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namelesswolffreak · 4 years ago

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"Boyfriends"

I've been working on this story concept for....3-4 years now and I've finally managed to work everything out to the point I'm confident in posting this little blurb of the main characters. So, I hope you enjoy and feel free to ask questions about them and their world.

Context: This takes place in a world of super powered people heavily inspired by MHA / Marvel / Miraculous. Waker (Way-kur) Atlas is Dare City's main hero who is put through quite a lot on a daily to weekly basis trying to beat the baddies and Cyrus Fauthrin is his infamous thief arch nemesis turned lover and best friend who causes trouble around the city just to get the Hero's attention.

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The melancholy of the day was waning on Waker as he patrolled the quiet streets of one of Dare’s many neighborhoods which was quite unusual considering every seven seconds a villain was after his head. The sun was barely above the clouds, no one was really awake yet and the only thing that accompanied him was his footsteps as he jumped, hopped and skipped to the next platform he summoned under his feet. He happened to be bounding over Lay Wind Park, the foxes fast asleep in their dens to his disappointment, but the Hero Monuments were still a sight to behold in the early sunrise as they shone with brilliance in what little light was filtering over the surrounding hillsides.

The wind blew past his frizzed locks as he stood above the park near a tree in the shade, expression steeled and focused as he watched for signs of trouble as he waited for a certain someone to arrive. Today was uneventful and rather slow, the kind of day Waker preferred if he were being honest. Heaven knew being bored all day was ten times better than returning home to the countless kitchen sink surgeries he’d have to do with worn needles and his mother’s thread pinching into his skin as he sewed up bloodied wounds full of shrapnel and debris. Much better. The birds were chirping a happy, lazy song as they flew by on the breeze and the distant hum of an awakening city filled the natural ambiance of cicadas and crickets quite nicely as he watched and waited. He dare let out a sigh as the scene took hold of him fully, a warmth washing over him that he hadn’t felt in the recent weeks.

Which wouldn’t be for long as the rustling of tree leaves and a “Boo!” have him falling off of his platforms and hurtling towards the ground with an embarrassingly shrill scream.

“Waker!” A concerned voice follows as a blue blur dives after him.

Ground spiraling as he falls, Waker braces for impact, too late to conjure any platforms beneath him to break the fall so, he readies himself, waiting for the hurt and pain that would surely follow with some scrapes and bruises…………...But it never comes. He unscrunches his eyes and removes his arms from his head to see a blue, sparkling light surrounding him.

Irritation and embarrassment take over him immediately.

His face turns a copious amount of red as he’s carefully scooped up in pale arms that hold him close and, humiliatingly enough, in bridal style. Oh god no, he curses mentally, murmuring a soft “No…” into his shield of arms. This was so not how he wanted to show up in front of his partner after their long and grueling few weeks of not being able to see each other outside of villain fights and breaks in between their testing week.

The sudden warmth of a chest presses against his side and the delicate rhythm of a frantic heart race beneath his one hand as the other quickly grabs for his cape to hide his strawberry cheeks. There was no way in hell he was letting ‘he knew who’ see him in such a state, there was no possible way he could let the witch-like thief catch him like this. A brave hero didn’t get scared or spooked by rustling leaves and the word boo! Absolutely absurd! Though a voice in the back of his mind said he already had.

“You are such a fucking clutz, I swear.” And a huge scaredy cat, the blue-clad ravenette doesn’t say aloud, but his tone implies anyways. “I should take you to my ballet classes sometime, maybe then you’d actually learn some balance.” The comment only makes him clutch the soft fabric tighter around himself.

He’s loathing the thought of unveiling himself now, but he knows he’s been caught, his normally stoic or serious persona now broken and practically burned away as he knows his cape isn’t doing much to hide his warm face or the tenseness of his grip. Plans to forever sink himself into a hole where nobody could possibly ever find him again after this mess are shortly abandoned for now and gaining courage Waker swallows the huge lump in his throat and tries to cleverly reply. “H-hey, what’s a-....What’s up, Witch Boy?” And he knows the intended playfulness doesn’t go through as he’s met with a narrowed glare.

The other isn’t amused. “Witch boy, really? Did I actually scare you that badly that you lost a couple of brain cells?”

“Shu-shut up, Cyrus!” He defends as this “Cyrus” just sighs at him, though his stare more sly than pointed now.

“Get out of that stupid thing so I can see your face.” He says with a tremble in his voice that Waker can definitely tell is laughter, the prick. “Or I’ll totally drop you again.” And like hell he will, Waker knows, but he takes the threat seriously nonetheless and loosens his grip on the cape just enough to see the Ravenette’s brilliant and ever playful smile.

For a moment Waker just stares and admires him, those brilliant blues sparkling, no, literally sparkling as he says something Waker doesn’t catch. The sun is framing his face so perfectly in the light, highlighting those perfectly red cheeks he would love to kiss every morning, and the slight upturn of his lips as he smiles down in reverence at him, and the slow flutter of his lashes that compliment his features nicely. Though braided off to the side Cyru’s hair never fails to make him look so ethereal as the gentle morning breeze brushes back his loose strands. Waker swears it looks like its made up of space itself when he lets it go during the night time, convincing himself he can see stars within the strands when he stands beneath the moonlight. It doesn’t take much to make the hero swoon regarding his partner nowadays. Daydreams of peaceful nights alone on the couch watching movies together after his nightmares keep him awake and alert run through his mind, or the times Cyrus has saved him from getting beaten to a pulp and they spent hours talking over stitching him back together about nothing at all, and every single time Cyrus has stuck up for him at school, reminding him of the warmth this person carries with them and all the love and affection he’s constantly showered in when they’re together. It’s strange how much Cyrus has changed over the past few months from raging emo to ride or die friend, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He doesn’t even try to stop the lofty sigh that escapes his lips as more dear memories cross his mind.

And Cyrus is all too quick to recognize that dumb look on his face.

“Oh, hell no!” Is the only warning he gets before being promptly dropped, this time no blue aura to save him from hitting the dirt below, landing with a thud. “Not this early in the morning!” Though Waker could have sworn Cyrus was sharing the same look with him not minutes prior.

“Ow! Why’d you drop me, asshole!?”

Cyrus cocks his hips as he floats there, his wide brimmed conical now covering his eyes in an intimidating manner, making him way more menacing than he should considering his current attire. “Oh please, don’t even act like you’re hiding that stupid look on your face, Idiot! I ain’t dealing with your whole sappy dappy act this early in the morning.”

By “sappy dappy” Waker knows exactly what he’s referring to and scowls accordingly. Apparently, holding hands and having morning cuddles while complimenting everything about Cyrus is considered sappy and lovingly disgusting. Well at least to some people, it’s called affection and admiration!

“It’s a look that means I like you, asswipe!” Waker shoots back, malice nowhere to be found in his tone though, barring more on playfulness.

“Do you think I’m in love with you or something!?”

And they then stand there -well float there- in silence, both looking each other in the eyes, narrowed brows testing the other to make the next move or say the next snappy comment. And for a moment it looks as if the words really have cut too deep, but Waker isn’t one to remain serious for long as his shoulders begin to shake, prompting the other to clutch his stomach and stifle a grin as their eyes water over with laughter.

“Oh, no, not me, I could never.” Waker quips, leaning back and hugging both his arms, not caring for the dirt now caking his suit. Cyrus is quick to come back with his own natural snark.

“Pfft, as if! Absolutely not. Me and you, the orange haired frizz ball who kicks my ass more than twice a week over that one time I stole a candy bar? You gotta be fucking with me!” He bellows, Waker taking note of the boy flipping upside down where he floats in the air, his face a contortion of joy and happiness as his ripped dress flows with the wind.

He finds the display rather adorable, recalling that such a thing only occurred by accident when the thief was getting emotional. His inept ability to control his powers never failed to amuse the Hero. The little wrinkle of his nose didn’t quiet his thoughtful admiration either as he blushed in between bouts of giggles.

"I wouldn't have time to be your lover anyways!"

“It’s only 6am, when can I admire my boyfriend so it fits within your busy schedule?”

And the laughter is immediately quieted, a heavy silence filling the air, even the crickets and cicadas falling victim to it. The world is waiting in bated breath as if listening to the drama unfold.

Waker holds in a breath. Oh shit, oh fuck, he really fucked it up this time! Way to go, Atlas, you really did a number on today!

…………

………….

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just did-”

“It’s ok……” Cyrus breaths out, taking a long drag of air before finally finishing. “It’s….ok.” He manages to lower himself to the ground, dress falling at his sides, and crosses his arms in doing so. “We’re-I’m going to have to get used to it eventually.” He shrugs. “Right?”

There’s a weight to his words as Cyrus steps closer to the redhead that Waker recognizes near immediately. They’ve had this talk before, a talk that has led to a misunderstanding or two between them in the past and a verbal fight at that. The term “Boyfriend.” It was a touchy subject to say the least and while it had been a challenge for even Waker himself to start using it, it also seemed Cyrus was struggling to accept the lofty title. A long time ago before the two even met, the word had a different meaning to it for them both, but Waker had long since come to terms with it himself, but understood Cyrus’ hesitation in saying the word freely. He considered his next words carefully.

“I know you don’t exactly like the ter-”

“It’s not that I don’t like it Waker…..”

“I know, Cy, but.” Failing to put his thoughts into words Waker scrambles forward to catch Cyrus’ hands in his own, pecking each delicately, square on the knuckles, gauging his reaction whilst he does so. When Waker is met with a soft smile, he returns it, though his much softer and kinder in Cyrus’ eyes. “I shouldn’t have said it when you’re not ready. Just because I moved past it doesn’t mean you have.” Noticing his smile slipping he clumsily adds in, “And that’s ok! Really, it’s ok and I mean, and I love you and-uh, I get it and I mean I just say boyfriend because that’s what everyone else says, expects- wait no- I didn’t mean to phrase it like that uh-I don’t really get the need for a title for what we have anyways, like so dumb right!?”

Followed by more ridiculous rambling that has Cyrus covering his mouth trying not to giggle. It’s a nervous habit that has come to amuse the thief to no end. “And-it not like it means anything to us, its just there for other people so they know that um, we, us, you and I are an um item I guess wow that was cheesy and dumb and I am so sorry that you have to put up with me oh god I’m rambling and no, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the thing again aren’t I-” Shaking with laughter again Cyrus has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to shut up because he knows if he doesn’t Waker could go on well into the night and has before. It didn’t help that he could feel the tremble of the others fingers, realizing Waker was going to throw himself into an anxiety attack if he didn’t.

“Waker!” And Waker promptly closes his mouth, panic clear in his eyes that Cyrus quickly combats by brushing strands of orange out of his face and behind his ear. “Just take a deep breath.” And Waker does, following the instruction intently. “And let it out, slowly.” And Waker follows that too, looking that much calmer as Cyrus pulls him closer. “Slowly.” He rubs his thumbs over Waker’s hands. The trembling is still present, but less so. “There you go.” And doesn’t stop telling him to breath calmly until he feels Waker’s grip relax in his own.

Delicately and softly, each flyaway is combed back into place only to immediately pop out again, but Waker appreciates the sentiment anyways and Cyrus has no problem being given an excuse to keep combing through such lovely soft tufts. He loves the soft mane of fluff on his partner’s head that even since their first meeting has remained as untamed and wild as ever. -Such a shame he always ties it back when he’s on duty though- It just adds to the contrast between his actual self and hero persona, the sweet and endearing ball of anxiety vs the serious and battle ready hero of Dare city who couldn’t catch a break. And he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit to which one he preferred.

“You don’t need to tell me-er.” Waker quickly corrects, trying not to sound patronizing. “I don’t need you to explain yourself Cy. You-we don’t need to have a name if that’s what you want, that’s what I’m trying to say. Official or unofficial or whatever, I won’t treat you any different.”

“I know Waker. I…..I really want to call you that, just I-.......I just like what we have right now and-”

Waker just pecks him on the cheek quickly and pulls away to pat at a spot on the ground, looking longingly back up at him. A soundless “You don’t want to lose me.” goes unsaid as Cyrus complies, Waker taking the shorter one in his arms once more.

It wasn’t a matter of Cyrus being afraid to commit, though maybe it was, not even he was sure of what was going with himself anymore, but a fear that the wonderful friendship he’d built up with the hero would end or change or just not be the way it is now because they suddenly started calling each other boyfriends. He’s had it happen one too many times at this point, every one of his previous “boyfriends” changing everything once they started dating, acting as if kissing and romantic outings were supposed to be their only interactions from now on. They were no longer interested in the random silly things he found on the internet or just hanging out doing whatever, but were interested in using him, his body, parading him around and rubbing it in peoples faces, being denied having fun if it wasn’t their idea of “fun” and more. Cyrus' stomach curls remembering being ignored for weeks to months at a time because he wasn’t feeling up to being in bed with them or awkwardly sitting off to the side while his one boyfriend at the time showed him off to his friends and bragged. It was the same guy who he used to play videogames and eat cookies with on the weekends, talking about anything and everything…...It hurts him to realise there probably was never a friendship there to begin with. Just an elaborate ruse to get him into bed at some point.

And that was one thing Cyrus feared when they had held hands for the first time after awkwardly admitting to harboring feelings for each other after the high of a fight they were forced to join sides on. Never had the thief felt more relieved that his feelings were reciprocated, but also more scared that he had just ruined the one healthy relationship he managed to make in those many months spent together.

Cyrus removes his hat and huddles under Waker’s chin, placing his head right on his heart that gives out a steady, comforting rhythm and brightens when the taller of the two puts his head on him in return. No, Cyrus thinks, this is different.

A long silence falls between them as they cuddle in each other's arms, just watching the sun come up. Basking in each other’s presence, taking in the warmth of their bodies pressed together in this nice early morning, and relishing in the calm which was far and few in between with their double lives and they were thankful. There’s no need to exchange words now as a quiet understanding befalls them both.

It’s only after the sun seems to peak at the crest of the hillsides does Waker make himself heard again.

“Is that why you dropped me?” And Cyrus blinks for a quick second, processing the question before understanding and then playfulness cross his expression.

“No it’s because you’re a dunce.” He huffs. “And fucking heavy as hell.”

Waker chooses to ignore that last bit. “But I’m your dunce.” He boops his nose.

“Damn, straight you are.” And Cyrus retaliates with a kiss on his.

Boyfriend or just “friend who I like to kiss and hold hands with sometimes”, Waker loves him and Cyrus doesn’t doubt that for a second.

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graceslavenderhaze · 4 years ago

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bright { connor stevens}

synopsis: connor knows your soul and you know his. now that knowledge is put to the test.

authors note

part two of haunted!

in this story a evil eye bracelet is use, which is a talisman used for protection against misfortune and injury. i have used evil talismans since childhood and their apart of my culture which is why i’m adding them into my writing.

also i tried my best to reconstruct the timeline so if there’s some mistakes and gaps, i tried lol.

also the major plot twists i threw into this? whip lash worthy

Your walk home was accompanied by your tears and broken heart. While your mind was on auto pilot buzzing through every moment you spent with Connor, trying to pin point the exact moment everything had gone wrong. Was he being honest with you? Did he suddenly start caring all of a sudden what your over bearing parents thought about your relationship with him? Or was he just never into you that much to beginning with. You weren’t immune to hearing the whispers in the hallway and how cruel your classmates could be, while Connor always reassured you. Your mind always had that deep corner that was out for blood and to hurt you.

Your cheeks were raw and your eyes were stinging by the time you had returned back home. All the lights were out downstairs and upstairs. You snuck back into your bedroom with ease. You had no willpower once you entered through your windowpane to do anything. You shrugged off the jacket and your shoes, managed to changed into the first pair of clean pajamas you saw and the second your head hit the pillow, you were out.

You woke up to your alarm and felt like you had been left on the side of the road after being ran over. You sat up to check your phone and saw that there had been a few notifications from your socials and texts from Luke, they were about Connor. Adding insult to injury. You stared at the texts debating if you should even them, and deciding against them. You couldn’t deal with this decaffeinated.

“So he just broke up with you? Out of nowhere?” Carrie said as you had finished ranting to your friends. You nodded and her face furrowed. “That’s out of character for him, he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.” She said nonchalantly making a turn onto out of the coffee shop parking lot. You took a sip of your coffee.

“It’s so out of character for him.” Kayla commented from the backseat, you turned slightly to look at her. “Obviously we don’t know him as well as you do but c’mon that’s so weird.” It was weird, you didn’t put everything together in the moment but something was definitely going on.

“You’re right.” You murmured. You didn’t want to give yourself excuses but something was definitely going on. As you rolled into school you noticed Luke and your eyebrows furrowed, Connor wasn’t with him. They always walked to school together. Unless he ditched.

“Hey!” Luke announced as he walked up to Carries car when you’d gotten out. “Hi.” You said shortly walking past with your friends. “You seen Connor yet?” You and your friends stopped short. “Why would she keep tabs on her ex?” Carrie snarked. Confusion washed over Luke and he went silent as a sympathetic look was cast your way. You smiled before you and your friends continued your way to class.

After school, you stayed late to hang with Kayla as she choreographed some more things for dance while you worked on your homework. Eventually you were both kicked out by the boys wrestling team and when leaving the coach asked if you knew where Connor was, you shook your head and went your way with Kayla. “He didn’t show at all today?” You voiced with concern to Kayla, she met your face with mutual concern. “You should call him. Breakup aside this is some criminal minds type shit.” You nodded. You pulled your phone out and your finger hung over his contact before you finally pressed down.

The ringing went on and on which just built up your anxiety. Then his voicemail. “Hey it’s Connor, leave a message if you even do that anymore it’s the twenty first century.” You swallowed and looked at Kayla. “Hey, i know i’m probably the last person you want to hear from but where ever you are can you just call me and let me know you’re not kidnapped or something morbid like that. ok bye.”

“Effective.” She said as you opened the passenger door. “Well sorry i don’t have a go to my ex who i love is missing might be missing and i’m concerned voicemail at the ready.” You said buckling your seatbelt. “Weakling.” She said pulling out of the school parking lot.

“Where’s y/n? “ Hanna asked as they went through Connor’s backpack that they had found in the woods the day prior. Luke hadn’t spoken anything of Connor and yours breakup with the rest of the group and they’d been confused on the absence of their friend. “Connor and her broke up the night before he went missing.” Luke said to the group. The room went silent other than the humming of the art room lights.

“Is that why she’s been avoiding us?” Gabby asked, she’d seen you several times and you’d dodged. It wasn’t intentional it was just that they were Connors friends first. “Probably.” Jai said continuing to look through the backpack when a letter addressed to you fell out. He looked at the group, “Nope not reading it.”

“None of us are!” Hanna said as Luke inched towards it. Gabby nodded, “I have class with her next period. I’ll give it to her.” She said shooting the boys looks. The boys both put their heads down like dogs in the dog house.

Eventually, the bell had rung so the group went separate ways and when Gabby saw you in class she sat next to you before you had the chance to move seats she dropped the letter on your desk. “We know why you’re avoiding us. But he left this for you, Luke found his backpack in the woods yesterday and he’s convinced something happened.” She said keeping her voice down not wanting to draw any attention to the two of you. You nodded taking everything in.

You slipped the letter into your backpack. “I want to help but things with my parents aren’t the best right now and besides my shifts at the book store i’m on lock down.” You explained to her, there was nothing more you wanted than to help Connor. She nodded. “I totally understand. I’ll text you updates.” She said with a reassuring smile. You gave her a smile and then turned your attention to the class even though the only thing you could think about was the letter in your backpack.

It had been hours before you were able to read the letter that Connor had left you. It sat there taunting you. You ripped it open and didn’t know what to feel. It just had a post it note that said you’re enough, then ticket stubs from dates you’d been on and a wax bracelet with an evil eye charm attached. You put the bracelet on almost instantly. Nothing made sense.

What you had was a piece of the puzzle.

On Monday, Connor was here. Sleep deprived, worried eyed and self heart broken. Tuesday came like sunrise and he was gone as if he never existed. The only thing left was his backpack and laptop that was password encrypted.

On Tuesday, his backpack had been found in the woods he last was in before he disappeared. With trinket lights, a letter for you, and a note that was chalked up to be clues.

On Wednesday, his friends went through his backpack at school. Hanna and Luke snuck into his house and stole his laptop in hopes of figuring out more about what happened to him. Later, that day Jai finds out the group didn’t make it out of the woods in time and was in deed cursed by the shadow man. Jai was almost taken in his basement, Hanna and Seth were almost taken in their living room, and Gabby while on a jog.

Not being able to get any contact of Luke who was at wrestling practice, Gabby stole her mom’s car to hopefully save her friend. The group took refugee at Connor’s house for the night. The shadow man came back and they managed to fight him off this time. Hanna cracked the password to Connor’s laptops and they figured out that he was cursed too. He was researching into the curse and was going to the lighthouse to preform a ritual to end it all.

Pieces came together, like the corners of a puzzle.

When Thursday rolled around you found yourself studying in the cafeteria when Gabby and Jai came to sit with you. “Hey.” You said looking up from your textbook. “Hi.” Gabby said with a nervous look on her face. “What’s going on?” You asked looking at the both of them with confusion and concern at the same time.

“Your mom’s maiden name is Murphy, right?” Jai asked as he pulled out an old yearbook. You nodded, “Yeah but what does this have to do with Connor?” Jai placed the open yearbook in front of you. “This is June Murphy, she was the first victim of the shadow man curse we think, she was the light house keepers daughter, well one of them.” Gabby explained to you.

“One of them? Whose the other?” You asked flipping to the next page, and staring up at you was your own mother. Who looked somewhat like. “Oh shit.” You muttered. “We didn’t know for sure.” Jai said sympathetically.

“It’s definitely her, probably think it was me if her name wasn’t there.” You said looking up and pulling your phone out to take a picture of the year book pages. “She chastises me for lying when she has a whole hidden identity.” You said slumped in shock.

“We’re sorry.” Gabby said placing her hand on your wrist in an act of comfort. “Maybe she knows something that can help with Connor?” Jai implied, you shrugged. “I’ll talk to her later and let you guys know if it’s anything helpful. I have to go meet Carrie about the glow dance.”

“Also Jai, If you’re planning on asking Kayla. Her dress is purple. Just a heads up.” You said as you grabbed your textbook and walked away from your two friends with questions swirling around your head. How was this suddenly a real life scenario in your life?

“Mom!” You announced when you walked in your house. She was in her bedroom. You hadn’t talked to her since the night you last saw Connor. “We need to talk.” You said, She smiled. She thinks she going to win, she has no idea what’s coming.

“I’m so glad you came to your senses about that boy.” She said. You laughed pulling your phone out. “No we need to talk about your double life.” Her face went pale and fear overstruck it. You had never seen your mother scared in your entire life, not even when you broke your arm.

