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starlessea · 4 years ago

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𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Prologue 0. Closing Time

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 6286

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

The sky was empty — save for one bird.

Daryl watched it fly above him, so close to the ground that he could make out the beating of its wings and swore he saw individual feathers flutter in the breeze.

His fingers itched over his crossbow, as he contemplated shooting it down from the sky and plucking it clean. He'd have something to eat then, at least. Though, for some reason, Daryl Dixon couldn't bring himself to let loose his arrow, watching as the bird soared overhead — and disappeared beyond the trees.

The man sighed as he kicked up some loose stones with the toe of his boot. What a waste, he thought, before trudging through the field once again.

The sky remained cloudless for the rest of the day, existing as a pale, washed-out grey that made Daryl feel uncomfortable as he hunted. The game must have felt the same, since the deer he'd been tracking made itself scarce, and the string of squirrels hanging from his belt seemed no heavier than it had done when the sun rose that morning.

Still, he trekked onwards over the thick, winding grass and through damp forest overgrowth. He was nearly back at the quarry already, but he hardly had anything to show for it. A few measly rodents and a sprained ankle were barely worth his trip in the first place; they sure as hell wouldn't be enough for all of the mouths he now had to feed.

Daryl cursed at himself for hesitating to shoot that bird straight out of the sky, and clip its wings. It wasn't much, but maybe it would have lasted a day if he was lucky. Still, there was no use wondering now, since it had swooped so close to him that he almost felt the downward draft on his cheek — and then he let it fly away.

He thought that it had been a jaeger; it definitely looked like a seabird that had veered too far from the shore. It was a gull with a white breast and dark, blackish feathers — and a wingspan that made sure you couldn't miss it.

He remembered you pointing one out to him, at 3am, parked up on that deserted beach as the two of you stared out into the rocking ocean.

"Ya thinkin' 'bout 'er again, baby brother?"

Daryl could hear Merle's voice taunt, in the deepest, darkest corners of his thoughts.

"Tha' lil' birdie of yours?"

He quickly shook his head — even though it was the truth.

It had been Daryl's own mind that conjured up those words, after all. Merle wasn't actually here. He was probably back at the campsite, lazing about and leering after women far too good for a beaten-up redneck like him.

Though, funnily enough, Merle had said the exact same thing to Daryl when he noticed his gaze settling over the new bar server, who swiped away the froth spilling over from their draught beers. Merle had given him even more of an earful when he realised that his younger brother was waiting for her shift to end.

Daryl took a deep breath, before rolling his neck to try and relieve the tension that had built up there. Once his mind drifted into thoughts of you — even if only for a split second — it often sank to the point of no return.

You were all consuming; you had been from the first time he laid eyes on you in that old, country auto-repair shop.

He remembered the way your voice chirped like a bird's, despite the curses that often fell from your lips.

You even made those sound sweet.

And he could also recall the way you yelled over the rumble of his bike engine, and competed with the screeching that came from his tyres losing their grip on the worn-out tarmac.

You'd told him that it felt like you were flying — and that was probably the reason why Daryl Dixon couldn't shoot that jaeger.

Then, the man heard something louder than he had done since the world ended — and suddenly, the sky was no longer empty.

There was an explosion, and that dull greyness was set alight with brilliant hues of red and orange. It made fire start to rain down upon Daryl, who could only stand and watch below. Debris fell out of the sky like a meteor shower, landing beyond the trees in the distance — to a place that Daryl couldn't quite make out, no matter how much he squinted.

The air became full with the sounds of scraping metal and flickering flames that caught the leaves and made them burn up like the end of a cigarette. Daryl felt his heart race as the adrenaline pumped its way through his veins, and made him flinch each time something crashed heavily to the ground.

There was often a moment in a person's life where their brain got kick-started into gear — and they awoke from whatever auto-pilot they'd been functioning on until that point.

For most, it was probably a mundane milestone like marriage or parenthood.

For others, it might have been a life or death situation that made them re-evaluate their perspective.

For some, it had only happened when the world actually ended, and the apocalypse began.

And perhaps, if Daryl had been a smarter man, it would have been this instant — as he gazed up at the sky and watched it burn above him. Maybe this was his second life-changing realisation; maybe he was lucky enough to get two.

But, for Daryl, the first had just been a regular Tuesday.

The garage was sticky hot that day. It was the kind of heat that made you sweat no matter how many fans you had blowing — since Old man Dean was too cheap to install air conditioning. His boss was a bit of a stickler for paying his bills, and nit picky with his nickles, but he'd always been kind to Daryl.

That being said, working as a mechanic wasn't exactly where Daryl had pictured himself at his age; but then again, he couldn't really picture himself anywhere at all. He felt like that last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, which didn't quite fit in with the others — the one that you had to bend into shape just to make it work.

Sure, he enjoyed seeing the different bikes roll in and out of the shop — those models he would never be able to afford — and Daryl appreciated having a few extra dollars in his pocket for when Merle raided his savings to score some pot.

Besides, there wasn't much else to do in the boonies. Daryl's old man once told him that the only interesting thing to rear its ugly head out of Georgia's backyard in the last fifty years was Dean's Auto Shop. That's probably why Daryl started working there in the first place, as a summer job when he was teenager — and had never really left since.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, his old man had been right about one thing — despite the bastard never catching on to the role of father. He'd been right about the shop being the only interesting thing around.

Because it was the place where he met her.

And then she became the only thing in that small town even worth being interested in.

Daryl didn't hear a car pull up into the shop, but he heard the mumbling outside from where he sat in the breakroom — chewing on some of Dean's leftover pizza that was bordering on stale.

"Dixon, get your ass out here for a second, would you?" the old man yelled, banging on the thin wall that separated them with his fist.

Daryl cursed below his breath, throwing the rest of his food into the trash and dusting off his hands over his jeans. He stepped out into the shop, and was met by an unfamiliar face — looking over at him curiously.

He suddenly felt unexplainably nervous, and dropped his head down to his feet as though it were a reflex he didn't know he had.

"This is your guy," he heard Dean say, before letting out one of his usual chesty coughs.

The man smoked a pack a day too much — and that was coming from Daryl.

"Owner of that bike you've been eyeing, too," he went on.

That caught Daryl's attention, and he instantly glanced up at the woman in question. She was breath-taking, but she also looked very much out of breath. She seemed as though she had run here, despite the Georgia heat.

"You ride?" he asked, but his gruff voice made it sound like more of a demand.

He grimaced at his own tone, but the woman didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.

She laughed, and it sounded like nothing he'd ever heard before. "I wish," she said, running her palm along the polished metal and tracing her finger over that shiny logo.

Usually, Daryl would bark at anyone who touched his bike, and Dean seemed as though he expected him to do just that — from the way he raised an eyebrow at the daring woman, too oblivious for her own good.

Except, Daryl stayed quiet.

"Was never allowed within a mile radius of one," she went on, before turning back around to grin at Daryl like it was easy. "My folks were scared I'd take off into the sunset, never to be seen again."

He could relate to that. After all, it was exactly what he and Merle had done as soon as they'd gotten the chance.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before glancing over at the car parked in the middle of the shop. "She's pretty."

It was a steel blue colour — would definitely benefit from a lick of paint, but still pretty nonetheless. The tread looked good on the tyres, and Daryl couldn't see any signs of the rusting those models were prone to. Someone had taken good care of it.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked, and suddenly Daryl was reminded of just how bad he was with words.

He cleared his throat, and ran his hand over the hood.

"Yer car," he explained, "'69 Chevy Camaro?"

Daryl asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Oh yeah, that," she replied, sending him an apologetic look. "It's my grandpa's, so we're going to have to be real discreet about this situation over here."

Daryl raised an eyebrow as she beckoned him to the other side of the car, crouching down near the wheel arch.

"Some bastard left a nail in the road, and I ran straight through the thing like it was a stop sign," she grumbled, pointing out the puncture.

Daryl almost laughed at that — but he was still much too jaded from being caught in the middle of his break.

The woman stood back up and toed the deflated tyre with her boot, scowling at the sight of it.

"I know you're closing soon, but I had to push it half a mile just to get here," she said, and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Suddenly, her appearance made sense. Since he'd first laid eyes on her, all she'd done was tug at the collar of her vest, and try to stand in front of one of those poor excuses for a fan. But even then, Daryl couldn't quite believe her story.

"Ain't no way ya pushed that thing 'ere by yerself." The words left his mouth before he could consider them twice.

And the look she shot Daryl in return made him want to take them straight back.

But then, she smiled.

"I'm stronger than I look," she protested, leaning against the hot car. "You can ask the dozen assholes who catcalled me on the way but never offered their help."

This time, Daryl did let out a chuckle.

"Damn lucky y'ain't pass out," he quipped back, "heat's no joke."

She grinned again, and Daryl wondered whether she had an endless supply — or if she'd saved them just for him.

"Tell me about it," the woman teased. "Never liked visiting Georgia because of it."

Then, it all made sense to Daryl — the reason why she intrigued him so much.

"Y'ain't from 'round here, are ya?" he asked, surprising himself.

Usually, he couldn't give a 'rat's ass', as Dean called it, about anyone who stumbled into their shop. Never did they get more than a half-hearted greeting from Daryl, or a grunt as he told them to mind their head on that low door frame (she didn't have that problem). Though today, he seemed oddly talkative.

"Haven't seen ya before," he added.

The woman folded her arms over her chest.

"Would you recognise me if you had?" she asked.

"E'erybody knows e'erybody in this place," he answered. "I'd remember if I saw ya cross the street."

It was partially the truth. Daryl knew most people — but he only bothered to remember a select few.

"Moved here last week," she caved, proving him right. "I'm keeping my grandparents company watching daytime cable and doing grocery runs."

Daryl smirked. "An' runnin' over nails with their car, apparently."

"That, too," she confessed.

It was silent for a few seconds, and Daryl realised that he should probably give her a quote for the job. Though, she interrupted him before he could.

"Listen, your new neighbour would be really grateful if you could cut her a break," she said, eyeing the Camaro like she was considering whether it was even worth the hassle. "The old man's going to kill me if I come home on foot tonight."

Daryl knew what she was asking. The notice in the shop window made it clear that they'd be closing in half an hour; Daryl had been all but ready to flip the sign himself. Before she'd arrived, he'd even dared to think that he could shut early — and possibly get to crack open a cold beer and enjoy the breeze of his porch.

He sighed.

"I'll see what I can do," Daryl mumbled, "but I ain't makin' no promises," he warned — as he caught the way her eyes lit up at his words.

But that was a lie. Daryl knew he wouldn't let himself go home until it was finished.

The woman was utterly gleeful. He watched her smile much too widely for her face, and for a moment Daryl thought that she might even jump at him. But she seemed to catch herself at the last second, and abruptly stopped.

She didn't falter long, though. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she said, excitedly, before pausing to tap at her jean pockets. "I don't have any cash on me for a deposit, but I'm heading to work now."

She looked sheepish as she explained herself.

"I'll come straight back and pay in full," she added, trying her best to convince him.

Daryl narrowed his eyes like he didn't quite understand. Then he did, and he laughed properly.

"Deposit?" he asked, shaking his head. "City girl, here we jus' keep yer vehicle if ya can't pay."

The woman's expression was priceless. She looked as though she couldn't figure out whether he was joking or not, and stared at Daryl with her mouth slightly agape as she debated which it was.

He couldn't watch any longer.

"Where ya workin'?" he asked.

Then, he cursed himself for doing so. Time was ticking on, and he already had to stay overtime because of his inability to say no. Well, usually he had no problem with the word; it just seemed like it was stuck in his throat today.

"Joe's bar," she replied. "It's a few blocks over and-"

"I know Joe's bar," Daryl interrupted.

Everybody knew Joe's. It was the only place around that sold a decent draught beer. He'd been going there since he was a teenager — younger than he should have been, but old enough to know better.

"Me an' my brother go there a lot, but I ain't seen you 'round."

She nodded.

"Only started a few days ago. Hopefully they don't fire me for being late."

Daryl glanced at the clock. It was approaching his closing time and her opening one.

"Ya better get runnin', Camaro," he noted, tapping at his watch that didn't even work. "Rush hour soon."

The woman narrowed her eyes at the nickname. Daryl didn't know her real one yet, and felt like it was too late to ask for it. He'd have to catch a glimpse of Dean's log book later to find out.

"Will do," she replied with a smile. "Thanks again, Dixon."

Though Daryl couldn't quite work out how she knew his name, either.

He watched her scurry about collecting her things, and walked her to the entrance. The sun was starting to set — leaving the sky a pinkish orange that only made him squint the more he looked at it. He held the door open for the woman, and heard Dean snort from the back of the shop. But the way she thanked him made it worth the teasing.

"Take care of that sixties Honda," she winked, "she's a real beauty."

Daryl was surprised that she knew the model of his bike, considering she'd never even ridden one.

"If only ya knew," he mumbled back as he saw her off. "Will take ya for a ride one time if yer willin'."

She stopped in place. Daryl didn't know why he said that. It had just slipped from his mouth like oil from a can.

The woman laughed and rolled her eyes like she didn't believe him.

"That's what they all say."

Then, she started to jog down the street — just like she said she would — and Daryl thought her crazy for even attempting it in this midsummer Georgia weather. That woman had entered the shop like a whirlwind, and when she left Daryl couldn't remember what he'd even been doing before.

Dean cleared his throat and threw a rag at him that he barely managed to catch.

"Keep it in your pants, boy."

Daryl scowled at the man; he knew him better than that. So, he didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, and instead got started on setting the Camaro up on a jack.

"She's a beauty, I get it," Dean went on, despite his silence. "Her type don't belong in a place like this, that's for damn sure."

Daryl had to agree with him there. He'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in the wing mirror of her car and grimaced. He had grease on his face, and part of him cursed Dean for not telling him before he'd left the breakroom.

"But you know Mike and Doreen?" the old man asked, and Daryl nodded. "That's their granddaughter."

Daryl furrowed his brow — not realising he'd done it until he caught himself in the glass once again. Mike was a hard man, the type to straighten out any kinks in a person with brute force and that baby boomer spite.

"She may be real pretty, kid, but that one's trouble," Dean noted, confirming his suspicions.

He ignored the way he called him 'kid'. The old man still hadn't grown out of the habit — despite Daryl being well beyond his teenage years now.

"Trouble?" he repeated, like he couldn't quite comprehend the word being associated with someone like that.

Dean chuckled — but it turned into one of those coughs that made Daryl wince.

"Maybe more so than you," he said. "Got kicked out of the military, I heard."

Daryl spat at the floor, and Dean laughed again. They both hated those military dogs who often paraded through their town, looking at them as though they were trash beneath their government-issued boots.

But, if she'd been kicked out then maybe they could find some common ground.

Old man Dean wagged his finger at him, recognising Daryl's no-good expression; he'd become familiar with it by now, from all the times he'd worn it throughout the years.

"So don't go losing your head over her, Dixon," he cautioned, pretending not to know how good Daryl was at throwing caution to the wind.

"And remember to close up before you leave."

But it was too late.

Daryl had already lost his head, and his heart — but he wouldn't know that the latter was missing for a very long time.

You ran the cloth along the oak bar surface, wiping away any sticky beer rings that had been left there.

This is why we have coasters, you sighed.

It had been a slow Tuesday night, but you'd somehow still been roped into working the close. You tried to tell your boss that you were having car troubles, and had plans to stop by the garage on your way home — but he seemed to prioritise his own date over yours.

Well, you wouldn't exactly call giving the local mechanic his cheque a date; usually, you didn't have to pay for those. But you couldn't deny how it had made you feel when he smiled that smile your way — so small that you'd almost missed it — before you took off running out the door.

It gave you whiplash.

Perhaps he was just being friendly. But, then again, he didn't seem like the naturally friendly type. You shook your head, throwing the beer-soaked rag into the sink. You didn't trust that man in the slightest.

That wasn't a new development, really; you didn't trust most men. And, you often found that the ones who made your heart race like that were the worst of them all. He was trouble, that one, and you'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

You untied the double knot of your apron, and folded it up neatly. There were a few whiskey stains on it — you'd caught a whiff of that top-shelf scent a few times now — but you were already too late to even consider putting it in the wash. Instead, you left it at the end of the bar, and swapped it out for the ring of keys lying there.

It was closing time, and you prepared yourself to run three blocks in the dark. You stepped out into the night, feeling the cool breeze on your cheek as opposed to the midday heat that had been there when your shift started. You flipped the latch and turned the key in the lock until you heard it click.

Then, you held them between your knuckles so that the jagged edge poked out.

"Ya done for the night?" a voice came from the shadows, and your heart dropped.

