says, to Davey and the world at large. “Fucking hell.”

Davey takes a drink of his coffee, holding out his other hand to Jack in offering. Jack reaches over and laces their fingers together, most of his irritation slipping away in an instant at the simple contact.

“But he is right, you know,” Davey comments lightly.

“I know he’s right,” Jack grumbles, rubbing his thumb over Davey’s knuckles. “Don’t mean he ain’t a little shit.”

“Well, naturally,” Davey agrees. “He’s related to you.”

“Oh, please,” Jack says with a snort. “That little spiel of his was all you. ‘The inexplicable reality of the situation’,” he mimics, his voice landing in some strange imitation of Tony mixed with Davey, which ends up not really sounding like either of them. “It was like hearin’ your voice comin’ outta Tony’s mouth.”

“And it was a well thought-out argument,” Davey says pertly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry grin. “His timing could use some work, though.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jack says, taking a bite of his cereal⁠ and immediately making a face—it’s gone all gross and soggy during the craziness, because of course it has. He pushes the bowl away with a mournful look. “Didn’t even let us finish breakfast before pouncing.”

“Well, it has been eight years,” Davey says, and he’s definitely laughing a little now. “Guess he’s afraid of a repeat performance.”

“Sure,” Jack says with a shrug, because that part had been hard to argue with. More than half of Charlie’s life, Jesus. “But he was talkin’ like he expected us to walk down the aisle this afternoon. I mean, we can’t just get married. You don’t just get married.”

“Most people don’t,” Davey says, tilting his head. “But then, we aren’t really most people, are we, darling?”

It takes a moment for this statement to fully land for Jack⁠, and when it finally does, it lands with a boom.

“Are you sayin’ you’d marry me?” Jack asks, utterly floored, his heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“Are you asking me?” Davey asks, calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t rocking Jack’s world, right here over breakfast, for the second time in not even two days.

#newsies #javid #*ask #*editor's note #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #the domestic au #i hope this helps a little!#😊✨💕⭐️💗✨💕

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alwaysthinkingoutloud · 3 years

Text

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 1, Season 1 (Apéritif)

The series start with Will Graham in a crime scene doing what he does, which is resurrecting crime scenes for further evidence and possible insight into the criminal’s mind and motives. What is interesting about this first scene is that for a first-time viewer, for the first a few minutes, it is not clear if what we are watching is a possible reenactment or it is actually a memory. That doubt gets cleared in a minute but until then, we don’t know if he is imagining or is he remembering. Is he a guy with a powerful imagination helping FBI who literally puts himself into the killer’s shoes or is he the killer itself, hiding in plain sight? To my thinking, the very first opening to the story does say a lot about the end of it all as well.

“This is my design”

Why not say plan, but design instead? Planning is something mechanical, strategical. It is the result of motive and effort of a rational brain rather than an acted-on urge. There is no much room for subjectivity or creativity since efficiency is the ultimate goal. However, design has a more artistical ring to it. It is like, its prior aim is not to be useful, but to be beautiful. Designing is done when aesthetics is of concern. We would say, Michelangelo designed David, plan would not look right there. It would be accurate as for explaining the mathematical part of it, the disciplined and patient hours that has been put into it, but it would not do justice to the inspiration, passion, and desperate need of the artist for his creation to materialize. A planner would not adore his work, but a designer would. And Will understands the difference a bit too well.

Later, talking with Jack Crawford, we learn that Will finds the name of Evil Minds Research Museum “hammy”. I do not think there is anything hammy about the name, it’s quite literal. It is not an ennobler name but why does Will find it so though? Does creativity and originality need to be perceived as abhorrent just because it was given birth by someone evil? This all-cautious way of approaching and overthinking things is a reflection of something dark within. Afterall, what is seen has at least a little to do with the seeing eyes, if not more.

Jack exhibits a disturbingly dominant way of communication with Will. He corrects Will’s eyeglasses, the guy who he knows is not comfortable with any kind of interpersonal interaction, within the minutes of their chat and holds down his bag to slow down his moving on. He is trying to make sure that Will feels Jack is the alpha and also that deep down, Will does not have the option to not cooperate. And more Will gets convinced to help for one step, stronger Jack drags Will into it for one more.

The first time we see Will interacting with any victim-related people, it is confusing. Being an empath and claiming that he can not only relate to narcissists and sociopaths but anyone, he does not seem to empathize much with the victim’s parents, cutting into the conversation about parents’ doubts on their daughter’s likelihood of being alive with a non-emotional, case related question. It almost makes you question if his ability to emphathize is just stronger with the dark side of the force than it is with the light one. Yes, the primer focus is to catch the killer and stop whatever malice is going on but after all, Jack came to Will with the need of help, so Jack must care about the case resolving more than he does. Yet, Jack seems more understanding of the parents’ feelings than Will, although Will is an ultimate empath. We even see Jack’s disapproval when Will cuts into the conversation. It is a brow mover.

Next, we get more insight about Will as he meets Winston. He finds him on the road roaming, tries to get close to him but cannot, so he drives all the way to his home to get something to lure him with and comes back to the dog. He is willing to go lengths to add a new dog to his pack, to his ‘family’, to his ‘social circle’. Something he is not willing nor comfortable to do for a person. Will's preferring an animal's company to a person's may say more than obvious. Afterall, he chooses Hannibal over Jack too, doesn't he?

Will who has already started to get traumatized by the case, is ambushed in the bathroom by Jack with an unforgiving mobbing, forcing ideas out of Will and stirring him up in the expense of his stability. Later on in his little chat with Alana, Jack’s intentions and priorities are further put into perspective. The way he talks about Will shows that for him, Will is more of a means to an end than an actual colleague. His insistence about “putting Will out there” despite Alana’s warnings and his admission of not being absolutely capable of protecting Will’s mental health just crowns that he does not genuinely care about Will. In fact, he even knows the risk of what he is doing, and he is trying to draw Dr. Bloom in to share, if not all together blame it on, the responsibility if something may go wrong.

We finally meet Hannibal in his office in a therapy session with his patient. The look Dr. Lecter throws when Franklyn blows his nose and places the dirty napkin onto the table… Up to this scene, we were not given any clue to suggest that Hannibal Lecter is a killer but after all, we do know who he is. And him being the first actual predator in the series we meet, we do not see him acting on brute violence or inelegant butchering. His first reaction depicted is unrest against rudeness. So the audience is welcomed into the mind of Lecter with an easily apprehensible act that can be shared by almost anyone. Almost to suggest that, this act of Franklyn’s may be enough to justify a wrath that may come upon him.

Jack shows up in Hannibal’s office unannounced and mistakes Franklyn with Hannibal. Hannibal, of course slightly annoyed, tells Jack to wait in the waiting room and invites him in with his own timing. Being a bossy and dominant guy he is, this takes Jack by surprise and it also tells us that there is an even stronger alpha here. So Jack realizes he cannot dominate Hannibal into his will like he did with Will. He may have to try something else. As Jack asks questions that are getting more specific and personal as they come, we see Hannibal getting cautious. Taking his scalpel into his hand and eyes widening. He lowers his guard only when he learns that he was referred to Jack by Dr. Bloom, his eyes visibly getting smaller, which are almost the only window to his thoughts anyway. So after seeing the sophisticated aura leaking not only out of Hannibal but everything around him, Jack chooses to sweet talk him into cooperation.

When Jack, Hannibal and Will first come together in a room, it is the first time in the show where Will makes such a long, non-blinked eye contact with someone, that being Hannibal. And we see mixed emotions and thoughts on Hannibal’s face. He is amused, intrigued and curious at the same time with the way Will thinks. He makes a quick analyze of Will which results in making him fling out of the room. Being the controlled, non-impulsive, strategic guy he is; even Hannibal himself is a little surprised with the sudden blurbing of his perception of Will. So maybe this first scene having Will and Hannibal together is another kind of first as well with both men doing something not typically them.

Hannibal, telling Jack that “he may help Will see the cannibal’s face”, he copies the crime of Minnesota Shrike. At the first look, this looks like an attempt of toying with the FBI and confusing them. But considering Hannibal’s last conversation with Jack, this feels more like a tribute, a helping hand for Will. Hannibal knows that Will would know that this is not the same killer the second he sees the crime scene. As Will later says to Hannibal, this was done to show Will a negative so that he could see the positive. So, we see from this point on that Hannibal’s wit does not focus on FBI, it does on Will. We see Hannibal eating and smiling, joyous of the fact that he now has an object of interest. Will imagining of a stag right after this, as stag will be the subconscious symbol of the Chesapeake Ripper / Copycat Killer before Will knows who he is and later when he does, of Hannibal; it shows that Hannibal literally entered his life and mind in more than one way.

Hannibal shows up in Will’s house very early and obviously very impatiently. So he does not only plan to interfere Will with being the Copycat Killer but through his ‘person suit’ as well. Feeding Will the meat of the girl he killed is also exciting for Hannibal as this manipulation game he has set to play with Will gets to be sicker for a normal human perception.

The breakfast scene is also the first time where Hannibal is looking for some ill-intent or killing inclination in Will, while Will denies having so. He wonders how much being able to empathize with killers say about Will’s own potential to do so. Hannibal suggests that Jack is treating Will as he is “a fragile little teacup, only used for special guests”. And that he himself sees him as “a mongoose that he would want under the house when snakes slither by”. He suggests that Will is not a pray that should be afraid to get hurt, that he is the predator. By that Hannibal does not only encourage the destructiveness Will may be trying hard to keep buried to come alive, but also the false perception that Will’s mind is strong enough to take any challenge Jack may throw his way.

Hannibal warning Garret Jacob Hobbs is literally setting the pieces in position of his will to get Will where and how he wants. He does not know what will be waiting in Hobbs’ house for Will but in the end, it does not matter so much since he just wants to see what happens.

When they arrive at the house, seeing Hobbs leaving his wife on the threshold her throat cut, Hannibal stands still. Is it because he is so confident that Will will be too frantic to ever look back and notice that, or is it because deep down he just does not feel like putting his person suit on in front of Will? I think both. When Will shots Hobbs and tries to tend Abigail on the floor, Hannibal walks in and sees Will caring hard for the girl. Hannibal’s face looks curious about what is going on but more than that, again, his focus is on Will more than it is on anything else. He sees all these humane emotions that Hannibal himself has always been somewhat stranger too on Will, those emotions that he thought, cannot come in a package with all the destructive ones. But maybe they can. And those emotions may even look nice. Because it almost does on Will. Although how the events would turn out Hannibal did not know, it was certain that the way he pushed things, there would be blood and there would be Will doing something that will change him one way or the other. After all, they have undergone a traumatic (for Will) and exciting (for Hannibal) circumstance together and it is a known fact that people who experience a significant situation together tend to develop emotional bonds. Maybe this was the least of what Hannibal hoped for. If that was the case, he got more than he wished. Will got to kill someone even if it was for a just reason and there happened to be an orphaned girl that Will desperately bonded the moment he killed her father, who maybe a manipulative tool for Hannibal in his game. The last scene where Will finds Hannibal holding Abigail’s hand in the hospital room highlights this perfectly. Now, Hannibal and Will has a mutual asset that Hannibal may use to draw Will closer to himself despite of Will’s initial reservations to do so.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will #will graham #hannigram #brian fuller #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #hannibal analysis #hannibal and will #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #murder husbands #will and hannibal #jack crawford #hannibal loves will #will loves hannibal #aperitif

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years

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look i want charlie's pov on malec more than anything. tall scary mobster(?) brother of cute gf is melted soft puddle for this weirdly hot dude with great eyeliner and also just generally charlie interacting with magnus actually. hey do u think if he ever found out about the shadowworld he might talk to magnus about it for someone not so close but still trustworthy and kind and safe? aaaaaaaAAAA

ok but you are right and you know what? FUCK IT. au with charlizzy endgame he can be part of the polycule lmaoo and we get to see all the dumb shenanigans that come with that

like LOOK i get why izzy would tell him that the lightwoods are jewelry makers, it's not THAT far from weapons forgery so she can probably pull that lie off, maryse probably knows a little something about it too, and besides there is her shop, but alec? Alexander Gideon Fucking Shit At Lying Lightwood? NO WAY

i mean look alec is smart and he is cunning and he actually can lie when a plan involves it (he was pretty convincing with "i will bring magnus to the clave myself") and he definitely knows how to navigate diplomacy and stuff like that, but when it comes to actually pretending to be something he's not? especially if it involves improvising? my man lightwood fucking sucks. it's the truth. the same man who convinced lorenzo he would arrest his own boyfriend went "TheSE CeiLInGS ARe spECtaCULaR" not a few moments later. do you think he knows JACK SHIT about jewelry other than what magnus and izzy like or don't like? do you think he even knows what mundanes use as means of transportation? this man doesn't know what bees are. i have to laugh

charlie is probably already half convinced that they're in the mob or some shit anyway, with the way Fucking Shit At Lying Lightwood went all "she told you we're jewelers pffft". also he saw izzy kick that vending machine. like he probably thought it was hot valid but come on now. a woman in stilettos KICKED a vending machine right in the middle without even flinching while she was in the hospital tired as shit with withdrawal sweats. charlie ain't stupid. but also he pretends that he buys it and is all ":) love jewels" just to see what they will come up with

alec gets desperate and asks magnus for help. magnus is just like why do you think i know shit about jewelry making?? alec is like "well you mix up stuff all the time. also you wear them. didn't you design our wedding ring?" and he's like "alec i used mAGIC for that. also do you think making POTIONS is the same as making JEWELS?" and alec is like "i'M DESPERATE"

cue the both of them having an intense research session. for like two whole weeks you can find the both of them at any given time watching boring as fuck documentaries about jewelers and taking notes and shit. they even get some tools so they can PRACTICE just in case charlie fucking? asks to see alec work or something? they are himbos. and of course it's all for nothing because that is NOT the part someone who's not in the field would focus on, so as soon as charlie goes "so, what's your specialty?" alec's like "what's a specialty"

bonus he looks up maryse and you know because shadowhunters are fucking dumbasses she probably just spawned into the mundane world without any documentation or backstory or ANYTHING so he finds out that maryse lightwood doesn't fUCKING EXIST and her shop just manifested fully formed one day. at this point the mob is the only possible explanation

charlie idly wonders if he should go to the police, if anything to ask about them, but he doesn't want to ruin the lightwood's lives, they are nice. then one day he walks by the police station and who does he see if not maryse's FUCKING boyfriend. "oh my god, they are infiltrated"

charlie probably thinks that alec buys magnus all his fancy stuff with like laundered money or something. he's all like "haha hey glad to see that they are so accepting of gay people in the mob- i mean jewelry making business :)"