“Tell me your secrets and i’ll tell mine.” You said with your arms crossed. She sat there for a minute before she exhaled. “First you need to understand everything i did was to protect you. Second, i need to know what you know. ” You nodded, you’d never seen your mother like this before so whatever she was about to say must be gospel truth.

“I know June Murphy was the lighthouse keepers daughter, well one of them, she tried to save the lighthouse and failed, then she died. Not so long after the light house was shut down and then her dad died not so long after her.” You said and your mom nodded.

“June fought to save the light house and was only a few signatures short. She’s a lot you, you’d like her. One night she decided she’d turn the lighthouse on by herself. Only problem was we’d thrown the key off the cliff into the water earlier that day. June swore she saw it hanging by a low branch. So we went to get it. It was pouring so when she came just close, she slipped and she fell.” Tears collected in your mothers eyes and you regretted everything you said about her earlier.

“My father was devastated and took a book of shadows. He turned himself into a monster to try and get my sister back. In the end, i lost them both.” She said as she stood up and went into her closet pulling out out a medium sized wooden chest.

“I changed my name, moved to an out of state college and when i married your father. We moved back here, perfect place for a family. No one remembered me because there was nothing worth remembering anymore.” She placed it down and opened it. There was pictures, a baby blanket and other keepsakes.

“At the time i couldn’t understand how my father turned himself into a monster to save a daughter he lost, when he still had one who was alive. But after i had you. I understood. I could never let that happen.” You sat there. Your parents had been hard on you but if this was the reason? You had no reason to complain.

“Does dad know?” You asked. She nodded, “You can’t go through something like that and keep it to yourself you need to let burdens off your shoulders and lean on the ones you love.” You nodded. She sat next to you on the bed “I’m sorry about what i said about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my, um, that’s a whole mess right now.” You said to her. “He broke up with me the night we fought, i snuck out of my window. Then went missing the next day and his friends who are also my friends, but that societal you can’t have mutual friend with a significant other bullshit was in my head, found out he was in the light house cottage before he disappeared so they went there too. He wasn’t there but his backpack was in the woods, which are cursed so now they’re cursed and they’re trying to save him and themselves before the shadow man takes them like they took Connor.” You rambled on. Your mother look at you as you had three heads. “Are you cursed?” She asked placing a hand on your shoulder.

“No but like i’m sitting on the sides watching everyone i love get taken so i wish i was at this point.” you said as your mother took you into a hug and you started to break down. “I don’t know what to do, i need someone to tell me what to do.” You cried into her shoulder as she soothed you like she used to when you were a baby.

“It’s going to be alright, we have something that the shadow man doesn’t.” she said getting up and grabbing something from your dads side of the closet. A small book, before she grabbed your hand. “Where are we going?” You asked. “A family reunion.” She said as you both walked out of the front door and into the car. She looked over at your wrist, “Where’d you get that?” It was the evil eye bracelet.

“Connor left it for me before he disappeared.” You said subconsciously rubbing the bracelet to soothe yourself. “Smart move.” She said as she pulled out of the drive way. “Why?” You asked you knew the evil eye was protective. “A protective talisman, gifted by a lover? He had every intention of protection you from the shadow man whether he was taken or not.” She said looking over. “Breaking up with you, the letter, and the talisman? He loves you. Call it motherly intuition.”

“Yeah well when we save him, i have a lot to talk to him about.” You said as you looked out the window. “You could talk to me about it.” You looked back. “I realize that in these past years protecting may have drawn a wall between us and that's not what i want and that's not what i ever wanted.” You knew it would take some time but you wanted it too. “I don’t know if that would work. I usually complain about you and dad.” You joked as you looked back out the window.

“A magic shop? What are we witches?” You said to your mother. She turned to you. “Mom.” She ignored your advances and once you made it to the door you were asked about a password.

“Lemme guess abracadabra?” The door slide open. This wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened this week. “See you’re a natural.” Your mom winked. Your eyes widen. A man in an extravagant purple suit answers the door. He’s taken back. That makes two of us.

“Okay, to recap. You’re my dad’s brother but he decided to never bring you up for some unknown reason and my family has ties to magic and shadow powers?” Your mom and Sardo nodded. “Is there any other major family secrets you wanna tell me?”

“Teenagers.” Sardo muttered. “Wait teenagers as in plural.” Your mother said turning her attention to Sardo. “Yes i run a magic shop, teenagers come in.” He said nonchalantly. “Have any other teenagers come in today asking about the shadow man?” You asked.

“Well there was this group of rugrats earlier today.” The midnight society. “Earlier this week this tall, lanky, one dressed in all black came in for a spell book.” He explained. “Connor?” You asked. Sardo got up and went through his purchase slips. “Yes, Connor Stevens.”

“What’d he get?” Your mom asked while you got up and took the slip from your new found long lost uncles hand. “Skeleton key and a love potion.” You said looking back up at her. “He didn’t use a love potion on me.” You said to your mom.

“Oh this is the boyfriend? Wow family drama must be fun on facebook!” Sardo said sitting down. “He had the book of shadows though. How’d he get it?” You asked as you put the slip back. “He broke in and stole it on monday night.” He exclaimed.

“It was in a life or death situation, i think that’s excusable.” You reasoned. Sardo shook his head, “That book brings nothing but trouble and even more darkness into the world every time you open it. It’s a book of shadows. Its dark magic. Not white magic.” He announced with a dissatisfied look on his face

“And you all want me to learn this? I’m not being sold on it.” You said sitting back in your seat. “There’s more than dark magic. There light magic, green magic, crystal magic and so on. Every practitioner chooses between the dark path and the light path.” Sardo explained as he stood up to grab a grimoire.

“What path will help me save my friends? Is there a path for that, cause i want that path.” You said as your mom rubbed your shoulder. “You don’t choose a path, the path chooses you.” Sardo explained pushing the grimoire close.

“What if dark magic chooses me?” You voiced, silence washed over the room. “Why do you want to save your friends?” You were taken aback, why? “Wouldn’t it be easier to let them all just be claimed? Throw in the towel, make new friends.”

“No!” You bellowed. “That’s not right, there’s always a way and when there’s love there’s light.” You explained. Your mom smiled at your answer. “If that’s how you feel. Dark magic won’t choose you.”

By the time you’d left the magic shop it was late and Gabby wasn’t answering her phone. You’d given an update about what had happen.

It was starting to make sense, not perfect sense, not just yet.

On Friday the glow dance had rolled around, what also rolled around was a stomach virus that had cause Carrie and Kayla to miss school and not be able to attend the dance. Gabby hadn’t been in class so you assumed she was also out with the stomach virus. Hanna met up with you during lunch letting you know what happened the night before. She tells you that Luke’s returning the book of shadows after school and everything should be back to normal now. Oh how wrong she was.

You weren’t able to see Connor after school, you had a shift and then were going to get ready for the dance. Gabby texted you that he was feeling up to going so you’d see him there. An hour into the dance and you ended up wandering the halls. You had felt this pit in your stomach and needed air.

But once you went into the hallway the pit just grew larger and larger. “Hey stranger.” Your eye evil bracelet burned and blinded. You looked up from your wrist and turned around. “Connor?” You asked. There was a screaming voice in your head. It felt wrong. “Who else?” He asked coming closer. You saw a light shine through a classroom and walked backwards towards it. Once the light enveloped you and Connor still stayed back. His sleeves were rolled up and his wrists were bare. The real Connor wears a rainbow bracelet you made him.

“The shadow man perhaps?” You suggested, the smirk on “Connors” face dropped. You inched closer to the switch that controlled the hallway lights and switched it on, when the lights were on “Connor” was gone.

You started to go towards the gym seeing your friends on stage with Sardo and “Connor” in the crowd knowing a rescue mission was already in place. All you could do was stand there and wait. Within ten minutes, the shadow man had out smarted your friends and Jai sacrificed himself to save the group.

On Saturday you were completely left out of the loop. You heard nothing. Gabby wasn’t answering. Hanna wasn’t answering. You feared the worse and could do nothing to save your friends. That what Sardo said earlier was going to come true. You still had that pit in your stomach. You were reading your grimoires but it felt useless, why study if right here and right now. The people you care about most are disappearing through your finger tips.

On Saturday night your parents brought you upstairs and put your to bed, but you stayed restless with worry. You stared at the ceiling and walls of your bedroom before at some point your mind gave up and lulled you to a nightmare filled sleep. Losing Gabby, Losing Hanna, Losing Jai, Losing Luke. Losing Connor. Like a broken tape it looped over and over and over.

It all fell apart right in front of you.

On Sunday morning Kayla and Carrie had recovered from their stomach flu. Your mom invited them over in an effort to distract and cheer you up. You told them everything. Life’s too short to keep secrets from your best friends. Especially when you don’t know how long you have left with them.

Suddenly it was Friday again and you were at your shift at the book store again. You pulled your phone out to text Carrie and Kayla. They both responded with the same texts they did on the Friday of the glow dance. “What the actual fuck.” You muttered. The door rung several times signaling a mass group of people walked in.

The midnight society had just seen that Sardo was alive and remembered that you work Friday shifts. Which caused them to practically sprint to see you, Connor leading. When your friends all walked through the door you stopped in your tracks. “Seen a ghost?” Gabby said with a smile. “i hate you all i hate your children and your childrens children.” You said rushing to hug her.

“Hear that Connor?” Luke said causing his friend to hit him upset the head. “That’s a two way road.” You said hugging Hanna. Then Luke, Jai and Seth. Then there was Connor.

“I’m gonna go take a nap, really tired see you guys later.” Gabby said excusing herself. “Same honestly, later.” Hanna said leaving with Seth. “I’m just going to go.” Luke said dragging Jai with him. You laughed at your friends.

“I’m scared that if i walk any closer you’ll disappear like last time.” You said looking at him. He walked towards you. Grabbed your hand and placing it on his heart. “This real enough for you?” He said leaning his forehead against yours. You smiled. Noticing the blinded evil eye he smiled, “So that worked.”

His head moved to rest on top of yours and you wrapped your arms around his torso. “Legally, you’re obligated to stay like this for at least twenty minutes.” You laughed moving your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m okay with that.”

“I didn’t mean breaking up with you, i just didn’t know what happened when he took you and couldn’t let that happened to you.” He said slightly holding you closer. “I understand. Just never do it again.” You said to him, he laugh and nodded.

“So the glow dance?” You pulled away because your shift was starting to end. “You’re up for that?” You said as you started putting stray books in the resort bins. “I’m always up for a good time.” He said sitting on the front counter. You nodded, “Pick me up at 7.”

“What about your parents?” He questioned. “A lot happened when you were gone.” You said starting to rant to your boyfriend.

it rebuilt it self.

#are you afraid of the dark #are you afraid of the dark imagine #ayaotd #ayaotd imagine #connor stevens #connor stevens imagine #luke mccoy #gabby lewis #hanna romero #jai malyas #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #grace writes

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thominho-incorrectquotes · 5 years ago

Text

A kiss is all I want

So I wrote a little something for Christmas (I’m a bit late, sorry).

Anyway, hope you like it!

Words: 667

Tags: Post-canon, fluff

You can read it on AO3 and ff.net

______________________

They were on their spot on the beach. It wasn't unusual, they always spent their times there. But today was actually special. Even from here, they could hear the sounds of celebrations coming from the fire place.

The immunes were celebrating Christmas. Again, something Minho and Thomas remembered as a thing, but had no memories of it. While everyone was having a big party together, both boys had wanted to be alone, just the two of them. Sometimes, it was a bit overwhelming to be around so many people.

Besides, for them, it is was the best way to celebrate, just being with each other.

They were laying on the sand, Thomas's head on the Keeper's chest, wrapped in Minho's arms. The best place in the world honestly.

Their relationship was weird. They were definitely best friend, they have been ever since they survived the night in the Maze. However, they were always hugging, they slept together in the same bed, they held hands during lunch… Heck, Minho even called Thomas "Baby".

But they didn't need to put a label on it. What they had together was enough. It was simple and perfect. Even if sometimes Minho wanted more.

The Asian knew his feelings for the brunet weren't platonic. He was in love. So madly in love. But, what could he do? The dumb shank was so oblivious.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Thomas asked, breaking the silence. When the immunes started preparing for Christmas, they made some little gifts to exchange. Minho and Thomas had agreed to not participate, they didn't need anything. Being alive and with each other was enough.

But now, Thomas was doubting. Maybe there was something that could make his friend happy? He always wanted to make Minho happy.

"Just being with you is enough baby."

Minho was not even joking. But no matter what he said or did, his best friend would never take a hint. And by the roll of eyes Thomas just did, he knew that his advances were once again not taken seriously.

"But, you sure?"

Minho thought about it for a moment. Maybe he could try another tactic.

"Hmm… I would like a kiss actually."

"A kiss?"

"Yes, a kiss."

"Ok."

That was it. What he had wanted for so long would finally happen. As Thomas approached his face to his, his heartbeats were getting faster, excitement took over him and he slowly closed his eyes, preparing for what was about to come.

Thomas kissed him… on the cheek.

There were no words to describe how disappointed Minho was right now. He stood up, shoving the brunet aside, and began walking towards their home.

"What the hell Minho, what's wrong?" he asked, confused by the whole thing.

However, the boy didn't reply. Thomas ran to stop him in his track.

"You didn't want a kiss from me, is it that?"

Minho sighed.

"You're such a slinthead. I'm tired to you being so oblivious."

He began walking again only to be stopped by the brunet.

"Is it that… you wanted another kind of kiss?"

"Wow, can't believe you figured it out" he snarked, but turned his head away, trying to hide the blush that was beginning to appear on his face.

"Just say so, you dumb shank" Thomas replied in the same tone, before taking the older boy's face in his hands and putting his lips on his.

Butterflies immediately invaded Minho's body. He gripped the boy's shoulders, pressing the smaller body on his. It was really all he ever wanted.

Thomas deepened the kiss, one hand slithering to the raven hair, making them both moan. It just felt so good. They never felt so connected, so close. They never wanted to let go.

They parted for breath, but Minho still held his best friend in his arms, where he belonged.

"Guess I should have been clearer and say I wanted you for Christmas."

"You have me" Thomas replied. "You had me and you'll always have me."

____________________________

Hope you liked it and happy holidays!

#tmr #tmr thomas #tmr minho #minho tmr #thomas #the maze runner #maze runner thomas #thominho #minho #maze runner minho #thomas and minho #thominho fanfiction #thominho fanfic

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telli1206 · 5 years ago

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The Only Time I Feel Alive Is When I Find Something I Would Die For (Part 1)

Mal’s plots turn personal when she cooks up a plan for her big brother, Jay, and Evie’s brother, Carlos.

Another @bunny-lou Jaylos prompt 🤷‍♀️ Her ideas are too good, and I #cantstopwontstop. Her idea that I used is listed in this post. (Please note I did take a few of my own liberties with the idea, making Mal and Evie 12 instead of 8, and Jay and Carlos are their brothers instead of cousins.)

Evie groans as Mal scribbles away in her notebook. “Mal, you know this is only an assignment, right? We’re not really taking over the island. You’re NOT going to be Queen of the Isle.”

But Mal’s eyes never leave her page. She’s writing furiously, tongue poking out between her lips as she focuses on her task.

“We’re BOTH going to be queen, Evie! Don’t forget that,” she adds, still writing. “Don’t worry, we can’t give all these details in the project, I wouldn’t want anyone busting us before we can even put it in action. But I don’t want to waste this time either! Between the two of us, we definitely have the brains to pull this off.”

Evie scoffs and rolls her eyes. If Mal could spend all their time together scheming and plotting, she probably would. Sometimes she wonders how they had time to become best friends in between her plans for world domination.

“Hey!” Evie screeches when a ball of paper suddenly hits her head, knocking her out of her thoughts. She glares at Mal, who’s still balling up papers and chuckling quietly.

“If you’re just going to roll your eyes and not help, maybe I’ll just make you my court Jester instead. How do you feel about wearing a neon jumpsuit and hat with bells?” She snarks, as she continues to hurl papers at her friend.

Evie giggles, grabbing at the balls and whipping them back at Mal. “Just try it, if you DARE, and see what happens!”

The room fills with laughter as the paper balls fly back and forth, their homework momentarily forgotten. It’s not long before a stomping echoes up the stairs. Both girls pause as the bedroom door when it swings open. Mal’s older brother stands in the doorway, smirking down at the girls stretched out on the floor.

“Doesn’t sound like much homework is getting done up here, does that mean it’s time to take Evie home?” He sneers, picking up a ball of paper and rolling it through his fingers, before flipping it over his shoulder into the trash can.

“Come on, Jay! We’re just taking a little break, ok? Can you, just, go back to your hole and leave us alone?” Mal huffs, trying to wave her brother out of her room.

Jay just shakes his head. “No way, mom says I have to go with you when you take Evie home. She doesn’t trust either of you not to get into trouble.” He smiles at Evie, who blushes at the eye contact, turning her head away from the older boy.

Mal keeps a steely glare on Jay, arms crossed angrily. But Jay remains unaffected by his sister’s attitude, staring back with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’ve got five minutes. Gather your stuff and be ready to go when I get back.”

With that Jay is gone, and Mal continues to grumble and mutter under her breath as she and Evie pick up, Evie shoving her books back into her backpack as she watches the door where Jay was standing.

“Your brother is so handsome,” she sighs. “How is it that he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“You mean, why isn’t getting his rocks off instead of bugging his little sister and her friends?” She groans, chucking the paper balls into the garbage. “Who even knows. I wish he had someplace to go so he wasn’t here annoying us. Making you go home. Evil master plans take time.”

“Do I hear you planning again, sis?” Jay quips, popping back into the room. “At this rate, you’re going to have thought wrinkles across your forehead before you’re even thirteen.” He saunters over and palms her forehead, making her screech as she shoves him off.

Evie gasps at his words. “Don’t you even think that, Jay! Queens can’t have wrinkles.” She points an accusing finger as he laughs, backing away from Mal as he smoothes down his shirt.

Mal looks him over, suddenly noticing his made up appearance. “Dude, did you change? You look...cleaner.”

Jay snorts, ushering the girls out the door. “It’s hot outside, ok? My clothes were sweaty.” He slams the door behind them as they make their way down the street.

But Mal doesn’t let up. “But we’re walking Evie to her house, weirdo! It would’ve made more sense to change after that, don’t you think?”

Jay ignores her, keeping a protective hand behind the girls as they walk. He’s right, the day is hot and humid, and a blast of musty warm air whisps a few strands of the boy’s long hair across Mal’s face, obscuring her vision.

“You brushed your hair, too!” She notes, swatting the unusually silky pieces out of her eyes. “Who in the hell are you trying to impress? You better not be trying to hit on my friends!”

Evie giggles lightly at Mal’s words, glancing at Jay out of the corner of her eye. He catches the look and winks, causing Evie to turn away quickly, a tiny smile on her face.

“As pretty as Evie is, I’m more than a little too old for her, don’t you think?” He sighs, shaking his head at Mal. They’re approaching the front entrance of Evie’s castle, and Jay steps ahead of them quickly as they push through the rusty, squeaking gates.

When he reaches the door he bangs on it firmly, looking behind as the girls catch up to him. Before Jay can say another word to them, the door swings open, and Jay is face to face with another teen boy, slighter and leaner than him, with a freckled face and a head of curly white tendrils.

“Carlos.”

Jay’s voice is barely above a whisper as he gapes in front of him.

Carlos pauses in surprise, clearly not expecting the other teen. “H-hey, Jay.”

Evie and Mal share a look, brows perked at the awkard silence and eye contact. Evie takes a slow step in front of Jay, ending the moment as Carlos breaks away from Jay’s gaze to look at her, visibly relaxing with a smile when their eyes meet.

“Evie, you’re back! Mom was about to call you to come home.” Carlos reaches for her arm, pulling her inside.

“Bye Mal! I’ll call you later,” Evie tells her with a wave. “And thanks for walking me home Jay!”

Jay quirks a half smile as Carlos closes the door behind them. Standing there for another moment, he feels eyes boring into his back. He winces when he turns to face Mal, seeing her already obnoxious smirk.

“Well, well, I think now I know the reason for your little...mid-afternoon glow up,” she chuckles. Jay snorts, giving her back a shove to move her along.

“Ok, ok! Chill Romeo. I’m just making an observation. Tip for next time though, talking will get you a lot farther than just gawking at him,” Mal quips, unable to hold back her snickering.

“Oh ha ha,” Jay teases, bumping her shoulder. “Do you think I’m about to take dating advice from a 12-year-old? I’m sure you’ve been on SO many dates.”

“I don’t need dating experience to know that was an awkward disaster,” she jokes, waving back at Evie’s doorway. “When were you going to tell me you were hot for my best friend’s brother?”

A frustrated groan escapes Jay’s lips as he trudges along next to her. “Will you just get off my back? I never said I had the hots for Carlos! I was just...I didn’t expect to see him. I was surprised. A little. Ok?”

Mal perks an eyebrow, eyeing him quizzically.

“So, I’m supposed to believe you were surprised to see Carlos at his house, that he lives at with Evie because he’s her family, when you’re taking Evie home to her family?” She can’t stop the almost maniacal look on her face as she watches her brother squirm under her inquiry, a scowl curling on his lips.

“Ok, ok, you’ve made your point! Can you just let up for a minute? I can handle my own shit. I don’t need you on my case.” Jay starts walking at a hurried pace as they approach their home, fast enough to startle Mal and get her to break out into a run when he flies by her. But before she can make it to the door it’s already being slammed in her face, a triumphant Jay howling on the other side.

“Too slow, short stuff!” He shouts in a muffled tone through the door. “Next time maybe you’ll learn to mind your own business!”

Mal grunts her dissatisfaction, but relents even before she reaches for the door handle, instead choosing to walk alongside the house and whip out her phone.

As she starts to dial, thoughts about her best friend creep into her mind, the clever bluenette with a sharp brain and an even sharper mouth to match. A few things about today had made her feel...off. An uneasy feeling has settled into her gut, and she doesn’t like it at all.

Fortunately, she has a plan to fix things.

“Evie!” She almost shouts when the girl finally answers. Mal collects herself, dropping her voice lower in case anyone can hear. “Yes, I got home fine...no, nothing’s wrong...I just...listen! I just wanted to ask if your brother’s single.”

Evie confirms what Mal is hoping for, and a calculated grin spreads across face.

“Perfect. I have an idea, and I need your help.”“

#jaylos #malvie #jay son of jafar #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #Carlos De Vil #descendants #descendants fanfiction #bunny-lou prompt #bunny-lou has the best ideas and i can't stop writing them #mal and jay are siblings #carlos and evie are siblings #descendants au

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a-table-of-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 5, Draft 1

[[As Tumblr increased the size limits for posts, I can finally put this chapter draft all together.]]