That brief second lasted a lifetime as the blood rushed to your ears like a strong current through running water, and your grip tightened over those keys. But then, you noticed the reflection in the glass panels of the door — and relaxed.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," you scolded the man, "thought you were a dejected patron tryna jump me or something."

Perhaps he was; you still didn't know any better.

Dixon was leaning against that dingy brick wall, opposite the back door of Joe's Bar. You didn't even know what that other building was — but some sketchy figures usually loomed about it, so you tried to stay clear.

Maybe he didn't get the memo, you thought.

"Tha' happen before?" the man asked back, casually.

Though, the dim street lights overhead illuminated his face, and you caught a glimpse of his serious expression before he let it drop. He held a lit cigarette between his fingers — almost smoked down to the butt already — and it made you wonder just how long he'd been waiting for you.

"Maybe once or twice," you laughed, but it didn't sound as natural as you had intended.

You noticed the man's eyes flicker down towards the keys held between your knuckles, and you quickly slipped them into your jean pocket — hoping that he wouldn't pry. Luckily, he didn't seem like the type to unnecessarily butt into other people's business.

The smoke trailed from his lips and caught the stark light of the street lamp. He almost looked cold — bathed in that bluish tint which made those cigarette fumes seem nearly luminescent.

"You here to make sure I don't run off with your paycheck?" you teased, fishing out the wad of bills from your back pocket.

You waved them at him, and considered how precarious the situation may seem to an onlooker if they happened to pass by. The man looked as though he felt the same, since he quickly glanced over his shoulder down the alleyway — checking to make sure you were alone.

"Don't worry, Dixon, I busted my ass tonight just so I could leave you a nice tip," you said with a smile, handing the money to him.

He took it, slowly, as though he had to remind himself what it was even for.

Then, he let that cigarette butt fall to the floor, and stamped it out with his boot — before dragging it along the concrete until it was nothing but embers.

The man shook his head at you. "'M here on behalf of the welcome committee."

You snorted as you processed his words, and followed him out of that narrow alleyway into the main street.

"Bullshit," you called, "as if-"

You rounded the corner after him, and stopped. He was there, leaning against that pristine sixties Honda bike — spare helmet in hand.

It was parked up on the sidewalk, polished metal glinting in all its glory under those neon lamps. Dixon was almost camouflaged against it — his black leather jacket also speckled with white light. He held out that helmet, as if it were an invitation he was waiting for you to accept.

But he seemed shy — as though acutely aware that it was only an invite, and nothing more. So, you took it, and shook your head as you realised that it wasn't his spare helmet he had offered you; it was his only helmet.

"Said I'd take ya," he murmured, fastening the strap gently under your chin.

It was too big, so the man compensated by tying it tighter until you felt like your jaw was wired shut. But, you just smiled.

"An' I ain't no liar," he said when he was done, and kicked his leg over the bike.

Then, you sped off into the night.

You yelled over the sound of the engine for him to go faster, and laughed as you had to spit out the stray hairs that had blown into your mouth. Your clothes whipped in the wind, too, and you clung to the man in front of you as though you were afraid they might catch the draft, and make you fly away. It was electrifying; your whole body felt like pure static as you rode past shop displays and windows that made your reflections look like hazed blurs.

That whole trip felt like a hazed blur, really, because suddenly you were there.

"Where are we?" you asked, unsure of where 'there' even was. "Why'd we stop?"

You pulled the helmet from your head and cocked your leg over the bike. The man let out a chuckle at the sight of your hair, sticking up from the static — as though lightning might strike at any moment.

"Smoke break," Dixon grumbled, before coaxing out the squashed cardboard packet from his jeans. "You want one?" he asked, offering it to you.

You shook your head; you didn't smoke.

He shrugged in response, cupping his hands to his face to get a flame from his lighter. You left him to it, and turned away from the bike to catch the view.

And what a view it was, indeed.

You hadn't even noticed the sounds of the lapping ocean waves before you saw them. The cliff overlooked the beach below, desolate, with a high tide that drew the shore into you. Your grandmother had told you about this place once, on the phone a few months back as she tried to sell rural Georgia to you.

It wasn't like you were given much of a choice, anyway.

But now that you'd been shipped out here — against your will, no doubt — you had to admit that she'd been partly right. It was breath-taking. Back in the city, a place like this would be littered with beer cans and tacky, disposable barbeques within a week of someone posting about it online. Here, however, it looked untouched.

It was as though the two of you were the first to ever set foot here, on this particular crag that overlooked the waves — leaving your footprints alongside tyre treads for the next pioneers to discover.

You glanced back at Dixon over your shoulder — who was busy trying to look as though he wasn't already looking at you — and smiled.

He was one hell of a welcome committee.

Daryl almost choked on the fumes of his cigarette — letting out a cough that reminded him of the way old man Dean spluttered in the mornings. He really needed to kick that habit, he thought, and snubbed out his cigarette on the ground.

Then, you scowled at him, so he picked the butt back up and stuffed it into his pocket, grimacing at the thought of having to clean it up later.

He had been lying about the smoke break, really, but then he needed to carry out his excuse. Initially, he'd only thought about picking you up from the bar and offering you a ride back to the shop. He hadn't the slightest clue of how that plan had become this.

Somewhere along the way, Daryl might have accidentally taken a wrong turn, and ended up in the most scenic place he would think of. Stupid damn street signs, he cursed, as though he hadn't driven those roads a hundred times before.

Camaro seemed to call him out on his bluff, too, since she turned to face him and immediately shook her head.

"You're lying," she said, as though she were certain, "but the view is extraordinary, so I'll forgive you just this once."

Daryl swallowed thickly, tasting the tobacco that had made his throat so dry. For someone who claimed himself not to be a liar, that was all he seemed to be doing today.

Then, he watched you make your way towards the edge of that cliff, like you couldn't even hear him warning you to be careful. It was like you weren't paying him the slightest attention. Daryl was used to that from women — but somehow, this was different.

You didn't look down on him, nor at him with any hint of prejudice for wearing jeans still coated in oil, and boots he'd had to tape the soles of just to keep them together. In fact, you weren't looking at him at all. You seemed far more concerned with the stars that flickered in the night sky above you, but at the same time grateful towards the man for having brought you to them.

"You treat all your customers like this, Dixon?" you asked him.

He watched you turn around and look at him like you'd only just remembered that he was there. But, then you beamed a smile at him so bright that it put the stars to shame — and made all of your other ones look dim in comparison.

"Y'ain't special," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Jus' given' ya a lift home 'cos Dean told me to."

Though, Dean had left the shop hours ago.

Daryl watched you laugh like you'd caught him out one more time.

"There you go again," you said, teasingly. "Do you ever tell the truth?"

No, he didn't. He always tried to, but oftentimes it never did him any good. The people of this town had already made the assumption that he was a natural born liar. You were the first person to ever make the distinction between his white lies and those other types.

All his life, Daryl had been pigeon-holed into the role of good for nothing redneck, and had only recently graduated to the slightly less stereotyped town mechanic. But that night it was as if someone, for the first time, tried to get a peek at whatever was underneath.

Old man Dean was right. You were trouble — but not for the reason he had said. You were trouble because you seemed entirely unaware of your place in the world, and it made Daryl start to question his own. You seemed nice — perhaps even lovely — but Daryl never trusted those types. He knew you were far too good to be wasting away the early hours of the morning with the likes of him — and it left him wondering what exactly you wanted.

You'd already paid for his services, after all.

"Thank you for letting me see the stars again," you breathed, stretching your neck which ached from staring at the sky. "It's been a while."

Back then, Daryl didn't quite understand what that meant. He'd thought perhaps that you'd been talking about city pollution.

On the way back, Daryl felt you cling onto him tightly as he drove through empty roads, and passed the old, flickering street lights that blinked like camera flashes. But, when his fingers accidentally brushed up against yours, as you both reached for the shop door, you pulled your hand away.

It had only been a random Tuesday — that had eventually rolled into a Wednesday by the time he'd gotten you back into your repaired Camaro — but that was the moment in his life where Daryl felt like he had finally woken up.

But even awake, he often found himself lost in daydreams of the woman who crash landed into his life, and disappeared from it just as quickly as she came.

Daryl followed the trail of debris that had fallen from the sky, as though he were tracking some giant, metal bird. He didn't want to stick around too long, given that the noise had probably attracted every damn walker in the area; he just hoped that he was still far enough away from camp that they wouldn't be drawn there.

He stepped over the hunks of hot wreckage, some of it still ablaze, until he eventually came across something soft and not made of metal.

It was that jaeger. It was dead.

It looked as though it had been struck straight out of the sky. Its feathers lay scattered around it — the white breast now red with blood — and its wing was bent at a crooked angle, broken.

Daryl scowled. If he'd known that it was going to have such a meaningless death, then he would have shot it himself. Though, he still didn't add the bird to his string of dead animals; he thought that it had suffered enough.

He continued onwards through the brush until he stumbled across what he'd been looking for. But even as he saw it with his own eyes, Daryl couldn't quite believe it. Before him was the husk of a downed helicopter, burning in the middle of the forest.

Immediately, he ran to it, tripping over the wreckage as it got thicker and harder to navigate.

Though, there was no pilot inside — only radios and machinery parts that Daryl didn't know the names of. They screeched high frequency sounds as they caught on fire, and it made his ears ring the longer he listened.

So, he turned back.

That was when he saw it — them — a few meters away. His stomach dropped. Guess that's the pilot, he thought, looking up at the body tangled in the trees.

He'd never seen a parachute in real life before — only ever in the movies. He'd also never understood how that flimsy material could stop someone from plummeting to their death.

Well, in this case it hadn't.

The pilot was dangling from one of the branches, all caught up in those wire cables like a fish on a line. The limbs were contorted awkwardly, and Daryl swallowed thickly at the sight of their arm which had definitely been broken — reminding him of that miserable jaeger's wing.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave. The smell of burning rubber and the white noise from those radios would probably keep him up for the next few nights, but there was nothing he could do about that.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave, but then the body spoke to him.

"Dixon?" he heard it gasp.

And Daryl wondered just how many impossible things he might encounter today.

The voice startled him, and he almost stumbled over his own foot in return. Walkers couldn't speak, and they surely wouldn't know his name, either. Then, he caught the slightest movement, and recognised a jacket much too familiar. It had been his, after all, before he'd given it to you.

The pilot groaned, and Daryl recognised that tone of voice, too. He quickly fumbled about for his pocket knife, not even stopping to consider how the hell he'd be able to cut you down.

He couldn't even comprehend how you were alive-

"How's it hanging?" the voice spluttered.

-and how you'd kept that same god awful sense of humour.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags!

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Also, here is my buy me a coffee! If you enjoy my writing, tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N I’ve tried so hard to post this, sorry for all the technical difficulties...

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #twd #twd fanfiction #twd imagines #twd fanfic #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl x oc #daryl dixon x oc

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mosshead-lover · 4 years ago

Text

The Act of LordE: Part-6

Fate’s Appetite

~ Izuku & Bakugou x Reader

Summary: [y/n] moves to her dream city having abundant hopes. Her encounter with Katsuki Bakugou, sends unsettling ripples through her life. Determined to earn an apology for her boyfriend, Izuku Midoriya, she gets into a game with Katsuki. Will the game remain a simple game even at the stake of her love life?

<<Previous

A/n: You will enjoy this better if you have read the previous parts before! ^^

Part-1 | Part-2 | Part-3 | Part-4 | Part-5

--Start--

Weeks elapsed, and neither [y/n] nor Katsuki spoke about the bet. Heck, they barely conversed. Even when they had to work together, the conversations were bare minimum. No meeting eyes, no taunting comments, nothing. Katsuki hardly lifted a finger while with her, yet his body experienced fatigue like he had been fighting off a villain for days. [y/n] rarely spoke, yet her mouth went dry like she had been talking nonstop for hours. The tension between them had an immense toll on their bodies and minds.

Until one day . . .

Kirishima and Aya finally were having a housewarming party after taking weeks together to settle down. It was on a Saturday night. The mall was overflowing with people. Izuku and [y/n] eventually picked a housewarming present after running all over the place. Since they were at the mall already, they decided to visit the mart on the ground floor. After picking enough groceries for a week and other essentials, Izuku and [y/n] joined the shortest billing queue, which had at least four customers with carts full of items. [y/n] sighed and started questioning her decision to grocery shopping. She tapped her foot restlessly, looking at her watch. Izuku tried to calm her down.

"We will be there on time, [y/n]-chan. Besides, Kirishima is going to pull an all-nighter, you will see. We have plenty of time."

[y/n] reluctantly nodded and continued to fret over.

"Izu, we need more tissue. Can you quickly go grab some?"

[y/n] got him to go, for a few moments at least. She knew he would try to calm her down again. She knew his efforts would go in vain. She only stopped the restless feet-tapping when she heard the shutters of the mart closing down. There were multiple gasps and squeaks. Everyone looked around anxiously, anticipating the worst, except a few who took out guns and grabbed the nearest person to hold at gunpoint.

The blinding light from the barcode made a line on the floor as the cashier at gunpoint rose his hands, obeying the captor. As did the rest as another captor yelled,

“Hands where we can see em!”

[y/n]’s handbag that hung on her elbow slid down to her shoulder, resting against the side of her back, as she lifted her hands. Izuku stood a few steps away from her. He was returning to the line after grabbing extra rolls of tissues as [y/n] asked. Izuku’s absence terrified her further. [y/n] tried to calm herself. Had she been in such a situation before, she might know how to behave. She was too astounded to think straight. She wished she hadn’t sent Izuku away. [y/n] had been making nothing but poor decisions the whole day. Set on breaking the chain, she casually slid her hand into the bag that hung within her reach.

‘If I can somehow activate the SOS on my phone,’

She thought,

‘someone will arrive.’

To her bad luck, she caught one of the captor’s eyes.

“That bitch is up to something!”

He yelled as he used his free hand to grab the bottle on the billing counter. He launched it at [y/n] with all the energy he had while still holding the cashier at the gunpoint. [y/n] ducked down, shutting her eyes close, hands around her head in reflex. She thought she was too late, but the bottle never reached her. She heard it hit the ground and break into pieces. When she opened her eyes, she saw oddly familiar figure mid-air. With one hand faced away from his body, keeping the body balanced with the quirk and the other, still down in the direction he sent the bottle crashing.

“TEME!! (bastard)” his growl resonated.

With Kirishima gone, it bore Bakugou to cook for himself. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he missed his friend. He thought he would end up feeling worse if he went to the house warming.

“I am busy, shitty hair. I will visit some other time.” He snapped at Kiri like he normally did.

“Okay, man. I will swing by later to drop some food.” Kiri replied in his usual joyous tone. Bakugou’s tone never bothered him. They were best friends for a reason.

“Aya made the chicken dumplings extra spicy, just for you.”

“You don’t have to bring your ass here. Save some. I will come by tomorrow.”

Katsuki’s voice was much lower now. He hated how the Kiri-Aya couple always got him. He was subconsciously used to the affection he received, presumably why he was being such a baby about it. But the silver lining to this was that he also wanted to avoid [y/n] and Izuku. [y/n] mostly.

He slid the cell phone into his baggy pants and went into the mart to buy some instant noodles for the night.

The captor panicked at the unexpected resistance. He let go of the cashier and took a shot in the direction of Katsuki and [y/n]. Bakugou burst some more of his sweat and moved a few inches forward, completely shadowing [y/n]. The bullet hit his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of the feather-light bullet whose needle pierced through his skin. He tried to take it out but, the quirk eraser had already done its work. His body hit the ground with a loud thud, some of the glass pieces from earlier piercing through his thick skin. He quickly got on his feet. Katsuki Bakugou was more than his quirk. He still had the fight in him. He saw Izuku run towards the counter. He had to hold them, destroy their weapons so Deku can take care of the rest. Izuku knew in an instant what Kachan planned to do further. Only a foolish hero would fight a gang with quirk eraser guns in the open. It was unsettling that the fact that the enemy had those guns came to light at the cost of his dear friend’s quirk. Bakugou took them on and fought exceptionally for someone who was just hit by a quirk eraser. Fatigue was one of the proven side effects of the quirk erasing chemical, but the adrenaline rush did not make his body show any sign of fatigue. Few of the enemies shot him blindly, out of spite, although they were well aware it was useless. [y/n] and many others used the chaos to reach out for help. Pro heroes arrived in no time. All prepared to defeat what probably was the worst enemy of the hero community, the quirk erasing guns. Deku mopped up the rest of the gang as Katsuki collapsed on his knees. He heard the police interrogating the puny villains at a distance. He saw [y/n] being escorted along with other citizens to safety. Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second before his vision become blurry and, he blacked out.