and THEN he asks magnus and alec how they met and they are like "uh" and magnus is like "alec was. a frequent client" cuz you know not a LIE but what the hell was this mobster always going to Fancy Guy for? maybe alec doesn't buy him his stuff maybe magnus is ALSO in the mob. maybe he's a hitman or something. damn, they are really open minded in the mob

except magnus is too sweet and nice to be a hitman so either he's excellent at pretending or he also has nothing to do with any of this. maybe he's like, a tailor or something. mobsters also have to buy regular stuff right? they wear a lot of suits in the movies or whatever. maybe he's their lawyer. he's gotta be pretty good at what he does if he manages to save these guy's asses in court, because they kinda suck at blending in (bonus somehow izzy's trial comes up in conversation so he is like. oh my god magnus IS their lawyer. and his admiration for the guy just doubles cuz really, how)

so he decides, you know, if this guy is also unrelated to the mob he should probably talk to him or something. magnus is trustworthy, he figures. also, i mean, same situation, right? regular folks who just found themselves in love with weirdly sweet mobsters. maybe they can trade tips. if magnus is their lawyer, he probably knows how stuff works better than charlie anyway

so one day he shows up at magnus' and he's all like "i want to preface this by saying that i won't tell anyone" and magnus is sweating already because FUCK there's a potion simmering not two rooms away and alec's bow is rIGHT BEHIND CHARLIE HANGING IN THE DOOR. and charlie is all "do you know what the lightwoods actually do?" and magnus is like "uhhh, yes, they are jewelry makers" and he's like "come on magnus. did you really think i wouldn't figure it out? they aren't jewelry makers. did you know that maryse lightwood doesn't EXIST? hell, i bet none of them do"

cue dramatic "i know what they are" "say it. say it out loud" "mobsters" "what?" "what?" "uh"

and magnus is all like "haha charlie don't be silly of course they are not mobsters. excuse me" and shoos charlie away somehow

he probably has to EXPLAIN to the lightwoods what the mob even is cuz let's be real, there is no way they know. and everyone is like well this is very fucked up! and alec is like "hey actually we should just pretend to be mobsters, that would be easier. it's way closer to what we actually do. jewels, izzy? really?" and izzy is like "alec i'm not telling my boyfriend that we are MOBSTERS!!!" and alec is like "well of course not, that's what a mobster would say. but we can pretend that we are pretending to be jewelers but REALLY we are pretending to be mobsters who are pretending to be jewelers, leave some clues here and there, and actually convince him because he thinks he knows our secret" and izzy is like "no!!!" and alec is like ":("

(magnus is like "that was a very good plan, honey" and alec's like "right?" and magnus is like "yes, very complex, i like it. you'd make a good mobster, you could use your Shadowhunter Mode" and izzy is like "can you guys PLEASE save this for later")

anyway they probably sit charlie down and have a "charlie we are totally not mobsters and here is why" talk but charlie is very clearly like "hmmm. doubt" so after some more sweating and shit they decide to just tell him the truth lmao

bonus points if charlie goes all "THAT'S your newest lie?" and then magnus starts floating or something and he goes "oh ok i see. can i lie down for a second". i mean realistically he would probably test them but once magnus straight up portals them to paris he kind of has to face that maybe he wasn't that right. maybe luke even turns in front of him and shit. or the lightwoods use the runes to become invisible. you know. but THEN he goes "oh ok i see. can i lie down for a second"

but hey at least his cute gf isn't killing people on the side! just demons. who exist. well he can just not think about that!

hey this is random but i was picturing someone mentions that the mob sells drugs and izzy is kinda upset because, you know, she's struggled with addiction lmao. and protective ass alec is like >:( but then later izzy talks about it with charlie and it's like, sweet? extra points if she's like "worst part is that you're not even that wrong. i dragged raphael in with me" and they talk about that you know

anyway yes you are RIGHT about him going to magnus to talk about the shadow world, like, at least it's not the mob! and he was ready to talk to him about that anyway. and magnus out of all of them is the one who best understands mundanes so he can help a lot because he kinda knows what charlie will be thinking, unlike the rest of them. hell, maryse is taking classes on being a mundane. like. come on

and just aaa honestly i would just really like to see that friendship? and see charlie being all excited cuz you know he's a DOCTOR so imagine all the shit he can learn from them! and eventually magnus mentions catarina and charlie gets to meet her and he becomes kind of her inside man helping her cover her tracks when she uses magic to cure a patient that wouldn't make it otherwise or something, and he is really happy with that. and it's just sweet you know? and just yeah generally give me charlie getting close to the downworlders, maybe even getting gifts from madzie because he's been helping her mom so much, like enchanted flowers or something, please and thank you daodhsaoijdsaoi

#shadowhunters #sh #malec #izzy lightwood #sh crack #alec lightwood #magnus bane #charlie #daoushdajdasoijdas his tag is just charlie #catarina loss #madzie loss #ask #anonymous #long post #crack #himbo husbands #himbo alec lightwood

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It’s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #homophobia cw #racism cw #xenophobia cw #ableism cw #classism cw #general bigotry cw #(all more implied than anything but still)#I'm sorry but I've never thought OG Helen was all that nice

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leelee10898 · 3 years

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A miss match Christmas: matched for disaster.

Hello everyone! Hope you all are having fun reading and writing these awesome Christmas fics! This is my submission for our 12 days of fictmas: 2020 edition, hosted by myself and @emichelle . This comes from the VIP book miss match.. granted the book is not over but, im my head Jack x MC (Callie) have both become CEO of two's company and are married.. this jumps a few years into the future.

The sound of heels could be heard on the slick marbled floor from down the hall. He kept his head forward, eyes trained on the laptop in front of him. As the clicking grew closer, his lips curled up into a smile. "I thought you were heading home?" He could hear the laugh in her voice, he finally looked up to meet her eyes. Those eyes, that intoxicating smile, it was what drew him in the first time they met. It was 4 years ago on valentines day, in her fathers crowded bar. "I could say the same for you." He chuckled.

She walked over to the desk, standing behind him leaning down to see what he was working on. Her long brown hair brushed against his cheek. "Last minute additions to the Christmas party, Jack?" She eyed him, he casually shrugged his shoulders. "And how many clients will be in attendance now?" Her fingers hovered over the mouse, clicking the guest list, her eyes widened in shock. "He is coming?" Jack gave her a knowing look as she stood up striaght. "Now Callie, I know what you're thinking but, wasn't it you who said, and I quote 'everyone deserves to find love, no matter what' ?" He gave her a smug smile.

"Yes," Callie spoke through gritted teeth. "But this guy is accident prone. We will have to tie the decorations down with steel ropes, not to mention no open flames. The wait staff will need helmets.." she began to ramble. Jack chuckled as he stood to calm his pacing partner. "It will be ok,Callie. Just relax."

Two weeks later…

Callie stood toeards the back of the room, her eyes constantly scanning for the one person she would have to be on constant look out for. The worry leaving a crease between her eyes. "Have you moved from this spot at all?" She heard his smooth baritone come up beside her.

"No." She casually spoke, not taking her eyes off the door. Jack shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him as he handed her a champagne flute. "You're cute when you're flustered,Cal. Just Relax."

Just as he spoke a tall man came into view, callie sucked in a panicked breath and sat her glass on the table. Jack placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and turned her face towards his with his free hand. "We will approach him together, he is here to find a match just like everyone else is." Callie nodded and the two crossed the room.

"Thomas Haught, it's good to see you again. You remember my partner,Callie?" Jack spoke, extending his hand. Thomas reached out to shake it, missing completely and knocking the glass out of Jack's other hand.

"Jack." Callie groaned under her breath.

"I am so, so sorry Jack." Thomas apologized. "I am such a klutz, maybe I shouldn't have come."

"It's ok Tom,You are perfectly fine. Try to relax, everyone is here for the same reason. Why dont you grab a bite to eat and we will meet up in a few." Jack smiled politely.

Thomas nodded and headed towards the elaborate buffet table,Callie began to panick "Jack, you just sent him to get food, alone. There are flames under those trays, what if he," callies eyes widened in horror as she watched Thomas's sleeve catch fire. It was quickly put out by a server. "You see!" She shrieked.

"Ok, so maybe Toms a little bit accident prone. Which is why we need to find someone who is a great care giver for him." He chuckled, Callie rolled her eyes and walked away.

As the night went on Callie tailed Thomas. In his wake he managed to trip a waiter carrying a full tray of cranberry and brie with crackers. Knocked over the ice sculpture and elbowed a match maker in the face, blackening his eye. Tom sat at a table alone, Callie was able to relax a little as she watched him slump his shoulders in defeat. If he was sitting, he couldn't be that much of a threat.

Thomas was a handsome man, he was tall and had a thin build. He was in his early thirties and a client of the company's for several years. He was thought to be an 'un matchable' but that didn't stop Jack from trying. She recalled his file in her head. The man volunteered with underprivileged children, he owned his own company and was a volunteer fire fighter. How he managed to not cause more damage with that last part was beyond her.

As she stood there staring at him, she began to feel that familar feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had spent so much time preparing for disaster that she could not let herself willingly try to match this man. That's when the match maker spark came to life. "I know that look, you found your fire." Jacks strong arms wrapped around her waist. "I told you to stop fighting yourself, you were going to lose." He chuckled as his lips found the base of her neck.

"Why is it that the man can rush into burning buildings without falling through the steps, or the place falling in on him. But he can't walk an open room without tripping on a loose thread in the carpet?" She softly hummed.

"It's probably the adrenaline, that and a mix of confidence." Jack answered. "When is this party over again?" His lips exploring her exposed skin.

"That's it!" She quickly spun around in his arms. "You're a genius,Jack! And that's why I married you." She quickly kissed him. "You're a genius." She murder against his lips before turning and walking away.

"What did I do? No clue?" He spoke to himself, shaking his head and following her across the room.

"Having a good time, Thomas?" The sound of Callies voice made Thomas jump up. His knees hit the table and knocked over several drinks and his chair. "I'm so sorry, why am I such a spaz?" Thomas groaned as he lifted a glass off the table. "It's ok Tom, just leave it. The staff will clean it up." By this time Jack had joined the two, giving Callie a confused look.

"Walk with us, will you?" Callie motioned to Thomas. Thomas wrung his hands nervously, tripping over his own feet. "This is hopeless, maybe I should just go home. I can't even walk without tripping over my own feet, how am I supposed to find love? I would probably accidentally harm them somehow."

Callie held up her hand, motioning around the room at the various people. Some couples that had just connected, others just mingling trying to find a spark. "Do you think any one of these people are perfect? That they don't all have some kind of quirk? Some personal issues? Because I will tell you, nobody is perfect. Tell me Thomas do you have any mishaps when you're running into a burning building?"

Tomas searched his mind. "Ah, no. No I can't say that I have."

"And why do you think that is?" She pressed.

"Adrenaline? I don't have time to think I just do it." He shrugged, a smile spread across her face as Thomas began to connect the dots.

"I think you have the potential to be a great someone to somebody, you just need to stop over thinking it and be yourself." Callie patted him on the shoulder. Thomas looked to Jack who nodded his head in agreement. "She's right you know. She's always right."

As the three stood there, Jack with his arms around Callie and Thomas scanning the room with a new found sense of pride, he noticed a couple getting a little too hot and heavy by the enormous 10 foot Christmas tree. He watched in horror as it began to sway just as a pretty petite dark haired woman stood right in the path of destruction. Thomas set off in a sprint across the room, he grabbed the woman by the waist yanking her out of the way just in time as the tree crashed to the ground. The pair tumbled on the floor, Thomas landing practically on top of the woman.

Callie and Jack ran over to the pair as Thomas perched up to look down on the raven haired beauty, shock written all over her face.

"I'm sorry for the crash landing miss but, I couldn't let such a gorgeous creature be crushed to death by a massive tree." He gave her a cheesy grin as he helped her up.

"Oh my god, Maggie are you ok?" Callie wrapped her assistant in her arms.

"I'm perfect, thanks to my Hero over here. " Maggie blushed as she motioned towards Thomas.

" oh im no hero miss." He gave her a bashful smile.

"Anyone who risks being impaled by a rogue tree is definitely a hero in my book. I owe you one." Maggie flirted.

"All in a day's work, mam." Thomas blushed awkwardly. He looked to callie and Jack, callie giving him an encouraging nod.

"Would you ah, would you like to grab a drink?"

Maggie looked to Callie and Jack, twos companys no dating clients or co-workers policy used to be iron clad, until Jack and Callie showed Veronica just how stupid the rule could be. Technically it wasn't encouraged to date clients but, Maggie wasn't a match maker and Thomas was actually perfect for her.

"You two have fun." Callie winked as she grabbed Jack by the arm leading him away as the banquet halls staff began cleaning up the tree fiasco. They walked out onto the balcony, the cold New York air causing immediate goosebumps on callies skin. Jack noticed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it Over her shoulders. "You know if you asked me 4 years ago if I would be here, like this in this moment I would have told you, you were crazy." He spoke softly, his gaze fixed on his wife. " of course I always knew I would be CEO." He gave a cocky chuckle.

"And now?" She challenged.

"Now I cant begin to believe my life. I never thought I would share everything with someone I am truly head over heels in love with. I love you Callie Munroe, you never stop amazing me with everything you do. And just when I think you couldn't possibly amaze me more, you go and give us a family."

Callies eyes widened, she hadn't told him yet. She found out they were expecting a week ago and planned on telling him Christmas morning. "How did you know?"

"I know everything about you, Callie. I can not wait to be a dad, this will be our greatest chapter yet. Merry Christmas." He leaned in placing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Jack."

******☆☆☆☆☆******

Tag list : Writers : @texaskitten30 @Leelee10898 @emichelle @zaffrenotes @alj4890 @burnsoslow @kat-tia801 @darley1101 @msjr0119 @annekebbphotography @god-save-the-keen @plumeriavibes @ofpixelsandscribbles @camillemontespan @ao719 @cocomaxley @cordoniansgonewild @twinkleallnight @the-soot-sprite @cordoniantrash @axwalker @innerpostmentality @lucy-268 @janezillow @katedrakeohd

Readers : @mom2000aggie @sfb123 @bbrandy2002 @debramcg1106 @desireepow-1986 @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject

#12 days of fictmas 2020 #choices 12 days of fictmas #12 days of ficmas #leelee10898 fan fic #leelee10898writes #choices miss match #jack x Callie miss match

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starrybethany · 4 years

Text

Clayton Keller: Part 1

Word count: 2408

Debbie. Fucking Debbie.

Jesus Christ, why did it have to be Debbie and not Chris? I would take Chris over Debbie every day, at least he doesn’t judge me when I get my rent money in a few days late. I’m a poor college student paying the rent by herself, give me a break.

“What’s up?” I ask, swinging the front door to my apartment open.