Marie was already in a sour mood, having woken up far earlier than preferred. But it got worse as she realized she might as well have slept in; hardly anyone was around today. The heat wave, combined with the fact that all games were postponed until the respawn points have power again, meant that no one was around. Marie knew she couldn’t move too far from where the Outpost was without drawing unwanted attention, but it was a bit demoralizing. She was glad she had the parasol for the scant shade it provided in the midday sun, but she still tugged at her kimono every so often.

Well, if she wanted to find her cousin and the stolen Zapfish, she would have to do it herself. She didn’t want a second celebrity disappearance to cause more chaos, but she didn’t have much choice. Agent 2 would have to complete the rescue mission alone.

As she looked in the Outpost for her Charger, she debated whether Gramps should be alerted at this point. She decided against it, still; he was probably stressed enough about his mission with Agent 3, and she didn’t want him throwing himself in danger trying to find Callie. That was her job, darn it!

She opened a drawer and found her charger waiting, but…where was her uniform? The armored hoodie, the short, the boots, even the headset were all missing. She rustled around; maybe a bit of disorganized Callie rubbed off on her…but no, they were gone! Someone was in here! They took the Splattershot and one of the Ink Tanks, too!

A flash of panic came over Marie; someone had come in, and the outpost was breached! But… wait, why wasn’t her charger taken? Or any other supplies? Just the Agent getup and weapons—Oh.

Oh no.

She ran out of the shack, stumbling over her kimono a few times as she went for the manhole to Inkopolis. She had to get to Ammo Knights, and fast. It was lucky there wasn’t really anyone in the Square; while Marie took care to make sure she wasn’t immediately recognized by the adoring public, she didn’t care as much in the rush she was in.

The doors to the Ammo Knights store burst open the moment she unlocked them. Sheldon barely had time to look up in shock before the idol was in the back, frantically booting the computer up. Several monitors came up, each showing different angles of a new part of Octarian territory. None of the cameras could see anything, but when Marie put the headset on and heard panting and slight whimpering, her suspicions were confirmed.

Cull had gone into Octo Canyon alone.

Marie took a deep breath, turned the mic on, and coughed politely.

“Eh—” started Cull’s yelp, before he remembered where he was and clammed up.

“Oh good, you remembered the headset,” Marie said, keeping her voice level. “Okay, I think we can get you through this, but… I’m not sure where you are…”

“C-came in a-and made it to ch-checkpoint…”

Marie checked. The simulated sunny beach area in Octopolia did have a trail of green, including some inflated sponges. And it led right to a smaller respawner, directly in front of a massive road of pink ink. From where the camera was situated, Marie could see a Balloon Fish, but there were a few things behind it that were too blurry to see.

“They got some- some kinda robot b-bombs!”

“Octopods?” Marie asked. “Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? They just run at you.”

“…B-but that one at the start was so fast…C-can I really take more than one in a f-fight…?”

Marie leaned back in her chair, noting where the blurs were.

“You don’t have to, ex-Agent 4! If you can take that Balloon Fish, the Octopods should all pop with it!”

“B-but if I go up there, w-won’t they pop it and…?”

“Nah, they’ll run up to try to blast you. The Balloon Fish’ll be fine!”

Bad time for a joke, Marie realized, as she saw something shake in the respawner.

“Look, look,” she said, frantically trying to clear Cull’s head of some of the anxiety. “All you gotta do is keep your distance! Pop that balloon before the Octopods get to you.”

Cull finally surfaced, out of the respawner, and swallowed. He looked at the expanse of Octarian pink before him; it was going to take a lot of ink to even get to the Octo-bombs. He started firing, and Marie saw that his attention was divided between his path-making and the upcoming encounter.

“Hey, eyes on the prize, kid, not the road!”

Well, now the kid’s movement was slower, but at least he seemed more alert.

A thought came to Marie.

“…Ignore that when you start driving, ok?”

The Octopods started to rush in, but it was too late. Cull had already hit the Balloon Fish, taking the bombs and their weird red balloons with them. Octarians had the strangest ways of holding Power Eggs.

“Nice.”

That just left a layout of crates in a flattened “u” shape against the wall, a wall which had two Balloon Fish attached to it. As Cull looked up and around, Marie took a moment to swap through the cameras, finding a launchpad at the top, and the next camera showed a checkpoint. Thankfully, nothing between there and their current position Cull would have to worry about.

“All right, so just pop those balloons and swim up there. Nothing to worry about.”

Cull looked, hesitantly, but nodded. The Balloon Fish made short work of those boxes and covered the wall in green. But… he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. Marie could hear sheepish mutters of “uh” and “oh boy” over her headset. She was about to ask what the holdup was, maybe throw in a joke about enjoying his handiwork, but all that came out was “wh” before she realized the problem – he was a slow swimmer when it wasn’t a vertical slope.

And she had seen the kid climb, too. This looked like a tougher thing to scale, sure, but his grip back then was impressive, and she was sure he could have figured something out. At the very least, it would probably be better than him struggling to swim up like he would have to now.

“Okay kid,” she said, attempting to hide her haste in correcting this, “I don’t usually recommend this, but you might want to try a running jump here.”

“O-okay…”

Marie watched as the ex-Agent stepped back, steeled himself, and sprinted to the wall. He jumped, and Marie thought he was going to slam into the wall, his squidforming was so close. However, it wasn’t close enough to conceal the fact his tentacles were… well, half-gone. He disappeared in the ink in a flash, but Marie could still tell, especially as he splashed and struggled to get the vertical movement.

Marie couldn’t do much more than watch; explaining how to swim to a fellow Inkling would just be dumb, and she wasn’t good at motivational platitudes. Still, she could try to encourage.

“Almost halfway there. Just keep breathing.”

“Just got past the second Balloon Fish; you’re almost there!”

Cull finally slipped over the edge onto wooden floor again. He couldn’t even kidform, and Marie could hear him panting and fully view his squid form.

His fins were much more disk-shaped than most, making his silhouette look less like an arrow and more like a mushroom with a point on top where his mantle ended. His skin had a spotted texture, as if someone had lightly sprayed him with darker green paint. More prominent, however, were his eight arms, all irregular stumps of what was expected, clearly from an injury long ago. His two tentacles, while about as long as most Inklings’, were notably thinner, and showed the same signs of being cut off at the end.

And Marie had sent him headfirst into danger. Worse yet, he refused to leave.

Cull wasn’t panting for too long; he soon kidformed, and was silent on his walk to the launchpad. Marie wasn’t sure what to say; she may like snarking, but humiliating someone was something else entirely.

A few quick key presses, and Marie could watch him land on the next section, where there didn’t seem to be much going on. There was a single sponge floating in the middle of a gap in the road, but not much else to see other than a few pillars. As Cull tentatively clambered down in case there was something, Marie switched to the next available camera. She could see Cull fill the sponge with ink to make a bridge in the distance, but more importantly, there were patrolling Octarians moving in a synchronous circle on some grates that were jutting out of one of the pillars.

“Octotroopers above you,” Marie called out, as Cull walked forward. She could see him step back onto the sponge, looking up and spotting the enemies. He tentatively moved forward, but never so much that he committed to a plan before stepping back. Thankfully, neither Octo seemed to have seen him, their gaze focused squarely on what was in front of them rather than what was below.

“C’mon,” Marie said, after about fifteen seconds of this, “You gotta do something if you wanna get outta here!”

“Uhm…”

“Oh for— just go! Take ‘em out and find a way up!”

Well, at least he was moving forward. The bad news was, the Octarians saw him, and began firing shots through the grate. At least the ex-Agent 4 was aware of this, and trying to zig-zag a little bit. He made it under the grate, with only a few spatters of pink on him for it. When he shot straight up and splatted one of the Octotroopers, however, his reflexive ducking was not enough to stop himself from being coated in green ink.

Despite herself, Marie had to stifle a snicker. Maybe it was just a needed release from stress, but there was something adorable about that pratfall. It reminded her of something that happened when she herself was younger, when she played one-on-one with Callie. The exact same thing happened to her, except she completely missed Callie…

“Y-you there?”

Marie took a breath, composing herself. Cull didn’t need the idea that she was laughing at him, nor did he need to hear her worrying about the other Squid Sister.

“Yeah, um… look for a way up the pillar. Looks like the grating goes to another floor… Just watch for that Octoslob and you’ll be fine…”

But Cull wasn’t looking up now. His attention was caught by something out of range of the cameras. He fired ink offscreen, slowly and carefully. Marie didn’t hear any return fire or Octarian shouts from his microphone, but all the same, this was concerning.

“Uh, I said ‘up’ the pillar…”

“Th-there was a lot of pink ink over here…J-just want to be sure…”

“I understand that,” Marie said, quietly kicking herself for not thinking of the possibility of an ambush, “but they’d have a hard time chasing you up. You might be better off—”

She heard the sound of wood breaking, and hoped to the Crane that Cull was alone; she’d be hard pressed to help him if she couldn’t see.

“Huh…Is that…?” he said, after a pregnant pause.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“N-nevermind, I must be mistaken…”

Marie heard some paper rustling, and then some grunting and splashing before Cull emerged from behind the pillar, now on the second floor. He took a few breaths, leaning against the column, before finally heading to the wall.

After making a break through a few more Octarians and some kind of wall-cleaning robot, he made it to a dead end. Behind a bunch of crates destroyed by a nearby Balloon Fish, there was nothing but a sheer drop to the facilities miles below. To his left, he could just see a large wooden wall, with the launchpad there. He groaned.

All Marie could say was “Sorry, kid, but you gotta make it through this.”

Cull stepped back to look, but he didn’t know if he could make another climb like that so soon. Instead, he looked to the re-inflated Balloon Fish, and then at the wall; not even at the launchpad!

Marie was at a loss for words when she saw the kid start clambering onto the enormous ink bomb, and rather quickly at that. Sure, Cull slipped once or twice, but he never once lost his grip. Within fifteen seconds, he was wobbling on top of it, looking almost like an eight-year-old bouncing on a waterbed. He sat down and started rocking, as if he was trying to get comfortable.

“Okay, look,” Marie finally said, “I get it may be tiring, but that’s no excuse for lazing around and…”

She stopped when he stood up, the Balloon Fish rolling back so far that Marie stood up, shocked at how far over the ledge Cull was. Cull, for his part, had an expression like he swallowed a sunfish whole, but kept his eyes to the wall he had to climb. He took one step forward, waiting for the Fish to roll enough…

And then he jumped. His hands reached out, and he was able to grab onto the ledge. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been able to keep his grip, but it was dawning on Marie that he was a whip-lash squid.

He hoisted himself up, finding another piece of Sardinium, then looked over the edge to see about that launchpad. It was a simple swing down, and Cull was on his rapid way to the next area.

Marie was there to witness each remaining step. The ambush from above, where Cull leapt screaming into his first Splashdown. The attack immediately after, where he managed to actually take one or two of the Troopers before they even landed. Cull getting splatted again by the remaining Octarians, though he didn’t gasp as frantically when he respawned this time. He was able to finish off the other Octotroopers and make it to some more sponge-scaling situations and an easy battle.

After a bridge made from sponges filled with Balloon Fish ink, Marie’s eyes widened. Up ahead, a bulbous flying thing she knew all too well, and she was about to cry out a warning, but stopped herself. She was already dealing with a bit of a nervous wreck; no sense in giving him a heart attack in all three of his.

Instead, she said, as plainly as she could, “An Octobomber. Gross.”

“What—” Cull started, before yelping. He just saw a Splat Bomb land by him, and it wasn’t his.

Marie sighed as he respawned. Even if she didn’t want to scare the kid, that warning may have been less than helpful.

“Sorry, squid,” she said, apologetically. “Didn’t want to scare you…”

Cull walked back over to where he was, far more slowly this time. Shooting gobs of purple at him was one thing, but now they were hurling bombs at him!

“Ugh… how close is the Zapfish?”

Marie blinked. She hadn’t even been looking for the Zapfish; she was just making sure this kid got out alive.

“Um…”

She could see Cull looking around, mostly up and at the corners of platforms. She assumed he was looking for the camera, but he was nowhere close. At least it kept him safe while she re-calibrated the ZapSeek program that Sheldon wrote.

“Let’s see… the Zapfish is… uh…”

“Ye—?” was all Marie heard in response, before the computer suddenly went black. Her eyes widened, and she frantically mashed the power button, but all she heard was the equally frantic clicking of the button.

Sheldon opened the door behind her, frantically pulling out a set of keys. He dashed to a caged area behind the computer, where he kept the generator.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, trying each key in turn as fast as he could, “Without Zapfish, we gotta rely on this generator, and as you know, this is an old thing, and the fact is, it’ll take a bit to refuel it and start it up again, not to mention the computer booting time—”

“Sheldon!” Marie said, sharply. “Just tell me what I can do to help get it back! There’s a kid lost in Octopia here!”

“Right, right,” Sheldon’s capped silhouette nodded. “Sorry. So, I need you to take the rip cord here and wait to give it a good yank! There’s a coupla things I gotta keep in place over here while you do that…”

Marie walked over, but saw multiple cords that looked pull-worthy.

“Um…”

“You got the rip cord?”

“No…”

“All right, hold on…”

The sound of Sheldon pouring whatever the generator needed slowed to a halt, and he patiently walked over, instantly finding the correct cord and handing it to her.

“I’ll let you know when to pull. It might take a few tries for it to start, but keep at it.”

Marie nodded, not understanding when she heard a variety of switches being flicked, as well as some clatters.

“All right, you ready?”

She pulled the rip cord. A rumble, but nothing else.

“Okay, try again.”

It took a few more pulls, but the generator eventually roared to life.

“Now, lemme take care of getting you started, and I’ll be out of here…”

Marie didn’t dispute that. She was a lot of things, but she was no computer squid. She waited for the slow booting, the password entry, the appropriate programs written by Sheldon…

It felt like hours, but everything Marie was used to was back up. Sheldon saluted, then went back to working on his weapons.

Right, so she could flip through the cameras again, and find Cull who was… still standing at that checkpoint. Her audio wasn’t working, but she could tell he was just calling out, trying to get a response.

It took a minute for Marie to find the volume and fix it, but she was greeted with a quiet, almost fearful “…hello?...Yes?...Is the Z-Zapfish close…?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Marie said, putting on a practiced smile. “It was just a technical thing, sorry.”

“O-okay…”

“Just keep moving forward, m’kay? That Octoslob might have bombs, but he’s pretty slow, so just keep on your guard, okay?”

Cull gulped, but still started taking steps forward. It was slow and halting, with him looking around as if he was expecting the Octobomber to have flown to where he was.

Marie wasn’t going to spur him too far forward; the camera systems for other areas were still loading, and she didn’t want Cull dying down there, especially if it would be from something super avoidable.

Suddenly, after some tentative advancement, Cull ducked into the ink. Marie switched from the loading screen back to him the moment she heard a splash. He was nearing the Octobomber.

“Remember, kid: those Splat Bombs have timers on ‘em. Keep moving, and don’t let ‘em catch you! That’s a rule of the battlefield!”

Cull wasn’t moving.

“Come on, this is no time for hide and splat! You gotta move forward! Once you get to the Zapfish, you can get out of there!”

“But…” Cull whispered, still not so much as swimming an inch, “I-I don’t know…”

“Look, kid,” Marie sighed. “If you want to find your way home, you need to get past this guy. I already told you; keep moving and you’ll be a harder target for him!”

After a second (presumably waiting for the fat flying octopus to look away, which Marie had to admit would be a decent strategy), Cull emerged and started running, firing wildly as he did so. The Octobomber flinched as ink hit them, and they spun around, quickly lobbing a bomb at the Inkling intruder. Cull kept running forward, barely out of the blast’s range. He kept shooting, somehow missing half his shots as he did so.

It gave the Octobomber enough time to fire another bomb. Marie would have congratulated Cull on his plan of circling to avoid the explosives, but she was too busy gasping as he inattentively moved towards the edge.

“Kid, watch it—”

“Yeah, just keep movin’! Works great!”

He cheered as he splatted the enemy, but the cheer was short lived as he fell off the ledge.

Marie didn’t see his ghost swim up. She waited, desperately scanning every pixel, rotating every camera, but she saw nothing.

She started breathing again when she saw his hands inch onto solid ground, followed by the rest of him.

“Oh, thank Cod,” Marie said, more under her breath than anything. “Right, so….”

The hacks into the next area of security cameras finally loaded. Marie wasn’t sure what the delay was. Something about cache? She’d have to ask Sheldon later, but for now she looked into the next set of cameras, and…

“Hey, good news!” she said. “You’re almost to the Zapfish and outta there!”

“Uh, y-yeah…” Cull said, sounding like Marie did when she first learned how to fake smiles. “Uh, al-almost might be a strong word…”

“What are you talking abou—oh.”

A quick pan of one of the cams showed the problem. A series of dry sponges formed a line from the floor Cull was on to the floating island the Zapfish was on. Even if he used the Balloon Fish lined across the sides to fill them up, this would be a struggle for him to swim up what most Inklings could with just a bit of effort.

“Er… yeah, this might be tough…” Marie trailed off. “I’m sure you can make it up there, though…”

“Nnn…”

She saw him standing there, craning his neck to see the sun-shaped wall far above him. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could tell he wasn’t exactly readying up for the climb. Heck, he was walking back to a ledge (thankfully, a part with a railing this time). He looked around a little, but he didn’t see anywhere else he could try to go.

The blue skies made from blue monitor light surrounded him on all sides, illuminating a sparkling blue sea under him. Looking out on the wooden platform into the distant waters like this was filling him with nostalgia, back when he could only be halfway between squid and kid at most. He remembered having to brush his tentacles off his eyes a lot, to see a cloudless sky like this, with rocky beaches and wooden docks. The false sun was still a good one, adding to the illusion pretty well. Even if the air was still the stale air you’d find in caves, it didn’t matter; the atmosphere was so much like that of a beach, giving a very surreal vibe of familiarity along with the floating platforms, debris, and screens. This was inspiring.

“You okay, kid?”

“Hmm? O-oh, yeah, j-just needed a moment…”

He pulled himself away from the view, having calmed himself a bit. He took a breath, and looked at the challenge before him.

He fired at the first sponge until it was dripping with ink. He took a breath, and climbed up to the top of it. It was easier to just climb up the one, and he still had a dry, shrunken sponge in front of him.

He stepped onto the dry sponge, and was about to fire to inflate it as well, but he realized he’d have to do still more climbing with the other pair up ahead. He wasn’t sure if he’d be up to that; even that one small swim took effort. He still wanted to get the Zapfish in something resembling a timely manner, so he looked either way. It’d be a tricky thing, but he’d done crazier tagging a spot on Moray Towers the one time.

Standing on the tinier platform, he looked at the Balloon Fish on either side, and popped one.

Marie’s jaw dropped. She just saw Cull get flung like a ragdoll as the sponge exploded out to its full size under him. He flailed and hollered, but not as intensely as she thought it warranted. Heck, it almost seemed planned, as he landed flat on his back on top of the next set of filled sponges. He grunted, but he quickly got up and leapt at the final wall between himself and the Zapfish’s platform. A couple of grunts and kicks against the wall, and he could move from dangling by his fingers to actually getting onto the platform.

From there, Marie could view him freeing and petting the Zapfish. He sat down as the platform moved to the exit, the Zapfish on his lap. It was kind of adorable, honestly.

#cull goes to octo canyon #cull to adventure #splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 2 fic #chapter 5 #draft 1 #cull to adventure full chapter

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j-elaine-hyde · 5 years ago

Text

The Bean Chronicles: Part 7

Henry Cavill / Reader / Chris Evans

You spent the entire day wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, reading every headline and tabloid story about your new castle with Prince Charming. It was the obvious choice, but they took your sweet lament and twisted it into a dig. “A source close to the couple...” was cited as saying you were a runaway bride and now a heartbreaker, a two timer, and the destroyer of friendships.

Everything was blamed on you. But it’s honestly how you felt anyway. You didn’t need the celebrity gossip columns telling you. Pictures of chummy Henry and Chris were posted next to pictures of you and Chris, smiling happy, seemingly perfect. The only pictures they had of you and Henry were of the two of you shielding yourselves and rushing to the car. The whole thing was twisted, facts were missing, and you were the only bad guy.

Seeing the pictures of them together almost hurt more than the pictures of you and Chris. No one knew about Bean. No one knew you had met Henry first. No one knew that Chris moved you out of his house via moving company after a fight with no warning. It didn’t excuse or justify how it all happened, but no one cared that life isn’t purely black and white. And they were taking his side.

“Darling you have to quit reading that bullshit.” Henry came in and took the iPad from you, placing it on the coffee table.

You glared up at him, pouting that you had been caught.

“I need the punishment. I deserve it.”

Henry scoffed as he shook his head, “Come here my little masochist.” He patted his knee.

You shed your blanket and perched on his lap, snuggling close, breathing in his scent.

“You know thats all bullshit. It’s not the whole story. We all played equal parts and did the best we could in the situation, which they know nothing of.” He rubbed your arm, which would normally soothe you, but now it just made it worse.

“They’re not wrong Hen... I am the bad guy. I broke Chris’s heart and ruined your friendship....”

Henry sighed heavily, “And what about everything that was done to you my love? Hmmm? Honestly I don’t even want you to think about that. But you’ve been through an awful lot, and it’s not your fault. I might have lost my friendship with him, but I’m happily with the love of my life who is now my best friend... They can twist what they know however they want. But soon enough they’ll move on, and we’ll always know what actually happened. Unfortunately whether we want to or not.”

Ashley walked in, almost dropping the things in her arms. “There’s a ton of paparazzi outside...”

“We know.” Henry grumbled.

She came into the room and sat her stuff down before plopping onto the sofa. “You doing ok?”

You gave her an unconvincing nod, your face giving you away. “I’ll be fine.”

“You better hold on to her Cavill. She’s got that imma say something face and your street is filled with the wrong people to hear what she’s gotta say....” Ash gave him a look letting him know she was serious.

Henry scowled, but held on to you. “You know you can’t do that, right?”

“Why can’t I?” You jerked your head around giving him a look that said ‘try me’.

“Nope!” Henry slung you over his shoulder and walked down the hallway with you to the bedroom, as you laughed the entire way.

The next morning you were drinking your coffee and peering out the blinds at the mass of paparazzi still posted up outside the house.

“Don’t even think about it, my love. We talked about this....”

You were so dazed while looking out the window you hadn’t noticed Henry standing beside you.

“I’m not going to. But I do have to leave today to go meet the designer at the house. So that’ll be fun.”

“You’re not driving, are you? We can call for a car.”

You turned away from the window, “Ash already did.”

You were in the backseat of the blacked out SUV watching as the camera flashes tried to capture a picture of you for their next story.