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toonqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Duckverse 2020

--HOME--

This takes place in my headcanon for an 87/Comic universe for Magicstone. Ahhhhhh. Thank you @cataradical for so much betaing omg.

------

Gladstone awoke to a tremendous throbbing headache. It could be compared to an extremely bad hangover, if he had ever had one of those. Even with the heavier drinking the few times he tagged around as a “fourth wheel” when Donald’s two bright-feathered friends were visiting.

He let out a soft groan, not wanting to open his eyes until he remembered how exactly he got like this. There were just scattered, small memories he could recall. A fight with something. Magica was definitely there. Gladstone rubbed his forehead with his palm. Even with closed eyes, he could still tell there was a little beam of light coming into the room.

When the half-goose finally opened an eye, it was through the spread fingers of his hand still on his face. The light came from the window, peeking between a set of curtains Gladstone did not recognize. Not his, and not the ones in Magica’s little shack.

Gladstone instantly sat up in the bed, and then immediately regretted moving so fast. It made his head swim. The dark room spun for a long minute. Gladstone felt if he laid back down the pain would get even worse. He noticed there were a pair of doors across the room: dark brown wood, very tall and wide; one was propped open by a star-shaped doorstop. He didn’t feel like he could get up safely right now. It was a very strange feeling, for Gladstone to be weak. His second panicked thought was he had lost his luck yet again. However, he did know this was a stranger’s house, and he needed to get out immediately.

The half-goose cautiously sat up, legs hanging over the side of the bed. His head was still swimming. Once it steadied, Gladstone gave a closer look around the room. The walls were made up of the same dark wood as the doors; every three feet, tall, intricate pillars had been carved expertly into the walls. They resembled Greek Ionic columns with swirling capitals on top.

Gladstone spotted his coat and tie across the room, draped over a nearby Victorian cherry wood chair by a matching vanity. His hat sat atop the ornate mirror.

Groaning, Gladstone finally got up and walked over to the window. Just moving felt like too much effort. He pushed one curtain aside, enough to shine a little light on his face. With another grunt, his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Outside, he saw a nearby forest edging into what used to be a small vineyard. All overgrown. The wooden spikes and poles that held grape vines still stood.

On dilapidated fencing sat two black crows. Two very familiar crows.

Gladstone relaxed and sighed in relief. All the tension of waking up in a strange location disappeared; Magica was here. But where he was he still didn’t know. He remembered he went to Magica’s shack to visit her, but that was all he could recall for the moment.

He was already feeling much better as he explored the large bedroom. The dresser on the other side of the room had several framed photographs sitting on it. Like the rest of the room, the frames were wood, antique, gilded in gold leaf. He looked over the pictures before something caught his interest.

Gladstone picked up one photograph of two young children with their parents. He wouldn’t say what they were wearing more modern, but it definitely looked newer than all the other Victorian-esque pictures. All smiling, like your usual family portrait. Gladstone knew he had a few of him as a kid with his parents with the same warm, friendly look.

It then dawned on him the two kids in the picture were Magica and her brother Poe. He chuckled softly and put it back down on the dresser.

A familiar face appeared in the doorway, and Gladstone couldn’t help but give a smile.

Magica had a pitcher of water in her hands and spoke as she walked in. “Of course you wake up when I leave the room. I hope you weren’t too worried.” She went to the bedside stand first, filling an empty glass sitting there.

Gladstone’s body relaxed, most noticeably in his shoulders. He walked over to the bed to sit again. “Can you fill me in on what happened?” he whispered like they weren’t alone, needed to keep quiet.

Magica handed Gladstone the glass. “Drink this first,” she said. There was fleeting concern in her tone, like she was trying to hide it but a little slipped through.

Without hesitating, Gladstone did what he was told. “Okay, what was that? Some potion to balance me out, or?” he asked as he handed back the glass.

“Water; you’re probably dehydrated,” Magica scowled a little. As if he were a fool for not knowing what water tasted (or did not taste) like.

“I think my luck is gone,” Gladstone muttered.

“I doubt that. With what happened last night, you were lucky to get out of there alive. You don’t remember anything?”

“I came to surprise you with an impromptu visit. You weren’t home. Poe let me in even though Ratface told him not to.. After that it's kinda fuzzy,” Gladstone explained.

Magica put her hand on his forehead to feel if it was hot or not. He’d been warm earlier, but now seemed normal again. She sighed. “I was late for a meeting with my grand coven.They had...” She tried to think of a non-magic layman's term for it. “They had projected outside for the meeting. I assume they saw you and must have thought you were an intruder.”

“I do remember seeing three big ladies,” Gladstone said, paused a moment, “big as in projected. Like you said. Like a magical facetime call, hm?”

“Some of us still have flip phones, Gladstone,” Magica ughed, “but yes, like facetime.”

“So I ran into them and they zapped me with something? Do I still have my luck?” Gladstone sounded slightly panicked at the last question. A bit of cracking to his voice like a teen hitting puberty.

Magica sat on the side of the bed facing him. “You really don’t remember anything? I think you still have your luck. Trust me. I think that's how you are still alive. I’m very rusty on my fake death spells. It had to be your luck.”

“Magica, give yourself some more credit. I’ve always seen you cast great magic. I mean, I don’t know what kind of form that stuff is graded on, but it always works for you!” There was a moment's pause as the gears turned in the half-goose’s head. “Wait, death spell?!”

Magica gave a little wince at that, even though Gladstone hadn’t been very loud.

“When I got there, they were accusing you of spying on them. One had used a silence spell on you, so I didn’t know what you were trying to tell me,” Magica explained, wrinkling her beak, “they wanted to get rid of you. I lied and said that I needed you for your access to Scrooge and his dime for the Midus spell.”

If Magica had said such a thing early on in their relationship he would have been skeptical. But over time he learned she did keep him separate from her… magic business. She hadn’t used him to get to his uncle since long before they were “dating”.

“They wanted me to get rid of you STILL, even though I said I needed you for--you know--the mission they have me on. Pretty much sabotaging me if what I had said had been true. So... I made it seem like you were dead. By wand zap. Seemed to work. They believed it. At least, I think they did,” Magica explained.

Gladstone felt like she was telling the truth, but she was holding something back. There was a pause to her inflection on words that left him thinking she was deciding carefully on how she said each sentence.

His head was still too sore to press for more details on what actually happened. For now.

“Where are we?”

“Well, obviously I couldn’t have you at my house in case they-- ugh---” she paused to use the term Gladstone said, “facetime me again. This is an old estate; we’ll be fine and safe here. It would be best to stay a day or two to keep off my grand coven’s radar.”

Gladstone glanced around the room from where he sat in bed. It really felt like he’d stepped back into the past; the early 1800s, where everything was fancy, posh but lovingly ornate. Window curtains and sheets were a dark silver, the latter plush and silky. The floors were polished wood with several black Persian rugs. Though the place looked old, there were brass electric lamps on the walls, a vintage Baroque-style stained glass flush mount on the ceiling.

“I’ve only seen one room in this place and can already tell it's better than your other home. Why not stay here all the time?”

“I brought you here because it's safer. But there are safety spells cast all over this place that interfere with my own magic, so I could not ‘work’ here,” Magica answered shortly. “Did you need to call anyone? Being gone for more than a day, I don’t want your uncle to think I kidnapped you. Again.”

“How long was I out?” Gladstone asked, now concerned because Magica wanted him to check in with his family.

“Overnight. It’s already past noon,” Magica said as she put her hand on his cheek. She gave a light smile, like there was something more on her mind. “You should wash up. You must be hungry. I started making soup.”

Gladstone chuckled, taunting, “This ancient place has plumbing?”

Magica withdrew her hand to give him a playful push on the shoulder. “Of course it does. I’m not THAT old.”

“Ah, so this is your childhood home? Or something like that?” Gladstone’s curiosity was piqued.

“Yes, something like that,” Magica replied vaguely, “you really do need to wash up though.”

Gladstone gave a glance back over to his items on the vanity. With the light brighter in the room now, he saw the clothing was streaked with dirt. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his bill. “Oh, man… one of them threw me, huh? With a blast of magic?”

“You were pretty roughed up when I got there. So that is a possibility.” Magica put her free hand on his other cheek to move his head down a little. Gladstone received a light kiss to the forehead.

“Lucky for me you showed up to save the day.” Gladstone raised his head, wearing a cheesy grin.

Magica shook her head in the stereotypical “oh, you!” fashion.

Still smiling, Gladstone gave her a long kiss back. Properly, beak to beak. Magica leaned into it, her hands moving from his face down to his shoulders. He put an arm around her back and gave a gentle squeeze.

There was a low growl. Magica pulled back from the embrace. For one split second she was almost concerned a wild animal had snuck into the room.

“Sorry. That was me. I guess I am hungry.” Gladstone gave a sheepish shrug.

Magica let him go to bap him on the arm. “Finish another glass of water and clean up. Bathroom is the door on the left.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before standing up to leave. “I’ll bring the soup up to you once it's done. Don’t expect anything fancy.”

Gladstone hummed a moment. “You must have been pretty worried about me if you’re volunteering to provide me free room service.”

“Well, don’t get used to it!” Magica replied as she walked out of the room.

Once she left, Gladstone flopped down, laying crossways on the bed. He thought, for just a second, what it would be like to have a home with Magica.

------

Lol I was gonna say Zoom call instead of Facetime but then realized this takes place slightly in the past. I looked up when IPhone came out which was 2007, which is still a tiny bit too much in the future for this but haha maybe Duckverse just have iphones sooner so screw logic. Haaaa. (Mind you time frame kinda mattered to me because I headcanon Gladstone’s mom was born 7.7.1957. Gladstone is 7.7.1977 and Gladstone and Magica’s kid should have been 7.7.2007 technically. (Except the kid landed on the 13th because SPOOKY OKAY.)

Also the house mentioned here is a headcanon I have for a De Spell Estate that's past through the family. No one is currently living there but I like the concept of using it as a safe house when crazy stuff goes down. >_>

#duckvember 2020 #duckvember #magicstone #magica de spell #gladstone gander #poe de spell #ratface

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khorale · 6 years ago

Text

Bnha 240

Surprisingly, still a villain chapter!

Pfft yeah, eyewitness report. How reliable, these eyewitnesses.

It’s the question of whether citizens have the right to arm themselves. One side states that allowing this directly contributes to the death toll, but the general public is more swayed to the other side that proclaims that they’re allowed to protect themselves. It’s a thing that officially it’s illegal due to the many varieties and unpredictable quirks, but people are known to look the other way when things like that happen, as we are shown all the way back during the Stain fight. Being able to use their quirks, to have something that they can use to defend themselves, provides a sense of control and confort to people who live in a society without All Might. At the same time, this is swaying them to follow the Liberation Army’s ideology. Nicely played.

The truth of Deika city may eventually come to light given the fact that there’s a lot of holes to this story. Some questions that could arise: Are those 20 people named? What quirk or device do they use to make that giant crater?

Compress finally got his sushi! I can’t believe we actually get to see the sushi party! Although I wish Shigaraki could eat with them - the only thing he ate on screen was a biscuit 20 chapters back.

I can see a pretty nasty scar there on her face. I wonder if she lost an eye or if the eyepatch is just protecting it while her eye heals. It’s still too soon to tell.

Seems like it’s not “bye bye trauma” after all... I know it’s more realistic this way and you don’t instantly get better, but... Poor Twice. Also I love all the casual LoV banter.

I also love that sushi loading screen! The League is making the Liberation Army pay for everything from food to clothing 🤣. I’d feel sorry considering all the medical bills, but... the Liberation Army was the one who picked the fight.

Dissention being buit up between the Liberation army members and LoV despite working together. Hanabata referred to Re-Destro as the supreme leader still before he corrected himself, and that’s the only reason they’re doing this. Plus they are raised to follow Destro’s will no matter what.

Still, it’s still different from the time Magne was killed and Toga and Twice had to go over to the yakuza - they were ready to screw Overhaul over despite not given clear instructions to do so. Meanwhile, Curious is dead via Toga and nobody mentions it except the news. Nobody in the Liberation army had a genuine emotional reaction (Hanabata’s incitement doesn’t count). I hope this won’t follow the trend and have the Liberation Army backstab the LoV at a bad time.

New costume! 👀 Shigaraki actually wearing a suit!

It’s still not specified why he’s still wearing a hand. But I’m thinking he only destroyed Father who physically hit him, and he won’t be crumbling his other family member’s hands. Plus, many people knew Shigaraki Tomura as the guy with a hand on his face so he’ll be more recognizable/iconic this way. Another reason is that he hides his face from people he doesn’t trust, so even if there are spies (ahem, Hawks) in the crowd, they won’t get identifying features from his face. For instance if he tries to go out incognito and people know what he looks like, that will make it much harder to steer clear of heroes.

Hopefully we’ll get more explanation in the future.

Also, Gigantomachia is at the back of the crowd! Is he still naked...?

Wow, Re-Destro. Your fanboy is showing. It’s crazy to see Shigaraki inspire such intense idolization and loyalty unintentionally. Boy’s leveled up in charisma stats.

His parka also looks like Geten’s. Like Geten just had a spare one in the wardrobe and lent one out to be used as a cape.

Paranormal Liberation front sounds like you’re liberating ghosts lmao. I’ll stick to the League and Liberation army. OR Battlefront (from the leaks translations) Unless Mangastream or Viz gives better names.

Someone noted that gap between Compress and Skeptic shows a clear divide between the group. It also could have been Curious’s spot. I hope that with time the group can learn to work together and mesh better. It won’t be any fun if they separate again and the League go back to sleeping in dumps.

“Go wild.” Yess sir. I just realized that Shigaraki had a script in his hand and was reading off of it until he went “screw it this is irrelevant” and said just a single phrase to drive everyone wild.

We also get Geten face reveal! Cool. Not sure if girl or pretty boy.

Hawks_is_mentally_screaming_and_dead_inside.jpg

That’s a brutal slice across the corpse’s face. But Dabi is skeptical about if it’s actuall Best Jeanist so we at least have that bit of hope. Otherwise... the #3 hero is dead and the heroes lost another important firepower and Hawks will be enduring emotional backlash as well as public backlash if/when he’s found out.

Look at Re-Destro! His happy little smile and his head above the clouds. Totally lovestruck, man. I don’t even need to look for ship material they’re just there.

He’s like a puppy following Shigaraki around, eager to please now.

I also think Shigaraki told him to get lost so that the Liberation army people don’t get to see him fall and look weak and stuff. He doesn’t trust them that much yet. With white hair + red eyes, a cane and the general grumpy attitude, he reminds me even more of Accelerator from A Certain Magical Index.

“The Bare Minimum” sounds like a taunt, because Shigaraki did all that and more. He ended up gaining the Liberation army alongside Machia’s loyalty, on top of regaining his memory and power boost.

While Ujiko talks to Shigaraki on the phone, Hawks had one of his feathers to spy on the conversation by sensing the air vibration. Dabi really shouldn’t have brought him to the meeting because now he has like a surveillance device.

Hotwings shippers come get your food~.

Before Shigaraki gets that “power”, he has to go on a quest. Hmm... I hope it’s not about the quirk bullets and the doc needing Eri to make more of them.

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ourownsideimagines · 6 years ago

Text

Love A Working Woman (Crowley x Fem!Reader)

Characters: Aziraphale, Fem!Reader, Crowley

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon

Point of View: Second Person

Summary: You’ve been working at the bookshop for a few months now, and you decide it’s time to confess to Crowley about how you feel.

Warnings: Minimal editing.

Words: 934

A/N: Hey, this one only had me up til 10:20 lol

---

You had known the Angel Aziraphale for quite a while. It had taken you a full month of pleading for him to hire you at his bookshop. He had been against the idea at first, insisting you could find better jobs. He reminded you continuously that he was never actually trying to sell the books, and after a bit of convincing you became his book disorganizer.

You were one of two people who knew where everything in the bookshop went. Aziraphale had his own little system which, in your opinion, wasn’t very difficult once you learned it. But it was utter chaos for anyone who didn’t.

There were certain books Aziraphale would have you move on a daily basis, some that were to be moved every other day, others on Tuesdays only. Very few books stayed put for very long, and those were usually ones that nobody had ever heard of, or really wanted. Less desirable editions of books Aziraphale kept in the back. Those books you were never allowed to move from his desk, or really touch unless you were trying to organize his clutter.

It only took a couple of weeks for Aziraphale to trust you alone in the shop. You had become an expert in avoiding sales - it was one of the many perks of working for Aziraphale. In all of your retail experience you’d never had the genuine pleasure of denying a customer what they most wanted. What brought you the most joy was when one of the regulars he’d warned you about came in and attempted to trick you into selling the book for way less than it was actually worth, and you would kindly tell them that “Mr. Fell” had priced the book as way higher than he had actually priced it at. That seemed to ruffle a few feathers.