“Hi Y/N,” Debbie sends me a fake smile. “I’m just here to remind you that your rent is due in a week.”

“I have it written down, Debbie.”

“Oh,” she actually appears to be shocked. Is this bitch serious? Does she really think that little of me? Well, I haven’t given her much faith to have in me, though... “Well, just don’t forget to give it to me or Chris.”

“I know.”

She gives me another fake smile. “Have a great night, Y/N.”

“Yep, bye.” I close my door, rolling my eyes at the judgemental, middle-aged woman. “Fucking bitch,” I whisper under my breath, making my way to the living room to take a seat on the couch.

Okay, I do see why she’s concerned, though. I have been turning my rent money in late over the past couple of months but that’s just because of my lack of employment. I’m struggling to find a job that’s flexible enough that will work with my class schedule since I’m taking more credits next semester than I ever have before. This means that I have to use the little money I have saved up for rent. That money’s running out fast, though, so I have to find a job right now.

I scroll through the list on Indeed, sighing at all of the minimum wage jobs. None of those will be able to help me afford my apartment and I can’t move even if I wanted to. Every apartment in Glendale is expensive as hell and this apartment is close enough to my college that I’m able to walk to class instead of having to spend money on a car or a bus pass.

I apply for a couple of jobs anyway, figuring that I could always pick up two minimum wage jobs, despite how much I would hate it, and reluctantly check my email.

The government sent me an email an hour ago letting me know that my FAFSA has been submitted and I groan out loud, resting my head in my hands. How am I supposed to save money to pay back my student loans when I don’t even have the money to afford an apartment now?

I really have no clue what I’m going to do and all I want to do right now is drink away my troubles. I check my phone to see how long ago my friends told me they were on their way to come over to get ready and pick me up to go out to the club.

This is a long overdue night out.

I scroll through Instagram until there’s a knock at my apartment door and screams letting me know that it’s locked. I roll my eyes, standing up from my spot at the kitchen table and making my way towards the front door, opening it.

“I know it’s locked, dumbasses, Debbie was just here and I didn’t want her to knock the door open asking for rent money again,” I explain, letting my friends in.

“Just offer to eat her out instead of paying for rent next month,” Tyler recommends.

“Can you imagine? Debbie would pass out if you said that to her,” Besty giggles before walking down the hall towards my bedroom.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the club?” I eye Tyler’s T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Girl, did you really just ask me that?” He practically buries me with his eyes as we follow our other friend to my bedroom.

“What are you wearing tonight, Y/N?” Betsy asks, pulling random articles of clothing out of my closet.

“Why? Are you trying to figure out which of my clothes you want to wear?” I stand in front of the closet with her.

She sends me a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

“I’m definitely wearing this top,” I pull out the gold crop top. “And then some ripped jeans and my metallic blue vans. You can choose anything except those things.”

“Thank you,” she sings, pulling out clothes to look at.

I get dressed, throw my hair in a messy high ponytail and rest a gold chain around my neck.

“Who’s paying for drinks tonight?” I ask, walking into my bathroom to start my makeup.

“I’ll pay if you do my eyeliner,” Tyler offers, lying on my bed and playing on his phone since he finished getting dressed a long time ago.

“Get over here, then,” I order, pulling out my liquid eyeliner. I do his makeup carefully, directing his gaze towards the mirror to examine it.

“It looks great, thanks, babe,” Tyler sends himself a kiss in the mirror and I laugh, beginning my own makeup.

Two hours later we’re ready to go and stumbling down the sidewalk, some alcohol already in our systems from pregaming.

We’re all buzzed but not drunk yet, wanting to wait until we at least get to the club so we would be able to walk there. The bouncer lets us in the club with one glance, noting our slutty clothing and deciding we’re good enough to be let into the high class club.

The pounding music shakes the tiled flooring as we shoot straight to the bar, Tyler ordering us several glasses of shots and a variety of mixed drinks.

“Put it on my tab,” he yells over the bass to the bartender as she sets the tray down in front of us. I can barely hear his words over the feeling of the alcohol burning my throat as I take the shot of Jack Daniels.

“Dibs,” I call, reaching for the Sex on the Beach. The liquid sloshes out of the drink a little as I pick it up, the alcohol already taking over my system.

Betsy lets out a whine in protest at the same time she reaches for the Old Fashioned so I ignore her, directing my attention to the dance floor.

It’s honestly busier than I expected, which shouldn’t be surprising since it’s a popular spot for people to go to on a Saturday night. The dance floor is practically overflowing with people but if anything, it makes me want to jump in and go on a treasure hunt for the cutest boy to hook up with. I need a break from thinking and an attractive man is the perfect solution for that.

My vision sways as I stand up from the stool, setting the empty glass on the bar’s countertop before dancing my way over to the crowd. I enter besides a group of cute girls and they drunkenly invite me to dance with them, so there’s just five of us girls stumbling around and yelling together.

When I’m exhausted, I let out a loud giggle and move towards the center of the dance floor, closing my eyes and throwing my hands up in the air in carelessness and freedom. My body moves along to the beat of the music, the liquor swimming through my veins keeping me from caring about how I appear.

Soft hands press to my bare waist, firm enough to keep me in place but loose enough to let me go if I want to leave the grip. I let them rest, leaning back to rest my back on his chest. With my eyes still closed and the lyrics to the song belting from the bottom of my lungs, I wrap my arms around the stranger’s neck, playing with the long hair at the bottom of his neck.

I feel the chuckle that he lets out vibrate through both his and my body and his hands travel towards my belly button, connecting together and pulling me closer towards him. I smile hazily, one hand traveling down to rest over both of his and turning my head towards his. I have to lean up to reach his face but I leave a sloppy kiss on his jaw, opening my eyes to see what he looks like.

I can’t see much through the strobe lights of the dance floor but from what I can tell, he’s cute. His hair is not short but not long, it’s more on the longer side of short hair, if that makes sense. But I like it, I like long hair. He has a few cuts on his face and I can’t help but wonder what from. By his calloused hands I can guess that maybe he has a dangerous job or hobby, like working in construction or doing boxing on the side.

I can see a hint of a chain under his shirt and I reach for it, tugging it out of his T-shirt. He watches as I examine the silver cross, stroking over it with my thumb.

Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head towards it, noticing Betsy waving a glass of a daiquiri, my favorite drink, at me. Tyler laughs from next to her as I immediately launch myself out of the stranger’s arms, pushing through the crowd clumsily as I make my way towards the bar.

“Just as I was starting to sober up,” I comment, climbing onto a barstool and taking the glass from Betsy.

“Who’s your friend?” Tyler asks, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I sip on the beverage while moving along to the song, watching as Tyler leaves to talk to some cute guy at the other end of the bar.

“Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself?” Betsy finally asks after exchanging seductive glances with some guy on the dance floor.

“Betsy, please,” I stir my second daiquiri. “You deserve to get laid tonight, go.”

“If you need me, come get me,” she orders.

I roll my eyes, calling after her, “I won’t!”

I start to enter my thoughts as I notice someone sitting down on the stool next to me. I don’t look over at the person, focused on counting how many drinks I had tonight.

He coughs, then says, “Hey.”

I glance over at him and my eyes are instantly drawn to the cross dangling from his neck. It’s the guy I danced with earlier.

“Hey.”

“You were dancing with me earlier,” he states, jutting with his thumb towards the dance floor.

“I know,” I nod.

He flushes, nodding as well. “Oh.” He’s quiet. “So, uh, I’m Clayton.”

“Y/N,” I respond, sticking my hand out for a handshake.

He shakes my hand, sending me a small smile. Now that we’re in somewhat proper lighting, I can see what he looks like more, and dang, he is cute. I can tell now that his hair is a nice shade of brown and his eyes are this magnificent green color. I could stare at them forever and never be able to tell how many different shades and colors there are in his eyes.

“You from around here?” He asks, motioning the bartender over.

I nod and watch as Clayton puts in his order, turning to me. “Do you want another drink?”

“No, I’m good,” I reject.

He raises his eyebrows but nods, thanking the bartender for the beer. I like to play hard to get when it comes to boys. It makes the sex better.

“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding towards a blonde boy at the end of the bar.

Clayton turns to look, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s my teammate. Why?”

“He keeps looking at us,” I take the final sip of my daiquiri. “Teammate?”

“Yeah I play for the Arizona Coyotes.”

“Oh, hockey.”

“Have you ever been to a game?” He questions.

“Yeah, I went on a date once and then you guys lost and my date got pissed so he ditched me in the middle of the arena,” I explain.

“Oh that sucks. I mean, I wouldn’t be with you at the game obviously but I’d love to take you out on a date after a game, if you would like,” he asks me out with a smile.

“No thanks,” I pass, watching as Tyler and the guy he was flirting with stand up from their stools. They’re probably going back to Tyler’s place to hook up now.

“What? Did you say no thanks?”

“Yeah I’ll pass on the offer, no offense. I’m just not looking for anything serious right now.”

A bunch of cash is thrown on the bartop in front of me and Tyler looms over me. “Money for the bar, and some extra for your rent next month. It’s not a lot but it’ll help until you get stable a bit, okay? And don’t you dare give it back, otherwise you’re paying for drinks next time when I plan to get blackout wasted. Oh, and don’t come over to my apartment for the rest of the weekend.” He winks, grabbing his hookup’s hand and leading him out the door.

I roll my eyes at Tyler, calling the bartender over to close his tab. Clayton watches as I pay the bill and shove the rest of the money into my pocket.

“You’re having trouble paying your rent, huh?” Clayton asks with a sigh, picking up his beer and swirling it around.

I give him a look. “Why do you care?”

“And you don’t want to be in a serious relationship but you want to have some fun,” he continues, “Looks like what you’re looking for is a sugar daddy.”

I scoff. “I don’t want to hop on some desperate sixty year old’s dick, Clayton.”

“Who said they had to be sixty? They could be, I don’t know, twenty one with seven million dollars to spend a year,” he responds.

“Seven million?” I almost choke.

“And maybe, that guy doesn’t know what to spend that money on but he sees a beautiful girl sitting in front of him and well,” he shrugs, maintaining eye contact while he takes a sip of his beer.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Dead.”

“If you’re really offering to be my sugar daddy-””I am.”

“Be prepared. I’m high maintenance.”

#Clayton keller imagine #NHL imagines #Clayton keller x reader #arizona coyotes imagine #NHL story

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verobatto · 4 years

Text

Look at me.

Destiel feelings!

Destiel meta. TFW meta. Meta spec. 15x17 meta.

Hello my friends! Tonight's episode had been a real roll coaster, i will try to convey here is just one analysis all the thoughts and feelings I had while watching it, put the clown mask on.

The purge, the purity

The idea of resetting the world, to come back at the beginning, to put everything where it's belong, as an image of PURGE or Purity, or trying to rewrite history, is on the air since season 14 with the apparition of Michael!Dean and his idea of purity.

The orchid in Amara's hands means purity, just like the ring AUMichael carried, or the picture in Amara's room in episode 15x03: Vishnu. As I told you in my meta here, she was linked with this goddess, the hindi goddess Vishnu, who has orchids in her image.

So the idea of purge the world, is the idea of Chuck of the end. But is not gonna happen.

Jack is like Cas, Sam and Dean. But mostly, like Dean.

Jack is the representation of unity. He conveys in his own self light and darkness, Heaven, Humanity and Hell, but he also is DEAN, SAM AND CAS in one.

The writers had shown in previous episodes how Jack mirrored each one's mannerisms.

But Jack will always look at Dean to take decisions. Because Castiel considers Dean his role model. So, when Jack says to Dean: I'm like you, for the second time, he said it in episode 14x07 before dying, just like now, driving baby, remember? Dean's dad mode came back again, BUT, Dean understands is the only way: SELF SACRIFICE PATH had always been the way Dean Winchester sees the solution. Not this time.

Lie to manipulate: Billie and Chuck

The same manipulative speech we heard from Billie to TFW and now the Empty, it was like hearing Chuck talking, and this time, God used that speech again to convince his sister to be one with him.

Remember when I said I didn't like hearing Billie talking like that? And that she gave me goosebumps? Okay, I think I was right, because she's the other Villain.

Destiel mirror

Adam, the first man, a representation of HUMANITY dressed in green, was lovey dovey with Seraphine, an ang dressed in pink and blue (happiness and Cas).

Is this maybe the last Destiel mirror we will see?

It proves they went against Heaven's rules, just like Cas, but they went way forther than that. The kissing and intimacy they showed shamelessly in front of Dean and Jack, was just because the freedom from an angel choosing to be romantically involved with a human, breaking the Sacred Oath, is possible. So Dean was watching that with round eyes. I know he was learning it wasn't impossible to have that kind of intimacy with an angel.

The chalice and the Sacrifice

When Sam and Cas were searching for the key to open Billie's library, both of them touched the chalice. The chalice is a representation of sacrifice, the last dinner, in which Jesus ate with his apostles for last time. It carries the blood of Christ that saved humanity. So, my meta spec brain went, okay, Cas is gonna "die" or Sacrifice himself in episode 15x18, but Sam?

And then I recalled my other spec about DEAN REMAINING ALONE at some point in the show, remember how many times I repeated this in season 14? So... Then is Sam gonna die again? And then Dean saving us all with that thing about the reset button? A second chance against Chuck? Let's see.

Gif set credit @supernaturaldaily 👇

The angel with a crack in his chassis, and the one who gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

Why did Chuck say this? Just like Michael, who mocked Cas and Dean, and just like everyone who mocked Cas and Dean's relationship, Chuck did it too.

Chuck hates Castiel because he can't write his steps, the angel that never obey or never follow the script. He showed us that with these words too.

Chuck KNOWS about their love that transcends it all. And like Amara and Dean, he didn't write about it. Because they're real.

But, but, but IS IMPORTANT. Is another call back to DEAN AND CAS PROFOUND BOND.

Is a reminder of their lace. Is gonna be very important at the end of it. Is gonna be pivotal to save Castiel. Dean will find him again. But this time they will be like one.

Because when Chuck was convincing Amara to be one with him, he promised her balance, but mostly, PEACE AND HAPPINESS FOR THE ETERNITY. BE ONE.

Is the same Amara wanted with Dean, but but, is also another clue for my Destiel End Game spec: SHARING VESSEL.

Destiel Looks

Everytime Sam said something very meaningful tryng to convince Dean to not follow Billie's orders, the scene was mixed with the manipulative speech from Chuck to Amara, to show us the difference between TRUTH and LIES. But also, to show us how Dean looked at Cas and Cas looked at Dean.

When Sam mentioned EILEEN IS GONNA DIE AGAIN. Dean watched his angel. He doesn't want that to happen again, because he would be a dead too with him.