You managed to arrive safely at the new house and were blown away by the work the designers had already accomplished. You were still excited but somehow it felt like this new start, safe space, had been violated.

You walked onto the balcony off of the master bedroom to take in the view. It was only a few moments later that you heard that all too familiar sound. Feeling anxious you turned around and went back inside.

“We’ve gotta go.” You brushed passed Ashley straight into the garage. She climbed into the backseat with you, shutting the door behind her. “Should I sell the house? Should we move somewhere else? I was just upstairs on the balcony and there was a photog on the back fence.”

“Don’t sell the house. Don’t let them win. It’s your fairy tale castle and your happily ever after... just hire security.” Her blasé attitude towards the paparazzi made you feel batter. “Just make sure it’s a hot security guard.”

The two of you laughed as you drove through the hoards of lenses.

You pulled into the driveway at Henry’s house, and went inside. You found him sitting in his office at his computer playing online games, shouting into his headset. Taking the opportunity you snuck out and grabbed the iPad taking it into the backyard.

“Chris Evans steps out in Boston with new girl” felt like a gut punch as soon as you read it. It was only fair, but it hurt you nonetheless. You scrolled through pictures of him and some blonde on a date. They were sitting in the park eating ice cream, laughing and smiling.

You knew better, but did it anyway, and scrolled down to the comments. Almost every one of them was hate for you, and praise for him for moving on. “That’ll show her!” Stung a little more than you would have admitted.

You continued on to other sites, pictures of him and women were everywhere. He was never a public person with his personal/dating life, but he was doing this intentionally. You had a sneaking suspicion tomorrow it would be a yet another new girl. His playboy Casanova ways would rear their ugly head in unprecedented ways. He was doing this to hurt you. He was doing it all for show and spite and to save face. You were curious what he was posting and went to his Instagram. The only picture he’d personally posted almost choked you.

There wasn’t a caption. Only endless comments begging him not to be sad, a million broken heart and crying face emojis lined the comments. The others were red angry faces that you were evil and broke his heart. It was too much to bear.

“Two can play that game...” you snarled as you locked the iPad and stormed inside.

You found Ashley going through the mail, deciding not to make a joke about hiding letters, and asked for her help.

You divulged your grand plan and with a quick outfit change sauntered into Henry’s office. You had played different console games before, but were completely new to the world of PC gaming. But you knew Henry loved you, and would let you crawl into his lap as he played. You also knew he had a spare headset he’d offer so watching him would be more fun.

Just as planned, you crawled into his lap, careful to not interrupt his game. With a kiss on the neck, and a quick gesture, Henry pointed to the headset for you to slip on. He continued playing, enjoying the fact you were taking an interest, not the least bit upset to have you snuggled against him.

What he didn’t see was Ashley snapping pictures from different angles behind the two of you. You tilted your head and wiggled your ass, knowing it’d elicit another kiss. That would be the petty gold you posted on Instagram.

You had avoided posting altogether for the last couple of weeks, understandably so. You hadn’t even opened the app to look at the countless notifications. You knew there would be a mix between hate and an out pouring of support.

You stayed snuggled in Henry’s lap until he reached a stopping point. Sliding the headphones off of his head, he hugged you tightly and whispered in your ear.

“I love you Darling... you know that, don’t you?” You could feel his breath hot against your skin, but a quick kiss below your ear gave you goosebumps.

You craned your neck to face him, “I love you more.” Another kiss and you moved to get up before his massive arms locked you in place.

“Hey! Smile you two!” Ashley jumped next to the two of you, leaning forward to snap a picture.

The two of you didn’t even have to pose. You ignored the camera, smiling and laughing at each other, a quick kiss, and just generally being an adorable couple in love.

“Sorry, she hasn’t posted to insta in a while and we need something cute and relevant, to distract from the chaos.”

“Yes... well... a couple that plays together, stays together.”

You laughed as you looked at him, “Is that my caption?!”

He laughed a loud hearty laugh, “No! That’s my comment on whatever you post. You can’t steal it.”

With a grin you shook your head, “Fine...”

Later that night you had finally picked the perfect pictures and edited them. You came up with a caption that seemed like the appropriate amount of smartassery and snark. And with the click of a single button they were posted. ‘The only games we’re playing...’

You tossed your phone onto the sofa and went to the kitchen for a victory snack. You were proud of yourself. You knew Chris would see it and be irritated. A check mate for the childish game he obviously wanted to play. Henry walked into the kitchen to find you sitting on the counter fighting to open a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough.

“Darling...Are you going to bake that? Or just eat it out of the tube?”

With a look of a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar, you bit your lip. “Eat it?” You replied sheepishly.

He laughed as he pulled you to the edge of the counter, standing between your knees. “Are you going to share?”

“Kal can’t have cookie dough....” you shook your head, giving him doe eyes and a pouty lips.

He rolled his eyes as he quickly leaned in and took a giant bite out of the side, leaving an open bite shaped hole.

“Mr. Cavill!!” You screeched and laughed jerking the cookie dough further away from him in a pretend game of keep away. He stood still, giving you puppy dog eyes as he silently spit out the plastic liner. “Ohhhhh gross. You punk.... this is mine.”

“You won’t share?! With me?! Mrs. Cavill!” He jokingly shouted before realizing what he had said.

His comment caught you off guard for a split second before you wrapped your legs around him, locking him against you and the counter, “Not yet... but I will be.”

He leaned in and kissed you, sneakily distracting you as he ripped the cookie dough out of your hands, holding it up high above his head and out of your reach.

“Give me a kiss....” he commanded.

And you did.

“Tell me you love me....”

And you did.

“Say please....”

You looked up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Please Daddy...”

He dropped his arm, and leaned in, bringing his face close to yours. “Forget cookie dough, now we’re going to bed.”

He threw you over his shoulder and carried you to bed, kicking the door closed behind you.

#romance #fiction #fanfic #chris evans #fanfiction #henry cavill

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wosoimagines · 6 years ago

Text

Doctor’s Visit

So, this took me quite a bit longer to rewrite on my computer than I had planned, but I did add some stuff to it for you guys. Also, I think I’ve decided that I’m going to post Monday-Friday.

prompt: You don’t have to do this if you have a lot of requests or anything but I was thinking maybe one where baby R has to get blood drawn for maybe like a check-up or something to make sure she is ok after she returns from being ill and she really hates getting blood drawn, so the team is there with her to comfort her and distract her? Thank you! combined with; Baby R has to go to the doctor but she hates doctors and hospitals so she hides in a bathroom and refuses to leave.

warnings: None

words: 1442

(Y/N) POV

There was a knock on the door. I chose to ignore it from my spot on the floor. I paid more attention to my phone as I scrolled through Twitter. I could faintly hear talking from the other side of the door, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

“(Y/N), come on,” Julie pleaded. I was tired of their begging, but I knew that I would regret it whenever I unlocked that door. It would be less painful for me if I just waited it out and only had to deal with the anger from everyone else on the team. “You need to come out. There’s no reason for you to be scared.”

“Let me think about it,” I snarked and gave her a pause for dramatics. “No.”

The knocking began again and this time it wasn’t stopping. I glared at the door after a minute because whoever was knocking wasn’t stopping. I wasn’t going to leave the bathroom though just because someone kept knocking.

“Sonnett, stop it,” Christen snapped from the other side of the door. The knocking on the door stopped.

“What? I’m trying to annoy her into coming out,” Sonnett defended. I shook my head at her. “Is it working?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Seriously, you need to come out before Alex and Kelley get here,” Becky said. I wasn’t going to come out, even for Alex and Kelley. I ignored the texts that I got from Alex asking if I was ready to go. I knew that she wouldn’t be happy when she got here, but I wasn’t happy that she made me a doctor’s appointment without asking me.

“I’ll tell Sinc not to trade jerseys with you,” Tobin threatened.

“No, you wouldn’t because then I would cry and that would be on you,” I countered.

“You’ve had pneumonia, (Y/N),” Ali pointed out. I rolled my eyes because everyone had acted like I couldn’t take care of myself when I had first gotten sick. “You have to go make sure that you don’t still have pneumonia.”

I changed from Twitter to Instagram. I could hear a different door opening and closing. I assumed that it was Alex and Kelley finally coming into my room. I could hear them talking with the others, but I didn’t pay much attention to what they were saying. There was another knock on the door.

“Come on, (Y/N). We’ve got to go,” Alex called out.

“No, I’m not going,” I said.

The knocking began again and once again, it wasn’t stopping. I knew that it was more than likely Kelley this time. I thew another glare at the door when the knocking got annoying. Kelley wouldn’t stop any time soon, but I needed to ignore her.

“She won’t stop until you come out,” Alex said. The knocking paused for a moment.

“If you come out, (Y/N), I’ll stop for good,” Kelley agreed. The knocking resumed.

“Do you want to hear it Spanish? No.”

“We’ll go out for ice cream afterward,” Alex suggested. I groaned slightly at that because I always took every chance I got to get some ice cream since I didn’t get to eat it often. We really only went out for ice cream on special occasions.

“No.”

I couldn’t cave at that, however. I would have to show much more restraint than caving at ice cream to get out of this doctor’s appointment. I wasn’t even sick anymore.

“I’ll teach you how to surf,” Kelley offered.

My thoughts stopped in their tracks. I had been wanting Kelley to teach me how to surf lately, but she never would. We were both picky about when we went to the beach and it always seemed like we both went on different days. I could have had some of the other women teach me, but I really wanted Kelley to be the one to teach me.

“Can we still go get ice cream?” I softly asked.

“Yeah, we can,” Alex said.

I moved over to the door and stood up. I sighed as I leaned my forehead against the door. I unlocked the door before cracking it open. I peeked out of the crack.

“Promise?” I held my pinkie out.

“Promise,” Alex wrapped her pinkie around mine.

Once the door to the bathroom was opened farther, I was pulled out of the bathroom by Alex and Kelley. The two proceeded to drag me out of the hotel that we were currently staying. I wasn’t surprised that we were walking or that the 20 other women were following us. I was surprised, however, when I walked into the doctor’s office and all of the other 22 women on the team followed me inside.

Kelley took me to a seat and forced me into it before sitting beside me. I could see Alex checking me in at the window as the other women with us either stood or sat near us. It didn’t take long for me to be called back, but I had a feeling that had to deal with the fact that there were so many of us. My height and weight were taken, but none of that was out of the usual.

The other 22 women that were following me crammed into the small room with me. I couldn’t help but shake my leg once I was sitting on the padded bench. I had my attention mainly on Alex and Kelley as they were the ones that were primarily keeping conversation with me. Occasionally, Julie and Becky would jump into our conversation.

That was until a cotton ball hit my face. I jumped in surprise when it happened before looking for the culprit. Pinoe had her hands raised in the air as she cheered. I picked up the cotton ball to throw it back at her, but it was grabbed out of my hand by Alex who gave both of us a glare. Pinoe stuck her tongue out at me, but I didn’t get a chance to say anything as my attention was being drawn elsewhere.

Sonnett had taken to poking me until I looked at her. She immediately added me to the conversation that she was having with Lindsey, Mal, Rose, and Sam. I wasn’t too surprised when Tobin and Christen joined the conversation. They kept me occupied enough that I never noticed when Alex was talking to the doctor about how I had been doing the past few days or when the nurse came through and was taking my blood.

“You ready to go?” Alex asked as she stood up. I looked over at her with my brow furrowed.

“They haven’t taken my blood,” I pointed out. Immediately, all of the girls started to laugh at me and I wasn’t sure why.

“They did take your blood,” Alex motioned to my arm causing me to look down at it. “You just didn’t notice.”

My eyes widened when I saw the cotton ball taped to my arm. I really hadn’t noticed that they had come in and taken my blood. I refused to look at the others.

“They took my blood without me knowing,” I whispered.

The others immediately began laughing at me again. Alex ushered all of us out of the tiny room and out of the doctor’s office. We all headed to the nearest vegan ice cream shop. Alex and Kelley both held me back so that they could pay for my ice cream.

“Choose whatever you want,” Kelley said causing me to look back at her. Kelley normally did let me do more crazier stuff, but she normally helped to keep me on my diet. “You had to get your blood drawn today, you deserve it. Whatever you want.”

I smiled but turned to make the insanely unhealthy ice cream sundae that I loved. Alex was shaking her head at me the whole time but Kelley had her phone pulled out. I was sure that I looked like a little kid the whole time, but I didn’t really care about that too much. Before I grabbed a hold of my ice cream, I wrapped Alex and Kelley into a hug.

“Thanks for taking care of me even when I don’t want you too.”

“No problem, kid,” Kelley ruffled my hair.

“It’s what we’re here for as your national team moms,” Alex added.

I grinned at the two of them before grabbing my ice cream. I ran to join the younger girls at a table, but I couldn’t help but grin and wave every time I caught Alex or Kelley watching us. It really was nice to have Kelley and Alex as my national team moms.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #uswnt

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mypassionfortrash · 5 years ago

Text

Nothing Serious (Part Ten)

SUMMARY: Roger’s divorce comes through, but he can’t seem to figure out why he isn’t more happy about it. Until he realises exactly what his life’s been missing.

Roger Taylor x Reader; Modern AU; Strictly 18+

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TAGS: @jennyggggrrr; @sarahgurl09; @sunshine112; @biscuit-barrel; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove; @jhoemazzellhoe; @justgivemethekeys; @qweenly; @picturepowderinabottle

NOTES: One more part to go! Thank for reading, and if you’ve enjoyed this fic, please share!

Roger was a great mood.

The sun swam in the brilliant blue mid-morning sky. He had just left the love of his life in bed, still in a post-orgasmic mess. And today was the day he had been waiting for.

Today, Queen would head into their recording studio to record their twelfth album.

Nothing could get to him or throw him off kilter as he skipped down the stairs, taking three at a time like he was a man in his twenties. And then he got to the lobby.

Something caught his eye as he sauntered past the mailboxes. A flash of crimson.

Someone had mail. And he had a funny idea of who it was. Every other apartment in the building was leased out to holidaymakers and businessmen whenever they were in town. Every apartment except Roger’s. He owned his and when he visited Montreux, he always had his mail rerouted. With a pang of dread, he gave the mailboxes a double take. That little red flag stood loud and proud next to his apartment number.

Roger groaned and shuffled over, slipping his key into the lock. There was one letter; he grabbed it and instantly recognised the emblem on the envelope. His solicitor.

His heart raced as he slipped his fingers underneath the seal. He walked and read, eyes batting over the page at a rate of naughts. His whole body tensed with every word until he reached the one, all-important paragraph. The outcome.

‘Ms. Beyrand has agreed to settle the divorce at no further inconvenience to Mr Taylor and requires no alimony in return. Therefore, my client, Mr R. M. Taylor, and his former spouse, Ms Beyrand, should be considered legally divorced.’

‘Legally divorced,’ Roger mumbled with an awe-struck smile on his lips. He was – finally – legally divorced.

He felt a strange mix of optimism and relief as he walked along the promenade towards the casino-slash-recording studio. But those emotions collided with the realisation that he had wasted a whole decade of his life married to the wrong person.

Truth be told, it played all day.

“You’re looking awfully spaced out, Rog. You alright?” Brian fussed.

Roger didn’t take it in the kind and caring way Brian meant it. Instead, he just took offence. He squared off his shoulders and furrowed his brows. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“You just seem distracted. It’s not that girlfriend of yours is it?”

“Mate, just focus on your fucking solos alright? Maybe cut them down a bit,” Roger snarked.

“Oh, he’s just being menstrual, Brian!” Freddie exclaimed over the intercom; he was sitting behind the controls with their producer, Dave.

Dave grimaced at Freddie’s comment. He was a good friend of Roger’s, and knew how to talk him down in this kind of environment. “Why don’t we do one more take, Roger, and then you can head off for the day?” Or so Dave thought.

That only incensed Roger more, earning a barrage of drumsticks being lobbed at the plexiglass that divided the two rooms in the poky upstairs studio. “Fuck off,” Roger spat. “Get that on tape? Did you?”

Everyone in the studio, right down to the engineer’s assistant, rolled their eyes. It wasn’t uncommon for Roger to become hysterical in the studio, but this was completely out of the blue. There were no precursory arguments, or ‘constructive criticism’ to pre-warn everyone of Roger’s impending outburst. It just came.

“Roger?” Freddie implored.

“Oh fucking hell, what is it now, Fred?”

“I just want this album to be ok,” Freddie said solemnly.

Roger’s expression softened, picking up the sad nuance in Freddie’s tone. “And it will be. We’ve got good songs.”

“But I need us to be a family, Rog.”

“We are a family Fred.”

“This isn’t going to last forever and I just want us to have a good fucking time, do you understand? We won’t be doing this forever,” Freddie continued, seemingly trying to psyche himself up to deal with the next few weeks.

Freddie wasn’t exactly the leader in Queen; he wouldn’t accept that mantle. But when Freddie threw down the gauntlet like this, it was right and normal for everyone else in the band to fall in line.

Roger wandered around the live room, gathering up his projectile drumsticks, then settled back behind his kit. “Right. Understood, Fred. Let’s go for another take.”

“Go for it,” Dave said.

Try as he might, Roger just couldn’t shake the feelings that flooded his brain that morning. Every time he tried to make progress in the studio, or even in terms of shifting his thoughts away from the divorce, something seeped its way back into the forefront of his mind like a rapidly advancing disease. And so, unlike anything Roger had ever done before, he missed a beat. And then another. And soon enough, the entire song ran away from him in spectacular fashion, causing the volcano of emotions inside him to bubble over. Not in his usual fiery brand of blonde-haired, blue-eyed rage, but in a watery tirade of tears and expletives. Tears rolled thick and fast down Roger’s rosy cheeks. He was proud; he darted towards the bathroom and holed himself up in the grotty cubicle.

He threw his head down between his knees, letting the tears splatter on to the floor, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to make sense of why, after getting rid of the worst mistake of his life, he felt like his life was so uncertain and unfulfilled. Try as he might, the answer didn’t pop right out at him. And he just grew more and more annoyed with himself because of it.

Roger lost track of how much time he spent inside the filthy, shabby little cubicle with blood-red walls, until there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Go away!” he sulked.

“Roger,” Brian began, “I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but we’re here for you, ok?”

Roger groaned. The family talk was the last thing he needed right now. So he stayed quiet, hoping that his bandmates would soon lose interest and work on their album without him. But no. Another voice muffled through the layer of wood separating Roger from the rest of the studio. This time it was Deacy.

“Yeah, you might want to come out. We can’t really make an album if we don’t have a drummer.”

“I’m prepared to fill in though!” Freddie piped up.

In unison, for once in their careers, Brian and Deacy who were always at loggerheads with each other exclaimed a booming, “NO!”

This gleaned a hollow laugh from Roger as he realised how lucky he was to have friends and bandmates like them. He leaned forward and unbolted the door, opening it, to reveal his three bandmates sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the door. “I just need a minute,” Roger said, wiping his eyes.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Brian urged. “We’ll understand.”

“Fuck, we’ve been through everything together,” Freddie laughed. “What is it, dear?”

Roger sighed and wondered where to begin. How to describe what he was feeling. Everything he was feeling. “The divorce came through today.”

“You should be celebrating then!” Freddie said, bursting with impatience at the prospect of a party. The man could smell hilarity a mile out.

“That’s the thing,” Roger began, “I’m happy about it. But at the same time…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“You did spend ten years with Dom, though. That’s a long time,” Deacy said.

“Yeah, but I’m not even unhappy about that. It’s just that I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

Brian narrowed his eyes, clicking on to what Roger meant, before even Roger understood. “Kids? Rog, that’s not the be and end all.”

“But Dom didn’t want kids, and I did,” he mused in a small voice. “And now, my girlfriend’s… twenty-four. I don’t even know if that’s what she wants. What if when she’s ready, I’ll be an old man?” Roger’s eyes grew glassy again at the prospect. “What if I never have that?” he repeated, looking around at his bandmates.

“Have you told her this?” Freddie asked.

Deacy waved his hands to halt the conversation right there for him to interject. “You’ve known this girl how long now? And you’re just going to go back to the flat and be like, ‘hey do you want to have my babies, push me around in a wheelchair and eventually scatter my ashes?’ Are you being serious here?”

“Well, they need to have that conversation; it’s healthy. And it saves any misunderstanding in the long run,” Brian reasoned, but somehow condescended.

“It’s a good way to spook her right out of her skin, that’s what it bloody well is,” Freddie said.

Roger sat on the toilet and watched his bandmates bicker over how Roger should broach the subject with his girlfriend, his mouth hanging open in a way that made him resemble a dead fish. All while the plan in his head took shape. “That’s it,” he smiled. “I’ve got it.”

His bandmates hushed their bickering as soon as it started and looked at the drummer. “What have you got?” Deacy asked.

“I know how to tell her,” he said, getting to his feet. He power walked away from the trio, calling back, “Just finish the bloody song alright?! I’ve got work to do!”

Roger’s heart pounded twice as fast as his feet hit the pavement, walking at the speed of light down the promenade. Every so often, he’d break out into a run, but quickly slowed down as he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. He was going back to the flat.

From the street, he could look up and spy you, sitting out in the late afternoon sun, with a glass of wine in your hand. The sight made his insides flutter. He couldn’t wait for the lift. Not when the love of his life had been sighted and she was within touching distance. He could practically smell your perfume hanging in the winding stairwell up. He breathed deep. He broke a sweat. And then he finally arrived at the flat.

“Darling?” Roger called, announcing himself in the hallway. He waited nervously at the door, rubbing his hands together like it was a chilly winter’s day. This was anything but; the sweat beading down his forehead said that much.

“What are you doing back?” you asked from the balcony. “I thought you were at the studio?”

“I was,” Roger shrugged realising that you weren’t coming through to greet him. Instead, he followed your voice. “But I needed to see you.”

Your glass of chardonnay had barely touched your lips, but that sentence stopped you right in your tracks. You narrowed your eyes and glanced up at Roger who was lingering at the door frame. “Why? You could see me tonight. I could wait up.”

Roger sighed and sat down at the table, opposite you.

This filled you with dread; the stomach-dropping kind of dread that threaten to have you hunched over the toilet in seconds.

Then he flashed those baby blues of his at you. “My divorce came through today,” he said.

“That’s it?” you shrugged. “I thought something was wrong. Let me get you a glass and we can celebrate,” you rambled, rising to your feet. Less than a foot from the door, Roger seized your hand and pulled you back.

“We do need to talk, though,” Roger said.

Only now did you notice how glassy Roger’s eyes looked beneath his sunglasses. You turned to him and slipped them to the top of his head, exposing the sparkling, red eyes that gave away how he really felt about the situation. And it caught you off guard. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Roger admitted. “That’s the worst part.”