It was in your second month of working for him that you met Crowley. You’d thought he was a persistent customer at first when he’d forced his way into the back room. You’d practically screamed at him to leave, even threatened to call the cops. But you had quickly realized that he, like Aziraphale, was not what he seemed at all.

“Why do I seem to attract the supernatural?” You’d asked Aziraphale one evening after helping close up. He’d hummed in consideration before shrugging.

“I’m unsure. But it is fairly strange, I might say. I’ll be honest when I say I’d hoped you wouldn’t meet him - at least, not this soon.”

“Why’s that?”

“Crowley can be… a bit much.”

And a bit much he was. He came in a lot more often after your first encounter. He seemed to enjoy coming into the shop and lazing in the back room, as if to taunt you. At first he had gotten on your nerves, but much like mold on bread he had grown on you - suddenly and unfortunately.

You were well into your third month of working for Aziraphale when you decided that, yes, you liked Crowley. You really liked Crowley and it was starting to distract you. You’d had more than one customer yell at you because you’d been to distracted by the demon, or the thought of the demon.

You decided it was time to get it out of the way, regardless of how he might feel about you. He probably thought you were another strange human. But if you were going to continue to work at the shop, you’d have to tell him. And with all the bills you had, and all the loans you had to pay off, you desperately need the job. You’d never been paid better, and it was a job you loved.

So you’d decided to close up while Aziraphale was out (you knew he wouldn’t mind, he didn’t have an actual schedule), and prepare yourself to confront Crowley and admit to your feelings.

You had been pacing the pack room for fifteen minutes when you heard the front door open.

“(Name)? Aziraphale?” Crowley called out. You took in a deep breath, and brushed off your outfit, muttering reassurance to yourself before exiting the back room. “Ah, there you are. I was worried I might have broken in for nothing.”

“We need to talk, Crowley.” You weren’t going to beat around the bush. If you didn’t do it right then, you weren’t going to do it at all.

“We do?”

“Yes,” You nodded. “About me and you.”

“What about… You and I?” He asked cautiously. You let out a deep sigh, eyes screwed closed before you opened them again, bringing them to stare into the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“I like you Crowley,” You spilled. “A lot, actually. As in, like-like, and it’s… It’s distracting.” You weren’t sure if he was surprised or not. There hadn’t been much change in his expression, and you wondered what emotions were hidden in his eyes. “Look, I understand you don’t feel the same about me, but I needed to get this out there because if I didn’t I was going to explode-”

Crowley surged forward, cupping your cheeks in his hands and bringing your face closer to his own. There was a tense moment where your eyes widened, and you held in your breath, hands grasping his wrists, but not trying to pull away. You could feel his warm breath of your face. Then, he spoke.

“You talk too much.” He murmured before pressing his lips down firmly on your own.

Great, you thought as you kissed him back, almost all your worries melting away. Now I’ll be even more distracted on the job.

#good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #x reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #reader insert good omens #my writing #reese writes #the ineffable queue

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aion-rsa · 5 years ago

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Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Funniest Guest Cast Characters

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Warning: contains Brooklyn Nine-Nine spoilers.

Brooklyn Nine Nine is one of the funniest sitcoms around thanks to its fantastic ensemble cast and just-broad-enough humour blended with almost-realistic cop show elements. But that great regular cast are supported by an equally brilliant array of recurring characters and guest stars. In this list, we’re celebrating the funniest of the show’s less often-seen characters, those guest appearances who’ve turned up once or twice to inject a fresh burst of comic energy into the show.

Note that we’re not counting regular recurring characters like Adrian Pimento, Madeline Wuntch, or Kevin Cozner, aka Mr Raymond Holt. If they turn up more than once a year, or in more than three episodes in one season, they’re off the list.

12. Adam Sandler, played by himself in Operation: Broken Feather, Season 1, Episode 15

Adam Sandler’s appearance as himself in Season One is beautifully self-deprecating as well as funny. His deadpan delivery of “I’m a serious person” is hilarious in just the right way – of course the real Sandler is, presumably, as serious and as complex as anyone else, but he knows his own public persona and just how to play on it in the right way to raise a different kind of laugh. The interest in antiquities, the planned film about the Russian Revolution, it’s all funny – and somewhat undercut, even more amusingly, by his taunting of Jake straight afterwards. The whole scene did help to flush out a criminal though, so it wasn’t a total loss for Jake.

Funniest moment: Admitting his “serious” Russian Revolution film features Kevin James as Trotsky, and a wife who doesn’t wear a bra through the whole film.

11. Geoffrey Hoytsman, played by Chris Parnell in two episodes in Season 2

When Jake’s lawyer girlfriend Sophia uses her boss as a transparent excuse to break up with him (by going on ‘pause’), Jake wilfully misunderstands and decides that the boss is the key problem, so he sets off to make the man like him. It all goes horribly wrong when Jake finds Hoytsman snorting cocaine in the bathroom, which Hoytsman claims he was doing accidentally while screaming loudly that Jake is arresting him to the whole room of lawyers. Sophia somehow still ends up blaming Jake – probably because she simply wanted to break up with him in the first place – and Hoytsman ends up returning to take Jake hostage and quite seriously threaten his life later in the season. Parnell’s over-the-top performance as a character who is, of course, high for much of the time, is what really sells the character.

Funniest moment: Sniffing cocaine off his collar in the middle of the police precinct.

10. Jessica Day, played by Zooey Deschanel in The Night Shift, Season 4, Episode 4

Back in 2016, both New Girl and Brooklyn Nine Nine were active Fox sitcoms, so the network decided to do a crossover event in which the New Girl characters travelled to New York City and ran into the 99. Most of the crossover scenes actually ended up in the New Girl episode, but Zooey Deschanel’s character Jess Day did make a brief appearance in the otherwise stand-alone Brooklyn Nine Nine half of the crossover. While the New Girl episode provided a lot more context for Jess’s feelings about New York and her stress level surrounding Schmidt’s mom’s car and the soup she’s carrying, her appearance as an apparently slightly nutty woman who resists Jake’s attempts to commandeer the car is an entertaining interlude during the half hour.

Funniest moment: Insisting that Jake’s oath to serve and protect applies to her soup.

9. Philip Davidson, played by Sterling K. Brown in The Box, Season 5, Episode 14

If this were a list of the show’s ‘best’ guest characters, rather than ‘funniest’, the top ranked would surely be Philip Davidson, played by Sterling K. Brown. ‘The Box’ is a tight, taught bottle episode that takes full advantage of Brooklyn Nine Nine’s hybrid status as both sitcom and cop show, and Brown’s Davidson forms a strong third of a triangle in this three-header with Holt and Peralta. It’s a really strong performance, but given that he’s playing a tough-to-crack murder suspect, not really the funniest, exactly. Still, he gets a good few laughs when appropriate over the course of a really engaging half hour of comedy/cop show crossover.

Funniest moment: When Davidson finally cracks, he cracks hard – his confession is equal parts triumphant, cathartic, and hilarious.

8. Karen Haas, played by Maya Rudolph in Coral Palms Parts 1&2, Season 4, Episodes 1&2

Maya Rudolph has a good line going in slightly weary authority figures (see also: The Good Place). Handling Holt and Peralta while they’re in witness protection is not an easy job and her exasperation at Jake’s refusal to accept his situation is well played. Haas is really funny, though, when she starts bringing her own issues into her official duties, clearly trying to get permission to cheat on her husband from someone, anyone – and Holt is happy to oblige.

Funniest moment: Whoever it is she wants to sleep with is “really young” – something that clearly shouldn’t be funny, but the face Rudolph pulls as she says it is what sells it.

7. Lin-Manuel Miranda as David Santiago in The Golden Child, Season 6, Episode 9

Miranda is marvellously smarmy as Amy’s too-perfect brother, her demanding parents’ favourite, who snubs popular culture and shows off by saving people’s lives (including Amy’s own husband). Amy’s delighted reaction when he’s arrested for cocaine possession and deep disappointment when he turns out to be innocent are highlights, but the funniest scene by far is the dance-off between David and Amy, in which both comprehensively demonstrate that dancing is not among the Santiago family’s many strengths.

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Funniest moment: David thinks elbows should form a bigger part of a dance routine than they really should.

6. Frederick, played by Nick Offerman in Ava, Season 3, Episode 8

Any time we meet Captain Holt’s friends and family, many of whom share his stoic, Vulcan-like demeanour, it’s always hilarious. JK Simmons as his old friend Dillman very nearly made the list, but he was just pipped to the post by Ron Swanson – sorry, Nick Offerman – as Holt’s ex-boyfriend. There’s a lot of crossover between Parks and Recreation and Brooklyn Nine Nine among the cast and crew and Offerman isn’t even the only Parks & Rec alumnus to appear on this list, but he’s probably the one whose appearance most quickly calls to mind his earlier character. The idea that Holt’s ex-boyfriend is Ron F-ing Swanson is just genius. OK, Frederick lacks Swanson’s magnificent moustache (though he has a glorious beard) and he’s even more brusque and stand-off-ish, but he’s a perfect match for Holt, even more in their post-break-up mutual antagonism than we imagine they were in their relationship.

Funniest moment: His straight-faced insistence at the door that they have a “wooden-duck situation”.

5. Mark Devereaux, played by Nathan Fillion in Serve & Protect, Season 4, Episode 14

It’s always funny any time police characters in a cop show visit the set of a TV cop show, and for added meta humour, in this case the actor playing the fictional detective is played by an actor who works on a cop show (albeit as a non-cop character). Phew! That’s a lot of layers of meta. Nathan Fillion’s pompous star who apparently thinks playing a detective makes him a detective is very funny, and it gets better when it turns out that was a ruse to cover up his own petty criminal activity before he folds like wet paper. It’s just a shame we didn’t get to see more of him.

Funniest moment: Devereaux tries turning on the angry detective act from his show to cover up his own crime, only to be confronted with quite a lot more than a “shred” of evidence and fold immediately.

4. Eleanor Horstweil, played by Kathryn Hahn in Hostage Situation, Season 3, Episode 11

We heard a lot about Boyle’s ex-wife over the first couple of seasons, partly because Boyle was still living in her basement, hanging out with her new husband Hercules. We knew what sort of person Eleanor was when Boyle explained that he gets the beach house from December to February. When we finally meet her in the flesh, Kathryn Hahn does not disappoint – Eleanor is surely one of the most purely horrible characters we’ve seen on the show (and yes, we’re including all the murderers). She hits a 90-year-old priest with her car and then destroys Boyle’s frozen sperm, all with no apparent sense of guilt, and she largely gets away with it, too. But she does it all with a perfectly deadpan expression and carefree attitude, each horrifying act funnier that the last.

Funniest moment: She goes further than Jake ever thought she would when she “shoots a hostage” – i.e., throws some of Boyle’s sperm down the drain.

3. Seth Dozerman, played by Bill Hader in New Captain, Season 3, Episode 1

Bill Hader’s screentime on the show is relatively brief, but he is hilarious from start to finish, attacking the squad with every shouted command like he’s firing metaphorical bullets at them. It might actually have been really cool to see the squad try to deal with him as their Captain for more than one episode, with his extremely demanding requirements and very highly strung personality, but on the other hand, perhaps this is a joke that works better in small quantities. Any character whose dying words are “Tell my wife I love her work ethic” is probably a character better enjoyed for a shorter period of time.

Funniest moment: Both heart attacks are very funny, but the first (non-fatal) one just pips it for the sheer suddenness of it.

2. Caleb, played by Tim Meadows in three episodes in Seasons 5 and 6

Jake is shocked to discover his only friend in maximum security prison is a cannibal (though he would prefer to be identified as a wood-worker), having assumed everyone in protective custody was a wrongly accused police officer. Caleb is surely Brooklyn Nine Nine’s best streak of really, really dark humour – not only did he murder and eat nine and a half people, they were small children too. Every reference he makes to his “nightmare” past is sickly hilarious, and gets worse and worse every time, including a reference to his “skin suit”. But he really does care for Jake, even if he still kind of wants to eat him. The sheer audacity of the black humour surrounding this character is fantastic and always funny.

Funniest moment: Caleb shows that he has a softer side when he saves Jake’s life – but he immediately deeply regrets it and would not do it again.

1. Doug Judy, played by Craig Robinson in multiple episodes (one episode or two-parter per year)

Yes, we carefully defined a recurring character as someone who is either in more than three episodes or who appears more than once a year specifically so that we could include Craig Robinson‘s Doug Judy. It’s our list and we make the rules. There’s something twistedly beautiful about Jake and Doug Judy’s tender but tense friendship, even in the early years when Judy is constantly double-crossing poor Jake. The two of them have perfect comic chemistry, and each running gag in their friendship, especially their fondness for swaggering out in a new outfit or disguise, just gets funnier and funnier. Long may Doug Judy continue to turn up roughly once every twelve months to harass his long suffering best friend.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Funniest moment: Having escaped yet again, Doug Judy leaves Jake a pre-recorded message in a karaoke booth – complete with a full hour of pre-recorded singing for Jake to duet with.

The post Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Funniest Guest Cast Characters appeared first on Den of Geek.

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 5 years ago

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Snakes an Starships: V

See PART I for general context and spoiler warning. NSFW PART II PART III PART IV

NSFW

There was simply no mistaking the suggestion in Miho’s tone, nor the way her gaze lingered on certain parts of his anatomy before she made purposeful eye contact.

“Just how often do you get an open invitation from a princess?” she sighed out, and Orion could almost see those words: a sinuous line of seduction dropping a noose around his neck.

“Not often,” he admitted, fingers tensing into fists. “But I’m…”

“Not interested in girls like me?” she finished for him cheekily, and gave a shrug before turning toward the other end of the cabin. “That is a terrible shame.”

“You like to put words in the mouths of others, don’t you?” he said, close behind her, and Miho grinned.

“I do,” she agreed, playfully, and when she lolled her head back, she was satisfied to find it nestled quite snuggly against his shoulder at the crook of his neck. “Are you feeling the need to reciprocate?” she purred, speaking against his throat. “Or is there something other than words you’d like to put into my mouth?”

“Among other places,” he hissed, hands falling against her hips and digging in lightly.

The taste of adrenaline was still bitter on his tongue, and though he was not oblivious to the dangers of becoming entangled with a woman like Miho, she was right. There had been many times, close calls – some far too close – he had returned to the Promise wound so tightly he thought he’d shatter. And there was little release but for his own company, which was a far cry from the intoxicating promise of a woman’s delicate flesh beneath his fingers.

“Go on then, Captain,” she whispered, grinding back against him. “Don’t be shy, take what you want – I won’t complain… unless you disappoint me.”

She had barely uttered the last taunting word when Orion pushed her forward, forcing her to brace with her hands against the cold, metal shutter.

“That’s a start,” she sighed, the heat of his fingers sliding from her belt buckle to curl over the top of her leggings and drag downwards to her ankles.

“Shame you didn’t get to wear your new outfit very long,” he said against the top of her shoulder, his hands snaking over her breasts to the zipper of her jacket.

“Damn shame,” she grinned, spinning around the moment her jacket hit the floor and crushing her lips against his.

This brought back the rush of their retreat, and with the pressure of an entire city looking for a killer squeezing them tightly, their bodies released control and inhibition. In a frenzy of clattering peripherals and the rustle and fling of fabric, both ignored the possibility of the shutters suddenly opening, and enjoyed unconstrained exploration of each other’s bodies.

Orion was unsurprised Miho was no shrinking violet, meeting the urgency of his own mounting want with equal fervour. He put aside the idea she had won her way like this in other circumstances, for it honestly didn’t matter. Instead, with chest heaving and eyes smouldering, he watched as she slid down his body and settled on her knees.

“Sit,” she commanded, wicked smile adding to the already prominent sense of danger twisted with desire in Orion’s stomach. “Or you will fall,” she added, smoothing her palms up his thighs, her thumbs grazing sensitive flesh until her hands fell completely away.

She sat before him, but Orion was under no illusion that she had the power. The slightest touch of her tongue against the tip of his shaft was excruciating, a fleeting shock of exquisite sensation that caused him to shudder and inch forward. When he reached out to cup her cheek, then comb his fingers into her hair, she seemed pleased, and rewarded him with the full, moist warmth of her mouth and the delicious force of her lips around his cock.

Dropping his head back, Orion let out a low groan, tightening his grip in Miho’s hair and drawing her back and forth against him with increasing fervour. And even trough watering eyes, Miho’s focus remained fixed on him defiantly, challenging him not to cum embarrassingly soon while doing everything she could to push him right over the edge. Her tongue swirled purposeful circles each time he passed her lips, and though she braced herself against the bench with one hand, the other encouraged his arousal with playful fingers.