Then Sam says, will you trade me? And Dean looks at Cas again.

Your whole life you protected me: Here, Sam is calling out The Big Protector, is time to Dean to relay on other, to trust in Sam, in Cas. He needs to abbandon that weight on his shoulder of always being the one sacrificing, or giving his life, or protecting everyone. The Big Protector idea, built by his father in Dean's mind, needs to go and die. They're a family, they're all heros.

WhenDean said JACK IS NOT FAMILY, it was his way to mentally avoid the fact they're gonna lose their child again. He needed to put Jack in that position, in the NOT FAMILY place, because it hurts too much for him, and for everyone, to lose the kid.

But truth can't be avoided. Dean can't avoid the fact Jack is family, he can't avoid the fact Sam is a grown up man who can come out with the perfect plan, a second chance, a second way to do things, he can't avoid the fact HE IS IN LOVE WITH CASTIEL. Just like Dean is facing each spot in his mind, letting the truth to enlight them, he will face the fact HE LOVES HIS ANGEL. And then, we will have our so waited I LOVE YOU, in the precise time he will need to say it to save him.

To Conclude:

This episode showed us Billie is the other Villain, so, they need to find another way.

Destiel is coming, next episode we are gonna die, but then we will relive when Dean and Cas find each other again, in one vessel, to share their lives for eternity.

And if this doesn't happen, then I will write a fic to all of you.

Love you! See you soon!

Tagging @metafest @gneisscastiel @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @weird-dorky-little-deana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @mybonsai1976 @anarchiana @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @destielshipper221b @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @feathered-castiel @bre95611 @zoerayne2426 @justmeand-myinsight @that-one-fandom-chick @proccastinate @studio-hatter @pepevons @poorreputation @mrsaquaman187 @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @dwstiel @thislunarkiss @ladygon @shippsblog @la-random-fangirl @lets-try-this-again-please @mychemicalobsession514 @destiel-shipper-11

@asphodelesauvage @2musiclover2

Buenos Aires, October 29th 2020, 11:02 PM

#destiel #destiel meta #15x17 meta #spn spec #spn spoiler #tfw meta #supernatural meta #meta spec

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justlookfrightened · 4 years

Text

How hard could it be? Part 24

Start from the beginning

Part 23

After the pies were out of their ovens and cooling on their counters and they ended the call, Bitty started pulling out more ingredients.

Snickerdoodles for Lardo, gingersnaps for Dex, chocolate chocolate chips for Shitty, and now PBJ cookies for Jack. Maybe he could come up with something like a high-protein breakfast cookie for Jack, too.

As Bitty mixed dry ingredients, creamed butter and sugar, he thought about what it would be like to cook in Jack’s kitchen. He hadn’t wanted to ask Jack for a video tour, didn’t want to drool too obviously over the Viking range or Sub-Zero fridge, but he’d seen enough to know that it was all excellent equipment, with plenty of room to work and even natural light from wide windows. Too many apartments and condos, in Bitty’s opinion, hid their kitchens away in the interior of the unit, with no sunlight to warm the breakfast table.

Of course, Jack’s unit was probably big enough to wrap around the building, so there would be plenty of windows. Bitty would just have to wait to find out.

Until this was over.

Bitty didn’t really know what to make of Jack himself, either. From his admittedly limited experience of talking with Jack, and what his eyes told him from watching TV, Jack was a supremely gifted athlete, someone who could make his body do remarkable things, but had a harder time connecting to people. He was awkward and a little shy, but when he was determined to do something, he could overcome that to ask for help.

Of course he was determined. He would have to be, to have a career like he had. And the shyness … with his anxiety, it made sense. Jack seemed like he got along with his parents, but if they were both famous, that couldn’t have been easy either.

Bitty wanted to know if Jack really had been flirting with him. It felt like it, sometimes, but Jack hadn’t said anything that coudn’t be interpreted any other way. Jack knew Bitty was gay, but apparently not until his teammates told him.

If Jack knew Bitty was gay and was flirting … Bitty felt like he shouldn’t even let his mind go there. It was different to daydream about Jack the gorgeous hockey player when he was entirely unattainable. Then, thinking about dating Jack was a harmless fantasy. Now, when Jack might be interested -- no, that was just setting himself up for disappointment. Jack wanted a baking friend. That was all. Bitty was more than happy to be that friend, even if he had to be careful about feasting his eyes too long on those biceps, or his rear end when he turned to pull the pie from the oven.

Once the cookies were distributed on cooling racks around the kitchen, he pulled his laptop over to check the traffic on the vlog.

There was an email there, from Jack.

Hey, Bittle.

I’m sorry for writing this in an email --

Holy crap, was Jack breaking off their baking friendship before it even got started? Did someone get to him about what it would look like if he spent too much time with Bitty?

-- but it didn’t seem right for a text. I meant to tell you while we were talking, but then the timer went off and we moved on to other subjects and I didn’t know how to bring it back.

I think telling people about my anxiety is a lot like coming out for you is now. I can’t assume new peopleI meet know about it, but lots of people do. I’ve given interviews and done PSAs.

What I’m about to say is more like coming out the first time for you, I guess. I’m not straight. I’m bi. It’s something I’ve known since I knew what it was to have a crush on someone, but I don’t have a ton of experience dating guys. Not that I have all that much experience dating women either, but if I need to bring a date to an event or something, it’s easier to ask a woman to accompany me.

Anyway, it didn’t seem fair to have the whole coming out conversation and not mention it, even if you are more public about your sexuality than I am.

I know my agent would be upset with me for writing this in an email, and I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but I feel like I can trust you with this.

Jack

Bitty stared at the screen. He got up, got a glass of water, sat down and stared at the screen some more.

He wanted to pick up his phone and call Lardo, to squeal with glee and wriggle in his chair as he crowed over actually having a chance with the person he’d started thinking of as the man of his dreams.

He wanted to call Shitty, to tell him how he never expected to be someone people came out to, not the way they did with Shitty, and look what had happened. Jack was far from the first person to come out to him; he had a whole file full of letters from youth hockey players who identified as gay or bi. This was definitely a new feeling.

Bitty read the email again, looking for clues to how Jack felt.

It definitely read like this was Jack explaining himself, explaining why he had been so interested in Bitty. But he never said he wanted to date Bitty. What he did say was why he didn;t date men. Associating with Bitty would only start rumors about Jack.

But Jack didn’t owe Bitty anything, and if he wanted to drop Bitty he could have without so much as a wave goodbye. He didn’t have to say any of this. Unless there was a reason he wanted Bitty to know.

Thank you for trusting me with this. Of course I won’t share anything you want kept private with anyone, and I truly do understand why you need to keep it private.

Your cookies are done and will be in the mail tomorrow.

Lmk if you want to bake together again. You have my number.

Happy baking!

Bitty

Part 25

Now posting on AO3

#omgcheckplease #omg check please #pre-zimbits #my fic

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the-shiftshop · 4 years

Text

Hey Diary - Part 3

PART 1 and PART 2 of the Hey Diary Series

I tried my best to not fall asleep, scared by what may happen if I do. The whole night, I couldn’t get my head off: 1.) The possibility that reality wont change and Keith and the others might come back to their right senses while remembering whatever they did to themselves, 2.) The possibility that nothing will happen and Keith will keep those feelings for me throughout the whole year in school, and 3.) The fact that Keith gave me a blowjob.

I’ve tossed around the bed all night, remembering how Keith looked at me while he suck me off, how he kissed me and how his tongue intertwined with mine, and no, although I may be getting hard, I’m still putting a blame to myself. This isn’t supposed to happen. I know this would be against what Keith wanted. Even though he had been bullying me since the first day, I still have my morals. I shouldn’t have messed with him, and who knows what Peter and Tom did? I do remember including them in the changes.

Anyway, I still need to go to school and find out. I quickly took a short shower to get rid of my smell, wore my shirt and a jacket, grabbed my bag then proceeded to school.

Arriving at the school, right before I enter our building, someone pulled me by the arm. It was a sudden pull and it was very strong so I was just lead to wherever.

It was Keith, obviously mad as he was gripping my wrist, hard. I grunted and tried to tell him to stop, but he was ignoring me and continued pulling me to the varsity’s locker room. He pushed me against one locker with both arms blocking both directions I can use as an escape. He stared at me but I can’t figure out what kind of face is he making. He looks so mad but when I try to stare into his eyes, he would look soft and would look away. He would occasionally swallow hard but will shake his head afterwards.

“What,” Keith started. “What have you done to me, asshole?” He said, stuttering on the cuss as if he couldn’t bare to call me that anymore. I couldn’t answer so he asked me one more time. “What did you do?!” This time, it was much more of a yell.

“Did you drug me? Did you cast a spell on me? What did you fucking do?!”

Keith looked like as if he’s about to cry. He crumbled to the floor, both arms leaning on my legs as he try to hold himself why crying.

“I’m... sorry...” is my only reply. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell him about the Diary App. I don’t even know what he will do after he learn about the truth.

I just let Keith cry all the tears in front of me. Somehow a little satisfied to get a revenge on him, but I’m still very mad at myself for doing this to him.

“Right after that night, when I came back home, I couldn’t help myself but to think about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you look, how cute you looked when you made that lewd face while I was blowing you- Fuck! I’m not fucking gay! I knew that when I woke up. I remembered everything, but everything is mixed up! I can’t even tell which is true among these memories in my head. I wanted to get mad at you, but I can’t. Instead of getting so furious, I would resort to picturing you naked, tied up on my bed, and the next thing I’ll know I’m already jacking off! What the fuck did you do to me, Felix!”

I let Kieth finish what he was saying in between sobs. Apparently, I learned a new thing about the Diary App. Reality wont change if I don’t take the picture and in Keith’s case, when he woke up, he came back to his senses, but the changes are still in effect. At this point, I have no idea what I’ll do with Keith. I just pulled Keith up and told him to stand up properly. Keith placed his arms down and he looked at me, frowning, looking so fragile as if he’s about to have another breakdown in a few seconds. Still sobbing, he suddenly hugged me.

“Please. I’m telling you now, whatever I said last night about picking on you. I really meant that. I am very sorry about what I did to you. It’s just that...” He cut himself. “You seemed to get so much attention while I do not. I’ll admit that I was so jealous of you, but please, whatever the way, please return me back. I don’t want these feelings lingering around my body. Please.”

I can feel his tears run through my clothes onto my skin. Keith has been crying so much. I took a deep breathe and pushed him off my body.

“Fine. I really am sorry too for doing this to you, but do you really promise you won’t do that anymore?” I looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Damn it. Stop looking at me like that. You’re making me hard.” Keith looked away. “I promise. I really do.”

I laughed at him and pulled out my new phone and boot up the Diary App. Curiously, Keith leaned over to look at my phone. I then clicked on the previous log I have typed in.

“What’s that?” Keith asked. “What are you doing?”

“This is a Diary App. The one I used to change you.” I replied. I then started scrolling about, looking for any clue to know how to revert him back. “To be honest, I don’t really know how to turn you back.”

“What the fuck?” He looked at me with his eyebrows furrowed, but then he quickly looked away.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just got this phone the day you stole my old one.”

“Right.” Keith then sat down in front of me.

I tried all my best to look for a guide in the app that could tell me what to do. I could tell Keith’s staring at me body, though. He would sometimes lick his lips as he do so. I tried my best to focus on my phone and find what I need.

In a few while, I saw a help button at the very bottom of the page, in very small texts. I clicked it and a popup showed up. I finally found the guide and so I scrolled down to find just what I need for the moment.

How to revert changes.

Unlike making changes, reverting people back to their former state does not require sleeping to make the changes permanent.

In order to revert people back, hold on the log you want to remove, wait about 3 seconds until another popup shows up. You will be given an option between Archive and Delete. Click Delete, then Accept, and you’re done.

The process should happen in instant.

With that, I went to my recent log, held it and pressed delete.

“Hey, Keith I think-”

I cut myself right after I saw Keith jerking off in front of me. He started moaning loud, reaching his climax, until his eyes suddenly opened wide. He stopped himself, leaving himself on the edge, then he quickly wore his boxers and pants back. His cheeks red. He then faced the other way.

“I... I didn’t mean to...” Keith said. “It was because I couldn’t help myself a few seconds ago.”

“So I guess, you’re back to yourself?” I asked.

“Yeah I guess, I’m back.” Keith replied, then he went quiet, “I’m... back...” He faced me and hugged me tight. “I’m back! Thank you so much, Felix!”

“H-Hey, hey! I can’t breathe!” I said in between laugh. Then we suddenly realized what we were doing.

Kieth quickly moved away from me and scratched his head. As for me, I tried to distract myself by looking down at my phone. Keith took a deep breath and tired to speak.

“Hey, whatever happened last night, let’s keep that to ourselves, okay? I mean, I have nothing against gay people, if you’re somehow one of them, I just can’t see myself doing that, and about that false rumor I spread, that’s just to ruin your reputation. I didn’t intend to show any homophobia.”

“Deal.” I smiled.

Keith gave me his hand and I shook it. He took a hard grip on mine and he smiled back, a hint that our war is over.

We started walking towards our classroom. After what happened, Keith suddenly became talkative to me, and as for me, I started to enjoy his company. He talked a lot about sports, thinking that I could relate because he thought I play ball too. I guess that’s because of this new life of mine. Nevertheless, I still find him fun.

“Hey, by the way.” Keith suddenly changed the topic and pointed at my phone. “Where did you get that, anyway?”

“Well... In a store... It’s very complicated to explain but I’m sure that shop is somewhat magic.” I replied.

“I would say I don’t want to believe that, but experiencing what happened to me previously, that seems possible.” He remarked.

Keith then pushed his chest out and took a long deep breath.

“Why? Do you have something in mind?” I asked.

“Well... What else can it do?”

Trying to avoid telling him about my former self, I explained him what the app can do. From age change to racial change to even the impossible. He seemed so impressed, like a kid watching those Harry Potter movies for the first time. He started to show so much interest with the app. Meanwhile, I have already placed my trust on him.

“Can you like... Turn me into something?” Keith asked, with a closed lip grin. “I mean aside from turning me gay. Can you maybe make me older, or younger.”

“What do you exactly have in mind?”

We stopped walking with Keith thinking with his finger on his head. A few seconds later, he snapped and pointed at me.

“Make me old enough to be a teacher for a day.”

We stared at each other. I gripped my phone hard. Keith then gave me a bright smile.

What exactly is he trying to do here?

#gay to straight #Hey Diary

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wkemeup · 5 years

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Guiding Light (4)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.8k warnings: torture, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

T W O W E E K S E A R L I E R

You couldn’t hear Bucky when he called your name or when he had begged you leave without him. His voice was muffled and muted by the barrier between you and you would have given just about anything to hear his voice once last time, to hold him, to touch him and brush his hair from his eyes, to remind him that he was so incredibly adored and that none of this was his fault, but you wouldn’t get the chance.