“You look like you need a drink for other reasons now,” you commented.

He nodded in response and twirled the bottle of chardonnay in his hand, studying the label; gauging how wrecked he’d get if he guzzled the remainder. “Something a bit stronger, too.”

“I’m on it.”

Safely out of Roger’s view, you braced yourself against the counter top.

It worried you – Roger being so cryptic. It also worried you how much you had given up to be here with him. Your job. Your friends. Your life. All just to be with him.

More fool you, though.

You had only just met the bloke and you were carrying on like he was the love of your life.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you bowed your head. This felt like a familiar theme in your relationship with Roger and you couldn’t be sure whether or not it was a bad thing. In any other relationship, this was bound to be a massive raging red flag; the amount of times one can drag the other to the brink of heartbreak, just with a few words and a little bit of miscommunication. All you wanted was to be happy. Your brain repeated that like a mantra that didn’t improve anything. It just made you shake as wave after wave of sorrow tugged at your body.

“You still with me, darling?” Roger called through.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t let him see the tears. But it was too late.

You took so long to respond that Roger appeared at the door. When he saw you, his entire figure sank. “Oh my darling,” he sighed, taking you in his arms. “What are these for?”

“Because you made me think we were done, there,” you whimpered into Roger’s shirt, letting your mascara fray outwards in dark, inky pools. “And I’ve given up so much to be with you and I didn’t know if this was because of me or something I’d done. You should be happy that it’s over – your marriage.” You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Why aren’t you happy?”

Roger rubbed his hands up and down your arms and spoke wistfully. “Because, darling, I’ve wasted an entire fucking decade of my life on someone who never ever loved me. And I’m not even sure I’ve grown as a person because it. I’ve almost certainly missed out on everything I wanted in terms of relationships and settling down. I’m old now. And I’m going to be even older when we finally decide to start a family or settle down. If we decide to do that.” By the time Roger had finished that portion of his monologue, his fingers had laced with yours. “I don’t want to be an old dad,” he laughed.

You swept Roger’s hair back, exposing his aged, furrowed brow. He looked completely serious, unlike his usual self. “Is that why you’re so unhappy?” you asked.

Roger nodded, tugging his lower lip between his teeth.

You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around his torso, drinking in his scent. You propped your chin on his chest and gazed at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. “I love you, Roger Taylor,” you reassured. “I’ve given up everything for you.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, gathering the rest of your thoughts. “Maybe not marriage though, because… that didn’t work the first time. But I’m in this for life, just so you know. Whatever you want.”

Roger softened. A look of pure love made him younger in an instant. “Do you mean that?”

“Always.”

“And you want kids?”

“Yeah. But don’t let me become one of those annoying yummy mummy Facebook cretins. I want them to have normal lives, ok? No weird names. No nannies. No private schools. Understand?”

The lines at the edges of Roger’s eyes extended outwards as he beamed: “Understood!”

“How soon can we do this?” you asked, snaking your hands up over Roger’s chest and draping them around his shoulders.

You and Roger had decided to go out for dinner to celebrate his divorce. Somewhere fancy by the lakeside, under a canopy of twinkling golden stars.

Just you and him and no one else.

You sat, not on opposite sides of the table, but beside each other so you could stare out at the lake as you planned your future.

“How long do you think Queen will go on for?” you asked, leaning your head on Roger’s shoulder.

“As long as we can darling,” he said. “Why?”

“Nothing. I’m just wondering when I get to go out on tour with you,” you said, trying to avoid the point you itched to make. “Must be nice to travel the world.”

Roger moved away from you, narrowing his eyes and draining his glass. “Well, you’ll be coming out next year, surely?”

“Where do you think we’ll be off to?”

“Fred’s completely against going to America for obvious reasons. I don’t think they’re as accepting over there as they used to be. So probably not America.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“We might have too, thought. That’s the thing. It’s a case of convincing Fred.”

You gave a quiet laugh; you didn’t know Freddie very well, but you had a feeling he could be just as stubborn as Roger. Meaning that no one and nothing could convince him of anything when his mind was made up about something.

“I reckon we’ll go all over Europe; that’s a dead cert,” Roger rambled. He looked beautiful, leaning back in his chair and scratching his neck, groaning like an exhausted lion. Just a sliver of his soft tummy peeked out from underneath his shirt and you couldn’t resist leaning into him to scratch it. Then he continued. “Ever been to Paris?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been to the usual. Spain,” you groaned. “Tenerife.”

“You’ve been to Ibiza, too,” he reminded, a warm smile on his lips.

“Oh yeah!” you giggled. “Tell me more about Paris, Roggie.”

Roger laughed to himself, closing his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

You whined. “Well, tell me where else we’re going then. So I know what to pack!”

“It’s a year away, darling.”

“Just give me a tiny clue,” you pressed, holding up your thumb and forefinger to illustrate the size of the clue you desired.

But then, interrupting the tranquil scene, a gaggle of loud voices burst into the pop-up restaurant. They were all too familiar, much to Roger’s disappointment. “Shit,” he spat. He shot you an apologetic look and stood up, stretching out his arms to welcome his bandmates and their partners.

Freddie and Jim, Brian and Anita, and Deacy and Veronica all dragged seats up around your table, and began chatting to Roger. They congratulated him on his divorce and asked him what was next. All the while, Roger looked utterly bashful as he grasped your hand and gave it a series of reassuring squeezes.

You wondered whether he was trying to communicate with you in morse code. You laughed to yourself at the thought. You didn’t know morse code; but Roger was smart, he probably did. You squeezed back.

Thankfully, the attention turned away from him. He was free to talk to you again; getting his undivided attention against the backdrop of mindless, half-drunk chatter. He turned to face you. “When are we heading home, Kitten?” Roger half-whispered, stroking your hair.

“Getting impatient or is it past your bedtime?” you quipped.

Roger smiled and shook his head. Then looked back at you with a lustful glint in his eye. “I can’t wait to get you out of that bloody dress,” he teased, his hand finding its way to your thigh underneath the tablecloth. “And this is boring.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” you whispered moving closer to his neck. “I think we should try and get home now, Daddy.”

“What’s our strategy, Kitten?” Roger asked mischievously.

“Well, I had the seafood. I could pretend to be sick. And then…” you trailed off, jerking your head in the direction of the flat.

“That might work,” Roger said, kissing your jaw.

Just as the moment escalated in heat, the sound of someone obnoxiously clearing their throat cut through your moment, forcing you and Roger to turn your heads towards the group that had so rudely decided to crash your date.

“What?” Roger asked, annoyance cutting through his tone.

Deacy piped up. “It’s Veronica and I’s anniversary tomorrow evening. We were hoping we could do some celebrating. But we need a babysitter.”

Roger narrowed his eyes, pointing vaguely around the table to his friends and their partners. “Why can’t any of you?”

“I don’t want little Robert keeping us up with his crying and everything,” Freddie said. “You know how scratchy my voice gets when I don’t get enough sleep.”

Brian was next to offer up an excuse. “Anita and I were going to go out to the vineyard over there for a couple of nights.”

Roger straightened up in his seat as he considered offering his babysitting services. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, you were quick to interrupt.

“What about tonight’s babysitter, Deacy?” you asked. “Can’t you get them to babysit tomorrow?”

“She says she can’t,” Veronica explained. “She has exams at uni and she needs to be at all her lectures on weekdays. We tried.”

You and Roger gave a simultaneous sigh and looked at each other. “Guess we’re gonna have to do it,” you shrugged.

“Guess we do,” Roger agreed.

“Alright, we’ll do it,” you conceded, driving daggers through Deacy and Veronica in your mind. You didn’t want to but they didn’t leave you with much of a choice.

“He can sleep in the spare room,” Roger continued.

“And we’ll be on our best behaviour,” you added.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to call everyone up and cancel the orgy we had planned. Shame, really. I was looking forward to it,” Roger remarked.

The joke didn’t land well. But it wasn’t far from the truth. Every night since you arrived in Montreux, you and Roger would spend your evenings in bed together, figuring out all the new and debauched tricks he could teach you. And figuring out what you liked and what he could do to please you. He loved to please.

But the night after your ruined dinner date, you and Roger flitted around the flat in a frantic attempt to baby proof the place. Barricading the doors to all the balconies, locking away your restraints and sex toys, and removing all alcohol from your lower cupboards in the kitchen. Roger looked out of breath, standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips, trying to find even the slightest thing that baby Robert might get hold of and hurt himself with. “Do you reckon we got everything?” he asked, squinting at you.

You shrugged. “I’m more concerned with how we keep him occupied all night.”

“Fuck. Do you know, I’ve never had to look after a baby before?” Roger said. “How do we do that?”

“I think you start by taking the word fuck out of your vocabulary, darling,” you said wandering through to the living room and wrapping your arms around him.

“And what do we feed them?”

“Something soft? I don’t know. Does he have teeth yet?” you asked. “When do they get teeth?”

“I’ll tell you, I don’t even know. I think he does. Last time I saw him he bit me.”

“Ah, right. Great. He’s a biter.”

“He’s weird. He looks like Deacy,” Roger said, flopping down on the couch.

You followed suit, straddling his lap. “Do you think we’ll be good at this?” you asked, running your hands up and down Roger’s chest. “Looking after a kid? I don’t even think either of us are grown up enough if I’m honest.”

“We probably aren’t, darling,” Roger sighed, giving your thighs a squeeze. “But we didn’t really have much choice did we?”

You laughed quietly. “I mean, for real, Roger. A baby of our own.”

Roger closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to run away with him, wondering what that might be like. He wasn’t going to lie, he loved the idea of being a dad. And if he was going to do it, it would have to be with you. “It’d be different if it was ours,” Roger sighed.

You let your own imagination delve into that thought, conjuring up images of Roger playing with a squad of blonde, feral kids that were undoubtedly his own. He’d be fantastic. Warm and wise, fun and fearless. You wanted that. But you couldn’t help but feel like your relationship was on shaky ground for the foreseeable. You’d have to see what next year’s tour meant for you.

“When do you reckon you’d want to…” Roger trailed off.

“When we’re ready. After the tour next year?”

Roger’s eyes flicked open. “That sounds good.”

“There’s a lot we need to figure out when you’re on tour.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

He nodded. He already knew the answer to that, but sometimes he needed to hear it for himself. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“You’re gonna do the hard part,” Roger laughed. “Can’t be easy pushing a watermelon out of a small hole.”

“Roger!” you squealed, whacking his chest. “That’s disgusting!”

“That’s exactly what it is!” Roger retorted.

Interrupting your argument, the buzzer on the intercom sounded, notifying you that your tiny guest had arrived. Roger sprang to his feet and turned to you. “I’ll get it! You just see if there’s anything else Robert might hurt himself on while he’s on his way up.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Roger,” you called as he left the room.

Out in the hall, Roger answered the intercom and buzzed Deacy and Veronica up to the flat.

You stayed put, wandering around the open space inside the living room, looking out at the early evening sunshine. You folded your arms and found yourself drawn to the window. The sun looked glorious. Deacy and Veronica had picked a fantastic night to celebrate their anniversary. You wondered where they planned on going. If you and Roger hadn’t been imposed upon, you knew you’d be sitting out on the street at Funky Claude’s – the pair of you quaffing overpriced cocktails and watching the people flit down the street in a midsummer daze. Bliss, you thought; far away from having to look after a pair of strangers’ child. Maybe you weren’t cut out for being a mother? You knew deep down that you wanted it, but you were still trying to figure out what was an acceptable age to stop giving your friends a bottle of whisky and a wire coat hanger as a congratulatory gift for getting themselves knocked up. You also balked at baby updates from them and couldn’t fathom why the vast majority of your friends ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over babies. Maybe you’d be a crap mother after all? That worried you. Especially after the weighty commitment you made to Roger.

So lost in your own woes, you hadn’t noticed Deacy, Veronica and their tiny terror entering your home. You had your back to the door, travelling away at a hundred miles an hour on the stress express.

“Darling?” Roger sang. “The Deacons are here.”

You glanced over your shoulder and, realising that the family had indeed arrived in all their finery, you turned to them.

They were a humble pair. You would never have known that Deacy was a millionaire. He looked like the stereotypical industrious tightwad, you thought as you hugged and kissed the couple politely on the cheek and wished them well on their life sentence together. And when the niceties were over, your eyes searched the room for little Robert. “Where is he?” you cooed in a fake tone. “Where is the little guy?” You did your best to plaster on a wide, manic smile, that didn’t exactly sit right with you, but clearly hit the spot with the anxious parents.

“Here I am!” the three-year-old called, blustering into the room, clutching a large dinosaur toy. “I’m here! I’m here!” He continued, finding his way to your leg and clinging to it for dear life.

You patted his head, and beamed down at him. “Well, we’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we?”

“Yeah!”

Roger began to usher the couple from the flat, fearing that they might miss their dinner reservation. “He’s in good hands,” he reassured. “We’ll feed him at six and he’ll be in bed by seven.”

“And you’ll make sure you tire him out? He gets a bit restless in the hour leading up to bedtime. He sometimes won’t want to have his bath. Just make sure he’s tired when you do,” Veronica wittered.

Roger laughed, “He’ll be fine! You’ve left enough for him to be getting on with. Now, both of you, go, before you miss your reservation!”

“Fine, fine!” Veronica caved, pulling Deacy away by his arm. “We’ll pick him up in the morning. Hopefully we won’t be too hungover when we get him and we’ll try not to be late!”

The door finally closed leaving you and Roger solely in charge of Robert. In truth, you didn’t think he was going to be a problem. He sat on the sofa with his dinosaur and sent it zooming through their air while you and Roger watched him like he was a wild animal, and you were too afraid to spook him. Every now and then, you and Roger would lock eyes from opposite sides of the room. Soft looks that made you desperate to have each other. Suddenly all of those doubts about settling down together melted away.

“Robert, dear?” you began, sitting down beside the small boy. “Do you want a little drink of juice and a snack?”

Robert didn’t take his eyes off the dinosaur. Mumbling a quiet, “yeah.”

You looked up at Roger, exchanging confused looks; little Robert might prove to be hard work, still.

“How about we watch a film?” you suggested.

“Sounds nice,” he squeaked.

“What do you wanna watch, buddy?” Roger asked, giving the small boy his snacks and sitting down next to him. “Hm?”

“Don’t know.”

You and Roger looked at each other again, worried about how to keep him preoccupied.

“How about the Lion King?” you suggested.

“Yeah.”

Roger puffed out his cheeks and grabbed the remote, putting the film on. By his estimation, it would take you up to dinner time. And then bath time. And then bed. And you were free after that – an easy run at this parenting malarky, or so he thought.

You and Roger enjoyed the first hour of the film before Robert piped up. “I have to pee.”

Half-asleep, Roger propped himself up. “Right, pal, come on. I’ll show you where the toilet is.”

“I’ll get dinner on,” you suggested. “How about chicken nuggets and chips?”

“Pee first!” Robert squeaked, tugging at Roger’s jeans.

“Fair enough,” you sighed as Roger and Robert disappeared down the hall.

Getting to your feet, you wandered over to the freezer. This was a staple when you were a kid.

You dumped the chips and the chicken nuggets onto a tray and then stuck the oven on.

Robert was sure to like this; it had to be a winner to get the Deacon boy on side. But he was so like his dad that you could never tell if you were coming or going with him. Three years old and he already had that trait down to pat.

You bunged the tray into the oven and glanced towards the cupboard full of wine glasses.

Roger and Robert sauntered back into the room and threw themselves back on to the sofa. There was only half an hour left of the film. Enough time to cook dinner. An hour, tops, and he’d be in bed.

You could do this.

“Did you find the toilet, okay?” you asked Robert.

He nodded.

“I’ve just put the dinner on. Chicken nuggets and chips? I even got the dinosaur chicken nuggets. Your daddy told me you liked those the best.”

“They’re my favourite animal!” Robert said, perking up. “I love velociraptors.”

Roger pondered for a moment, playing along. “I think I like t-rexes better. They’re bigger and they have funny little arms.”

“I always feel bad for them. Think of all the things they can’t do,” you said.

“Have you ever seen Jurassic Park?” Roger asked Robert with a fun look in his eye. “I think you’d love it. There are lots and lots of dinosaurs in it.”

Robert smiled and shook his head. “Can we watch that?” he asked, turning around and deferring to you.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you began, wracking your brain for all of the non-child-friendly things in the film. You weren’t about to let a child in your care go to bed straight after having seen a film that gave you nightmares when you saw it as a child. “It’s a bit scary for you, Robert.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it,” Robert smiled, looking at Roger for back up.

“I mean, it’s not that bad is it, really?” Roger said. “He can eat his dinner and watch it. And then bath time should give him a little bit to calm down if it gets too scary.”

“Please!” Robert pleaded, clasping his hands together and begging you with his wide hazel eyes. “I won’t tell mummy and daddy, I swear.”

Sure, it scuppered your plans for wine, but maybe you could sneak some if he was so engrossed in the film. You’d have to look after him for longer before he went to bed. Then there was the possibility of nightmares while you were busy getting drunk and doing god knows what with Roger in the middle of the night. Is this what parenting entailed? If so, you could safely count yourself out of the game for the foreseeable future.

But the little boy looked adorable, presenting his dinosaur to Roger.

“Is there any of these in the film, uncle Roger?” he asked.

“Well, if Auntie Grump lets us watch it, we can find out for ourselves, can’t we, pal?” he said, taking the dinosaur and jumping it along the coffee table.

You dropped your arms down by your sides and gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, alright! But you need to eat all your dinner, and be in bed on time, ok? No excuses!” you said, wagging your finger at Robert and Roger. You shot Roger an especially stern look.

Roger put the film on while you kept an eye on dinner. He had no problem connecting with the boy; of course. He was Roger. Everyone and everything gravitated towards his warm and inviting nature.

They huddled together on the sofa, with Robert’s dinosaur, and watched in amazement at how real all the dinosaurs on screen seemed.

“Do you think they used real dinosaurs for this?” Robert asked in awe.

“I think getting real dinosaurs might have been a bit expensive,” Roger explained.

Truth be told, Roger was going to make a fantastic father and that, in itself drove you insane. You almost felt guilty for still having reservations about this, seeing how much Roger enjoyed looking after Robert. The soft look on his face as he carried Robert through to the spare room when he fell asleep during the film made you want to jump on Roger there and then.

But he looked exhausted as he wandered back into the living room. He hadn’t done anything except chat to the small boy for a few hours. But it was enough to make him collapse back on to the couch and breathe a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes.

“You’re really good with him,” you said, taking your place beside him.

“I tried as well as I could,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him.

You patted his chest, congratulating him for getting through the evening. “Kind of makes me think we should get some practice in,” you laughed.

“Yeah?” Roger asked, widening his eyes.

You nodded and sat up breaking away from his embrace. “But first, I think we need some wine.”

“Wine would be lovely.”

Roger watched you over the back of the sofa as you opened the fridge and plucked out a perfectly-chilled bottle of prosecco. Even though his lids hung heavy over his eyes, you knew he felt exactly the same way as you. He couldn’t focus on the bottle or the wine; his eyes were glued to you and the way that your body moved as you sashayed back over to him, swaying your hips as you carried two glasses of golden bubbly goodness back to the sofa.

He took his glass and held it up. “Well, cheers to baby making I guess,” he smiled.

“To baby making,” you agreed, clinking your glass against his and knocking it back. Your body relaxed in an instant.

“That dress looks nice on you, by the way,” Roger commented, thumbing at the material over your thighs. “Really shows off those lovely hips of yours. I love it.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks, feeling like he had you under a microscope. “Thanks. You look… like the perfect dad?” you responded, squinting one eye, unsure of the point or the tone you were trying to go for by giving him that compliment.

“That supposed to be a compliment?” Roger asked, swallowing the last of his wine.

“I like my men old and refined, so yes,” you smiled.

Roger grinned and glanced over to the fridge. “Why don’t we take the bottle to bed?”

You sat up straight; heart pounding, stomach fluttering. “Won’t Robert notice?”

“He’s out cold.”

“But what if he has nightmares and walks in?”

“We just tell him it’s a special grown up cuddle. My mum told me that all the time.”

“Yeah, so did mine but it didn’t stop it traumatising me,” you giggled. “We’ll need to be really quick.”

Roger drew his calloused fingertips underneath your jaw. “What’s the point in being quick, Kitten?” he purred. “It takes time to do things properly. Don’t you want to enjoy it?” He was dangerously close to your lips. So close you could practically taste the wine on his.

You froze feeling a surge of adrenaline course through your veins. Your voice shook. But you gave in. “Yes.”

Roger’s hand skirted underneath the hemline on your dress, caressing your thigh as he spoke to you. “So should we take the wine through to the bedroom and get started, Kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sighed, leaning in to plant a firm, lingering kiss on Roger’s lips. “You get the wine.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, springing to his feet. But he had to play catch up with you. You were already in the centre of the bedroom, shrugging out of your dress, letting it pool around your feet. When he caught a glimpse of you standing there in just a set of skimpy lingerie, he stopped in his tracks, clutching the wine and glasses in a shaking grip. “Thought we were going slow, Kitten?”

You glanced over your shoulder, purring, “Is this too much for you, Daddy?”

This left Roger at a loss for words. All he could do was watch as you slunk over to the edge of the bed and sat down, patting the space beside you. Beckoning him over.

He complied, handing you a glass and filling it. Then filling his own. You could hear his breath wavering in his chest and he almost spilled some wine as his hands trembled.

“Drink up, Daddy,” you reassured.

Roger downed his glass and hastily sat it down on the floor.

“Do you need something to help you relax?” you asked, trailing your fingers down his chest. “Because I can help with that.”

“No, no, Kitten. Let me do all the work, please,” he gasped, slinking down on to the floor and settling on the carpet between your legs. His hands worked their way up your shins as he peppered quick, eager kisses along the insides of your thighs. “You just sit there, drink your wine and look pretty,” he instructed, before moving on to the opposite thigh to lavish it with the same care and attention. “Let Daddy take care of you…”

Roger’s mouth was something akin to a religious experience. You relished the opportunity to have him planted squarely between your legs any chance you could get. You loved how hungry – ravenous – he became. He could never resist. It didn’t take him long before his fingers looped underneath the waistband of your underwear and yanked them down.

Finishing the rest of your wine, the glass drooped out of your hands and dampened the sheets with the dregs as you eased back.

Roger’s tongue worked at your folds, lapping away at them and gathering all the sweet, heady wetness he could find, groaning enthusiastically as he savoured every drop. He tugged and nipped at them, pulling them between his lips, sucking at the sensitive pink flesh until it swelled and tingled. He knew how to amp up the need you felt. His hands gripped at your bottom, adding another layer of delicious sensation to the mix and forcing you further on to his mouth, getting as close as he possibly could to make you writhe against his tongue as he dipped it inside you.