“Grrr, enough!” he barked suddenly, and actually caught Miho off guard when he pushed her backwards.

Just as it seemed her head would crack against the floor, she felt it cushioned by the curl of Orion’s arm beneath, followed by his weight on top.

“Reached your limit alr…” she began cheekily, but her triumphant chuckle was muffled unexpectedly by a kiss so fierce, so deep and probing, when he allowed her to surface she was gasping for breath.

“Ha,” she hissed out. “A man who’ll kiss a girl who not moments ago had her lips around his cock?”

“No doubt they’ve been worse places,” he volleyed, burying his face in her neck and his free hand between her legs.

An intense shock burst through her, so sharp and delightful her back arched against the firm massage of his thumb on her clit, while his fingers curled within.

“Ahh, not the first time you’ve done this,” she exhaled heavily, lips quivering as he dragged his teeth over her shoulder before returning ravenously to her mouth.

His erection pressed insistently into her inner thigh, and she wanted it, wanted to feel full, but Orion was now trailing kisses down her body – over her breasts, pinching one nipple between his teeth before settling his face between her legs and lapping over the inflammation of her sensitive bud.

“Ohhh… yes…” she moaned, sifting her fingers through his hair as he worked magic into her flesh.

A strangely familiar, oddly nostalgic sense flickered within her, along with the intricate motion of Orion’s tongue, but it was fleeting – overwhelmed as she lifted to her pelvis to meet each skilled thrust and the determined suckle over her clit.

“Give me more!” she demanded hoarsely, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and trying to pull him back up.

Orion lifted his head, licking his lips, his chin, and his expression told Miho he was both drunk with carnal desire and fighting it at the same time.

“We can’t,” he panted, shaking his head, but there was a persistent glaze in his eyes that Miho knew well – and it begged him to throw caution to the wind.

“Oh, yes we can,” she growled, shoving against his slightly sweat glistening chest with enough force to push him back into a crouch. “And we’re going to.”

“Miho, wait,” he insisted when she crawled forward against him, curling one arm round his neck.

“You think covert operatives don’t take chemical precautions?” she rasped before biting down on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and dragging away slowly, all the while grinding her hips against his lap, coiling her legs around him. “Or is it you think I’m the danger here?”

“Oh, you’re a danger,” he grimaced, his hands gripping her waist, but his efforts to keep her from working his shaft to her impatient entrance, were at best half-hearted.

“Your doctor,” she whispered against his soft earlobe, “gave me a clean bill of health.”

Orion hadn’t thought of that, and it was true.

“Are you sure?” he managed, voice strained, brows knitted, and again Miho had cause to look amused… then extremely serious.

“Let me sink down on you, Captain,” she breathed, speaking the words from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Let me swallow you whole, squeeze you – I want you pulsing inside me, pounding until I cum so hard I forget my own name.”

That was waaaay too much for Orion, who instantly pulled her down onto him, full force penetration, a deep sense of satisfaction and the reckless abandon of his animal instincts.

There were no more words to spare, just the frantic ballet of Miho’s body undulating against Orion, the joining of their bodies a passionate, rhythmic dance set to the sound of heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the mounting inevitability of each other’s climax.

And when they had rocked the boat – and each other – most thoroughly, Orion drew Miho into his arms and held her as they both tried to catch their breaths, lightly stroking her arm, across her collarbone, her throat, with feather-light fingertips.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, brushing moist hair from her forehead.

“Oh yes,” Miho grinned languidly, bathing in the afterglow. “Is it bad of me to hope this lockdown continues so you can regain some of your stamina?”

Orion exhaled a husky chuckle.

“Yes,” he answered, humming a little before making another addition. “And… no.”

“And for a bounty hunter you came across as such an upstanding individual,” Miho laughed, and stretched out her legs a little, legs that Orion promptly entwined with his own. “Mmm you know, there is only one other man in all the galaxy I know with that tongue technique,” she mused, tracing her fingertip around one of Orion’s nipples, the sharp edge leaving a light scratch mark among many much deeper. “And I guarantee he isn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as you are right now.”

“Tongue technique?” Orion repeated, on the verge of expressing her lack of manners talking about another man while he still held her in his arms, but he shuddered a little as Miho slithered her tongue front he nipple she’d been torturing, to his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t look so offended, Orion,” she breathed, kissing lightly along his tensed jawline. “It’s a compliment of the highest order – believe me…”

A little awkwardly given the compact nature of the cabin, Miho wriggled until she laid on top of Orion, and settled back against his chest.

“Very few can make me see stars like that,” she sighed blissfully. “I almost want to keep you.”

“I’m not a pet,” he frowned, but Miho simple placed her lips over each crease.

“No, but you could be a delectable periodic pitstop in my travels,” she pointed out, the tip of her nose touching his as she peered down into eyes she felt now were also quite familiar.

This time, however, she chose to say nothing on the subject, and kissed him again – this time so very gently, almost tenderly. It made Orion’s head spin a little at how quickly this woman changed gears, but while they continued to be in lockdown, there were worse things in the universe to do… than her.

Returning to the Promise after the end of the lockdown proved to be a non-event. No one had come to search the water taxi in which Miho and Orion had taken refuge, and Miho found this curious though obviously convenient. She and the captain didn’t talk about what they had done, and they sure as hell weren’t holding hands and singing love songs, but there was an oddly comfortable familiarity between them; both had enjoyed the unexpected interaction, and Miho marked Orion down as definite ‘contact’.

If only Jaxon knew how detailed her ‘little black book’ of names was, he’d be floored.

“You look well rested,” Jazz noted, seeming a little tired herself, rubbing her eyes.

“And you don’t,” Orion frowned. “Everything alright?”

“Well, that depends on your definition,” she shrugged, and opened her mouth to continue when Jenna came racing up to them, Atlas trudging behind her more slowly – probably because he was carrying several heavy looking bags.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” she exclaimed giddily, and Miho arched a brow at her enthusiasm. “Atlas and I got locked into the apartment Jaxon’s source sent us to, and there was only one bed!”

By the time Atlas had stomped to Jazz’s side and dropped his cargo, Jazz was looking at him with interest.

“Don’t gimme that look, Love,” Atlas rumbled, leaning closer to her. “Made her sleep on the floor.”

“Only one bed, huh?” Miho chuckled. “Wow, Orion and I didn’t even get that lucky.”

Orion coughed, then cleared his throat.

“So long as everyone is back in one piece,” he said in a bit of a rush, which awarded him inquisitive looks from both Jazz and Atlas.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Jazz edged in. “There’s someone waiting for you. Soon as he saw the Promise, he refused to leave.”

Even before Orion’s head snapped to Miho, she knew who he was referring to, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, well I have questions for Commodore Fairchild myself,” she grunted, and began stomping up the ramp.

But before Miho could reach the bridge, Orion caught her wrist.

“Wait a second,” he exhaled, giving her a slight nudge against the wall.

“You want to go again right here?” she queried, but she didn’t seem really in the mood.

“No,” he shook his head. “There’s something you should know.”

“Clone?” she offered with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“What?” Orion responded, confused.

“No, you’re right,” Miho mused, tilting her head a little. “Cunnalingus instructor? Nah, that doesn’t explain your eyes. Cousin? Brother?”

Orion blinked at Miho openly, and she chortled.

“You’re being ridiculously obvious, Captain,” she laughed, giving his cheek a light pat. “All I need now is some confirmation.”

“Brother,” Orion answered, lifting his chin a little. “We’re twins.”

Miho chewed her lower lip, considering him nose to nose.

“Special arrangement indeed,” she smirked, then began again down the corridor to the bridge.

There, she found Nova and Jaxon ‘guarding’ Antares, who got to his feet and glowered at her fiercely; not to be intimidated, Miho threw down the bag carrying her weapon, and simply stood her ground.

“Are you going to bow to your princess, or say hello to your brother first?” she smile smugly, and Antares swept up to her, incredibly unamused.

“What, are you doing here, Miho?” he growled, but Orion forced his way in between them as the others arrived on the bridge.

“Atlas,” he said, though he was still looking at Antares. “I’d like to get clear of this planet.”

“Can we dump him first?” Atlas grated, handing over what he was carrying to Nova, before flopping into his seat.

“Got a little something on your cape there, Commodore,” Miho grinned around Orion’s shoulder. “Not really up to uniform code.”

“I could say the same thing for you, Princess,” he volleyed coldly. “What were you doing on Eryl, and why are you with him?”

“Why do you insist on asking questions you know I’m not going to answer?” Miho sniffed. “Furthermore, I need a shower, and I’m absolutely starving – Captain?”

“You can use my quarters,” he acquiesced. “Jenna, could you show her where…”

“Stay right where you are,” Antares commanded, and Jenna froze, looking helpless.

“This is my ship, Commodore,” Orion said, his tone tight. “And Miho is a guest, and while she is a guest, my word is the only one that matters. Go ahead, Princess, just follow Jenna.”

Without another sideways glance at Antares, Miho followed Jenna off the bridge.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here,” Antares dropped crisply.

“I’m starting to get an idea,” Orion answered slowly. “Nova, I think our guest is probably going to need a fresh towel.”

“I got it,” Jaxon ejected, leaping up, but both Orion and Antares barked at him.

“No.”

“Don’t you dare,” Antares hissed, pointing at Jaxon.

“Yes, Captain,” Nova acknowledged, and departed.

“Let’s go and wait in the lounge,” Orion then suggested, and the pair of brothers moved out with Jaxon, to the sound of Atlas cursing the Empire dead-weight on board.

Miho hummed as the water ran down her body, smiling whimsically as she smeared herself in soapy suds until she was thoroughly clean. She was still enjoying the warmth when there was a solid knock on the bathroom door, followed by the appearance Nova with a towel folded over her arm.

“Princess, the captain asked me to bring you this,” Nova said, loud enough for Miho to hear her.

Without hesitation, Miho shut off the water and stepped out of the spacious glass cubicle, dripping from head to toe.

“Mmm,” she murmured with a slight stretch. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to give me a hand? A couple perhaps?”

“Are you unable to manage on your own, Highness?” Nova enquired, deadpan. “Are princesses not taught to dress themselves?”

“Of course, I can,” Miho admitted. “But team work is always so much more… rewarding.”

“So, you are offering me a reward in exchange for my services?” Nova surmised, with eyebrows raised.

“My goodness, you make it all sound so sordid,” Miho chuckled, then reached for the towel that Nova relinquished.

“When you are ready, I will escort you to the lounge where you are awaited,” Nova declared, then exited to give Miho her privacy.

She didn’t rush, but didn’t dally too long either, and though without her tiara, she entered the lounge most regally with her escort and took stock of the room.

Everyone except Atlas was present, but even under the weight of their combined scrutiny, Miho didn’t seem the smallest bit uncomfortable.

Of course, it was Antares who spoke first, rocking to his feet, tall and straight.

“Imagine my surprise when I met with Admiral Yuul on Eryl – foremostly to determine what he was hauling that could have interested you so much,” he began, taking measured steps in Miho’s direction, “when he pops like a balloon before discussion can even commence.”

“They just don’t make Empire admirals like they used to,” Miho sighed, but there was cheek sparkling wildly in her eyes.

“Or princesses,” Jaxon muttered under his breath.

“Oh I’m the new improved model,” she announced triumphantly, defiance in the tip of her chin, which Antares swiftly snatched, thumb pressing firmly into her skin.

“New model?” he questioned, and he was looking for something, looking at her in a way he never had before.

“Antares,” Orion barked sternly. “Let her go.”

Deliberately, Antares craned his neck to look at his brother, while Miho remained still and remarkably unreactive to Antares’ physical trespass.

“What exactly is going on here?” Antares asked slowly, his gaze loitering on Orion a moment before passing an expectant eye over the rest - finally returning to Miho. “How in this or any other galaxy did you manage to get them on your side?”

“Magic,” Miho offered through a wicked grin.

A moment of silence fell, before Antares worked his jaw – cast Orion a meaningful glance – then resume his assessment of Miho’s expression.

“You didn’t,” he stated, voice low and quiet, perhaps only loud enough for she and him to hear.

“Why don’t you ask the questions you really want answers to, Commodore,” she whispered, leaning a little against his hold to breathe upon his lips.

There was something there in Antares’ face, Miho relished. Though it was ever so fleeting, his conclusion Orion’s reaction was because she had slept with him, did not sit well.

“Did you murder Admiral Yuul?” Antares asked flatly, now seeming in an even fouler mood.

“Oh yes,” Miho confirmed, satisfaction in the way she swaggered to Orion’s side and sat down. “Still, let me throw you a breadcrumb for free and say, I didn’t expect him to deflate any more than you did – though, the look on your face was priceless.”

“Deflate?” Tyrian repeated.

“Yep,” Miho nodded. “No bloody nuggets as expected, just a burst of purple light and then a crumpled skin-sack.”

“What the hell kind of being is that?” Jenna scowled, glancing up from the tablet she was tapping on.

“Yuul was human,” Miho responded. “Was, is, I don’t know what it was I killed, but it wasn’t the actual Admiral Yuul.”

“What are you thinking, Commodore?” Jazz prompted, noting Antares’ pensive silence.

“You didn’t know?” Antares asked Miho seriously, and she straightened in her seat.

“Yuul needed killing,” she explained clearly. “All his other crimes aside, he’s one of my father’s ass monkeys. If that wasn’t him, and it wasn’t, then where is he?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this,” Antares stated, and he had everyone’s attention.

PART VI

#Starship Promise #Starship Promise smut #Voltage #Voltage smut #fanfic #Voltage fanfic #Orion Akatsuki smut #Antares Fairchild #Jaxon Silva #Atlas Molniya #Nova #miho fujiwara #bloody nuggets #Deflation is not something Orion has an issue with #At least not with Miho around!#Tyrian Aquila #Jazz Mann

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laurasinele · 6 years ago

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Aaaand it’s done. I missed some days and published some of the prompts out of deadline but I had them finished before the end of October, which makes me really really really happy given the creative draught that’s gotten over me since 2017.

Here’s prompt 31 for this year’s fictober: “Scared, me?”. It begged to be a Drarry, thus it made the final chapter of the little fic inspired by previous prompts. I’m not as happy with chapters 3 and 4 as I am with 1 and 2, but I hope you like it.

Tags: sort of a reunion, drarry, ewe, consent

Warnings: can’t think of any

Agnes Appleworm arrived early that morning. She had been granted special permission to visit the Manor once a month after leaving Draco’s case and the Ministry. She came bearing homemade food and cleaning spells for the reading room, in which things were going to happen that afternoon. The Thing, actually. The formal procedure of lifting the house arrest and making Draco Malfoy a free man once again.

After lunch, she wrapped Draco in a tight embrace. Despite Draco’s above average height, Agnes was still a good foot taller than him, this contributing to her tendency to mother every person she met, no matter their age or background. Draco had to admit he owed her his sanity because of that.

“You’ve done great, love. I am very proud of you”

“It was all thanks to you, Agnes”

She made a conspiratory face.

“Well, I wouldn’t take the merit off Harry now, would I?”

Draco rolled his eyes and Mrs Appleworm burst out laughing good-humoredly.

“Potter’s been around for the last two years, you were the one who did the heavy lifting”

Mrs Appleworm looked at Draco with a tender smile, hands on his shoulders. She gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek and arranged his hair.

“I have to go now. Do come to visit, you’re always welcome”

“Thank you, Agnes. For everything, I mean it”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and walked off, waving right before appareting away.

Draco was just turning his back to the open door of the reading room and vanishing the lunch dishes away when a series of whipping noises told him the Ministry officers had arrived. He turned around to greet them but he found himself freezed by the sight of several photographers, a wireless reporter, two writers, Minister Shacklebot, Hermione Granger with Martha O’Sea attached to her arm, four aurors, an unspeakable, a healer and a clerk from the Wizengamot. And no sign of Harry Potter.

Hermione and Martha approached him first, used to the Manor after months of working with Draco in their magical mental health proposal, and eager to greet him in such an eventful date. Then the Minister, not before having the aurors position the journalist and warn them against any wrong-footed move towards their host. Draco was mildly shocked, since nobody told him there would be press, and somebody did tell him he was going to be there and wasn’t. Hermione stood on her toes to whisper in Draco’s ear:

“I know you don’t like this, but we need to make a good impression if we want the bill to be approved. Relax, it’ll be over in a minute”.

Draco exhaled and nodded, eyes closed in resignation. There was a speech about the war, and memory and reconstruction. Then Hermione and Martha talked about their work, emphasizing Draco’s help. Draco answered a few expectedly uncomfortable questions, but nobody was a prick to him, following the Minister’s demands. Hermione was wrong: it took way longer than a minute, and it felt forever. Finally, the healer gave him a quick check, the clerk produced the paperwork and many pictures were taken of him and the Minister signing his release and probation, shaking hands, and taking a copy of the magical mind healing project’s first draft with great ceremony.