Harsh hands gripped at your arms until bruises formed under the thin layer of your suit as Hydra agents dragged you down the hallway. You watched helplessly as Bucky struggled to break through the impenetrable wall, fist colliding to the glass only for it to remain unmarked.

You tried to fight the men, digging your heels to the concrete and flailing in their arms, but there were too many of them. From the distance, you could still make out the desolation in the blue of Bucky’s eyes, the pain and guilt you had helped him work so hard to let out go of rushing back to the surface; the unbridled shock on his face when you said the one thing you had been trying to tell him for years, when you told him you loved him.

On some level you were sure that he knew, but watching the genuine surprise on his face mixed with the devastation of what was about to happen was something else entirely; knowing he had you and lost you all at once.

The agents dragged you around the corner, Bucky disappearing from view, and with one sharp hit to the side of your head, you were pulled to the darkness.

When you woke again, it was to ice cold water and a hard burning in your lungs. Shocked back to consciousness, you struggled to find your breath amongst the pour of the water on your face. When it finally let up, your chest was heaving in throbbing pants, hands curling into the arm rests of the chair you had been bound to, as beads of water ran down your back, your face, and dripped from the ends of your hair.

In front of you stood three men, all dressed in military style uniforms. The two in the back held automatic assault weapons aimed in your direction, safety released, despite the fact that you were currently cuffed in place.

The man at the center stood with his arms crossed; dark hair, scruff along his jaw line, and a jagged scar running from his left temple to the bridge of his nose, crossing over his eye and leaving a clouded, damaged orb in its place he didn’t bother to cover. He wasn’t one you recognized. None of them were.

He nodded to the man standing on your right who held the now empty bucket in his hands. Then, Scarface dismissed the three men, leaving you alone with him.

He began to circle you, studying you from every angle and you did your best to keep your breathing steady despite the rage boiling in your chest. When he came back around to your front, a slow smirk drew up the right corner of his lips.

“Agent Y/l/n, it is such a pleasure to have you in our company,” he drawled, voice thick, deep, and with an American accent. “My name is Alex Cainning. But you can call me Cain.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, unwilling to provide even an ounce of reaction. Cain shrugged, unbothered.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we went through the trouble of setting up false intel just to lure you to our base and provide us with the prime opportunity to take hostage one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” He chuckled, unable to even get the term passed his lips before he started laughing. “That title always irked me. Sure, I get the science experiments and egotistical billionaire with the super suit and the literal God of Thunder, but you? What do you possibly have to offer to a team like that? You're human. Weak. Just like the arrow guy and the soviet whore.”

You gritted your teeth. “So why take me? Why bother if I’m so... uninteresting?”

“Even despite your failings, your arrogance is astounding.” Cain smiled, running his tongue over the white of his teeth. “You make the mistake in thinking this is even about you.”

A flash of surprised grazed your features and before you could restrain it. Cain had clearly noticed. A satisfaction curved up his lips as he turned towards the door. He paused, knocked several times and the locks began to unclick. You counted eight.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Agent Y/l/n,” Cain said as he stepped through the door, the dim lighting behind him making it impossible to make out the layout beyond the four walls to the cell they had dropped you in. “Make yourself comfortable. You won’t be leaving.”

The door slammed shut and the metal clasps binding your wrists to the chair snapped open. Sprinting up, you raced to the door, shoving your shoulder against it though you knew it would do no use. You pounded your fists to the metal frame, shouting for them to let you go, to face you like the grimy cowards they were, and you only stepped away when your arms had grown sore and an ache throbbed in your hands.

You panted, turning back to look around the room. Concrete walls by concrete floor with a single twin mattress sitting upon the ground in the left corner. It was stained and warped with use, springs puncturing the surface and a dark red discoloring on the ground beside it.

Head pulsing, you brought your hand to the source to find a sticky substance on your head. A heavy sigh as you lowered your hand to examine it further to find blood coating your fingertips. You must have sustained the injury when they knocked you out.

Feeling dizzy, you slowly made your way to the mattress, grabbing a hold of the corner and dragged it to the right side of the room, away from the blood stain on the floor. You flipped the mattress over, somewhat relieved to find the underside minimally less repulsive, and collapsed down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried not to think about what Cain had meant, about why they chose to take you of everyone who had stormed that base.

Bucky was just as trapped on the other side of that wall, if not more so because he didn’t have access to the exit the way you did. But they left him alone, didn’t even attempt to injure or subdue him. They just left him to watch. It didn’t make any sense.

Why bother taking you if it wasn’t you they wanted?

***

Five days later and you learned their routine.

With no windows in your room, it was impossible to keep track of time, but these men, these soldiers, had schedules, and they came barreling into your cell with the smell of coffee on their breath and crumbs in their beards enough to tell you that morning broke. They’d strap you into the chair, ask you some questions about the security at the compound to which you’d give them jack-shit, and they’d return the favor with a few cuts to your arms, a punch to the gut, or a damp washcloth pressed over your nose and mouth until you couldn’t breathe.

You’d been trained by the best, which meant you could withstand torture on par with Navy Seals. It frustrated Cain to no end, though he still had yet to explicitly tell you what they had captured you for. You assumed part of it was to obtain information on the Avenger’s compound, on the Avenger’s habits and schedules, perhaps on SHIELD’s strike strategies or their weapon’s base, but that was information he’d be able to get from any agent, even a rookie. It didn’t explain why they needed you.

After a few bruises to your ribs, reopening the split in your lip, and coming up empty handed again, they’d leave you alone for a few hours.

Then, they’d return a second time and once you overheard one of them grumbling about the choices of food in the dining hall, which lead you to believe their second visit took place around dinner time. It was around then that they’d bring you a tray of three slices of bread, a wrinkling apple with brown spots on the sides, and a cup of water that had flecks in it and a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t touch it for the first three days, but caved on the fourth from the awful pangs in your stomach.

So, for five days, you knew what to expect. Torture and interrogation on the first visit in the morning. Food on the second visit. Aimless silence and solitude in between.

That was, until you were no longer alone.

Halfway through your fifth day in captivity, mid-way between the waterboarding you endured earlier that morning over your refusal to provide information on the layout of the compound and your only meal of the day, you heard a muffled groan through the wall beside you.

Propping yourself up on your elbows on the lumpy mattress, you narrowed your eyes on the wall next to you. A sharp crack in the foundation of the concrete ran along the surface, ending in an impossibly small opening by the corner of the walls. A shuffling came through, this time followed by the sharp close of a door.

You leaned closer to the hole in the wall in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond it, but then the twist in your stomach sent a stabbing pain through you ribs and you let out a yelp, collapsing back down onto the mattress that provided no relief. You grumbled under your breath, frustrated with the state of your weakened body.

“Hello?” a voice called through the wall, male, American. Midwestern, maybe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you huffed, pressing your hand to your side to help alleviate the pain from where Cain had given a rather rough beating to your ribs the day before.

“Where-- Where are we?” the voice asked, trembling almost, and it surprised you.

“Not sure,” you replied truthfully, staring up at the ceiling. “Hydra base for sure. Location... Don’t have a clue. Nationalities of the soldiers seem to be all over the place so getting a sense of the country has been difficult. My best guess is western Asia, maybe Middle East. Couldn’t have been more than a few hours plane from where they took me in Russia.”

There was a long pause before the voice spoke.

“Sounds like you, uh, you know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

You shrugged, hulling yourself up to sit on the mattress with your back pressed to the wall. The crack wasn’t wide enough to get a good look at him but you could make out the blur of him sitting just a foot away from the shared wall, knees tucked to his chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of my job to know that kind of stuff,” you said, surprised when a breath of a laugh passed through you. When he didn’t reply, you took a deep breath. “So, what got you landed in this dump, anyway?”

“Oh-- I um, I was stationed in Iran with my unit and... it was so stupid, I wandered off base to help this guy whose car broke down,” he replied and you could hear him tap his head against the wall in frustration.

“Army?”

“First tour, actually,” he confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t even make it three weeks.”

He sounded young. Too young to be signing his life over to a military that would offer him no favors and leave him defenseless and traumatized when and if he eventually returned back to the states. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

“Listen kid,” you started, pressing your hand to the wall as if he could see you. “I’m with SHIELD and I guarantee there’s some pretty pissed off people looking for me. We’ll get you out of here, okay?”

“SHIELD? Shit, you must be pretty important,” he chuckled softly and it was nice to hear the fear slipping out of his voice.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied, though the smile fell from your face rather quickly. An image of Bucky on the other side of the glass barrier flashed behind your eyes, the panic, the desperation, the last words you saw on his lips as you were dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. “My team, they’re like my family. They’ll find me.”

“Sounds nice. My unit just rags on each other all day and I’m pretty sure my Sergeant straight up hates me.”

You laughed, listening to his stories from the base. Once he started talking, it was difficult to get him to stop, not that you much wanted to. It was a nice alternative to being alone with your thoughts, getting caught up in wondering what Bucky was doing or if he was losing himself again to the guilt and shame he worked so hard to overcome.

Over the next few hours, you learned the kid’s name was Danny and he grew up in some town in Indiana with a total of two gas stations and a single grocery store. He told you he thought joining the army was his shot to make something of himself when he dropped out of community college a year in and couldn’t find a decent paying job to make it work back home.

Danny was a sweet kid. Young. Naïve. The kind of person that would disobey orders to help a stranger start their car a mile off base, only to find out it was a trap set by Hydra agents.

The hours seemed to go by faster now that you had Danny. He only put the pieces together about who you really were when you gave him your first name.

“Y/n? Wait--” Danny paused, a soft shuffling as he repositioned himself on the other side of the wall. “As in Agent Y/n Y/L/n of the Avengers?”

You chuckled at that, a slight nod before you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy shit! How did you not lead with that!?” Danny shouted excitedly, though a muffled breath alerted you that he had clapped his hand to his mouth to keep his voice down. “You were all over the news before I got taken...”

“Oh--”

“So, the team you were talking about? Your family... is the Avengers?” Danny asked, seeking confirmation he didn’t quite need as he started to answer it all on his own. “That’s nuts! What’s it like working for Captain America? Or, or Iron Man? Is Tony Stark as cool as he seems?”

“Well first off, I don’t work for Rogers. I work with him,” you laughed, enjoying his amusement, “and Stark is a massive dork. Don’t believe the garbage in the papers about him. He’s a good guy and definitely way cooler than he seems.”

Danny asked you about a hundred different questions about what it was like working with the Avengers, about your friends, and how you came to be part of the team.

You wondered if he had chosen a different path, if maybe there were more opportunities presented to him, he would have done well as an Agent, or a technical analyst, or even doing crew work because he had the kind of excitement so many of the rookies were lacking these days.

Hours later, your stomach was starting growl, more so than it usually did, and it was getting close to your second visit of the day. You were laying down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, hand propped under your head as you did your best to get comfortable.

You told Danny of the schedule you had come to learn and warned him that they might try and hurt him for information he won’t know the answers to. That scared him a bit, but you promised you’d be here for him, that if he could just hold on a little while longer, you were certain Buc-- your team would get the two of you out of here soon.

***

You started keeping track of the days in scratched lines under the top right corner of the mattress. Nine marks in the concrete. Nine days you’d been held in captivity.

You kept your eyes closed long after you woke from your restless sleep, muscles aching from the lumps in the hard mattress and goosebumps littering your skin from the chill in the room. The dream you had had been a decent one, one absent of nightmares and horrors from your past or the fear of your impending future. No, this dream was about the first time you got Bucky to leave the compound and venture out into Brooklyn.

You decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars after some serious convincing and a few concessions to opt for his team over Steve’s in the next full team mission and to bring him back a cold pizza from a specific shop in Queens. Tony was always a bit of a negotiator and he took a quick liking to you after you joined the team a few years back. He had a hard time saying no to you.

Bucky was apprehensive the entire walk down the garage. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, navy blue bomber hiding the reflection of his left arm, and a baseball cap to shield his eyes. He was still in covert mode and you were determined to shake him of that. He didn’t need to be so guarded. He was an Avenger now, not a criminal, and he had every right to enjoy a day in the city as the next guy.

You told him so and he just waved you off with a shrug. He didn’t believe it just yet.

He stared at the red paint on Stark’s convertible as you jumped into the driver’s seat for a solid three minutes before he eventually opened the door and slumped into the seat next to you.

“There’s no turning back now, Barnes,” you grinned over at him as you roared the engine to life. It was an older model, vintage, and the engine had that kind of purr that reminded Bucky of cars from his youth. He let a smile slip before he could suppress it.

He had only been living at the compound for a few months and while he had started coming on those early runs with you and would only occasionally mumble a few things under his breath, he had still agreed to go with you into the city. It surprised you when he said yes right away. You thought you would have needed to threaten his coffee supply before he caved, though you didn’t complain.

You parked Tony’s car outside of the city limits at a train station that was largely unoccupied and purchased tickets to the heart of Brooklyn from the woman at the counter. Bucky stood a careful distance behind you, silently observing the few commuters standing by the platform from under the bridge of his cap.

“Hey,” you said softly, noticing the way he was suspiciously eyeing a man reading a newspaper on a bench by the tracks, taking a step further away, “you’re safe, Bucky. No one here is a threat.”

Without thinking, you ran your hand up his arm in hopes to ease his tension, but in that shiver that traces up his spine, he flinched away instantly, almost repulsively and he gritted his teeth, embarrassed at his own reaction. He hadn’t meant to, but he wasn’t used to touch like that. Soft. Gentle. Without cruel intent.

You quickly muttered an apology and stepped away from him, giving him a few feet of space. You didn’t notice the way he glanced back over at you, sad blue eyes wishing for you to try again, knowing if he had just been prepared for it, if he’d known it was coming from you, he'd lean into it. It would be welcomed, maybe. He hoped.

When the train rolled up at the platform, you ushered for Bucky to follow you inside. At the rear of the car, you spotted two open seats far away from the crowd, though you did warn him it would fill up before you made it to Brooklyn. Bucky nodded at that, though he still insisted on sitting in the aisle seat. Quickest escape. Easiest to protect you.

He did better on the train than you expected, even with the crowds and with the unpleasant memories of the fall, though you did have to stare daggers into a teenager who had set his sights on Bucky. Some cocky little prick who recognized the former winter soldier and was snickering something to his snide little friends. It was the last thing Bucky needed. So, you scooted just an inch closer to him and didn’t take your eyes off the kid the entire way to Brooklyn. If Bucky noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Once you got to your stop, Bucky had exhaled a heavy sigh of relief the moment he stepped out of the train. The sun was warm on your skin, even in shorts and a t-shirt, so you couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling under all those layers.