You knew exactly what Roger was trying to do. He was trying to get you to cry out in pleasure, rippling his tongue inside you. Curling it in on itself. Fucking you. A precursor to the onslaught his cock was poised and ready to deliver when it came down to it.

But you were so aware of the sleeping child in the next room. You clamped your hand over your mouth in a desperate bid to avoid giving Roger the rapturous praise he desired for stringing you out to the point of orgasm in minutes flat. Instead, you quietly quivered.

Roger’s tongue was dangerously close to your clit.

If he couldn’t get you to scream his name, he had to try a different tactic.

Pursing his lips together and sucking on that little bundle of nerves, he flicked his tongue wildly over it at the same time.

This was electric.

That move had the intensity of a thousand wildfires being set ablaze all over your body, racing towards your cunt. It had you clawing at the sheets in no time.

But the kicker came when his fingers replaced his tongue, burying themselves inside you. One, two, three, four. Stretching you out close to your limit and pumping away in rapid, damp motions that would’ve completely given you away had you had adult company. Your body rocked in time to every single thrust, your cunt tightening around his hand more and more.

But you still couldn’t let go of your inhibitions.

It was too dangerous.

“Tell me how much you like it, Kitten,” Roger hummed.

“I fucking love it, Daddy,” you sighed in desperation. He just kept you in a mind numbing trance of being right at the very edge. And you wished with your entire being that you could just step off already. “I need to come so badly,” you whined.

“What’s wrong, Kitten?”

“I just can’t let go.”

Roger looked concerned as he shuffled up the bed towards you; so close that you caught your scent on him. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m fine, I just can’t do this with the boy in the next room,” you sighed.

“That’s ok,” Roger whispered, nestling his face against your neck. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you agreed, wrapping your thighs around him and grabbing a fistful of his hair to kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

His hips stirred against yours as the moment grew in intensity, your tongues lapping away at each other’s. Arms tangled and fingers raking through each other’s hair. Two bodies glued together, and moving as one. “I want you so much,” he murmured as he broke the kiss.

“Have me,” you smiled, kissing his nose. You tugged at one of the belt loops on his jeans. “But you’re gonna need to lose the clothes first.”

“Right, yes,” he said, stumbling backwards on to his feet. “Good idea.”

For some reason, Roger seemed nervous too. You his hands still shook as he fought to undo the buttons on his shirt and tug down the fly on his jeans. There was something arousing about watching him shed his clothes for you; soon enough, your own hand returned to that spot between your legs to try and finish the job Roger started.

He settled between your thighs again and looked down. Your hand was still working overtime – he loved to watch but only for so long.

The tip of his cock pressed deliciously up against your entrance. So inviting, given how swollen Roger’s cock was, leaking precum over your already dripping slit. You manoeuvred your hips, trying to grasp it, to suck it in, to coax him, but Roger wasn’t playing ball.

Instead, he pumped his hand around his length, reminding you of just how much he could fill you.

Your pleasure-addled brain needed to have it.

But he wasn’t giving you it.

You let out a needy whine, coupled with a desperate, “Please.”

Roger laughed to himself, moving on to phase two of his teasing.

Your hips might have been trembling wildly, but he still managed to slide his cock up and down over the length of your cunt, making his cock slick and glistening with your juices.

You repeated another feeble plea. “Please, Roger fill me.”

“I will, Kitten, don’t worry,” he said softly, still teasing you in the most horrific and torturous way. “But first you need to tell me what exactly you want. What’s making you so desperate, Kitten?”

Your mind drew a blank and your hips clearly had no consideration for Roger’s line of questioning. All they wanted to do was seek his cock out and have him fuck you mercilessly, like an animal in heat.

“What’s got you all riled up?” He repeated. “Use your words, Kitten.”

Your fingers still circled your clit, by now making you a complete and utter mess.

He wasn’t going to get any sense out of you, that much was clear.

But it didn’t stop him from trying. He slapped your hand away. Then, when you recoiled, he slapped your cunt. “Use your words, Kitten. You’re not getting my cock if you don’t.”

“Oh but Daddy…” you protested, rolling your hips. “I just want…” you couldn’t verbalise it. The urge inside you. The reason you were so frantic.

“You want me to pump a baby into you, Kitten, don’t you?” he said, replacing your fingers with his own.

God those words sent a shiver right through you in the best way. A growl rumbled in your chest as you arched your back against his efforts. “Mmm, please knock me up!”

“That wasn’t so hard,” he soothed.

But nothing could prepare you for the savage way that his hips snapped into you, forcing a yelp from your lips.

“You want me to knock you up? Hm, Kitten?” he asked, pressing his lips on to your neck to mark it up and claim you.

“Oh god, yes.”

“Say it, for me, Kitten,” he scolded. “Tell me what you fucking want. I want you to beg for it,” he continued, pounding you into the mattress with his weight on top of you. “Just so I know you’re sure.”

Your brain was so fogged, but now that Roger had reminded you of why you were in this position, the words came more easily. “Knock me up, Daddy,” you whined. “I’m ready. I want it.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing your jawline, a trail all the way up to your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good mummy. So fucking sexy too. I can’t wait to see you grow and for everyone to know what I did to you.”

The way he talked was exactly what you needed to send you over the edge and you didn’t care who heard. Clutching at the sheets, you thought your entire soul was shaking as you hurtled through powerful convulsions and contractions that milked every single drop of come Roger could muster right into you.

You and Roger collapsed in a sweaty breathless heap together, with him still on top of you. Your brain tried to fathom what had just happened.

It all became clear when Roger rolled off of you, and looked your way with the biggest, softest grin you had ever seen.

“Think that did the trick?” he asked, reaching sideways to pat your belly.

In between trying to catch your breath, you still had enough reserve to crack a joke. “You know, for someone who claims to have a biology degree, you have a shocking lack of understanding about human reproduction.”

Roger laughed, batting his hand through the air. “I’ve watched the Discovery Channel. It’ll be fine.”

“Better throw the rest of my pills out if we’re serious,” you said.

“Only if you really want to. I’m in no way wedded to the idea.”

“Yes you are.”

His rosy cheeks puffed out into a grin akin to a chubby cherub that you just couldn’t resist: “Maybe I am.”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 6 years ago

Text

Gold Digger - Chapter 1| Gwilym Lee x OFC

A/N: Sunday, 6:11AM. This dumb bitch realized she never posted the first chapter because it got stuck in her drafts. I’m so sorry.

Warnings: Absolutely none. Maybe some mild swearing?

Word Count: ~1.4K

Prologue

Lizzie and Gwilym had just calmed down from a laughing fit. Still in the cafe, they were so preoccupied with their conversation, they didn’t even realise time was flying by.

“Seriously, clowns?” Gwilym dabbed at the corners of his eyes as he chuckled. “What’s so terrifying about clowns?”

“The make-up, for starters!” Lizzie pointed one finger up in the air. “They’re always chasing kids around with balloons and candy.” Another finger. “They aren’t funny, at all!” Third finger. “They’re usually creepy old men.” Fourth.

“Alright, solid points.” Gwilym smiled and ran a hand through his hair. Lizzie felt her breath hitch for a split second. “How long have we been here?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugged. “Judging by the amount of coffee and food we’ve consumed, though…”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” Gwilym apologised, yet again. “I didn’t mean to keep you from going about your day!”

“You didn’t, I chose to be kept.” She winked and smirked before having a quick look at her watch. “God, we’ve been here for hours!”

“Have we, really?” Gwilym’s face scrunched curiously as he looked at his own watch. “Would you look at that!”

“I have an odd question,” Lizzie said and bit the inside of her cheek. “Feel free to tell me to sod off if I’m out of line, of course.”

“Yes?”

“Do you work?”

“Do I work?” Gwilym parroted. “Yes.”

“So, is this your day off, then?” Lizzie cut a chunk of croissant with her fingers and popped it in her mouth.

“In a way,” Gwilym propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist. “I’m sort of on a hiatus. In-between projects.”

“Right.” Lizzie nodded slowly. “Well, I should get going. I have so much I need to do still -”

“Oh, not a problem!” Gwilym cut her off. “Is it alright if I asked for your number, maybe?”

Lizzie mulled it over.

On the one hand, this man is probably the best looking man she had ever seen, let alone spoken to. On the other, she’s had enough of in between jobs and waiting for my next project type of men. Yet, again, he was so devastatingly handsome.

“Sure.” Lizzie finally said and took Gwilym’s phone to tap in her number. He called her and hung up after two rings.

“Now you have mine, as well.” He grinned.

###

‘I see what you meant about clowns.’

Lizzie opened the text and snorted when she saw the picture attached. It was a T-Rex photoshopped as a clown.

‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, clowns are terrifying!’

She didn’t even put the phone down before it dinged again, notifying a new incoming message is waiting for her.

‘Today was great. I don’t think I’ve ever lost track of time in conversation like that before.’

Lizzie’s thumbs hovered above the screen for a minute while she pondered what her response should be.

‘It was definitely nice :)‘

“Earth to Elizabeth!” her roommate snapped her fingers in front of Lizzie’s face. “Hello? who are you texting all the time?" Shelly almost scared Lizzie out of her skin. "Whoops!"

“Sorry, Shelly,” Lizzie switched the screen off and tossed the phone aside. “You were saying?”

“Answer my question, then!”

"No one." Lizzie smiled sweetly.

"So, a bloke?"

"He's a man, yes." Lizzie tried to sound nonchalant.

"Handsome?"

"So handsome." Lizzie smiled to herself.

"Sharing is caring, Liz." Shelly sauntered over and flopped down on the sofa next to Lizzie. "Get on it with it. Go on."

"His name's Gwilym -"

"What kinda name is that?" Shelly snorted.

"Welsh."

"Right."

"He's about as tall as a tree, he looks like a prince out of a fairy tale."

"How'd you meet?"

"He knocked me on my arse a couple'a'hours ago." Lizzie mumbled.

"He knocked you on your arse?"

"He was jogging, we both weren't looking where we're going and just..." Annie clapped both of her hands. "On my arse."

"Charming."

"Bought me coffee later. Talked for hours at the cafe."

"That's nice." Shelly said. "What's the catch?"

"There's no catch." Lizzie lied.

"There's a catch. You did the thing with your lip. You're lying."

"I think... it's just that... well, he's unemployed..."

"Oh bugger." Shelly groaned. "Another one bites the dust."

### "Hello?"

"Oh, there she is!" Gwilym drawled. "How are you? Been trying to talk to you all day!"

"Yeah, it was hectic." Lizzie blew a strand of hair away from her face. "Work, you know?"

"What happened?"

"The kids got into a huge fight in the yard during recess," Lizzie jumped back as a hoard of kids ran past her. "No running in the halls! Sorry, the kids..."

"School's still going?" Gwilym frowned. "I was hoping you were finished by now!"

"Oh, I am!" Lizzie sighed gratefully. "Just leaving for my car, now. How was your day, Gwil?"

"Good, good!" Gwil smiled to himself. "Met up some mates, had a couple of pints down at the pub..."

"It's not even five o'clock."

"I'm on hiatus and an adult." Gwilym snarked. "Don't judge me."

"Right."

"Would be lovely if you joined me next time I'm at the pub."

"I've got such a hectic week ahead, Gwil."

"Righty-O."

###

Lizzie sat with her legs tucked under her, her sock-clad toes poking out slightly. She typed at the screen furiously, giggling out loud occasionally, totally lost as far as the Netflix series she and Shelly watched. At first Shelly had some things to say about her behaviour. Lizzie could not be pulled away from her phone no matter what.

The only thing that got her to stop texting was when she had to teach class. Other than that - it's like the thing was glued to her hand. It has been going on for three whole days now.

"Liz -" Shelly turned to face her roommate and best friend.

Lizzie jumped and dropped her phone. It landed on the rug with a muffled thud. "-Jesus, didn't mean to scare ya." Shelly stifled a chuckle. "Are you even watching this?"

"What?" Lizzie bent down and picked up her phone. "Yeah, yeah!"

"Did you even listen to my question?" Shelly raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. "Liz?"

"Yes! It's just that -"

"Will?"

"Gwil." Lizzie corrected her. "His name is Gwil."

"Right, then." Shelly rolled her eyes. "So are you going out with this bloke or...?"

"What?"

"Is he taking you out on a date or are you just going to text infinitely?" Shelly asked as she got up and went to the kitchen to make herself something to drink.

“Are you serious?"

"About what? Drinking or asking if the lad's gonna take you out?"

"Both!"

"Yes." ### "Gwilym?"

"Yes?" Gwil smirked to himself.

He tidied his place up while talking to Lizzie on the phone. He couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed phone calls this much. It's like they never ran out of things to talk about. The more they spoke, the more he liked her - and the feeling seemed mutual.

"What is it you do for a living?"

"I'm an actor," Gwilym stated. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah." Lizzie sounded disheartened. "An actor, you say?"

"Indeed."

"What, like, theater? Movies? TV? Commercials?"

"A little bit of everything." Gwilym shrugged and dusted off his coffee table. "Why?"

"Just curious." Lizzie sighed.

"Everything ok?" Gwil asked. "You sound... preoccupied."

"Oh, just thoughts," Lizzie said. "You know how it is. Work, life..."

"Adulting."

"Yeah."

###

Bloop.

Lizzie glanced at her phone as she towel-dried her hair. She's been texting Gwilym almost all day, every day for an entire week. Not that she complained, though. Devastatingly handsome, witty, and intelligent. He was every girl's dream.

But there was that one thing.

For the life of her, she had no idea whatsoever what Gwilym Lee did with his life. He never talked much about work. He said he's "in-between projects," whatever that meant.

'Dinner?'

Lizzie huffed and sat on the edge of her bed, biting her nails. It's not that she didn't want to go to dinner with him.

She most certainly did. But his weirdness around the subject of employment made her feel rather iffy. She's had her fair share of Dead-Beats, as Shelly so fondly called them. Leeches. Roaches. Pests. Men who did absolutely nothing with their lives, yet somehow manipulated Lizzie into being their care-taker. The amount of money she spent on those blokes brought her to the threshold of utterly broke. She knew better this time. This time, she'll listen to her gut.

'Working tomorrow, need a good nights' sleep. Sorry.'

'Everything alright?'

'Yeah, yeah. Why?'

'Not sure. You keep rejecting my invitations to go out...'

'Just a bit stressed out from work. It's fine.'

'Right... Have a splendid night, then. Sweet dreams! x'

###

TAGLIST:

@ramibaby @filmslutt @lose-you-to-find-me @sonic-volcano @nosferatyou @rogertaylorin1976

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee fanfiction #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x ofc #gold digger

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 6 years ago

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Ok. So I did something. I completed this fic last month but there were some scenes that I couldn’t stop thinking about, that I’d outlined but had not completely written out. So I ended up writing them out as one shots, just to get them out of my brain. I had such a good time being back in this AU I decided to go ahead and post this to share it with you. So here’s the “deleted scene” of Baz convincing Simon to move into his flat. My thanks to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging about this fic!

Chapter 17

Baz

I pick up Simon directly from the care home.

He’s pleasantly disheveled. Shirt untucked. Bronze curls drooping over his forehead. A bright spot of paint on his cheek that I can imagine licking off.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from?

Simon slides into the passenger seat and his bright grin brings a flare of heat to my chest. He’s the sun and I can’t keep myself from crashing into him.

I’m leaning towards him before I even think it through and he meets me halfway over the center console, lips sliding against my own, his breath sighing against my skin.

Fingertips trail heat along my jaw as he pulls back and that stray spot of paint folds into one of his dimples as he smiles at me. “Where are we going? You didn’t say.”

“Thought we’d head to your place. Let you get changed.”

“Being mysterious, are we?”

I arch a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know my nefarious plans for you, Snow?”

Simon shoves my arm. “Shut up, you barmy git. It’s only nefarious if you don’t plan on taking me out to eat. I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved, Simon.” I regret the words the minute they come out of my mouth. Because they’re true. They always have been true, but I know the background far better now than I did at Watford.

I know why he was always so painfully thin at the start of term. Why he’d be the first in the dining hall and the last to leave. Why it took weeks for him to fill out again, to lose the gauntness that haunted him in the early days of autumn.

Fucking care homes.

The touch of his hand on my forearm brings me back to the present. “You’re right, I am.” His fingers squeeze through the fabric of my coat. “Stop thinking so hard, Baz.” Simon pats his stomach with his other hand and laughs. “I’ve gained enough weight these past few weeks I should probably back off the snacks a bit. I’ll not fit in my clothes and I can’t be wearing trackies to work all the time.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. It comes so effortlessly to him, setting others at ease. Setting me at ease

We drive in silence, Simon’s hand still resting lightly on my forearm. I shift gears and navigate through the busy traffic to get to his flat.

I’ve spent the afternoon at my place. I tidied up the spare room, made it look more like a bedroom and less like an office. The desk is clean. The bed is made. The wardrobe has ample space and the contents of the chest of drawers have been parceled out to other locations.

There are two large, empty suitcases stashed away in the boot of my car. The backseat of the Jag should accommodate the rest of his meagre belongings.

I’ve not been sleeping well since we’ve come back. The time change is the likeliest culprit but my looming departure isn’t helping matters any.

Neither is Simon’s living situation.

I’d spent half the night pacing in my room, formulating this plan and rehearsing the words to convince him to agree to it. I still don’t know if he will. If Simon Snow is anything, it’s stubborn.

I miraculously find a parking spot near his building again. That in itself says more about the dodginess of this neighbourhood than the boarded-up buildings or piles of rubbish by the bins.

Simon’s already on his way to the front door when he realizes I’m not following. I’ve flipped the boot open and I’m hauling out the two large cases I retrieved from storage earlier today.

“What’re you doing? Moving in?” He looks amused but puzzled.

Here we go.

“Moving you out.”

“What?”

“I’m moving you out of here.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Can we discuss this upstairs please, Simon? Preferably while we pack?”

“You can’t be serious, Baz.”

I slam the boot of the car shut and extend the handles of the suitcases, bumping them along the cracked sidewalk past him. He trails after me, hands in his coat pockets and that mutinous expression I know so well on his face.

He unlocks the front door and stomps up the steps, leaving me alone to navigate the cramped staircase with the two unwieldy bags thumping and knocking along behind me.

I’m panting by the time I reach his floor, sweat rolling off my forehead. And the bags are empty at the moment, not as heavy as they’ll surely be once they’re filled with his belongings.

If they’re filled with his belongings, my brain reminds me. He’s not agreed to anything yet.

I drag myself in and set the cases aside. Simon shuts the door behind me and then leans against it, arms crossed, brow creased. He looks at me expectantly. “Care to clarify this for me?”

I close my eyes. My well-thought-out midnight speeches have abandoned me. All that comes out is “I think you should stay at my place.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He looks genuinely perplexed.

“Because you can’t stay here.”

“I jolly well can stay here. I’ve lived here for six months, Baz. It’s fine.”

“It most certainly is not fine. I can’t stand the thought of you living here, Simon.” His expression darkens and I know I need to choose my words wisely. Now is not the time to use the word ‘squalid’ even if it is the most appropriate one to come to mind. I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see me clench my fists. I need to try a different approach.

“My flat is empty. There’s no one there.”

“I can’t stay at your flat, Baz!”

“And why not?

Simon splutters and blusters. “I just . . . I can’t do that.” His face flushes. “I’ve got a lease here. I can’t afford to leave this place.”

“It’s not about the money.”

Error, my brain shouts at me. Way to fuck it up, Basilton.

Simon pushes off the wall, eyes flashing. “It most certainly is about the money.” His eyes narrow. “I know this might be hard for you to understand, considering your background and all, but I’ve got finite resources. A limited budget. This fits my needs and I can’t just go buggering off to live in Chelsea on a fucking whim, Baz. I can’t do that.” Simon’s chin juts out and he looks away, his voice dropping. “I can’t afford that.”

“I don’t expect you to have to afford it. I told you—it’s sitting empty.”

He’s drawing himself up now, as tall and straight as he can, fists clenched at his sides. His chin juts out even more, and fuck it all, I know this expression. Why is he being so bloody stubborn?

“I’m not taking charity from you, Baz. I’ll not do that.” That’s why he’s being so fucking stubborn. I predicted this, I thought this out last night and I’ve made a bollocks of the whole proceeding.

My shoulders slump. “Please, Simon. Just do it for me. If I have to be away, at least this way I’d know you were somewhere safe.”

The fire goes out of his eyes but he’s still taut and rigid in his stance.

I keep going. “You’d be doing me a favour, looking after my place.”

The skeptical look is back. “Didn’t you tell me Fiona takes care of your place?”

I curl my lip. “Poorly. You’ve met her. How good an idea do you think it is, having her be responsible?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that. You wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place, if you didn’t trust her.”

He’s right and it’s bloody irritating.

This day is getting away from me and I never intended to spend it arguing with Simon. My plans had focused more on snogging than snark.

Desperation is creeping in. “I’ll tell Bunce where you live.”

He scoffs. “She already knows.”

“Has she visited you here?”

Silence.

“Has she?”

“No.”

“I’ll send her photos of the rats and the rubbish bins, shall I?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I tap a finger to my lip. “To be honest, a Google street view would likely suffice. She’ll terrify someone into flying her over to move you out of here.”

“You don’t even know how to get in touch with her, Baz. Stop bluffing.”

“All it would take is a call to Watford to request her contact information. The alumni department is quite accommodating.”

“You bloody arsehole.” His fists are tightly clenched and his face is red. I can practically feel the heat radiating off Simon from here. “Why are you doing this?”

I step across the space between us and put my hands over his fisted ones. I lower my head, just a breath between our faces now. I rub his knuckles with my thumb and then gently rest my forehead against his. “Please.” It’s just a whisper. “I’ll never survive in New York if I know you’re in this manky flat all alone.” My hands slide up his arms, to his shoulders, to his face, cupping his cheeks as I gaze into the intense blue of his eyes. “Please, Simon.”

I can feel the tension in him, the tautness of his shoulders, his posture rigid. I don’t know how to break through that. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb and tilt my head down. “Please.” I whisper that word as I bring my mouth to his, slide my lips along the chapped contours of his own, sink into the warmth of his touch, his tongue, his taste.

Simon’s arms slip around me, pulling me closer, tracing their way up my back. His mouth moves on mine, his breath catching, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulls back a moment later to breathe words into the space between us. “Why do you have to be so fucking persuasive, you twat?”

I bury my face in his hair, breathe in the scent of him, closing my eyes so he can’t see the depth of emotion in me. The glimmer of hope that he’s actually going to let me do this.

But, being Simon, he can’t help arguing the point. I should have known.

“I don’t want to mess up your flat, Baz.”

“You’re not going to mess up my flat.”