Draco felt all the wards and inhibition spells fall, and the Manor’s ancient magic stretch out and reach to the furthest corners of its grounds. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain all his magical energy pleading to shoot fireworks from his fingertips, to fly, to explode and set things on cold green fire, like a gigantic puppy after too much time locked in the kennel.

The Minister shook his hand and gave him an earnest smile before asking if using his floo was okay. The press left on his wake, and so did the aurors, and Hermione and Martha after setting a work meeting at the Ministry. Just like that he was alone again, in his reading room, door closed, not a living soul in the house. The magical thrumming inside him was now just a pleasant vibration all over his body, and now that he wasn’t overwhelmed by it, he was free to wonder where on earth was Harry.

He looked at his feet, sighed through his nose and told himself he should have seen it coming. There was nothing now that would make Harry come back. He wasn’t bound by his job anymore, and so he was able to avoid him. After all, they had never talked again about that Halloween night. Nothing else, not even a handshake, had happened between them. And yet Draco thought they at least were friends now.

This nine years had taught him nothing if not acceptance. You can’t make someone stay against their will, so be it. He shook the disappointment away and picked a book from his to read pile. A fantasy muggle novel, since Martha and Hermione had him overworking on the draft the weeks prior his release and he was done with medical and magical theory. He sat on his favourite armchair, by the window, trying to avoid the memory of all the Friday afternoons, and sometimes evenings, in which Harry sat opposite him.

Not many pages in the world of a mysterious and undoubtedly hot witch-hunter, the window beside him rattled, making him jump. Outside, perched on the windowsill, a magpie held his gaze with human-like annoyance. Amused, Draco opened the window and the bird flew in, cawing impatiently at Draco from the seat in front of him, jumping on one leg, with a rolled note tied in the other.

Wasn’t allowed to join the party. I’m at the front door. Wards won’t let me in. Guess they’re back to how they were before the war. Lift them for me? H. J. P.

Draco smiled softly and then he found he could not stop it. With his smile turned a wide grin, he flicked his wand to let Harry in and went to meet him at the entrance hall. When he got there, he was panting slightly, but the sight of a fidgeting Harry in civilian clothes, holding a bunch of books, a bouquet of white roses and a box of chocolates took his breath away. Still, he managed to play it aristocratically cool. He stopped on his tracks, straightened his pose and put his hands in his pockets.

“Afternoon, Potter. May I ask what are all those for?”, he greeted calmly, pointing at the presents with his chin.

“Well, I’ve been meaning to give the guy I like some sort of present, as in a first date, because we haven’t had one. One proper date, I mean. But I couldn’t decide between any of these books, because he loves to read, or the chocolates, because he does love chocolates, or the roses because I felt like an idiot passing by the florist every friday on my way to see him and thinking white roses remind me of him, but not getting the nerve to give him a bouquet just because. So here we are”.

“Here we are”, repeated Draco with the stupid, unstoppable smile back on his face.

Harry sighed and looked around, as if inspiration was going to appear there any minute. He was smiling too, albeit shyly, and kept changing his weight from one foot to the other.

“So”, he mumbled, “I believe we’ve got a conversation on pause”.

Draco looked at his feet. When he looked up, Harry was a couple of steps closer, offering him the bouquet as if he was offering a token of peace to a dragon. Draco took them carefully, smelled them, and summoned a jar with water and a small side table where he set them.

“Your hands are trembling”, pointed Draco taking the books and the chocolate and putting them next to the roses. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry laughed, fully aware this wasn’t the first time Draco had made that question. This time, though, the taunt in it wasn’t irritating. It felt like feathers up his breastbone. He closed the distance between them, his eyes set on Draco’s. He took Draco’s face between his hands and Draco, breathing heavily, put his arms around Harry, resting his hands in the middle of his back.

“Scared, me?”, said Harry, voice trembling. “Go ahead, you were asking something”.

“I’m impressed by your good memory”, said Draco coolly.

“I haven’t thought of anything else in the last two years”, he breathed.

With a smirk, noses already touching, eyes hooded and brisk heartbeats, Draco whispered:

“Would it be wrong if I kissed you right now?”

#fictober19 #drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry/draco #Draco/Harry

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whitehotharlots · 6 years ago

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Elizabeth Warren is a weak candidate

It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year.

Last October, prospective presidential candidate Liz Warren stopped by the ur-#Resistance podcast Pod Save America, a program in which several former Obama staffers named John talk about which Gryffindor house Trump administration members belong to, and helpfully explain why Andrew Cuomo is actually way more progressive than Cynthia Nixon. They talked about how Trump had taunted Senator Warren by referring to her as Pocahontas, a cruel play on her claim to Native American heritage. Why, they asked, don’t you try and shut that bully up? Why not take this test from our eugenicist friends at 23 and Me?

“By golly,” said Liz. “That sounds like a real dandy of an idea!”

Now… this is actually stupider than the mainstream narrative suggests. Because even though it turned out Liz had a smaller percentage of Native American DNA than basically every other American white person, simply taking the test reified an offensive precedent of blood quantum, which is more or less universally rejected among actual Native Americans. Even if it turned out she was 50% Cherokee and had little feathers floating in her piss, the entire spectacle still would have made a mockery of the intense, material struggles faced by Native Americans to this day.

Now, normally on this blog, I’d go on for several paragraphs about how I don’t actually care about Warren’s heritage (I don’t), how it’s more important to note that she and the rest of the Democratic establishment only care about Native issues to the extent to which they can exploit them, how her refusal to take a stand against DAPL was not just concerning but disgusting, how she can write as many “Pow Wow” recipes as she pleases but at the end of the day she’ll just be another shitty Democrat who expresses solidarity with oppressed people but does nothing to prevent their water being poisoned or their land befouled. But that’s jumping the gun. We’ll only have to worry about being gravely disappointed by Warren if she manages to beat Trump in general election. And I’m sorry to tell you, but she doesn’t have what it takes to get that done.

Warren is a goon. I’m sorry, but she is. She can’t answer softball questions about her recent political history without coming across like a teen who was just caught shoplifting and has been asked why there’s Playstation-sized bulge beneath his shirt. (“D-did I support gay marriage? Well, umm, jeeze louise who can remember something like that? Uhhh. There might be notes? Maybe? But there isn’t. So, I… I guess, well, who can say, really?”)

Warren isn’t nearly as a self-certain as Hillary was, and that’s a problem. It wouldn't be a problem if she actually were a leftist and actually did plan on proffering material solutions to the material problems facing nearly every American. But she’s not. Policy-wise, she is somewhat better than Hillary or Biden. That’s fine. But that’s not enough. She’s already spent too much time courting the Democratic establishment and their corporate base. She knows, therefore, that when a dying cancer patient asks her if she supports Medicare For All, that she has no choice but to lie to his face, that she’s prioritizing corporate cash over helping suffering people, but she lacks Hillary’s soulless cruelty and so she can’t simply laugh away the man’s concerns as naive bro stuff. This causes her to stutter and panic, which makes her (rightfully) appear disingenuous.

Warren’s plans are likewise a degree or two more progressive than what was being offered by Hillary in 2016. But they’re not straightforward. They are cloaked in the maddening layers of equivocations, loopholes, and means testing that have infected every Democratic proposal since the early 90’s. This is the unavoidable consequence of party seeking to appease two diametrically opposed interests. You can’t satisfy the profligacy of capital while helping everyday people. It cannot be done. And so Democrats rely on Rube Goldberg-style labyrinth policies to obscure this fact, to make it look like they’re trying to help when actually they’re not, they are at best attempting to add a little sugar to the arsenic so that we won’t fight back so much when they pour it down our throats.

Obama could pull this off. We all knew Obama was lying in 2012, but he was appealing enough to make us rationalize away his lies. Same thing with Bill Clinton. If you’re not old enough to remember, check out this debate clip. The man looked like he was going to crawl through your TV and fuck you, and most of us were cool with that. Hillary lacked this appeal. Warren lacks it even moreso. And, yes, I guess this is essentially affective and subjective--just my opinion and whatfor. But any soberheaded person should be troubled by the fact that Warren’s campaign as already absorbed the most viscerally annoying people from the Hillary campaign, and is already aping HRC’s most repulsive and alienating tactics.

These are people like Sady Doyle and Amanda Marcotte: neurotic, celibate scolds who engage with politics primarily as a way to actualize their petty grievances and insecurities. These people are incredibly unappealing to everyone who isn’t immediately inclined to like them, which is about 90% of the American electorate. And this unappealingness has nothing to do with their gender or their physical appearance. It’s because they are liars who are running a manifestly cynical grift, and they don’t have enough charm or intelligence to trick voters into thinking they’re doing something else. They are electoral poison, and their outsize presence with the Democrat establishment is a big reason why the Democrats get their asses beat so consistently even though they are supported unanimously by the American media and cultural classes.

Their grossness was encapsulated very succinctly yesterday, in the misadventures of Ms. Ashlee Preston. Preston is a large black trans woman who works as an official Warren campaign surrogate. She took to twitter to do what these people do: lie about Bernie Sanders and his supporters. They need to lie, because they are working for a candidate who is manifestly more regressive and less electable than him, but they still want to position themselves as the most radical in the field. So she lied. She said that Sanders hadn’t done anything to support gay rights since the 70’s, and that therefore it was actually good that Warren voted for Reagan twice during the AIDS crisis, because that means she grew into her present woke state.

This was all par for the course. Liars lie. Preston is paid to lie. So she lied.

Also par for the course: Bernie supporters asking her what on earth she was talking about, and doing so politely. And then, once again par for the course, the liar claiming to have been viciously harassed by Bernie Bros, which is meant to validate the lies that warranted the response--which actually wasn’t a lie since it was just, like, sarcasm that y’all folx was too hateful to understand.

This process has been going on pretty much non-stop since the middle of 2015. Anyone who pays cursory attention to it knows what’s happening, but the weird rules of political decorum make it so we all have to pretend to take it seriously. But yesterday there was a twist. Preston, apparently, had a bunch of semi-coherent tweets in which she said all kinds of neat stuff about Mexicans and Asians. These got posted. She reacted by saying she was kinda sorry but also still right and that it was harassment to bring up that stuff. And… that was it. Cancel Culture’s denizens applauded her apology (a courtesy often provided to those who are willing to lie about leftists). She is still employed by the Warren campaign. The incident wasn’t discussed in any mainstream news sources. The outrage over her old tweets was actually co-opted to smear those who unearthed them.

The simple observation here was made by hundreds of people online: if this were a Sanders surrogate, they would have been fired immediately, the affair would have been discussed on cable news, and it would have been held up as proof that Sanders should drop out immediately. And when I say hundreds of people posted something along these lines, I might be understating this. The duplicity on display here is manifest to everyone who isn’t on the take. Everyone can see how rotten this is. There’s no question about it. No argument to be had. I’m sorry to say, but this kind of brazen cynicism does not go over well with most voters. It is, in fact, incredibly alienating. The people who claim universal healthcare is inherently racist and attempt to ruin people’s lives for using imprecise language can’t just turn around and demand immediate ablution for their own hateful acts. Or… I guess they can, since that’s what just happened. But they shouldn’t be able to. And the fact that she was able to, so completely and so easily, proves just how much of a shitty fucking grift this whole thing is. You don’t need to be a genius to realize that. You don’t even need to be well-read. You just need to pay a little attention and possess a little bit of self-respect. And that’s why Warren is going to lose.

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dfcfanfics · 6 years ago

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Let’s Darken Up Season 4, Shall We?

First, a little reminder of where things could potentially go in the finale...

Horrible Theory/Prompt of the Day

And once you’ve digested that... let’s kick off Season 4 the hard way.

-~-

After the Light Has Faded

In an abandoned warehouse, hiding in its damp basement, Gabriel Agreste huddled in despair.

When your chickens came to roost, the whole flock came at once, he told himself bitterly. And you have yourself to blame.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to relive the nightmare he’d just endured.

So close to victory, he half-smiled. So close to my goal. And then... she was upon me.

He had watched through the eyes of Miracle Queen as his foes dropped one by one, some retreating to safer ground, some being dragged there by their teammates. Ladybug and Chat Noir had disappeared, along with a new hero he did not immediately recognize... and then, nothing for several long minutes. Focusing on the search, he had no idea that his own home had been invaded, until he heard an oddly familiar laugh, saw a yellow blur, felt the sting of a venomous barb... and then, all went black.

Some time later, he awakened with a splitting headache and a sinking feeling in his stomach. A glance downwards revealed what he already knew -- he was Gabriel, not Hawkmoth, and the brooch was gone!

A handwritten note was on the desk closest to him. Lovely penmanship, he noted, and why not? She was in no hurry. He read through it quickly, then dropped it and took off at a dead run...

Hello, Hawkmoth...Or, I suppose I should just say “Gabriel,” since you won’t be going by that name any more, will you?

I gave you the opportunity to work with me. I wanted to help you destroy Ladybug once and for all, to get revenge on those who have wronged us. But you rejected me -- ME! -- and left me in the cold. Well, cold is what you’ll get in return.

I left an anonymous tip with the police and with the local news station, giving them some convincing evidence as to whom Hawkmoth was all along. They were so excited to find that out! When you wake up, if you’d like to stay out of jail, I suggest that you grab what you can and run for it. That is, if you wake up before they arrive... I suppose I’ll know by what’s on the evening news, hmmm?

And speaking of cold... I found your little freezer-chamber downstairs, and the lady sleeping in it. Your secretary tried to stop me, but her little toy must’ve been broken, because she fell over before I even hit her very hard! It wasn’t much fun at all.

Okay, it was still fun. I’ll admit that.

I think you’ll be too busy running for your life to worry about them any more. Don’t worry, though. I’ll put your Miraculous to good use... along with my own.

--- Stinger

Horrified, he stabbed at the hidden buttons on his wife’s picture, descending to the hidden chamber deep beneath the mansion...

-~-

That girl will pay DEARLY for what she has done, Gabriel swore.. likely futilely, he knew. For what can be undone... and for what cannot.

He glanced around him at his uninspiring place of refuge. This is hardly the Hôtel de Ville, he grumbled, but what choice do I have? I cannot go anywhere where I will be noticed. I am now a fugitive from the law, and one whose face is known to all of France. I will have to do something to disguise myself, though I have no idea what could work. My accounts will be frozen, my credit cards flagged, my places of business and leisure locked down...

All I have is what I had time to stuff into this suitcase: some hastily gathered clothes, a double handful of bills from my safe, and... that.

Gabriel forced himself away from self-pity for a moment. And what of those I love? he mused.

My son is resourceful. He has spent his time at school making new friends, and I imagine that some of them will keep him off the streets, certainly. Perhaps that Nino boy, or the young lady with the pigtails of whom he has spoken so often. I do not know what his future will hold, what sins of his father the public will hold against him... or if Lila will strike at him again. I dare not imagine such a thing.

He glared at his cell phone, tossed aside a few meters away. I cannot even call or text him to warn him. Not with that phone, he groused. Lest I give away my location on a silver platter.

And as for Nathalie, and for Emilie... I can only hope that Lila feels that she has done... enough.

-~-

Gabriel spent quite some time curled up in a ball on the concrete floor before his will reimposed itself. Grow up, he ordered himself. You are smart enough to know how much of all of this you deserve, for the pain you have inflicted upon this city.

But my son, my wife, my... love... they must be avenged.

He glanced over at his suitcase once more. A small item stood out, taunting him silently.

I do not know how long Emilie’s chamber can support TWO people, Gabriel sighed. I do not know if it will work well enough for either like that, let alone both! And I am in no position to go there and check on it. I can only hope for the best, and act... and act quickly.

And there is only one action that I can take.

Gabriel picked up the item and held it in his hand.

What I know for sure... is what this will do to me. What awaits me. That there is no second or third chamber of preservation waiting to receive me.

But I need the Ladybug and the Cat Miraculous more than ever. Their power combined are my last faint hope of undoing this nightmare. And I cannot seize those without aid.

And as for Miss Lila Rossi... I will need every bit of power I can muster to achieve my vengeance.

Closing his eyes, he pinned the brooch onto his shirt.

-~-

A flutter of tiny wings heralded the beginning of Gabriel’s new existence.

“N-No!” gasped Duusu, frantically. “Put me back, please! I don’t know who you are -- wait, I do know who you are, but that doesn’t matter!” she sobbed. “After what just happened... after what I know...”

“Hello, Duusu,” said Gabriel, in a soft voice. “I am fully aware of what has happened. You are undergoing... difficulties, and to invoke your power requires a very high price.”