You tried to convince him to take the jacket off, but he just pressed out a thin smile and said, “I’m good, doll.”

It was the first time he called you one of those names, those terms of endearment he never seemed to give to anyone else, and it made your stomach twist. He said it so casually, just rolling off his tongue, and you wondered if he realized the effect it had.

You had your sights on bringing him to a bookstore that claimed to be around since the ‘20s, but the architecture seemed too recent and if you were honest, you wanted to prove to those gentrifying hipsters that you saw right through their round framed glasses, ankle pants, and expertly groomed facial hair. Regardless, you needed to get Bucky caught up on the literary masterpieces he missed in the last few decades.

Bucky kept a careful stride by your side, though you noticed he swerved out of the way of on-comers despite being much larger of anyone he encountered. It was endearing almost, and though you knew he was nervous, he still came with you anyway. It made you smile.

“Oh! Bucky, there it is!” you yelped, pointing to the bookshop across the street. You grabbed his left hand from his jacket pocket without thinking much of it and dragged him across the street.

He jogged behind you, trying to keep up as you pushed through a sea of pedestrians, and you didn’t let go of his hand even as you stepped into the cool air conditioning of the bookshop.

“This wasn’t here in the forties, was it?” you prodded from Bucky, eyes catching on the hipster you often found yourself feuding with. The owner, characteristically wearing suspenders he clearly didn’t need, rolled his eyes.

Bucky cleared his throat and you narrowed your eyes on him, confused, until he glanced down between you to your hands, still wrapped together with yours clutching solid metal. Your eyes widened and you stepped away from him, dropping his hand in an instant.

“Shit, I’m-- I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you apologized nervously, scratching at the back of your neck. “I don’t always think when I get excited and-- I’m sorry I should have paid more attention. I know you don’t like it when people touch--”

“It’s okay,” Bucky replied sincerely, cutting you off with the sweet, kind smile you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

He glanced around the bookshop, stepping further inside, and to your surprise, he removed his hat. The hairs at the nape of his neck were damp with sweat and while you knew there wasn’t a chance he’d go as far to remove his jacket, it was a step. He raked his fingers through his hair to put shape back to it.

“I don’t know for sure, but I definitely don’t recognize this place,” Bucky offered and before he could tell you that he almost swore there used to be a tailor in this spot, you had already started gloating to the thirty-something-year-old owner.

By the time you turned around again, Bucky was chuckling under his breath and it made something swell behind your chest.

Now, lying in the cold, dimly lit cell at a Hydra facility, you kept that image of Bucky as long as you could. Not daring to open your eyes in fear of losing the picture of the crinkles up by his eyes, the incredibly kind blue of his irises, the freckles under the thin layer of scruff on his cheeks and the wonder with which he carried as you explored the rest of Brooklyn together.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold back the well of tears when suddenly, the sharp clicks of your door began to unlock.

“Y/n...?” Danny’s voice called for you nervously, recognizing the sound himself.

“Don’t let them know you can hear what goes on, okay?” you said quickly, watching the door for when it opens. “No matter what happens, I’ll be fine, you hear me? Just don’t let them know. They’ll move one of us if they do.”

Danny didn’t have time to reply before the door to your room slammed open with a sharp bang! and Cain strolled inside, pushing his sleeves up his arms. His eyes settled on you as two of his men rushed towards you, grabbing a tight hold of your arms and yanking you to your feet. They shoved you into the chair deadbolted to the center of the room and locked your wrists into the metal cuffs.

“It’s going to be a good day, Y/n,” Cain smirked, leaning over you and running his fingers down the side of your face. You stretched your neck away from him, revolted by his touch. Cain only snickered, unbothered, as he straightened his back.

“Yeah?” you grumbled. “Why’s that?”

“Because today is the day you’re going to tell me about what our... mutual friend,” Cain sneered and the men behind him started to laugh. You narrowed your eyes, a dread forming in your stomach, as Cain cracked his knuckles. “How’s the asset adjusting to the ivory tower? He still twitchy if he hears a certain set of words?”

You clenched your jaw tight enough to draw blood from the bite of your cheek. Face as stoic as you could manage, you didn’t dare meet Cain’s eye. Even hearing Bucky referred to as ‘the asset’ set a rage firing in your stomach.

“Touchy subject?” Cain taunted and he threw a nauseating smirk at the soldiers behind him, all too amused by your attempts to ignore him. “Tell me, what exactly is your relationship to the soldier? Can’t imagine he actually has feelings under all that mush in his brain. I do have to be honest, though. I am exceptionally curious... can he even get it up?”

You let a heavy breath exhale through your nose as you kept you stare at the door. You jaw ached from how tight to was clamped down. He snickered with the guards behind him and your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

“Listen princess,” Cain started, pacing back and forth along the small room, “we can go through this day by day and I can keep torturing you, but when is it going to end? Huh? It ends with you telling me what I want to know. And I want to know about that insufferable, botched experiment of a traitor!”

Cain’s fist hit the side of your face before you could quite prepare for it. It stung, burned, and you met his eye as you spat blood onto the floor.

He groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “Did that... teenager in Wakanda get the trigger words out of the asset's head or not?”

“His name is Bucky, you piece of shit,” you growled and a flash of shock flash over Cain’s face, only to be replaced by an unsettling rage as his upper lip began to twitch, a heat in his face built entirely from fury.

He held his hand out behind him and one of the soldiers placed a brass ring in the center of his palm. You took in a steady breath, heart pounding, and in a fruitless attempt to prepare yourself. Cain slipped the ring onto his fingers, admiring it as it reflected in the dim lighting.

“One last time before this gets ugly. Have your docs cleared the trigger words from the asset’s head? Answer me, bitch, or you’ll regret it.”

“Fuck. You,” you spat, your hands curling into the arm rests, ready for what came next. He was a fool if he thought you’d turn on Bucky before you turned on SHIELD. You’d give up everything before you gave up Bucky.

It didn’t matter why they needed to know if Shuri had been successful in clearing the trigger words from his mind. You weren’t telling them shit, even if the words had been removed years ago. Bucky was free from these assholes and it wasn’t information they should even had the privilege of knowing.

Then, in one swift movement, Cain’s hand curled into a fist and he let out a ragged shout as the brass metal of the ring came in contact with the side of your face. A sharp crack! sounded through the room and your vision began to double. Cain swayed in front of you, two of him, four of the men behind him, and he shook the blood from his knuckles.

You struggled to keep your head up, eyes falling heavy as the menacing sound of his laugh echoed through the room. The last thing you saw was his hand raising up again, ready to strike, before darkness consumed you.

***

“Y/n?”

You groaned, rolling over onto your back and your cheek stung as your skin pealed from the concrete. Dried blood caked against the ground as you struggled to push yourself up. You didn’t know how you ended up on the floor or when they had released you from the chair, but the splitting ache in your head was enough to know you’d been knocked out cold.

“Come on, Y/n, wake up... you better still be alive over there...”

“M’alive,” you muttered out, using most of your energy to do so. Your arms collapsed beneath you and the concrete was cool on your skin.

“You sure?” Danny called nervously. “It didn’t sound good over there... What do they want with the Winter Soldier anyway?”

“Bucky,” you choked out as you crawled to the mattress in the corner of the room.

“What?”

“His name is Bucky,” you repeated, determined for at least one other person in this hell hole to know Bucky as the man you did, not just as the weapon Hydra designed him to be.

Danny paused and you could vaguely hear him scratching at his head. “Right, of course. Sorry. Do you think they’ll go after Bucky, too?”

You sighed, a slight swell of relief as you curled up onto the mattress, resting your head against the thin layer of cushion, thought it was stiff and prodded you with metal springs.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you admitted, eyes falling heavy again. “If they want to know about the trigger words, they’re probably looking to activate the soldier again or... I don’t know...” your eyes closed, head starting to feel dizzy again and you struggled to talk, “...make new ones or... restart... restart the program with someone else... make it so they can’t take the words out of... of...”

Danny cursed under his breath and you didn’t hear him call your name again, lost again to the cold embrace of your mind.

***

Fourteen marks hidden under your mattress and it had been two weeks since you’d been taken hostage. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t questioning whether the team would ever find you. You held onto that image of Bucky, the one of him from your day in Brooklyn with the smile that etched up into his eyes, because it was the only thing keeping you from giving in to the hopelessness Cain worked so hard to instill in you.

“You doing okay, kid?” you asked through the wall after Danny groaned for the third time in as many minutes.

Turned out, Hydra had a use for the young soldier because they started to take him from his cell mid-way between the two visits they paid to your room. Danny was quiet about what they did when he was taken away. All he’d tell you was that they beat him and asked a few questions he didn’t know the answers to. You left it alone.

“Yeah,” Danny sighed, mattress squeaking as he turned over. “Better than you seem to be.”

Cain had grown increasingly frustrated with you and your refusal to give him any information on the team or on Bucky. He broke your nose the day prior and had yet to allow the doctor on site to attend to the infected open wound on your cheekbone from the brass ring. It oozed and smelled and ached like nothing else, like it had a pulse all its own.

Not only that, but Cain had decided to withhold your meals for the last three days as punishment for when you spat on his face after he taunted you about Bucky’s history as the soldier, how they had conditioned him and broke him. Despite the three punches to your gut that followed, it had been worth it. At least, until you started to feel so weak you could hardly hold your head up.

“I told you, Danny, I’m a survivor. It’s what I’m trained for,” you replied, leaning against the wall to get some relief from the fever flushing your skin.

“Yeah, but--”

The clicks echoed through your room and Danny silenced immediately. You closed your eyes, a heavy exhale in your lungs as you prepared for the devil to walk through. Cain stepped in through the frame with two lackies behind him. Only bothering to watch from the corner of your eye as you kept yourself slumped against the wall, too tired and too feverish to even produce the effort to glare at him.

“Come on, princess, we’ve got a show to do,” Cain sneered, his hand snaking around your forearm painfully tight and he yanked you to your feet. Your knees buckled under you and Cain let out a frustrated groan and tossed you into the arms of one of his men. “Get her to the holding room.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in a thick Australian accent. His grip was no kinder as he hulled you through the door.

As they dragged you through the hallways, you tried to memorize the layout of the building, but were met with too much stimulation, blinding white lights, chatter of the agents, and an influx of various sounds you hadn’t been exposed to in weeks and it was all too much. You clamped your eyes shut and the dizziness in your head kept you from following his pattern through the halls.

Then, you were thrown to the ground, cold concrete under your body and a sigh of relief was only short lived before you were yanked up again, shoved into a chair and wrists locked to the arm rests.

You licked at the split on your lip, seeking moisture to alleviate the dryness there, only for it to burn. You winced, trying to find your strength as you watched Cain pace around the room. It was then you noticed the camera standing upon a tripod just a few feet from you. You swallowed back the bile in your throat at the steady realization of what they were going to attempt.

A woman walked into the room; someone Cain must have been waiting for because he stopped pacing the moment she stepped through the frame. Blonde hair tied up away from her face and dressed in jeans and a black, long sleeve t-shirt; she made her way to the camera, standing behind it and adjusting the specs.

“Listen up, princess,” Cain growled, grabbing a tight hold of your chin and forcing you to look in his direction. “You’re going to read from the cue cards and that’s it, do you hear me? No cute little quips or secret messages, because we’ll just start over and you won’t like what happens when we do.”

Cain’s grip grew tighter and you couldn’t stop the whimper the came out. Cain smirked at that, releasing you and your jaw ached even as he stepped away. He moved to stand behind the blonde woman he addressed as ‘Moira’ and nodded for one of his henchmen to hold the card up.

The red light appeared on the side of the camera, blinking. You stared at it for a moment, the thought occurring to you that your friends would see this, Bucky would see this, and you didn’t want to imagine the look on their faces when they did. If anything, it gave them proof you were still alive. You knew the SHIELD protocol was to presume an agent dead after ten days missing behind enemy lines. It was an efficient system, a largely accurate one. Hydra didn’t usually keep their prisoners alive for this long.

“Read,” Cain seethed from behind the camera and you thought of Bucky, of Nat, of Steve, Tony, Sam, everyone back at the compound and you wondered what they would do, if they would give in to these demands so easily.

So, with a defiance, you looked straight into the camera and spat, “Fuck Hydra.”

It was a mistake.

Cain rushed at you, unclipped your restraints and slammed you so hard against the wall, you were certain your head cracked. Vision blurring as his hand wrapped around your neck, spitting words into your ear you couldn’t quite hear as his fingers dug into your jugular. You scratched at him, nails too frail to make any bit of difference, and you struggled to breathe.

Gasping for breaths, kicking the air beneath you and Cain pushed you higher up the wall, and an immeasurable pressure built in your lungs, in your head, and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Enough, Cain! I need her to actually be able to speak for this to be effective,” Moira groaned and Cain released his grip on you. You slumped down to the floor, barely able to catch your breath. “I’ll just keep rolling. Get her in the chair and we’ll go again.”

This time, it was Cain’s men that strapped you down to the chair, masks covering their faces for the sake of the camera. You stared at the blinking red light, then to the center of the lens, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky, would be on the other side watching this soon enough. You didn’t dare wonder how he’d react.

For a brief moment, unsure, your eyes flicked to Cain. Without much of a warning, his fist barreled against your jaw, just for the hesitation, and you spit a glob of blood off the side of the chair.

It took every ounce of energy you had to glare in his direction, though when Cain’s hand curled back into a fist and his upper lip twitched at you, you dropped your gaze.

Then, looking back to the cue cards placed just under the camera’s lens, you read, “My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n. I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

Your voice was raspy, broken, from Cain’s grip on your neck.

Moira grabbed a newspaper from the floor and put it in front of the camera, focusing on the date. Then, she tossed it aside. You swallowed back the excess blood in your throat. You glanced down at the cue cards, narrowing your eyes upon the words. Your heart dropped.

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw as you turned to Cain. “I’m not reading that.”

Another hit to your jaw and blood splattered from your lips. A heavy pant in your lungs and a blinding pulse in your head, you turned back to the camera. There was no fighting this. Your body couldn’t take any more. You straightened your back, hardening your features so it was clear, without a doubt, that these words were not your own.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant. “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eye flashing at Cain before your turned back to the camera and thought of Bucky. You knew he’d take your words to heart, that he’d latch onto any excuse to blame himself for this, and you spoke the words anyway, even if you hated yourself for it. “They can’t even protect their own.”

The cue cards fell to the ground and Cain nodded, pleased as you bit down on your tongue to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“You will hear from us again,” Cain announced off camera and you couldn’t stop the look of blatant detest as you glared at him.