“You like things neat. You know I’m a disaster.”

“Ah, but now you’re my disaster, aren’t you, Simon?” His lips find mine again and my day is finally on track, as far as the snogging is concerned.

It unfortunately can’t last, as we have a flat to pack up.

Simon keeps bickering with me, even as I fold his clothes into neat piles and he sorts through the detritus on his desk and nightstand.

“You should at least let me pay you rent.”

“Why would I have you pay me rent? The whole point is having a place you can afford, that’s safe and sanitary.”

“I do clean, you know.”

I groan. “I know you do. How about we compromise on tastefully decorated and not in a dodgy neighbourhood? Is that better?”

Simon just grunts in response, but he starts placing his clothes in the empty suitcases so I know I’ve won this round.

“I’ll call Father’s solicitor Monday. It shouldn’t be problem to get you out of this lease.”

“I can’t afford a solicitor, Baz.”

“It’s just Percy. He’s Father’s cousin. He doesn’t charge for family business.”

“This isn’t family business!”

I glare at him. “If you’re moving into my flat, to house-sit for me while I’m in America, it damn well is family business.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re exasperating, Simon, not to mention exceedingly stubborn. Now come on, we’ve not got all night and I seem to remember you whinging about needing to eat.”

His stomach audibly rumbles at my words. I can’t help but laugh.

Simon shakes his head, face flushing, but he doesn’t fuss at me this time. He picks up another heap of t-shirts and tosses them into the open suitcase.

Good.

It doesn’t take us long to sort his belongings. Simon really doesn’t have much. There are a few rickety cast-offs from when he lived with Bunce. I offer to put the items in storage for him but he scoffs at the suggestion. The rest of the furniture came with the flat.

We trundle down the stairs, the suitcases banging and bumping along behind us. I get them loaded in the car and then we go up to fill some boxes—books and personal items, shampoos and soaps and such.

I take a last look around his bedroom. It’s bare and stark, all the colourful items that made it Simon’s stowed away. All that’s left is a cracked mug on the nightstand and a thick candle set by it.

Simon comes in to do one last sweep of the wardrobe and chest of drawers. His finger reaches out to touch the candle. It’s half burned down, not really worth the effort to bring it along, but he picks it up and gently wraps it and the stand it was sitting on in a bit of newspaper, before carefully tucking it in the last box.

Odd.

He shuts the door behind us and exhales. His eyes find mine. “You’re sure about this, Baz? You’re not just doing this to be kind? I mean, I know you’re doing it to be kind, but . . . you know what I mean?” He’s headed for a bluster again.

I raise my eyebrows and smirk. “Now when have I ever been known to show any signs of kindness, Simon? I’m desperately in need of a reliable house-sitter. No kindness to it at all. You’re the one doing me a favour.”

“You are such a terrible liar.” Simon knocks his shoulder into mine. “You’re going to let me pay for the utilities or the deal is off.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But for the love of God, don’t keep the thermostat down to save money.”

“Why not? I can always just throw another jumper or hoodie on, if it gets cold.”

“You’re truly impossible.”

“You like me anyway.”

“That I do, Simon. That I do.”

I feel as if I’m leaving a weight behind me as we pull away from the kerb and Simon’s old neighbourhood fades away in the dimming light.

“So do you want to go out to eat or should we just get kebabs from the corner shop?”

“Kebabs sound brilliant. I’m famished.”

Of course he is.

Simon’s hand finds mine where it sits on the gear shift. His warm fingers rest against the back of my hand and it feels like something clicks into place.

It’s going to be an awful wrench leaving him behind.

I’ll likely be up all night thinking of ways to let myself stay, even though I know that’s wildly unrealistic. I’ll be on that flight two days from now, whether I want to be or not.

And he’ll be here.

Surrounded by my things. And somehow that brings me a spot of comfort.

Simon

I don’t know why I let him convince me. I know it’s not like I’ll be living with him but it feels more intimate than simply house-sitting.

I can’t say my heart didn’t leap when he suggested it. That the thought of moving into a place imbued with Baz didn’t hold a significant appeal.

That it would be the closest thing to being with him, when he was so far away.

But I don’t hold with charity. I’ve made my own way since I was a kid. I don’t need handouts from anyone, particularly not Baz.

Not because he’s posh or well-off or any of that. That’s part of it. But mostly because I’m strict about doing things on my own.

We’re embarking on something here and I don’t want that clouded with obligation or debt. Or a sense of duty.

One thing I can say about Baz—he’s impossible to argue with when he has his mind set on something. We wrangled about it for long enough at my flat. And he’s right. I don’t really have a good reason other than I don’t want to feel indebted and I don’t want this to make things weird with us.

Or with his family. He called Fiona from the bloody car, to tell her I’d be moving in and she wouldn’t have to come round and check on the flat for him anymore.

He had her on speaker which was excruciating.

“I’ll not have to come around? Are you daft, Baz? Who’s going to check on Snow?”

“I don’t need checking on,” I whisper-hiss at Baz.

“Shut up, Snow. I can hear you. Of course you need checking on, you absolute numpty. You’ll never figure out Baz’s coffee machine without me.”

“Don’t drink coffee,” I mutter.

“You will once you try this machine. Does the whole frothy cappuccino thing, it does.”

Baz interrupts her. “Fiona, would you stop nattering on about the coffeemaker, for Christ’s sake. I’m telling you Simon is going to be house-sitting. I’ll leave your number with him, in case he needs anything or something goes balls up at the flat. But other than that, you are off the hook. Freed of responsibility for the place.”

“No loud parties or orgies, Snow. The neighbours are all stodgy old blue-hairs. Leave it to Baz to move to Chelsea and find the most geriatric and bland living establishment in the whole place.”

“Shut up, you hag. Not all of us are pretentious enough to think we’re hip and trendy just by virtue of living in Notting Hill.”

“I swear I don’t know how you turned out to be such a boring twat, Baz. All my effort come to naught.” She grumbles inaudibly for a moment and then resumes. “Call me when you get back home tonight, you besotted knob-head. Ta ta, Snow. I’ll see you around. Don’t run out of coffee. You never know when I’ll show up. That’s a warning and a promise.”

“Fiona. I swear by all that’s holy . . .” Baz starts but she’s already rung off. He turns to me. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be traveling for work half the time or out at the clubs with her chavvy boyfriend and his mates. She won’t bother you.”

“You’re sure?” I think Fiona may be the most daunting thing about this move into Baz’s place.

“I’m sure. She barely went around when it was her job, she’ll be damned unlikely to do it if she knows someone’s doing the work for her. Trust me. She’ll be glad to be relieved of any latent responsibility.”

I hope he’s right.

Baz

It’s an odd paradox, having Simon in my flat, seeing his clothes hanging in the wardrobe, his shoes by the door, his toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. The feeling of having him around is so familiar, even if the surroundings have changed.

It may not be our old room at Watford but somehow, he fits here just the same.

#carry on #travel AU #can't find my way home #simon snow #baz pitch #my writing

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83gigsof90semocore-blog · 6 years ago

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Bonus post: Everybody Hurts - Review

So the letter D is going along nicely, but before that I'm going to do something quite different, namely a book review.

My hope is that my pseudo-academic academic style will be complemented nicely by exploring what other people have written on the genre. I hope to do more of these eventually, but probably not at a too steady rate because I can be rather lazy when it comes to reading.

Everybody hurts is a book published in 2007 that was written by Leslie Simon, who at the time worked as an editor for Alternative Press and Trevor Kelly who worked as a staff writer, also for Alternative Press. The book is actually quite different from my blog in many respects. Aside from the obvious ones, it isn't specifically focused on 90's emo but instead on what in 2007 was considered contemporary emo. Also unlike my blog it's focused on emo culture (the cover says "an essential guide to emo culture") as opposed to just music.

Some background: The 4th wave, Real Emo and the death of Scene culture

Part of what makes this book interesting to me is that it's very much a product of its time. The story that it tells about the music and community surrounding it is incredibly different than what would have been told in the 90's and even more so today.

So, first some basics: Emo is a very broad term that at many points have meant different things. One popular way to categorize it is by splitting it into 4 (or 5) waves. We have the first wave which refers to the offshoot of hardcore-punk that is the origin of the genre. The second wave is much more influenced by indie, alt-rock and pop. It's much less overtly punky, depending on where you draw the line between first and second wave. The third wave (which corresponds to the time period when this book was written) consists to a large degree of pop-punk and poppy post-hardcore. This is the period of time in which emo music was the most commercially successful and emo culture was properly cemented in the public conciousness. Finally, we have the fourth wave also known as the "emo revival". Now, this is where things get interesting.

As the name implies, emo revival was a movement concerned with bringing back emo to an earlier stage, namely the second wave. As such, many people associated with the revival where to some degree self-concious about the way "their" genre was misinterpreted as being about something else, namely third wave emo. Emo culture at the time was often mocked and the more commercial emo music wasn't looked upon favourably in underground circles. Fourth wave wasn't just a re-embrace of the values of the second wave but a rejection of the third wave.

I should also mention that this isn't nearly as true as it used to be now that enough time has passed for people to be nostalgic sooner than derisive, although it's an assumption that is very much woven into contemporary emo culture.

The history of emo as told from a fourth wave perspective would generally look on the third wave as an embarrassing parenthesis that we'd be better of forgetting. Some people have even gone as far as referring to the bulk of the third wave as "fake emo", being emo in name only while failing to embrace the core values of the genre sufficiently to be considered part of it.

So, this is where this book comes in. Being written in 2007, instead of viewing third wave emo as a heretical misstep, it's treated as the logical conclusion of the genre.

Emo as an identity

Another contrast with modern-day emo culture is it's treatment of emo as almost more of an identity than a music genre. This is also very typical of the time period. I'm born in the mid 90's, and my first exposure to the word emo (as I remember it) was when I was perhaps 10 or so and a friend told me about "a group of mentally ill people who dress in black and self harm". Not even a mention of the music! From then on my pre-pubescent self was mostly exposed to Emo as an identity. Sure, they had a special type of music that they listened to, but it wasn't any more integral to their emo-ness than their fashion for example.

Fast forward to today and I would never unironically call myself or anyone else "an emo", and I don't think almost anyone else would either. The understanding of emo that you find by modern fans is of something that might have cultural connotations, but is ultimately a style of music at heart.

While the authors where a lot more familiar with what emo in general than my 10 year old self and also saw music as a more central part of it, it is very informed by the view of Emo as a broader identity and only a small part of the book is actually about music.

My impression

The book starts of with a foreword by Andy Greenwald, author of Nothing feels good: Punk Rock, Teenagers, And Emo, a book that I'm hoping to eventually cover on this blog.

Then we get to the first chapter, titled ideology. For a second I (foolishly) thought that it would be a Žižek-style examination of pop-culture or something, and got very exited. Reading a few words below, we get a faux dictionary definition of the word:

ide•ol•o•gy n a body of ideas and social needs that separates you from your parents, the pep squad, and Dave Matthews Band fans.

Žižek was never this snarky.

After appropriately adjusting my expectations, snark is a constant background noise in the book. It's sometimes funny, sometimes making fun of a target that deserves it, sometimes an excuse to not treat a subject seriously and sometimes something that has aged quite poorly (ableist slurs stand out like a sore thumb, something it generally didn't in 2007).

The book is divided in 9 chapters, discussing everything from emo ideology, emo fashion, emo literature to emo eating habits and oh right, actual emo music. I generally found that the book was quite well researched (although it is an entertainment book, so it's not exactly done with any academic rigor) and that the authors where happy on going in to detail on most of the subjects they brought up. The facts and anecdotes that make up every chapter are accompanied by either helpful advice ("Don't put on a band shirt right after buying it from the merch table, you'll look like an emo novice") or snarky commentary ("Let's say that a guy and his crush watched One Tree Hill a week earlier with a group of seven of their friends. Never mind that there where nine people in the room. In emo terms, this was a date.")

One section of the book is about emo blogs. Just for fun, let's see how my emo blog measures up:

[From the section "how to emo-fy your blog" [...] you're going to want to look over your text and ask yourself a series of questions before hitting the "submit" button and releasing your deepest, most intimate thoughts into the world. Those questions are as follows:

Does this read well?

Am I making my points in a clear and efficient way?

Did I use actual paragraphs?

Did I capitalize all the words that need capitalisation?

Is this what my life is actually like?

Ok, 5. doesn't really apply but for the others it seems like I'm doing fine. So far, so good.

If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, you should probably scrap your post and start over. Ideally, a good emo blog post should be over dramatic and a bit abstruse. You know the magnets you see on fridges that people sometimes assemble into bizarre phrases? That's what emo posts are supposed to look like

Well, fuck.

Chapter 6: Music - a review

While it can be anywhere from amusing to interesting to read about everything from proper show etiquette to Emo porn sites (yes, seriously), this being a music blog first and foremost I'm gonna give some extra attention to their taste in music.

They have a section titled "Essential Emo Records 101". So what does it consist of and what do I think of it?

Rites of Spring, S/T

Embrace, S/T

Sunny Day Real Estate, Diary

Jawbreaker, Dear You

Lifetime, Hello Bastards

Texas is the Reason, Do You Know Who You Are?

Weezer, Pinkerton

The Promise Ring, Nothing Feels Good

The Get Up Kids, Something To Write Home About

Jimmy Eat World, Clarity

So far, so good. Lifetime is almost never talked about these days, but Hello Bastards is still a solid record. Mineral, American Football and Cap'n Jazz are all absent, although American Football and Cap'n Jazz weren't very popular until a long time after they split, so it's not that strange I suppose. They would be impossible to not include had the list been written today though. All the bands are accompanied by some text. For the first two albums they snarkily remark that they're not so much good as important historically. I believe that this comes from viewing the history of as stepping stones to what it was when this book was written and not with an attempt to see emo as it was at the time which I think is disappointing although not very surprising.

Saves the Day, Through Being Cool

Glassjaw, Everything You Ever Wanted

At the Drive-in, Relationship of Command

Bright Eyes, Fever and Mirrors

Thursday, Full Collapse

Dashboard Confessional, The Places You Have Come To Fear the Most

Taking Back Sunday, Tell All Your Friends

The Used, S/T

The All-American Rejects, S/T

Brand New, Deja Entendu

Coheed and Cambria, In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3

Yellowcard, Ocean Avenue

Hawthorne Heights, The Silence in Black and White

My Chemical Romance, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Fall Out Boy, From Under the Cork Tree

Panic! At the Disco, A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

There are a couple of albums that I personally don't really think qualify as emo even from a third wave point of view (although, maybe I'm just too poisoned by 4th wave elitism) namely Fevers and Mirrors, In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3 and A Fever You Can't Sweat Out. I do still think that at least the first two at least are quite good so it's more of a matter of being overly loose with the genre. Although, maybe it's worth interpreting this list as more "music that emo people like" rather than "emo music" in line with the rest of the book. I did honestly think that it would be a bit worse in terms of including "non-emo" music so I'm honestly positively surprised. The authors do in my opinion manage to escape with a good amount of emo cred.

One thing that I'm disappointed in is the complete absence of screamo music, although this is once again more disappointing than surprising really.

Final verdict

One helpful question to ask when reviewing any piece of media is "who is this for?". My impression is that it's mostly for people who are already immersed in Emo culture who are interested in laughing at themselves. It is a very silly subculture in many ways (particularly in 2007) and the authors poke fun of this many times. If you can take it in stride, this book might be a pleasant read. You might also learn some things that you have missed.

For people such as me who are trying to puzzle together what emo culture actually was like at the time I find that the snark gets in the way of actually learning things, and I wish that they had taken a slightly more serious approach. The book could also have done with a lot more interviews.

Ultimately I think this leaves the book with a quite narrow audience in the present day, but that's fine maybe. At the time it came out it was actually commenting on something culturally relevant and might have served as a decent primer to the subculture.

Today however, I think that I can only really recommend it to the unhealthily obsessed (like me) and the nostalgic.

#emo

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stillthewordgirl · 6 years ago

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LOT/CC fic: All Stories, in the End

Mick knows that stories can't really fix things. They can't bring people back, and they can't mend broken hearts. Or can they? (Captain Canary and platonic Coldwave)

So, today is my three-year ficaversary for Legends! This fandom has been so wonderful to me and brought me so many new friends-and got me back into writing fiction, which has had excellent repercussions in many ways-even professionally. In honor of the anniversary, here's a little tribute to stories and their power. Hope you enjoy it!

So many thanks, as usual, to LarielRomeniel for the beta and to Pir8grl for being a great sounding board!

Can also be read be here at AO3 and here at FF.net. Please be aware that it’s divided into two parts on those websites, but both are posted.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it's true, but then so's everything.”

― Charles de Lint

Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen who’d drawn his partner, his friend, his blood brother, into this mad quest.

To be honest, she hadn’t been a pirate queen at the time. And she hadn’t been trying to lure him, either. She’d been a pretty face and an untold story when she’d joined the rest of the old captain’s motley crew of hand-picked losers. But Rick had seen the light of curiosity in Sean’s eyes when he looked at her, and he should have known then.

This wasn’t going to go the way he thought it was going to go.

Mick sighed and put down the papers he’d taken from their locked box in his room on the Waverider. There was a reason he’d put this story away unfinished. More than one reason, really.

But today, Haircut had actually brought up Snart while they were all sitting in the galley, telling his new squeeze Spooky Girl about the lost Legends—one of the lost Legends—and it’d stirred up all sorts of memories.

Not for just Mick, either. He’d been looking at Blondie when Haircut had dropped the name “Snart,” and he’d seen the stillness in her that was more telling than even a flinch. It was what Blondie did when she was holding back a flinch, really. Mick had seen the lines of pain around her eyes, and he saw her look away quickly, rising to her feet when it became apparent the oblivious Ray wasn’t going to leave off his story.

He’d thought about stopping her as she swiftly left the room, then thought about following her. But Sara had been a bit—touchy? probably wasn’t very healthy to be calling a former assassin ‘touchy,’ even in his own thoughts—since she’d split with Bureau Chick, and maybe she needed the space. Mick let her go.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. And when he’d returned to his room, he’d pulled out this story, rereading it with the usual feeling of somewhat awkward regret.

Sean Lance had a reputation some might call cold. Icy, even. He’d built that reputation very carefully over his lifetime. Being cold and careful kept you safe. He was even cold with Rick Mor, his partner in crime and the closest thing he had to a best friend. Rick had led the same sort of life he had. He was pretty sure the other man understood.

But. Lara.

The blond badass hadn’t been anything he’d planned on. Certainly, he hadn’t planned on falling for her. That was stupid. That kind of shit didn’t happen in real life.

But ….she’d worked her way under his skin somehow. Made him want to be a better person—and wasn’t that a riot?

Mick sighed again. It’s not like he’d known for a fact that Snart had that kind of…feelings…about Blondie. But he’d put the pieces together, from both before and after Snart had…after the Oculus, and goddamned if it didn’t all fit. Snart deciding to go all hero-like (which probably had a good bit to do with Allen, too), choosing the team over Mick (who was willing to admit, now, that his actions on the Acheron had been pretty damned stupid) and then…and then…

And Blondie’s reaction, afterward. It wasn’t like Mick really wanted to…oh, sit shiva, for Len and everything that entailed. But especially after Savage was toast (literally, a thought which still gave him some satisfaction), he might have liked to sit down with a drink and a friend…someone else who’d known Snart…and remembered, just a little.

But Sara had avoided the topic like the fuckin’ plague, and she’d also gone from someone who seemed kinda uncertain about hooking up with anyone to flinging herself at any woman who seemed the least bit interested. Never guys, although Mick knew she liked guys too, and that was maybe a little telling in its own right.

Just because Mick never liked to talk about feelings didn’t mean he didn’t understand them in his own way. In others, anyway.

Lara Sahfer knew she was the deadliest person on this ship. That went without question. Far deadlier than the priestess and her boytoy. Deadlier than the alchemist and his apprentice. Deadlier than the eager crusader or their hapless captain.

And deadlier than the clever thief and his partner.

The partner was dangerous, but she knew the type. He was content to let his friend be the brains of their team. But the intriguing Sean Lance…

She didn’t know what to make of him.

Though she did know he kept watching her ass given the merest opportunity.

If Mick was being honest with himself (and he tried to be, these days), he’d started putting this thing down on paper first because he could see Blondie struggling and couldn’t figure out how to manage the words to talk to her about Snart—even if she’d let him.

And in stories, you could give someone—more than one someone—the happy ending they didn’t get in real life. Maybe someday, Sara would even be ready to read it.

Then all sorts of shit had happened, and Mick had stopped writing again. He’d been stuck at the bottom of the ocean for years, even if it didn’t seem like so long. And then Ghost Snart—who hadn’t been real, but who had seemed real at the time—had showed up and snarked off about even the hint of the feelings Mick was starting to acknowledge.

And then, that asshole in the Legion (well, more of an asshole than real Snart—he was still convinced that Legion Snart hadn’t been real Snart) had showed up. And Mick decided, painfully, that he wasn’t ready to write about even fictionalized Len for a while.

He locked the pages away, taking the lockbox with him when Rip had taken the Waverider back—and bringing it back with him when they’d stolen the ship in return. He added a few more bits and pieces here and there—especially, with a certain grumpy annoyance, when he sensed Sara’s interest in Bureau Chick, who really couldn’t be more different from Len. (It’d felt like a betrayal in a way, though he’d never tell her that. Snart was gone.)

And then there was Leo. Leo, who merrily flirted with Sara (and just about everyone else). Leo, who everyone seemed to like. Personable Leo, the hugger, who was the only Snart the newbies had ever met. And it seemed like everyone but him forgot about real Snart just a little bit more.

He quietly tucked the pages away and hadn’t taken them out since. Until today.

The voyage had lots of ups and downs. Rick knew that; hell, he’d caused a lot of them. He’d committed mutiny against the captain himself when the man had thrown his own lack of status on the ship and elsewhere back in his face. And he’d paid for that, paid more than a lot of those fools would ever know.

But the thing he regretted most was that it’d cost him Sean’s friendship.

Oh, he’d been angry first. Enraged, even. That bastard had hauled him out of the pirate haven where they could have been kings, just because the captain and Lara were in trouble. And then he’d chosen the crew instead of Rick in the mutiny. Because of Lara, Rick thought. And then Sean had marooned him on that desert island and left him behind.

It’d taken time and distance to see things clearly again.

By then, it was too late.

Snart had definitely had a thing for Sara—Mick had known the man long enough and well enough to have seen him show interest in men, women, and folks who mighta been either or both, though Len had always been real quiet about any lovers he took. Still, he knew the signs.

But that hadn’t gone how Mick thought, either. He'd figured the two of them would have a fling. Get it outta their systems. Snart didn’t have a heart any more than Mick did, and it wasn’t like he and Sara were gonna fall for each other or something. That was story shit.