“And I won’t let anyone else pay it!” the Kwami insisted. “I’m broken! I need someone to fix my Miraculous. I don’t know if anyone is still alive who knows how--”

Her tiny squeals were silenced by a raised hand of Gabriel’s.

“If I had any other option in this world, I would be using it,” agreed Gabriel. “But I am a man at the end of his road. I will restore my family. I will have my revenge. And as long as I have this,” he continued, gesturing to the brooch, “I do not believe that you can stop me.”

“...Can you?” he added, lightly.

“I can’t,” wailed Duusu.

“In which case... Duusu... spread my feathers.”

#season 3 spoilers #ml spoilers #ml speculation #ridiculous theorycrafting #enter... the raptor

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39isabop-blog · 7 years ago

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Freddie Comforting a Friend

Okay, I wrote this one for @fredthelegend , who’s having a tough go at the moment. I hope this makes you feel better! I had lots of fun writing this, even though I needed to be practicing piano, writing a literature essay, and taking a biology test instead (don’t worry, I’ll still get those done :)) Basically, Freddie has come up with a slightly crackpot idea here to make you feel better, and I hope it works :)

Word Count: 700

Warnings: Literally none, it’s so pure and wholesome I could die

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost indescribable how the knot in your stomach had left you hollow. You knew that there was only one person in the world who could make you feel better. You dialed the phone on your bedside table. “Freddie, I need you,” you say, a hitch of a sob in your voice.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“I’ve… I’ve just broken up with my boyfriend and I need you right now.”

“I’ll send someone over to pick you up, just hold on,” Freddie says.

You knew you could rely on your best friend to make you feel better. You’d known him since your days running a stall in Kensington market, and though his music career had taken off, he always had time for you.

You arrive at Freddie’s house and ring the doorbell. Freddie opens the door and immediately puts a cup of tea in your hands. “Come in,” he shoos you inside.

You take a seat in his living room and take a sip of the tea. It’s the perfect temperature, with just the right amount of milk and sugar. Tea was basically the only food Freddie could make properly without assistance-- anything more complicated than boiling water was out of the question, and sometimes even that was questionable.

“Tell me what happened,” Freddie leans forward on the sofa, placing his chin in his hands.

“We were doing so well, and it was so sudden…” you trail off.

“Well, I have several ideas,” Freddie interrupts your thoughts.

“Freddie, you have enough ideas to ruin several lifetimes,” you laugh.

“Ha! Look, she made a joke! Okay, dear, let’s go upstairs.”

You follow Freddie up his grand staircase to his bedroom. He pulls open the doors of his walk-in closet. Vintage ephemera spills out into the bedroom floor. “Now, let’s get you in the most ridiculous outfit we can create. You simply cannot be sad when you look absurd,” Freddie explains.

Freddie pulls out silk shirts, printed kimonos, oversized sweatshirts, scarves, hats, leather pants, and platform shoes. He sits in a pile of clothing, tossing various articles over his shoulder. “Aha!” he shouts.

Minutes later, you’re looking at yourself in the most insane combination of costumes. You’re wearing a yellow kimono, bright pink feather boa, and a sombrero. “Feel better, darling?” Freddie calls from his bathroom where he’s changing.

Freddie emerges from his bathroom and the sight causes you to immediately double over laughing. He’s wearing cowboy boots, a short leather skirt, a neon green mesh tank top, a clown wig, and a hat you recognize as belonging to Roger. It’s a rainbow slouchy striped hat with an embroidered bill, one that Freddie would mock Roger mercilessly for wearing to work.

“You have the hat! Roger thought he lost it!” you exclaim.

“Darling, I stole it from him so I’d never have to see him wear it again. This is the only outfit that’s appropriate to wear it with.” Freddie twirls through the room.

You notice you’re already feeling much better, and you tell Freddie as much. “But dear, there’s a part two to my plan,” he says.

Freddie rummages through his dresser drawer and pulls out a Polaroid camera. “Strike a pose!” he commands.

You throw your arms out pose for Freddie, laughing. He snaps several photos and lays them on the bed. You both pose in front of the mirror and take several more photos.

“What are we doing with these?” you ask.

“A few are going to your ex, showing him that you’re having fun without him. You’re keeping a few, so that if you start feeling sad again, you can look at them and laugh. The last few are going to Roger, to taunt him about this damn hat,” Freddie smiles.

You give Freddie a huge hug, slightly startling him. “What’s this for, dear?” he asks.

“You’re my best friend. No one else could’ve helped me this much. Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder.

“No, you’re the best, darling, and you deserve nothing but the best. Let me know if I can do anything else for you. We still have a whole afternoon ahead of us.”

Also, this is the hat I’m talking about:

#freddie x reader #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury fanfiction #freddie mercury fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #brian may #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #fanfic #fanfiction

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londone-fog · 8 years ago

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Friday, Never Hesitate- Reddie Soulmate AU

AO3 Link

The next day, his mother told him to swallow a new pill. Oblong, slightly pink in color. It was bitter on his tongue, and he didn’t like it. The back pain went away after a couple of days.

But his Mama told him to keep taking them.

He didn’t want to upset her.

Chapter Two- Tuesday

Eddie ran for one of the first times in his entire life, limbs awkwardly flailing in an attempt to escape the pounding of feet behind him. He finally caught sight of a bathroom, screeching around the tight corner and slamming the door behind him. He clambered on top of the toilet seat in one of the stalls, hugging his knees tight to his chest. The footsteps of his pursuers thundered in moments later, followed by the sounds of fists banging on the door.

It was a Tuesday. Eddie was 11.

The pounding and shouting faded on down the hall eventually, but Eddie stayed put, trying and failing to keep his face dry of tears. He took a quick puff from his inhaler, trying to dispel the panic still lingering in his chest.

“Eds? You in here?” a voice asked, echoing off the tile walls of the bathroom.

“Don’t call me Eds, Richie. You know I don’t like that.”

“There you are. What happened?”

Eddie could see Richie’s large eyes through the crack in the stall door, magnified through the thick lenses of his glasses. He sighed, pushing the door open, forcing Richie aside. He stared at himself in the mirror, swiping at the drying tear tracks adorning his cheeks.

“Nothing. Just those kids in gym being jerks.”

It was not nothing. They saw something while they were all in the showers, or rather, a lack of something. Eddie didn’t have a soulmark. And, by extension, Eddie didn’t have a soulmate.

“Come on, Bill’s probably wondering where we are,” Richie said, giving Eddie a gentle pat between his shoulders.

“Yeah, right. Let’s go.”

Eddie usually wasn’t allowed out of the house much once he got home. His mom was still worried about him getting hurt, and he still took all of the same pills he did when he was younger, maybe even a few more. And he took them diligently. He didn’t want to make her upset.

But today, he was going to a sleepover for the first time at Richie’s house. He’d had to beg his mom over and over, and she finally cracked. And so, after school, she loaded him up with all his medication and several pairs of everything he could possibly need. With a big smacking kiss to the forehead, he was on his way.

The air was cool, whizzing through his short hair as he pedaled his bike through the streets of Derry. A few straggling pedestrians wandered around on the sidewalks, shuffling on their way back home from school and work.

When he pulled into Richie’s yard, he recognized both Bill and Stan’s bikes leaning against the side of the house. Sure enough, inside they sat, already starting a movie and chattering amongst themselves. Richie caught sight of Eddie through the screen door, cracked a grin and leapt up to let him in.

“Howdy Eds, thought you’d never show up.” He tried to make his voice sound funny, but it just sounded really weird.

“My mom told me I needed to take all my medicine. She doesn’t want me to get sick.” Richie wrinkled his nose.

“You won’t get sick. That’s crazy.”

“Is not. It’s flu season, anyone could be sick.”

“Flu season? You can get a flu any ol’ time. That’s dumb.”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“H-h-hey, the good p-part is coming u-up,” stated Bill from the other room, barely getting the sentence out. Stan nodded in agreement, blowing a loose bit of hair out of his eyes.

They all sat in relative silence for most of the movie, only making the occasional comment of telling Richie to please stop making fun of the characters and just enjoy the show. Eddie looked around at his friends, happy to be sitting surrounded by company, rather than sitting alone in his room.

“Hey, did you guys hear?” Stan asked, eyes not leaving the television as the credits rolled across the screen.

“Of course, Stan-the-man, I did hear. I’m doing it now!”

“Shut up Richie. Greta met her soulmate today. In the cafeteria.”

Greta was the pharmacist's daughter, and she was possibly one of the worst human beings to grace the earth. In the grade above them, she thought it appropriate to make their lives hell for simply existing. Eddie, who had to go to the drug store on a near daily basis, was quite familiar with her antics. To think someone like that could have a soulmate was very jarring.

“W-w-who was it?” asked Bill, shock laying low beneath his features.

“I dunno. One of those jerk guys from gym, I think.”

Eddie’s skin crawled, thinking back to earlier that week when he was chased out of the gym and into the boy's bathroom. The skin between his shoulder blades itched, and he swiped his nails across it a few times.

“I can’t tell if finding your soulmate young is a good thing or not. I mean, you know sooner, but what about the bad stuff?” Eddie inquired, more thinking aloud than expecting an answer.

“I guess I know what you mean. Like, what if you decide as a kid you want to just be platonic but then change your mind? Or vise versa? It’s pretty young to make a decision like that,” said Stan, scratching at his nose. Eddie caught a glimpse of his soulmark, a colorful, sweeping feather shape. It rested comfortably over the hollow of his slender wrist, winking, taunting.

“I-I-I dunno? I think having s-someone like that from the time you’re little w-w-would be nice?”

“Of course you would think that, Billy Boy, you ol’ sap,” Richie crooned, jokingly thumping Bill on the back. Eddie itched again.

The flashing lights from the television screen danced and blinked against the white walls of Richie’s living room. It was very late, and Eddie was the only one awake. Stan and Bill lay on the ground, sound asleep, backs pressed against each other for warmth. Richie’s head drooped against the back of the couch, legs curled beneath him and soft breaths puffing from his parted mouth.

Eddie thought back to the other day, and the kids who taunted him for being different. Catching a glimpse of his colorless body in the showers, pointing and making a scene.

Freak!

Forever alone!

Little Eddie doesn’t have a soulmark!

Weirdo!

He scratched at his shoulder blades again, running his nails across the skin there over and over again.

A loud crash emitted from the TV, causing Richie to jolt awake. He looked around in mild panic for a moment, before he scrubbed his eyes under his glasses and looked at Eddie.

“Why are you scratching like that? It looks like it hurts.”

“I dunno, my back itches like that sometimes. I think it’s allergies.”

“Let me see.”

Eddie hesitated for a moment, nervous energy bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. He finally relented though, turning enough so Richie could lift up the back of his shirt and examine the offending skin.

“It’s really red. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

A beat passed between them. But, slowly, Eddie felt the cool palm of Richie’s hand press gently against the irritation, rubbing small, gentle circles.

“Are you sure it wasn’t something those guys from gym did?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, worry ever present in his expression and tone.

“No, I’m sure. They mostly just yelled at me a bit.”

“Why were they so upset in the first place? I’m sure our Eddie Spaghetti wouldn’t just start a fight.”

Eddie tore a bit of dried skin off his bottom lip, the tang of blood singing on his tongue.

“I don’t have a soulmark.”

“What?”

“A soulmark. I don’t have one. I never have.”

Richie was deathly silent.

“I’ve never heard of that happening before. What’re you gonna do?”

He shrugged, feeling his face heat up with shame just a little.

“I guess I’ll just be alone forever.”

“No, you won’t,” Richie scoffed, raising his voice almost loud enough to wake up their sleeping friends. “You have your family. And Bill. And Stan. And me.” Eddie smiled a bit at that statement, embarrassment leaving to make way for something warmer.

Then Richie went quieter for a moment.

“Do you want to see a secret?” Eddie nodded.

Richie shimmied up his shirt a little bit, exposing his bare back. And sure enough, on the top of his back, sat a soulmark. But it was much different than any Eddie had ever seen. It was not grey, like someone whose soul mate had died. But it was not colorful at all.

It looked like it had sat in the sun too long, fading from constant exposure. Now it was only just barely darker than the skin surrounding it. The lines were thin and swirling, forming something that resembled a deep V shape.

“What’s wrong with it?” Eddie asked, words forming shocked and breathy.

“I dunno. It’s been like that since I first got it.”

They looked at each other, silent understanding passing between them. Eddie felt less alone in that moment, less like he was stranded in his struggle.

In that moment, Richie became his best friend.

#my writing #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #It (2017)#soulmate #friday never hesitate

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magic5ball · 5 years ago

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Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (2)

Chapter 2: They Paved Paradise…

Honestly, I didn’t know what I expected paradise to be. Back in those days, the word made me think of one of two things: sitting under a blanket all day with my video games or those scented candles Mom always got for the bathroom.

A dinky little stock pond filled so high with trout their fins were breaking the surface was the last thing I would have thought of.

Dinky or not, though, if I just sat there it was going to be my grave, and I acted accordingly: by kicking and screaming until I got what I wanted. Like the puppy dog eyes, I figured that if they worked on my parents, they’d work on these waddly little buggers. But natural selection must have been kind to those bird brains, because they did not relent in the slightest! It was like all the sympathy had been bred out of them over generations, and the rest was squashed by some rigorous training program. Heck, they seemed to work even faster after hearing me pout.

There was a sudden feeling of lightness as they launched my climber into the air, followed by a splash as it slapped smack dab in the middle of the pond, my body still facing skyward. The sun was shining brightly that day; right in my eyes like it was taunting me.

Then I began to sink. It was slow at first, like quicksand (I figure it was because of all the trout buoying me) but before long the sun was blotted out by a fifteen mile cloud of shimmering fish scales. By the time I’d sunk ten feet, it might as well have been night. My screaming got real bad after that, seeing how I couldn’t die and was probably going to spend the rest of eternity with my lungs caved in. And honest, I had no idea exactly how this equaled redemption. All I could do was let my last few bubbles of oxygen bounce right out of my mouth to the surface.

“Be calm, child.”

I didn’t know whose voice I heard, but it was like a loud, low gong going off in my noggin. Would have asked who was making it, if the source wasn’t already ten steps ahead.

“I’m simply here to help, and for any duress you may have experienced, I apologize. My followers can be quite… zealous, shall we say. Live action roleplaying is not a sport for those soft of spirit.”

Just like that, the trout started fleeing to the edge of the pond, letting enough sun in for me to see the bottom. I instantly wished they hadn’t. Because right in the direction I was heading came a dark walking tsunami of a beast with eyes like embers and teeth like steak knives.

I shut my eyes as the water started rushing around me.

. . .

When I finally got the courage to unseal my peepers, I realized it had all been a dream. Or had it? I was still at the stock pond, only I was on the grass next to it. Most importantly, I was free! Releif didn’t last long, though. Right next to me I could see the cat climber, ripped to shreds.

“Are you awake?”

The Voice!

I turned my head back and forth, trying to see where the voice had come from. It was night out, the only light coming from a rickety old streetlamp hanging over the pond. I would have wondered about the design choices that made the owners of Paradise decide to put a lamp there of all places, but frankly, I was more startled by the voice. There was something ancient, primal about it. Not in the pretentious way the Elves spoke, but something like rumbling thunder. Or an earthquake.

“Pardon me, but I asked, are you awake?”

Whoever was talking to me, they spoke in the dinosaur tongue. And not the street slang version I’d spoken in Hell. The real stuff. Think listening to someone talk in an Italian accent, then hearing a real Italian. Like that.

So there I was, sitting in a little island of light, surrounded by darkness, listening to a faceless voice with only a few moths for company. It was a scene straight out of those stranger danger videos they made us watch back in 1st grade, right before little Georgie got dragged into the sewers by some faceless evil for believing a sewer might have delicious lollipops. Of course, besides the creeping dread of never finding out what exactly did happen to little Georgie, I couldn’t remember a single piece of advice from that stupid film, other than run, which clearly wasn’t an option given how dark it was.

Instead, I curled up like a snail on the grass. It was my only defense.

“I do not wish to harm you, Watterson Tostig. I only want to talk.”

A pair of eyes glowed like fire in the darkness, followed by the sound of wet feet on grass, coming closer, closer…

I screamed. It honked back.

Then there was… gasping? Wheezing?

“Sweet Osiris, child, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Barely heard it, though, as it was still dark and I was still scared and I was hollering my head off. Kept at it, too, for a good ten seconds before I was aware I was still alive, so whoever was talking to me must have some sense of mercy. All slow-like, with that creeping sense of dread you get at a good horror film, I opened my eyes.