Moira moved to turn off the camera and your breath hitched. It was your last connection to Bucky, to your family. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lens, imagining that it was Bucky you were staring at; deep blue ocean eyes and a kind smile that warmed a sense of relief in your chest.

Then, the red dot vanished and he was lost to you.

ok fam if you thought this was tough... just you wait

feedback is always appreciated 💖

tags 🎥 @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @sweetheartbarnes

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty One

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

November 21st, 1987

“There, you see, Emile? It’s as easy as that,” his dad said, helping Emile stir the noodles in the pot.

“And when this is done we’ll have mac and cheese?” Emile looked up at his dad.

With a smile, his dad nodded. “We’ll have dinner, and we’ll have spent time together. And both of those things are extremely important, and good for the soul.”

Emile nodded sagely. He didn’t always understand what his dad was saying, but in this case it seemed really, really important. He hoped that one day soon, he would understand what “good for the soul” meant.

May 26th, 2001

Remy was laughing with Emile’s dad, and Emile was watching them both fondly. He was really glad that Remy had jumped on the chance to cook. He definitely knew how to slice and dice, and Emile was impressed. Now whether he could cook the things he was cutting up was another story entirely. “You don’t think we have stuff to make half a dozen cupcakes, do you?” Remy asked.

“We might, why do you ask?” Dad replied.

“Well...we kinda forgot to celebrate Emile’s birthday due to an...unfortunate situation up in town.”

“A...situation?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, we had so much of a situation we accidentally forgot about Emile’s birthday and didn’t get to celebrate,” Remy said sheepishly. “And then it came time to pay rent and we just...never celebrated. But I really want to fix that.”

Dad nodded. “We’ll be making cupcakes then,” he said simply.

“That’s...that’s really not necessary, Dad, we don’t have to celebrate,” Emile said.

“Of course we do, you’ve turned twenty! That’s plenty of cause to celebrate!” his dad declared. “Two whole decades on this planet!”

“You turned twenty? Not nineteen?” Remy asked.

“I was held back in kindergarten,” Emile waved off. “I hadn’t yet learned to read, believe it or not.”

“You didn’t know how to read when you were five?” Remy asked skeptically. “You?”

Emile shrugged. “Took until I was six for everything to click properly. Once I figured it out, I was quickly moving to the top of my class.”

“Ah,” Remy said. “You would have an origin story like that.”

Emile frowned. He had no clue what that was supposed to mean. “What?”

“Just...your brain seems to operate like a supercomputer, sometimes. You went from knowing virtually nothing to knowing virtually everything you asked about within the span of a year. You would. Because this is you we’re talking about, and you’re nothing if not extraordinary.”

“That’s gay, Rem,” Emile said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“We’re gay, Emile,” Remy pointed out.

“You’re gay. I’m bisexual,” Emile teased.

Remy rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Emile laughed, heart warming. He loved having little domestic moments with Remy, it made him think that they could stay together forever. He moved closer and kissed Remy’s cheek, and Remy turned red. “Stop!” he said, playfully swatting Emile’s arm. “That’s not playing fair!”

“Who said I intended to play fair?” Emile asked with a wink.

“If you’re not playing fair, you can leave the kitchen,” Remy said. “Because I need to focus on cooking.”

“Okay, boys, one of you grab a pot and fill it up with water, will you?” Dad asked.

Emile went to grab a pot, and Remy looked at the bowl they were using to mix ingredients for their meatballs with a frown. “The meatballs are missing something,” he mused.

“We added everything in the recipe,” Dad said.

“No, no, I know that,” Remy said. “But that won’t give the meatballs an extra kick in the tastebuds. It needs something else.” Remy stared at the bowl intently before saying, “Olive oil. Do you have any olive oil? I think we’ll only need like, two tablespoons.”

Dad silently passed Remy the bottle of olive oil and Remy poured in what looked to be about two tablespoons, mixing it into the meat in the bowl. Emile watched curiously. “You know, if this goes wrong, all the blame for the food tasting weird is going to land on your shoulders. Jokingly, of course, but still.”

“It won’t go wrong,” Remy said. “Let’s get these suckers in the oven and start cooking the rice.”

Emile pulled out a cookie sheet they would use to bake the meatballs on and watched in fascination as Remy near-expertly rolled the meatballs in seconds, putting them on the tray just so. Dad whistled. “You never told me your boyfriend knew his way around the kitchen, Emile.”

Remy was grinning as he worked. Emile said, “Dad, he only eats granola and instant ramen at home. I didn’t even know he knew how to cook.”

“Never judge a book by its cover, Emile. I would have thought you lived by that philosophy,” Remy teased.

Emile rolled his eyes. “I never said you couldn’t cook. Cooking wasn’t brought up between us until the day you agreed to come home with me.”

“You doubted me a little,” Remy said, squinting at Emile. “You were skeptical.”

“So I was wrong, what’s the big deal?” Emile asked.

“Nothing much, I’m just happy to know you’re not perfect,” Remy said. “Lowers the bar for my expected performance just a bit.”

“You know, no one expects you to be perfect, Rem,” Emile said.

Remy scowled. “My parents do.”

“No one who matters, then,” Emile said before he could stop himself.

Remy froze and rounded on Emile, hands coated in flour still as he crossed his arms. “Are you saying my parents don’t matter?”

“Are you saying that you still want to meet their standards after they made it very clear that they’d rather have you dead than happy?” Emile asked.

Dad choked and Emile winced. “That...I would say it’s not as bad as it sounds, Dad, but I’d be lying,” Emile sighed.

“Hey, my parents may be a little controlling, but they’ll come around,” Remy said. “Once I make it clear that this makes me happy, they’ll see that I can handle myself, and they’ll be glad I’m happy.”

Emile knew that wasn’t true. In all his twenty years of existence, people who he had met that were like Remy’s parents didn’t rest until they saw you as perfect, by their standards and not anyone else’s. Emile would treat them civilly, and with respect, but to him, their opinions meant jack. Clearly, though, Remy was clinging to the hope that his parents might come around.

Emile didn’t want to dash those hopes, but he also didn’t want Remy to be let down when his parents failed him again. And they would fail him again if they didn’t get their act together. Emile doubted they would even make an attempt to fix the rift they had created. To them, everything was fine and Remy was the problem child. He didn’t know how to respond. “If you say so,” Emile said.

“You don’t believe me,” Remy huffed.

“No, I don’t,” Emile admitted. “But there is always a chance, and if you want to hold onto that infinitesimal chance, then I can’t exactly stop you.”

“Infinitesimal,” Remy repeated. “You really think...you haven’t even met my parents properly!”

“I met your mother at the police station after they put you in holding,” Emile said. “And I was not a fan.”

“I take it this is the ‘incident’ in question?” Dad asked.

“Unfortunately,” Emile said. “Remy’s mother claimed he was a runaway staying at our apartment so that she could drag him back to his parents’ house and they could continue to dictate his life.”

“You’re making it out to be way worse than it was!” Remy protested.

“You were put in a holding cell, Rem!” Emile snapped back.

“Boys, please,” Dad cut in. “Clearly, this is a touchy subject for both of you. Take a step back and regroup before you try and resolve this, okay? Shouting at each other will get you nowhere.”

Emile huffed and Remy just silently turned back to the meatballs. Dad looked at Emile and arched an eyebrow, decidedly unimpressed with Emile’s behavior, and Emile wanted to hide his face in a sweater, or else just go to his room until he cooled off. But he couldn’t leave Remy alone, so Emile scowled back at him. Dad didn’t know the context of the situation, he couldn’t understand what the big deal was!

Dad just gave him that level, thousand-yard stare back. Emile hadn’t been on the receiving end of that one for a long time. It was usually his last warning before he got a talking-to. Inwardly, he scoffed. A talking-to. Like he didn’t know Remy better than his dad or even his mom did. They had known Remy all of two hours. Emile pat Remy’s shoulder twice and left the room. He was not having this discussion. It just wasn’t worth it. He didn’t want to explain why he was so angry, especially considering that he would have to go into Remy’s family life, and Remy didn’t like anyone doing that.

Emile stalked all the way to his room, and flopped down on his bed. He really wasn’t up for this as much as he thought he was. Maybe coming here for the weekend was a bad idea.

He stared at the ceiling for an indeterminable amount of time before there was a knock on his bedroom door. He flipped over onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow. “Not now, Mom.”

“Emile, you haven’t stormed out of any room since you were fourteen years old. Something is wrong, and I know you’ll feel better if you talk about it sooner rather than later,” Mom said.

“No,” Emile repeated, burying his head in his pillow further.

His mom tutted. “You know, you’re acting an awful lot like how you described Remy in the beginning of your relationship,” she said neutrally.

Emile pushed himself off the bed, pacing and running his hands through his hair. “Yeah? Well I understand where he was coming from, now, so maybe it’s normal to act like that after meeting his fu—”

“—Think carefully before you finish that sentence,” his mom warned.

“He’s clinging to a hope that’s completely unrealistic! I’ve met people like his parents before, and all they want is for you to meet their expectations, no matter how impossible it is to reach them! He’s setting himself up for failure, and I don’t want to see him get hurt!” Emile growled.

“Then tell him where you’re coming from,” his mom said.

Emile laughed incredulously. “Don’t you think I would have already tried that?! He’s completely closed off to feedback!”

“Yeah, well, given your delivery of this little rant, it’s a small wonder he listens to you at all,” his mom said. “You’re not exactly being gentle.”

Emile scoffed. “Every time I try to be gentle, he shuts me down! He hates sugarcoating, but he also won’t listen at all when it comes to those two idiots he has the misfortune to call his parents!”

His mom stepped in front of Emile, and forced him to stay still. She gazed up into his eyes and smiled softly. “Emile, you can’t save everyone. Not everyone wants to be saved. And you have a long way to go before you know almost everything about helping people through past trauma. Have you ever considered that, maybe, he doesn’t like sugarcoating because he feels lied to? Furthermore, maybe his parents are a sensitive topic, one of the few where no matter what you do, you have to be gentle. Sugarcoating might not be the way to go, but you can’t just storm in and expect him to listen to you, especially when you’re acting the way you are right now.”

“Why can’t he understand that wanting them to be there is hurting him? He’s the reason he’s setting himself up for disappointment. And if they don’t change and he lets them back in his life, he’s going to get hurt worse,” Emile said.

His mom gave him a hug. “Honey, you can’t save everyone. No one expects you to. And if Remy wants to believe his parents can change, let him for now. It means he isn’t ready to accept your view on the matter yet.”

“What if he’s never ready?” Emile asked. “What if he continuously tries to convince himself his parents will change their mind?”

“Then you let him believe that, honey,” his mom said. “And if you can’t stand to watch him get hurt, then you walk away.”

Emile swallowed, but nodded. He didn’t like that prospect, but he knew that his mom was right. If watching Remy get hurt was going to hurt Emile, then clearly he couldn’t stick around forever watching Remy get worse and worse, over and over.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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littlekatleaf · 3 years

Text

My heart as spent as ashes (Part One)

I couldn't very well leave Junkrat and Roadhog that way, so here I go again - this is a companion piece to Buried in a burning flame and you’ll want to read that first, if you haven’t.

Confutatis maledictis (When the accursed have been condemned) Flammis acribus addictis (And doomed to the searing flames) Voca me cum benedictis (Summon me with the saved.) Oro supplex et acclinis, (Supplicant and prostrate, I entreat you) Cor contritum quasi cinis (My heart as spent as ashes,) Gere curam Mei finis (Have care for my fate.) ~ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Requiem Mass in D Minor

Would you please sit down, you’re making me nervous,” Lena said, equal parts joking and sharp.

“Sorry.” Roadhog forced himself to sit. He didn’t want to, he wanted to keep moving. It was the only thing that gave him some measure of relief. As if he deserved relief. He’d already tried to listen to music, tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate on any of it. His gaze would skim over the words, but all he’d see were Junkrat’s eyes burning fever bright in his too pale face. The music would pound at his ears, but all he’d hear was Junkrat asking again and again, ‘what are we?’ And his own answer, designed to crush, to wound, to keep Junkat from following him, from finding out what he’d done. But if he moved, if he paced, he could outrun his own horrible fucking decision.

Lena glanced at him, then back out the window of the Orca, made a minute adjustment to one of the dials in front of her. “Not bringing Junkrat with you back to Australia?”

“No.” Maybe if he kept his answers monosyllabic she’d take the hint.

“Hmm.” Looked at him, away again. Somehow, even in the darting glances it felt like she saw more than he’d like. “You guys have a fight?”

Fuck. “No.”

She raised a brow. “Alright, Roadie. You blew your cover over the past couple days. You are more than capable of conversation.”

The nickname surprised him. No one, other than Junkrat, called him Roadie. It felt like a punch to the gut. Should have been Rat here with him. Should have been them together against everything and everyone else. “Don’t,” he ground out.

“What?”

“Call me that.”

She swiveled the chair suddenly to face him full on, and even though she was tiny, there was steel in her. He saw, then, why Morrison made her his second despite her age. She wasn’t one to be easily intimidated. “All right, Roadhog. Clearly something’s going on. I know you don’t need me to explain why secrets are dangerous in this line of work. Hana’s opinion notwithstanding, I’m not about to pry into your relationship with Junkrat.” She waved off whatever comment he might have been about to make before he’d barely drawn breath. “But Jack doesn’t send agents out solo. Ever.” “Not an agent.”

“Now you’re splitting hairs.” She sighed. “I know not all of us were exactly subtle with our hesitation about bringing you two aboard. Some of Jack’s rolls of the dice turn out better than others, and I’ll admit to being one of the reluctant ones.”

That was surprising - unlike Torbjörn and Satya who, while not as sharp with him as they were with Junkrat, had been distant and Mei was downright rude a time or two, Lena’d always acted friendly enough. “We are an acquired taste,” he said wryly. Couldn’t exactly take it personal. Neither he nor the Rat were the usual brand of hero. Or, any hero at all. They’d gotten on somewhat better with McCree, who also inhabited the grayer area.

Lena snorted a laugh. “I eat Hana’s soondae. I like unusual flavors.” She sobered again. “What I’m trying to say, however badly, is that you and Junkrat have both proven yourselves over and over again, and I wish that I’d proven myself to you as well.”

Roadhog frowned, even though he knew she couldn’t see it behind the mask. He was still trying to process when she continued. “Look, I can’t come with you right now - the others are going to need a way back to the Watchpoint, and I’ll need to get Emily home… but after that, tell me where you’ll be and I can meet you. I won’t be more than a day behind, day and a half at the absolute outside. Whatever you’re going to do, let me help. Or at least have your back, since Junkrat won’t be there. You can trust me, Roadhog.”