Mick looked down at the pages in front of him and sighed yet again.

Instead, Snart had circled around Blondie like he was planning a heist, careful and curious, and Blondie had reacted much the same way. They’d started spending time together, playing cards, and while Mick had wondered what was going on there a few times, he hadn’t asked. Even when Snart had gone back to get Sara in Russia, even when he’d insisted on saving her and Rip in Star City, and, yeah, even when he’d iced Mick in the engine room.

A few days back, Mick had overheard Zari and Charlie talking about Sara and Bureau Chick, about how (they thought) Sara’s tendency to happily break rules and apologize later, if at all, had finally taken a toll on the two and led to the breakup, along with Sara’s resistance to becoming more…domesticated.

Snart wouldn’t have tried to change her. Snart had liked her just the way she was.

Sean couldn’t help being fascinated by the assassin the captain had recruited. OK, she was gorgeous, attractive in a way that seemed designed to appeal to his sense of danger, and he wouldn’t have minded having some sort of a fling with her. But flings were all he did, these days, and dipping a toe (so to speak) into those particularly dangerous waters while on this ship seemed like a bad idea.

But that didn’t keep him from watching. Or them from playing cards. Or talking. Or watching each other’s back. Or...

Oh, hell.

There were a lot of reasons Mick himself wasn’t fond of Bureau Chick. (He knew perfectly well what her name was, he just liked to pretend otherwise.) But her attempts at changing who Blondie was…well, Mick had had too many people trying to change him to what they wanted him to be over the years. People who generally didn’t get what’d made him who he was. He didn’t take kindly to it.

And he didn’t take kindly to it happening to his friends, either.

Oh, sure, he’d changed, by this point. But he’d chosen to change, himself. It was different.

Now that Bureau Chick was out of the picture…

Mick sighed, putting a hand down on the partially written story. Snart was still dead. Nothing would change that. Ever.

No matter how much he tried to fix things in a stupid story.

Lara had been through a lot in the past few years. She wasn’t looking for a lover, or even a fling. She hadn’t been down that particular road since before she’d died and come back, and she wasn’t ready for it now. Maybe she never would be.

But. Sean.

The thief didn’t seem to care that she’d killed for hire. Didn’t seem scared of her bloodlust or intimidated by her history. He just seemed intrigued. And, somehow, he had an uncanny sense of why she wanted to be...better. She got the feeling that he did, too.

She wasn’t scared of anything. But...

She thought maybe she should be scared of this. Not because it was bad.

Because it could be all too good.

Mick had just pulled out the pages of another story, his latest sci-fi epic, the one he’d asked New Girl to read sometime soon, when Gideon’s voice echoed through the ship.

“Captain Lance would like everyone on the bridge,” she announced, sounding just a little harried. That wasn’t good. “Immediately.”

Then the ship shook. That definitely wasn’t good. Mick cursed, dropping the pages on the desk and turning for the door.

He didn’t even consider that he’d left the other story out, too.

It was quite a bit later when Zari wandered into the room, smiling a bit as the door slid open to admit her, per Mick’s orders. She was glad he’d come to trust her that much. She didn’t think Mick trusted many, and it felt like a rare and rather precious accolade.

Even if it was mostly so she could play editor.

The unexplained temporal storm earlier still had the ship in disarray, but there wasn’t really anything she could do about that at the moment. Mick and Sara and Ray were going over temporal data that was nonsense to her and the others were dealing with some variety of seasickness. Time sickness. Whatever. It’d been caused by the ship’s motion through the storm, so close enough. Zari had tried, but poor Charlie, who’d had a really bad reaction to it, had refused any help at all, locking herself in her room and snarling through the door.

Zari hummed to herself as she looked over Mick’s desk and the old typewriter he still insisted on using. There were a few different piles of papers, but they’d been knocked around a bit by the turbulence. Looked like one had slid to the side, and another toward the front of the desk. Which one had Mick had in mind?

The one at the front caught her eye, so she picked it up, gathering the pages into a pile, turning to find a seat amidst the clutter of the room and settling in to read.

Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen...

The cult that’d started this whole damned thing had them again, even after all the crew’s plans and attempts to change things. They had Rick, minions strapping him down into a chair while one of the cult leaders—the one who’d broken him the first time—stared at him thoughtfully. Rick stared back, determined not to show any fear.

Maybe, he thought, even as the manacles closed around his wrists, Sean and Lara had gotten away. They’d been holed up again, like they did sometimes. Neither of them was stupid. They might have gotten away.

Gods, he hoped they’d gotten away.

Zari had completely lost track of time when Mick came through the door and stopped, acknowledging her presence with a grunt. She blinked, slowly coming back to reality as he ambled toward the desk and gave it a cursory look—before suddenly freezing and then spinning to stare at her. And the pages she was reading.

“You can’t read that,” Mick told her abruptly, something odd in his tone, even as Zari tightened her grip on the papers involuntarily. He sounded almost...upset. Embarrassed? Mick?

“It was right on your desk. I thought it was what you wanted me to read.” She studied him, then looked back down at the story, letting out a long breath. She liked Mick’s writing, but she’d really been caught up in this one.

“Mick, this is great,” she told him, lifting her eyes again and giving the pages a shake for emphasis. “You’ve got this...this incredible romance going on between these awesome, real, flawed characters, the thief and the assassin, and this amazing...platonic soulmates thing with the male protagonist and his friend at the same time.” She shook her head, impressed. “And you don’t see enough of that in fiction, especially in cases where the romantic relationship doesn’t eclipse the platonic one and they’re both good stories on their own. It’s great.”

Mick stared at her, expression still opaque. Zari stared back a moment, then rifled through the papers. Now that she was near the end, she didn’t think there was enough...yes, it just left off there, right in the middle of a scene.

“You need to finish it,” she insisted. “And there are a few places you just fade to black...and I want to see how it ends!”

But he turned away then, toward the desk, shoulders set.

“I can’t,” he said, tossing the words back over his shoulder at her. “He died.” A pause. “The end.”

Zari blinked again. “Who? Rick? Sean? You can’t...”

But her voice trailed off as she saw Mick leaning on his desk, hands gripping the wood and knuckles white, staring at his typewriter like it’d hurt him. But it hadn’t; she had, somehow, by sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong, even though she hadn’t meant to. So, after another minute, she got to her feet, quietly putting the pages down where she’d been sitting and taking a step toward the door.

Mick didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. And left.

The others had decided to destroy the cult, and possibly the island it claimed as its base as well. Sean couldn’t say he was surprised. He wasn’t fond at all of how much power the group claimed, far more than they’d originally suspected. And now that they knew the cult was supporting the warlord they’d vowed to stop, it was necessary if they ever wanted to complete that mission.

Still, he could see Lara watching him out of the corner of her eye as all the others chimed in, agreeing to this plan. Even Rick was in—though, of course, he had more reason than most to hate the cult.

“We set out on this mission to stop Vindictus and save the world. To become legends and change our fates,” the crusader, Edmund, said earnestly. “That mission hasn't changed.”

Sean made a scoffing noise. “This is madness,” he said, glancing around at all of them before letting his gaze light on Lara—and an almost-smile touch his mouth. “I like it.”

She smiled back at him.

Behind her, Rick rolled his eyes. But the other man was smiling too.

He died.

Zari frowned to herself as she strolled the corridors of the ship, pondering Mick’s reaction and his words. Given that no main character had died yet in that story, it was apparent that the tale must have been based on a true one. But...

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Lara, assassin turned (at some point) pirate queen. Sean, the thief. Rick, his friend and partner.

Oh.

It seemed to fit. She only knew the sketchiest bits of what the Legends had been up to when their original captain had first recruited them, but she should have figured this out sooner. The power of Mick’s tale had obfuscated the reality behind it. And she knew almost nothing about Leonard, Mick’s former partner, just that Mick missed him and that he’d died, doing something that had saved the world.

Had he and Sara really been a thing? Almost a thing? Zari nibbled her lip, thinking. She didn’t think she’d heard Sara so much as mention his name. Ever. Which...actually did point more toward some powerful feelings there rather than the opposite.

Zari thought for a few more minutes. Then she turned toward the bridge.

Lara knew that Rick had taken refuge in one of his hidey holes in a cargo bay, probably drinking his way through more of the captain’s rum. She’d figured Sean was with him.

Which was fine. Really. After the thief pulled a gun on her after the cult members had taken their friends, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to talk to him. Oh, she could have had that gun away from him in a heartbeat, and he’d backed down awfully quickly, given how stubborn she knew he was, but it was the principle of the thing.

She’d been furious. And heartbroken, though she wasn’t ready to tell anyone that and probably never would be. She’d thought they were friends, at least. Maybe...maybe skirting around something more?

But he wasn’t in the cargo bay with Rick, after all, as it turned out. He was here. At her cabin door. Now. Looking at her with eyes that had a veneer of his habitual attitude over even more uncertainty. It probably said something, too, that she recognized that.

Sean cleared his throat. “Hi,” he managed. “Can I come in?”

Lara leaned on the doorway and glared at him. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” A look from under lowered lashes. Damn him. “And apologize.”

“You could do that right here.”

“Mmm.” He glanced away. “Maybe I want to say more than that.”

She shouldn’t let him in. She should shut the door in his handsome face. She should...

Lara stepped back, letting him in.

Sara was sitting in the captain’s chair. Oh, there was no particular flying to be done right now, but she wasn’t in the mood to go back to her quarters. Her empty quarters, with no sign of Ava in them. More evidence that she’d fucked up for real this time.

Or not. Frankly, Sara kept waffling between anger and annoyance at the other woman’s conviction that Sara needed to change and grief over the loss of someone else she'd cared for. OK, loved. Sure, Ava was back in the Bureau offices, healthy and fine compared to some of the people Sara had lost, but Sara had lost her regardless.

Or maybe she’d never really had her to begin with. Had they both been operating under false pretenses? Ava, thinking Sara would settle and become a good little soldier, or wife, or both? Sara, thinking that Ava would stop wanting her to? Would stop wanting to make her over in a different image?

Sara wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, slumped in the chair with her jaw in her hand, eyes closed, thoughts and feelings circling in her head, when she heard the footstep. Closer than she’d usually let someone get, but she’d let her guard down, knowing that Gideon would warn her if it wasn’t a friend.

“What’s up, Z?” she asked, seeing Zari there, watching her with a rather enigmatic expression. “Everything OK?”

The other woman shrugged, moving closer and studying Sara as if seeing her in a new light. Sara was just about to ask again when Zari glanced away, nodded to herself, and looked back.

“Who was Leonard Snart?” she asked, point blank.

Sara was pretty sure she didn’t move, but for a moment, she almost felt like she’d reeled. “What?”

“Mick’s old partner.” Z tilted her head. “One of the original members of the Legends, right? But no one ever talks about him. Why is that?”

Get him out of here.

No.

Just do it.

Sara swallowed. “He died,” she said abruptly, knowing her voice sounded harsh. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Other people have too, died or left, and the team talks about them.”

“Why are you asking this now?” Sara’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “Mick...”

Zari seemed to consider. She looked a little like she regretted bringing this up, but she was too stubborn to back down now. Sara knew that well. “He wrote something about him. Snart. Well, you and Snart.”

“Me and...Snart.” She should say there was no “her and Snart.” She should.

“I wasn’t meant to read it, but I didn’t know that. And the story just...ended. And when I asked, Mick said he died.”

What on earth could Mick have written? How would he even have known...?

...what the future might hold for me...and you...and me and you.

Zari’s eyes are direct. “Did you love him?”

I might have.

“I don’t want to talk about this now.” Her broken edges and Leonard’s, they’d somehow fit together.

“Sara...”

“Don’t push it, Z.”

The bomb in the center of the island wasn’t working right. Someone needed to hold the button down for the connection to be made, for it to blow the whole thing to kingdom come.

The crusader had been going to do it. But he was the sort of guy the world needed, one able and willing to help people, to fix things that needed fixing. Not like Rick, with all his damages. It’d been an easy decision to knock the other man out and take his place. And the captain—pragmatic, despite all his fine talk—hadn’t hesitated to take Edmund and leave Rick there, hand on the bomb, considering his fate.

But then:

“Rick!”

After Zari left, Mick had stayed in his room for a while, stewing, discontented and angry at the memories. He didn’t blame her—he'd left the damned story out, after all, and she didn’t know enough about what had happened to connect the dots right away. But, still, it’d been a stupid thing to write down in the first place.

With most books, anyway, writing things didn’t make them come true.

After a while, he left the room, trying to pretend nothing had happened. He had dinner with Haircut in the galley. He worked out a bit in the training room. He watched an episode of “The X-Files" with Charlie, who’d laughed so hard at the show’s version of shapeshifters that she’d nearly gotten sick again.

Then he’d slowly sauntered back to his room, wondering if he should go find New Girl and apologize.

But there was someone else in his room.

Blondie was sitting in one of the chairs, knees pulled up to her chin, a posture that looked more vulnerable than nearly anything he’d seen from her in a long time. She looked up as he entered, and he was startled to see red-rimmed eyes—and a sheaf of papers in her hand.

Damnit. He’d left that locked up again. Honest, he had.

Mick looked back at Sara, who smiled a little at him.

“I did learn how to pick locks,” she murmured. “It wasn’t hard to find.”

“New Girl.”

“Sort of. She said you wrote something about...about Leonard. And me. I didn’t realize what it was. And I shouldn’t have gone into your things, but I. Well.” She looked down at the pages. “I wasn’t at my best. I’m sorry, Mick.”

Mick dragged in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. They’ve been through too much together to let this get to him, especially since it’s so unusual. “S’OK.” He took a seat himself, watching her.

Sara met his eyes, then glanced away. She looked at the pages again and the quiet drew out.

Then: “This is really how you saw...it? Us?”

Her and Snart, she meant. Mick hesitated.

“Saw what could have been,” he said finally. “Was I wrong?”

A long silence.

“No,” Sara admitted. “No. I think...I think we could have been something...something really good. If we’d had more time. Isn’t that how it goes?” Her fingers contracted, wrinkling the papers, but then she smoothed them out, handing them back to him. “And you knew Leonard longer than I did, better than I did. If this is what you saw...”

“Eh. In some ways, I knew him better. People change.”

“True.” Sara sighed, getting up from the chair. “I’m sorry, Mick,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have just come in here and rummaging around. That was beyond rude. I just...needed to see...”

She shook her head, as if trying to get a grip, then gave him an arch look. “No sex scenes though, I noticed.”

Mick could actually feel his face heat. “That woulda been way too weird.”

Sara laughed a bit evilly—and a bit sadly, which was an odd mix. But still, she just patted his arm again, sighed, and hurried out the door.

Mick watched her go. He looked down at the pages in his hands, then put them down on the desk and studied them for a long moment.

Then he fed a clean piece of paper into his typewriter, nodded to himself, and started to type.

Time to give those losers—all of them—a happy ending.

You could do that, in stories.

About three months later, Waverider time

“Heard you been writing again. Since I...well.”

The words were casually said, in the usual drawl, but Mick could hear a number of things in them. Regret, for having been gone. A pleased attention, because Snart had always accepted his writing in a way others hadn’t. Amusement, probably because New Girl had almost certainly been the one to tell him that. And guilt, he thought, for so many reasons.

Snart stood in the doorway to Mick's room and looked around, his expression still and not real informative. But he hadn’t commented on the clutter or anything else, focusing after a moment on the typewriter still sitting on the desk.

Mick nodded, watching his long-lost friend. “I’m doing the final edits on a manuscript that’s goin’ to a publisher,” he volunteered. “Got two other books out, too. Sold pretty well.”

The other man actually smiled.

The temporal storms that had started that day about three months ago had gotten worse and worse, while both the Legends and the Time Bureau had tried to figure out what was causing them and were kept busy trying to clean up their aftermath.

Finally, they’d figured out the storms had been touched off by the deepest part of the time stream trying to rid itself of an irritant, something that shouldn’t be there.

And that irritant had turned out to be Leonard Snart.

The real one. Now back on the Waverider, confirmed by Gideon, whole and healthy—albeit with an uncanny sense for temporal disturbances and a weird ability to reset time a few seconds here and there. They hadn’t quite fully sorted through the repercussions of that power yet.

Snart was...different, now. Apparently, he’d been at least somewhat aware of the passage of time while he was stuck in the...well, Haircut called it a time pearl, a barrier the time stream had formed between itself and the annoyance. It hadn’t felt like three years to him—more of an odd, lengthy waking dream—but it had given him lots of time, he said, to think.

His personality was a step closer to Leo now, in a way, though he was still extremely capable of pointed snark and sass, as Haircut had already found out. But he was also a little less cold, and a great deal more thoughtful in a way that didn’t seem to have much to do with heists. (As far as Mick knew, anyway. Could be both.)

Now, Snart was looking at the manuscript on the desk with a definite glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah?” His hand hovered over the neat stack of papers. “Can I…”

Mick hesitated. And Snart curled his fingers again and withdrew his hand in that smooth way he had, tucking it behind his back and acting like he’d never reached out to begin with.

Classic Snart.

Well, Mick was done with that old dynamic. He’d lost too much, and he’d been so lucky to get some of it back. Abruptly, he reached out too, scooping up the papers and extending them to Snart, who took them with a blink of surprise.

Mick waved a hand at them a bit awkwardly. “Uh,” he said, “that one wasn’t originally for publication. New Girl…Zari…talked me into finishing it and sending it out. And Blondie gave me…permission. Even wrote some bits.”

Snart had frowned, just a little. “Why would Sara have to…”

But he stopped, fingers tightening on the papers. And Mick sighed inwardly.

When they’d pulled Snart from the time stream…time pearl, whatever…there’d been more than one person who’d been intently watching the groggy, dazed crook when he first came face to face with Sara, who’d been staring at him like she was seeing a ghost.

But all they’d gotten was a breathed, barely audible “Sara” from Snart before the man had crumpled and Mick had carried him off to the medbay. Once he’d woken and gotten a clean bill of health, well, it seemed they were rarely in the same place at the same time. In fact, Mick was pretty sure they were avoiding each other.

Which made no sense at all. New Girl agreed.

Well, maybe this will get them to pull their heads out of their asses. Worth the embarrassment for the chance of that.

“You nearly died, you jackass,” Lara whispered to Sean, standing there on the boat with her hands wrapped in his coat, holding him close. Not as close as she’d like, but...even after everything, she knew he still had his lines that were tough to cross, still had his damages, his own rocky shores. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I couldn’t just let him die.” Sean didn’t seem to mind that she was holding him. In fact, his hands slipped up and around her shoulders, pulling her closer too. His blue eyes looked seriously down into hers, making it hard to breathe.

“Of course you couldn’t.” Lara took a deep breath. “But...”

But then Sean was kissing her, right out on the deck in the open, a kiss that was everything their desperate kiss while he was holding the bomb hadn’t been. A promise, not a farewell; an invitation and a dare. Lara tightened her hold on him and kissed him back, the rest of the world fading around them, focused for once on the here and the now...and just maybe, a little bit on the future.

And if there were a couple of wolf whistles from Rick and the others...well, they just ignored them.

Mick had tried to be unobtrusive about watching the door to Snart’s new room. Fortunately, since it was right down the hall from the galley, he could just lurk in there and listen, occasionally peek outside. He’d been nursing the same beer for a while when New Girl slipped in, too, eyes brightening as she saw him.

“Snart’s reading it?” she whispered. He’d passed on the message through Gideon.

“Yeah.” Mick shifted a bit uncomfortably.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let Sara add the sexier bits. But there was no way in hell he was doin’ it, not with this book, and his publisher expected a certain amount of that. Sara, at least, had seemed to get a kick out of it—just how much of a kick, he’d decided he really didn’t want to know.

He also didn’t think he wanted to know how much of it had really happened—though he suspected, at least, that the kiss at the Oculus/bomb had.

New Girl looked pleased. “This has to be the kick in the ass they both need,” she said.

“ ‘Less we were all wrong.”

“We weren’t. Sara said so. Right?”

“That was before Snart came back.” He thought about it a minute. “Easier to say that when it was just a ‘mighta been’ and not a ‘could really be.’”

New Girl got an odd, considering expression on her face. Mick wondered what—maybe who—she was thinking about. “Yeah,” she acknowledged after a minute. “That’s true. But...”

There was a sound. A door opening. Mick and New Girl—he really should start calling her Zari, he supposed, or Z—exchanged a look, waited a moment, and then peeked out the door.

Snart was headed down the corridor. Toward Sara’s quarters.

Z made a happy sort of humming noise, waiting until Snart turned the corner before stepping out of the galley. Mick followed her as they both slunk down the hall, pausing just before the corner. Close enough to Sara’s doorway.

They heard it slide open.

“Len.” Sara sounded a little surprised. Not unhappy. Thoughtful. Waiting.

“Sara.” Had he really said her name like that before? Ugh. Mick couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that tone. That was get-a-room territory all on its own.

Another pause. They heard Snart step inside, heard the door close...mostly. It was cracked, just enough to hear what was being said, as long as they snuck a bit closer and the occupant used normal voices. Mick heard Z whisper a “thank you” to Gideon—who, in her usual way, knew perfectly well what was going on around her ship.

“Mick apparently thinks we had some sort of great torrid romance going on,” they heard Snart say to Sara. There was amusement in his voice and Mick breathed out a sigh of relief. So, he wasn’t mad or too embarrassed.

There was amusement in Sara’s voice, too, as she responded. “You read it.”

“Yeah.” A pause. A long one. “He said you did too.” A shorter pause. “Said you even added...a few things.”

Sara’s laugh was low and rippling. Z elbowed Mick, who ignored her.

“Wishful thinking,” the captain said quietly. “I thought you were gone.”

“Hmmmm. I’m back now.” Pause. “Can’t change the earlier story. But maybe could...start a new one?”

Z clapped a hand over her mouth, her grin obvious. She darted a glance at Mick, eyes shining.

“What sort of story, though?” Sara’s tone was teasing...but not without a hint of real question. “Comedy? Adventure?” Pause. “Torrid romance?”

“Well. Kinda partial to the idea of that last, at the moment.” Snart’s own tone was low, a bit rough. “Not too late?”

Z stepped forward, listening intently.

And Gideon firmly slid the door shut the rest of the way.

“Hey!”

“What happens next, Ms. Tomaz, you certainly do not need to be privy to.” Gideon sounded just a little prissy.

“I most certainly do!”

But Mick grinned, reaching out to put a hand on her arm and pull her back toward the galley. He knew Snart, and he knew Sara. And he figured they’d be just fine.

“They gotta write their own story now,” he told her. “Let’s leave ‘em to it.”

“We’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

— The Doctor

#CaptainCanary #legends of tomorrow #platonic coldwave #ficaversary

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