A goose. The thing I’d been scared of this whole time was a freakin’ GOOSE! Or at least the basic shape of one. Instead of the brown body and white belly of the other geese, this guy had a grey body with a black and white streak on the wing. Neck was different, too. Grey, not black, with a pink bill and a reddish brown mask over the eyes. Oh, and their tongue was covered in spikes.

The sight of that made me scream again.

The bird sighed, calming my nerves a tad. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that if he wanted to eat me, he’d have done so by now.

“Indeed, child. But I am no mere waterfowl: please, call me Bokrug.”

“Well, uh, thanks for saving me, Bokrug.” Most of my fear evaporated, replaced with relief I wasn’t going to be eaten alive.

“Many thanks to you as well, child, for most who have gazed upon my wretched form abscond into the night. Yet you have stayed. Would you, by chance, like to talk?”

Now imagine you’re a kid who had a goose walk up to him in the middle of the night, claiming to have saved your life. What would you do?

Long story short, I was there with Bokrug until sunrise.

We talked about… well I don’t remember this part too clear. Keep in mind I was still a ten year old who, at the time, was half asleep from exhaustion. Just that Bokrug had a lot of questions about how the world has changed in the last sixty years (apparently Elves gave him more ‘sacrifices’ than he’d ever need, but not one of the pretentious buggers could be bothered to pitch him a newspaper every once in a while).

“Once more, I would like to apologize for the behaviors of my… followers.” He sigh-honked the last part. “They have this odd habit of always sacrificing enemies to me, despite me being a pescitarian.”

“Pesci- What?”

“I eat fish.”

“Oh.”

“Watterson, I am truly grateful for your company, but before you continue on your journey back to the wretched Camp Sham (which I am sure is a long and arduous quest) there is a favor I would like to ask of you. You see, I cannot leave this pond, as I am a spirit bound to my bones. Bones residing at the bottom of this very stock pond.”

I imagined how pruned Bokrug’s feathers must have been after sixty years trapped in that dinky little fishing hole. It was not a pretty sight.

“But it was not always this way. Once, we Wood Elves lived in Paradise, usurped by a most befouled evil. My brethren shall explain in greater detail. Their skills of exposition far exceed my own. And there will be apologies, of course.”

Sure enough, I could see the little punks with their shopping carts hiding in the woods, beaks opened in shock as I made small talk with their God.

“Hey Bokrug?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not from here, are you? ‘Cause I’ve seen a lot of geese, but one with a little bandit mask over their eyes.”

“That, my child, is a story that began long ago, in a mystical land called Africa-“

“On second thought, nevermind. If it’s’ anything like the Africa stories Mom tells me, it’ll just make me feel bad about not finishing my broccoli.”

Bokrug let out a disgruntled snort as his white-cheeked worshippers waddled out from their hiding spots in the trees.

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #geese #stock pond #shopping cart

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toonqueen · 5 years ago

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Duckvember 2020

PART 1 OF 2

Part 2 is Here

Frenemy AND Paramour

This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is @cataradical 's and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.

THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

--------

Sheldrake was glad to have a very easy mission this time. It was planned to be the typical “act natural at a party, steal a thing, and then slip out” kind of job. And it was a solo mission; no coworkers to be annoyed with him (and vice versa). To top it off, he was actually invited to this shindig. Well, his paladin sect received the invite, but that meant he didn’t have to sneak in. With everything added up, it was practically a vacation!

What Shel expected to be a boring hunters’ gala was anything but. The leaders of different groups were trying to appeal to a modern, younger crowd. Instead of a stuffy meeting with the typical job fair flair, it was a real, honest to God party. A full bar! And dancers in cages! Sheldrake couldn't help but chuckle at how hard old fogey hunters were trying to get new blood. Crimey.

The paladin went to the bar and ordered a drink. He sat on a stool facing the crowd, keeping an eye out for his target.

"Well, hello there," a sultry voice greeted him. A tall redheaded duck leaned up against the bar beside him. She motioned to the bartender to get his attention. "I'll have what he's having."

Sheldrake wasn't caught off guard by the attractive duck's flirting. Despite his cursed energy that often drove others away or made them immediately dislike him, people that were intentionally and professionally deceptive could overcome it in an attempt to get something they wanted. Lord, it was a test, though.

The lady’s tight red dress and orange wavy locks were clearly up to no good. She was a literal red herring if Shel ever saw one. However, he played it cool.

"First hunter's gala?" He sipped his drink and gave the mystery woman a smile.

"Oh, I've been to a few--none quite like this though. Luckily I dressed for the occasion," she paused like she was turning a knob to up the seduction. She moved around, but kept looking back at Shel. "It would be even more exciting if I had one of those VIP passes I've heard others whisper so much about."

Sheldrake smirked. He knew this overtly sexy duck was trying to weasel her way to being a plus one on a special invite. However, he was curious as to why. "Yeah, it would be great to have one of those. But what is it even for? To join an exclusive party with more go-go dancers in cages?"

The redhead let out a giggle. A high pitched one, as if Sheldrake were just the funniest, most charming guy in the room. "I heard it was for a special auction. A bunch of rare items retrieved and uncovered by different hunters,” she replied. “My, I couldn't afford any of them, but I would love to look. Be some nice arm candy for a kind gentleman."

Sheldrake just chuckled before taking a sip of his drink. The lady hadn't touched hers yet. She watched him, slowly drawing her finger around the rim of the glass with a bewitching glow in her eyes.

Finally, Sheldrake said bluntly, "I'd give your performance a 9 out of 10. It might work on those first year hunters over there.” He waved vaguely to a group of younger bachelor-types chatting and laughing on the dance floor. “However, not quite buyin’ what you’re sellin’.”

The redhead shot them a quick look before turning back to Shel. "But they're not my type," she pouted. She leaned in a bit toward the paladin, and placed her hand over his on the bar. "I’d rather have someone more seasoned who can answer any questions I may have about the artifacts."

"Oh, I see, I see; switching gears, okay, okay. Stroke my ego first, then go for my intellect? If sex doesn't sell, then try brains? Gettin’ any warmer?" Sheldrake downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Well, this has been very amusing, and I wish you all the luck. Unfortunately, my VIP pass is just for me and doesn't allow a buddy. Boo dang hoo. Maybe try one of those light paladins in the white capes over to the left. They're way more sociable and have to travel in pairs." He gave another general hand wave… everywhere.

The redhead narrowed her dusky eyes. It was the first time she had shown any annoyance with Shel--ah, there it was, back to normal. The paladin slid off his stool, but before he could stand, the lady pressed her entire body flush against his side, beak in his head feathers..

Sheldrake expected a final desperate plea. Something to the effect of “I really need to see this event for my research,” or “please help me, I lost my own pass and my sect will be furious.”

Instead he got a low, unexpected voice. A familiar one that could be likened to Antonio Birderas' role in “Debate with a Vampire”, except if he were a white peking duck raised in suburbia with a twinge of a farmboy accent.

"Shel, I need to get into that auction to obtain a crucial item," Grimstone's voice whispered clearly out of this petite, curvy redheaded lady’s bill, "you have to give me your pass."

The paladin did not outwardly act surprised. He had 100% picked up the fact this woman was hiding something--more than the obvious. He did not expect, however, that Grimestone would be involved.

Shel hummed shortly. With a coy smile, he slid a hand around the redhead’s waist, whispered, "I didn't know you were so proficient in glamour spells."

"I'm not," Grimstone said, his voice reverting back to that soft, playful feminine tone, "my wife is one of the gentlemen servers."

"Oh, how cute," Sheldrake teased, pulling away from the duck.

"She doesn't like to be… flashy," Grimstone explained, a little defensive, looking over his luscious figure and tight-fitting dress.

"I get it, I get it. Taking one for the team, hm?" the paladin smirked as he sized Grimstone’s disguise up, "give my compliments to the caster, though.” He blew a kiss from his fingertips, as if praising a delicious gourmet meal. “Great job. Succulent, divine, mouthwateringly juicy."

Grimstone scowled, crossing his arms. "Sheldrake, the pass."

"Sorry. I have business here, too," the paladin disagreed, "why don't you try those frat boys I recommended earlier?”

"I’ve already tried. You were my last resort. Trust me, this is for the greater good," Grimstone explained.

Sheldrake put his hand to his chin, pretending he was thinking deeply. Grimstone and him had an interesting work relationship; they’d helped each other on several occasions in the past, but also had been on opposite sides a few times, too. Finally, after much consideration, he said casually, "Yeah, no. I'm sure you'll find another way."

Grimstone’s tiny manicured fingers curled into tight fists. "Is there somewhere private we could discuss this more openly?" he pressed.

"Man, this is a borderline orgy sex party. I'm sure there’s a room we can get for a half an hour," Sheldrake replied, then gave an obnoxious wink.

Grim rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. People have been dipping out to the stairwell to smoke. We’ll talk there,” the disguised warlock suggested.

“Sure. Sure. I take it your high school prom wasn’t that exciting,” Sheldrake taunted.

Grim sighed and nodded to a waiter nearby before taking Sheldrake’s arm in his. “Let’s walk, then. Hopefully no one’s there at the moment,” he said. Despite the voice coming from the redhead being so playful and demure, Sheldrake could tell Grimstone was using his “I'm taking charge of this operation” tone.

Sheldrake would normally roll his eyes when Grim spoke to him so seriously, as if he were one of his many wild rugrats. However, he played along, swaying off side by side with this very attractive lady.

Once outside on the desolate stairwell, Grimstone exhaled heavily. "There is a magical person of interest I’m here to free, and it's of the utmost importance that I do.” He spoke in an unusual voice; neither his normal voice, or his disguise’s. Rather, a unique combination; feminine, but more husky. Kinda cute, actually.

"And you don't think what I'm doing here isn’t important, too?" Sheldrake replied, loosely crossing his arms.

"I really *do not* have time for this Shel. I’m handling a case where a school of children were transformed into inanimate objects, and I need to free this woman known as the Brunswick witch who specializes in these curses and can break it,," Grimstone explained. He glanced cautiously at the stairwell window.

"And I have an out of place artifact from a different universe I need to win--or steal, if I have to. I can't give you my pass," Sheldrake insisted. He was going to add a flirty comment, but quickly saw the short nod Grimstone gave in the window’s direction before looking back at him again.

Sheldrake sighed. "You're really going to fight me in a building full of hunters?” He leaned close, booping his beak against Grimstone’s. “*Really*, my guy?”

"I need the pass, Shel. You leave me no choice," Grimstone lamented, rolling his hands up his arms as if drawing back sleeves. Sheldrake expected a punch, but was instead tackled around the waist like a damn linebacker instead.

Sheldrake would’ve had the wind knocked out of him if he hit the ground like Grim intended. Instead, he wiggled his shoulder and pulled an arm free, grabbing his attacker. With expert ease, Sheldrake pinned Grim down on his back with one knee in a partial straddle.

Brushing loose bangs from his eyes, he looked down to see if Grim had slipped out of his glamour in the brief scuffle. Rather, Grimstone’s disguise was shifting, brows becoming thicker, body filling out, patches of feathers turning black.

Grimstone was trying to copy and transform into Sheldrake.

“Aw,” Sheldrake chortled at the struggling duck, “well, they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Grimstone gave a distinctively annoyed “ugh” before ripping an arm free and grabbing Shel by the throat; however, he didn’t squeeze or attempt to choke him. "And I do often tell you to go fuck yourself."

"That… trying to be a badass line doesn't quite work in your position, buddy," Sheldrake added as he fought to keep Grimstone's hand down.

"I just have to,” Grimstone's voice dipped back down to his own before changing into one eerily similar to Sheldrake’s, "keep you talking."

"Hol-lee shit. Well, the glamour spell might’ve been the missus, but you're totally doing that all on your own. How quaint! I can't believe you've been holding out on me. I thought you told me *all* the tricks you could do," Sheldrake replied. Grimstone went to grab something, anything from Sheldrake’s pocket. “Oh, no, you don't! Don't get handsy with me."

"You didn’t have a problem with it before," Grimstone snarked at the comment. He continued flailing and clawing until Sheldrake eased back to elbow him in the beak. Just enough leverage for the warlock to free his second hand, grip Shel’s shoulder tight.

Grimstone snarled, twisting one of his leg's around Shel's until they switched positions, the paladin now pinned beneath the demonic duck.

"How is it that we're both expertly trained in hand to hand combat, but whenever we fight, it’s like we’re stupid little kids slapping each other on the playground during recess?" Grimstone grunted. He continued searching desperately for some personal item on Sheldrake while also trying to hold the speckled duck down. Shel managed to punch him in the jaw before Grim hooked his arm around Sheldrake's to pin it back above the paladin’s head.

"I just assume,” Sheldrake grunted, arm freed and throttling Grim, "I assume we don't really want to kill each other, so we do all this bullshit ass grabbing--"

The stairwell door abruptly and loudly opened. Both ducks stopped fighting, looking up with eyes comically bugging from their shocked faces.

A paladin recruit in their early twenties stared back at them, blinking. “Um…” he gaped.

Two almost identical dudes, possibly, maybe twins, with one wearing a sexy dress, wrestling on the stairwell.

“Look,” the recruit grumbled, raising a hand, "I'm not judging whatever fetish is going on here, but please do it somewhere more, uh, private? Some of us need to vape.” With a grumble, he left, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, shit," Sheldrake snorted. Grimstone sighed. The two relaxed and unwound, sitting side by side.

"We need to solve this. Now," Grimstone said firmly. Sheldrake watched as he stood, offering his hand to help the paladin up. "I don’t want to fight you, but I need to save those children."

Shel blinked then finally conceded with a big, exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay.” He took Grim’s hand. “... Actually... I think I have an idea."

-----

The third floor of the hotel was unsettlingly quiet. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the auction room, barely audible outside the door.

"Grim! Grim!" the blonde duck whispered harshly as she walked up to Sheldrake. The male server uniform Magica wore was baggy when she was out of glamour. She fixed the bun in her hair as she said, "You have to be careful. I overheard a few disturbing things about the auction… I'm worried some of the items could hurt you. Maybe… maybe I should go instead."

"It's fine, it's fine. I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm the only one who could get his voice right,” Sheldrake--Grimstone--replied. He smirked, a slight leer on his beak. “But how about a kiss for good luck anyway?"

Magica glanced around the hallway; with the coast clear, she leaned in to peck the corner of Grimstone’s beak. "Please, please, please do be careful," she pleaded.

Magica turned to leave, then stopped; turned back around quickly. She took Grimstone’s face in her hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. He could feel her tongue shyly stroke his for a second, hands affectionately squeezing his cheeks, caressing the corners of his beak.

The light witch broke the kiss when she heard a noise from down the hall. Luckily, they were still alone.

"I'm getting this foreboding feeling off you, Grim,” Magica said dubiously, “you sure you're full up on luck?" She let his face go and stepped back, slipping into the form of a masculine Borzoi waiter.

The “paladin” restrained an amused grin. "Really, I'm fine,” he reassured. “You do your job, and I'll do mine.” He winked, then entered the ballroom.

Magica took the stairwell at the end of the hall to the lobby downstairs, only to be greeted by Grimstone a second later. She looked up, eyes wide; it was Grimstone’s voice, undeniably, but he was still disguised as Sheldrake.

"Love, there’s been a change in plans," Grim stated.

With a blink and *poof*, Magica changed back to her normal form. "Who... what...? I thought I just spoke to you a second… You were that paladin, but... How?" She squeezed Grimstone’s shoulders, scanning his eyes and face closely.

"I’m disguised as the paladin I told you about, yes. He’s agreed to help us; we need to wait by the fire escape in case he needs emergency back-up should anything go wrong," Grimstone explained.

Slowly, color drained from Magica’s beak.

“What is it?” Grimstone asked, concerned.

"N-Nothing!” Magic squawked. How could she have been so easily deceived-- “I'll explain later. Let's go help your friend." She quickly disguised both herself and Grimstone as canine servers. "We'll just… act like we’re taking a smoke break in the back."

"Good, I was thinking the same.” Grimstone frowned and looked away. “And he's not my friend…” he trailed off.

"But we can trust him to help us, right?" Magica asked in her own voice.

"Eh, we can trust him, but not *trust* him," Grimstone said vaguely, “if you get what I mean.”

Magica rubbed her temples. "We're leaving this mission to a paladin *you don't fully trust*?"

"Oh, I don't know. I seem to remember doing the same thing a long time ago, and that worked out just fine," Grim said with a half smile, squeezing Magica’s shoulder.

"That's different! I was a lightbearer. I--" Magica was interrupted by the opening of a stairwell door above them.

Grim took Magica by the arm. "Let's go take that smoke break," he said quietly, guiding her down the hall.

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#duckvember #duckvember 2020 #magica de spell #gladstone gander #magicstone #negaverse #morgana macawber #sheldrake

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