His first inclination was to say no. Finding the hard drive should be easy enough, couldn’t imagine anyone else would be anywhere nearby considering how deep in the Outback Rat’s hidey hole was. But he knew how fast rumors traveled, and the Queen had her henchmen spread out well beyond Junkertown. He’d been gone long enough to not recognize them all anymore. Or have dirt on them to keep them blind, deaf, and mute. Might be prudent to have someone at his back, in case. And even though she didn’t know it, Roadhog realized, somewhat to his own surprise, he did trust Lena.

They’d fought side by side often enough, against Null Sector, against Talon, and she was quick on her feet and sharp. Had a good head for logistics and cool under pressure. She was young, but seasoned. And she’d made Rat soup. It counted for more than he’d like to admit.

“Don’t necessarily know what I’d be getting you into,” he said slowly, watching her reaction.

She shrugged. “Not fussed. You don’t have to face it alone, whatever it is.”

He still wanted to say no, to retreat into his solitude and silence. But he found himself nodding instead. “I’ll meet you at Bobby’s, on the outskirts of Junkertown. Bit of a shit pub and you don’t want to order any food if you value your stomach, but Bobby’s a good bloke. Known him since… for a long time. If I’m not there, he’ll know how to get word to me.”

Lena nodded once, then turned back to the controls. She didn’t ask anything more about what the mission was, and he appreciated that. Didn’t try to make small talk, and he appreciated that more. Didn’t ask anything further about Junkrat, and he appreciated that most of all.

But it didn’t mean his thoughts were occupied with anything else. No matter how he tried to focus on a plan (Have to see if the bike was still hidden out in Bobby’s garage, otherwise the trip into the Outback was going to be a good sight more complex. Have to gather some provisions. Consider where he might be able to access whatever data was on the hard drive before Morrison got a look at it. Preferably without Lena watching.) most of his thoughts circled on Rat.

50/50 of everything. Treasure’s here. Didn’t need to see the note anymore even to remember the coordinates. Junkrat’s blocky letters were engraved on his mind. Why did you have to scavenge the fucking Omnium? Completely irradiated ruins, what could possibly go wrong? Couldn’t leave well enough alone? Never could, he sighed inwardly. Leaving anything alone once his interest was snagged wasn’t in Junkrat’s repertoire. Like his namesake that way. Got them into more than one messy situation, but also got them some good hauls.

Once in a while it got them something amazing - like the fireworks display. He didn’t have the first clue how Junkrat’d made them with such intricate results. The constellations had been perfect, spread across the sky like home. How many nights had they lay side by side, gazing at the stars in comfortable silence? Well, silence on his part. Rat was always chattering about something, but never seemed to mind Roadhog’s reticence. Now the silence pressed in on him.

Jesus, was he really going to go through with this? Walk away from Rat completely? Leave him behind? His boot heels clanked dully on the floor as he crossed the room. The fear that had squeezed his chest when Junkrat brought up the treasure rose in his throat again. The absolute panic that Junkrat would find out that it was all his fucking fault had dropped a fog over his mind. It swirled with Hana’s insistent teasing and Junkrat’s pointed questions about their relationship. Never needed to make it anything one way or another until Hana started asking but then Rat’s attention had been caught. He asked, asked again, tossing the questions like grenades, unconcerned about the possible fallout. Roadhog’d felt trapped, claustrophobic, desperate, and suddenly all the awful shit was spouting out of his mouth and Junkrat just sat there and took it, with only a minor show of self-defense. Behind that anger, Roadhog had seen the hurt, the betrayal and it twisted his gut.

Stop, he told himself. Turned that shit off before, could do it again. Be Roadhog, not Roadie. Certainly not Mako. Never Mako.

“For fuck’s sake, Roadhog, if you can’t relax, would you at least make yourself useful and brew some tea? I could use the caffeine.” Lena was glaring at him with exasperation.

“Right,” he said. Something to occupy his hands. His thoughts for a few minutes. As the kettle whistled he thought he heard Lena talking with someone, but he couldn’t make out what they said. He poured the water over the tea leaves - proper tea, not like the bagged crap; probably Mei’s doing. Waited the right amount of time for the leaves to steep, watching the steam curl over the mugs. Fragrant, lightly floral and a hint of bergamot. Could practically taste it, just from the scent. Knew the tannins would be perfectly balanced. It wouldn’t slap him with bitterness like every single cup in Junkertown. Whoever Lena was talking to likely had nothing to do with Junkrat. No need for his heart to be hammering in his throat.

He removed the leaves and mixed in a touch of honey. The sweet would highlight the brightness of the citrus without being overpowering. Not like when Rat made it - got a sugar rush along with the caffeine high. Incorrigible sweet-tooth.

“Thanks,” Lena said when he handed her a mug, and she sipped with a grateful smile. “Better?”

He nodded. It was true, as far as it went.

“Lucio just called.” She took another sip.

Roadhog tried to keep his breathing steady, ignore the sudden skip of his heart. Didn’t ask. Waited.

“Jack made Junkrat an offer. Be all in with us, or take his chances with the law. Apparently Junkrat picked the coppers.”

Roadhog swallowed his tea carefully, said nothing. His stomach churned.

“Lucio said he’s not allowed to go anywhere until he gets over the virus, which buys him some time.”

She stopped again, maybe waiting for him to say something. But what could he say? Things were spiralling out of control and it felt like everything he did only made it worse. At least if Junkrat was in jail, Roadhog could retrieve the hard drive without interruption and destroy any potentially incriminating evidence. Then maybe he could rescue Rat. Breaking him out wouldn’t be impossible, hell - they’d done it before. Even if he’d fucked things between them all to hell, breaking him out would balance the scales somewhat. Hopefully. Maybe. He nodded at Lena and took another drink of tea. It was bitter on his tongue.

She gazed at him for a long, long minute, then turned back to the controls without pressing further. Somehow it still felt like she was watching him.

He drank, and tried not to notice the oily nausea that sat in his stomach, or any of the concerns clamoring for attention behind the firmly closed door of his thoughts. He’d make this work.

Junkrat closed the comm connection and leaned his head against the wall for just a minute - how could he be this bloody knackered already - when a voice behind him made him startle and turn.

“I’m sure I didn’t hear that right,” Hana said.

“Hooly dooley, ya sneak up on a bloke.” Tried to plaster an approximation of a grin on his face. Suspected it didn’t work when it wasn’t returned. “I don’t sneak. You just couldn’t hear me because you were too busy telling Mr. By The Book that you wanted to turn yourself in to get away from us.”

Rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat. “Uh, ain’t what I meant, really.”

“Really,” Hana echoed. “Could’ve fooled me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and actually glared at him. Felt a little like being menaced by a bunny, unexpected and more disturbing for it.

Junkrat sighed. “Ain’t personal, love. Finally realized I ain’t cut out for the hero thing, an’ Morrison agrees. According to The Rules, can’t just let me go wandering off into the sunset after all the shit I done. So it’s off to the cop shop for me.”

“That’s gotta be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say some outrageous stuff.”

“Cheers.” Irritation rose in response. “Does fuckin’ everyone think I’m a fuckwit?” Haven’t you learned not to ask questions you don’t want answered?

“Maybe not everyone. Lucio, what do you think,” Hana demanded, grabbing his arm as he went to walk by.

Lucio eyed them warily, like he might be drawn into a trap. “About what?”

“Not up for a vote.” Knew he wasn’t going to be able to just sneak away without anyone commenting, especially with everyone on top of each other in the little cabin, but he’d hoped for a bit more time to figure a cover story.

“Junkrat,” Hana stabbed him with her glare again, “wants to get away from us so bad he’s choosing jail over us.”

“Wait, what?” Lucio’s expression was almost comically surprised. “What is she talking about?”

Junkrat pinched the bridge of his nose. His calm felt brittle, like a thin sheet of ice over a deep lake. If it cracked he’d fall through… “Just tellin’ her I ain’t a hero. So… did the crimes gotta do the time is all.”

“And I told him that’s the stupidest idea in a long line of bad ideas. Now you tell him I’m right and he’s a moron!”

“I’m not sure calling him that helps,” Lucio said.

“An idiot, then. I always thought Roadhog was just a grump when said it, but I’m starting to understand.”

Could practically feel the blood draining from his face; mention of Roadhog made everything feel worse. Bared his teeth in a grin. “With friends like this, it’s a wonder why I’d wanna leave.”

“Woah woah woah.” Lucio held up his hands. “Hold on. We’re all getting a little testy. Junkrat, you look like you’re about to fall over. You’re not going anywhere until you’re better.” He looked from one to the other. Hana still bristled. “Come on, I’ll make us tea and we can talk this through.”

“Not really in the mood for a drink,” he tried. Even less in the mood for any convo. Mostly wished he could just hide in the bedroom until Lena came back.

“I’ll leave the turpentine out this time.” Lucio gently, but firmly, guided both of them into the kitchen where he put the kettle on to boil. Hana rummaged through the cabinets for the tea and clean mugs.

Junkrat hesitated, perched on the edge of the window seat, half wanting to escape and half wanting the soothing warmth of a hot drink. The wind rattled the window in its frame, the bare branches of an oak tapped against the glass. Clouds scuttled across the sky, a swirl of snow floated down. A chill crept up his spine and he shivered, smothering a set of sneezes into his elbow.

Hana, turning back with a plate of biscuits shaped like stars and candy canes and snow flakes that someone had made, caught the motion and suddenly her irritation vanished. “Bless. Still sick, huh?”

“Guess so.” Took a bickie, nibbled the edge. Sugar dusted the table and sweetness spread over his tongue.

“But that’s not why Roadhog left without you, is it?” Lucio asked, setting a steaming mug in front of him.

“Don’t know what you mean, mate.” Roadie wasn’t the only one who could play vague.

“You two are never apart, even when he was sick. Now he’s on assignment in Australia, without you? Something’s wrong with this picture.”

Damn observant healers. Shoved the rest of the bickie in his mouth, trying to buy some time. If only his brain didn’t feel like it was wrapped in candy floss, thoughts muffled and slow. Both Lucio and Hana sat down at the table and he squirmed under their attention. “Why ya always got a million questions? Ain’t it enough that things are what they are?”

“Because for some unfathomable reason we like you, Junkrat.” Hana softened the words with a smile. “That means we want to know what’s going on with you. I know Roadhog probably skewed your experiences a little, but friends talk to their friends.”

Junkrat ran a hand over his face. “An’ I thought Roadie was complicated.”

“We want to help,” Lucio said.

“Not much to be done. Morrison said if I couldn’t be a proper member of the team, follow the rules an’ regulations an’ all, then he’d let me do my time in jail and then be on me way. Figure I should take him up on it.” Took a drink of tea. Lucio’d made it exactly the way he liked, enough sugar to rot the teeth. Felt good on his raw throat. “Tell ya the truth, don’t really fit with you. Make a better criminal than hero. So.” He shrugged. “Lena’ll drop me somewhere in London, make sure I turn myself in.”

“You know, it took all of us time to fit in with Overwatch. It’s not an easy transition to make,” Lucio pointed out.

“Yeah, Lu kept Morrison from killing me so many times…” The look she gave Lucio was fond.

“I think we hit double digits. She had a tendency to rush into things.”

“Keeps you on your toes,” Hana grinned. “So really, I know what it’s like. If you just give it a chance…”

“Nah, given it plenty of thought. ‘Specially the way things went at the settlement. Bolloxed it up, even doin’ me best. Decision’s made.”

Lucio frowned. “What does Roadhog think?”

‘Do what you want, stay or go. I couldn’t possibly give less of a shit.’ Roadhog’s words echoed just as clear as when he’d said them. Junkrat chuckled and it sounded dangerously close to a sob. “Said it’s on me. Doesn’t really care either way.” He sniffed and knuckled his nose. Hana and Lucio traded a look over his head. “I appreciate ya wantin’ to help. But done is done.”

“Rat,” Lucio started. He put a hand on Junkrat’s arm and the touch was firm but so gentle and it combined with the heat of the tea and the glow of their company and the kindness in their eyes and Junkrat didn’t understand, he didn’t understand at all, and he hated not understanding.

He laughed, and it throbbed in his head with the darkness of Roadhog’s laughter, and her laughter but he couldn’t stop it just pouring out of him. “Earlier ya asked about us an’ I said I thought I fucked it up, an’ I did,” he could barely get the words out through the laughter. “I did. I fucked it up. I asked him, I actually asked him what we were! As if I mattered. As if I meant anything at all. Why the fuck would I think I was anything other than a job? But I had to ask. I had to know. Well, clear as now, ain’t it.”

Somewhere along the way, to his complete and utter mortification the laughter had slid into tears and he couldn’t stop them, even with fists pressed to his eyes tight tight, they just kept falling like rain, but cold, like snow and he was shivering with it. “So he’s gone because o’ course he is, an’ I’m here an’ I shouldn’t be, an’ I don’t know where I’m going, an’ if I’d been someone else, if I’d been a right person… a good person… if I’d been… if I was just anyone else…” words dissolved into hiccuping gasps and suddenly arms were around him, holding him, bringing his pieces back together. Tethering him. Voice in his ear, low and musical.

“Hey. Hey, hey Rat, it’s alright. It’s okay. Come on, breathe with me, okay? Slow breaths.” Lucio’s voice, calm and steady. Junkrat pressed his face into Lucio’s shoulder, and the flannel was soft on his cheek.

Eventually the tears stopped, caught his breath. “Sorry,” he mumbled, face hot.

“No worries.”

Junkrat sat back, scrubbed his hand over his face, coughed. “Fevers tend to cook me brains a bit. Usually I just hole up until they’re over. Sorry to flood your shirt.”

Hana passed him tissues, his tea. “We’re going to Australia, too,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Hana…” Lucio said, skeptical, warning.

“What? Something weird’s going on. You saw the way Roadhog always looked at him. You saw him give him the scarf. That is not the way someone looks at their boss. Screw Morrison’s rules, screw jail. We’re going to figure this out.”

“But,” Junkrat said.

Hana waved him off. “You said it yourself, you’ve still got a fever. Even Morrison won’t send you to jail when you’re sick. When Lena comes, she can take us to Australia and you can find out whatever the hell Roadhog is doing.”

It was a terrible idea. Going back to Straya, with the possibility of a confrontation with the Queen, the possibility of seeing Roadhog again (‘thick as a rock… batshit crazy… we ain’t shit…). It was rushing in, like Lucio said they shouldn’t do…

You are quite the glutton for punishment, Jamison. But maybe you should go back, after all the treasure is half yours - will you let Roadhog keep all of it for himself? Junkrat frowned to himself. Bint had a point, much as he hated to admit it. Treasure was half his, an’ if he was gonna be making his own way, better be sure he had what he needed. Not let Roadhog get one over on him.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

#oversnez #snezfic #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #everyone's on the bad idea train #what's that about fools rush in?

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