#-I have to put it into actual words now. without metaphors??? hell nah...
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Some more thoughts: Please do note these are Thoughts - as in proposing whatever nonsense crosses my mind, ramblings of a lunatic more so than fleshed out cohesive theories. Possibilities.
⢠I was thinking about the randomization factor of the Watcher campaign and that probably none of us had the same Spinning Top dialogues in the same regions.
I remember being in awe at Shattered Terrace when I was teleported there by Spin exactly for the 4th Ripple point (aka the teleportation got unlocked). At the time I thought the encounters were scripted in Some kind of way, so I was thinking how thematically interesting this was.
She gave me another ability/unlocked it and brought me somewhere ethereal that turned out to be a leading point to her home/darkest moment. The dialogue about her running through halls was given to me in Torrid Desert and I was thinking ,,Yeah... deserts are so empty even with buildings in them. Covered in both sand and dust of time. This really is a place one could miss, remember from childhood."
Then I found out things just happened to turn out like this for me. Based on my choices, circumstances I couldn't control, by paths I took because at the time I didn't know any better, by the power of my dedication to exploring a place whole until I found Spinning Top and the lapses in it.
And I'm thinking- we, as players. Aren't we all ripples of each other, too?
We ,,are" the same character, we meet the same people, yet our journeys are different. So might be our interpretation of these people, giving them slightly different personalities, differently flavoured existence. Our own personalities shaping our perceptions and twisting theirs into something different as a result. Different facets of a reality, yet originating from something Same.
The randomization combined with the lore is SUPER important.
⢠I adore the warp mechanic so much, both as a transport between regions (though yea, I'd like for them to somehow express themselves on the mind map) and as something the player can do whenever post-Ripple 4.
I was stuck in Fetid Glen with a maidenless frog lodged in my head for like two goddamn hours. I was THIS đ¤ close to losing me marbles.
In vanilla(/DP)? Either put the game down, LOSE those marbles or toughen up, mf (/come up with an alternative way of going about your goals).
Here? I go ËËË pop ËËË and go into at least a NEW horrendous torture chamber. Thank you, Videocult, you dastardly thing. You were merciful upon my nerves for once in your RW-themed existence.
⢠It's all flowers... The Rot is represented by a flower guy now/apparently can bloom into Something (Four Petals... the symbol of the first chakra đ) and Karma Flowers represent Karma.
⢠Also... the Ancients' name for the Karma Flowers was *Wheel* flower.
Wheel. The symbol of Buddhism is an eight pronged wheel - the Wheel of Dharma/Dharmachakra. Dharma is the name for the teachings of the whole thing.
Both the wheel flowers and the Rot have a cross on them, four lines. Overlayed they have eight together.
Are they two parts of one whole. Is this Rain World's ying and yang. The principle of the universe. Are the Rot and the Karma two strands of teachings of this reality.
⢠Purple is above blue when it comes to chakras. I interpret the Outer Rim Rot more attuned to the world/more conscious on the basis of this.
⢠Since four years ago until now I've been convinced and still am that Karma flowers are intimately connected with death. That they are essentially spiritual mourning flowers, sprouting naturally upon death either indiscrimately, or of those with good deeds/high karma pinned to their soul.
Probably the second- the Monk always spawns a Karma flower upon death. And while the Hunter is karmically unbalanced, shunned by the spiritual world (which is why karma flowers don't spawn for it), the spiritual world recognizes its last deed being a Good one. Which is why a Karma flower spawns for Survivor where Hunter has died.
A little mourning flower, last thing left of it- whoever is in charge of the world/Karma letting us know that the Hunter did Good, even if it didn't succeed. It tried its best. That's what matters.
Therefore, my interpretation of the Throne/the gardening ending is that the Throne is essentially a multidimensional mass grave (Throne of Rotted Corpses, if you will)- because the Prince remembers everyone his domain and he swallows- the souls of everything is right there. Beneath our feet, all around us. Contained within his body, if you can call it that.
Maybe the will he mentions isn't something grand outside of all realities, but it's the millions of wills he has supressed within as a result of the expansion.
At some point, he can't keep them contained anymore. Eventually, they break free and sprout as mourning flowers, little flags waving ,,I was here. I lived and will again.".
This wasn't a triple affirmitive. (also pretty sure the biggest karma flower sprouting from the Prince's face is his own mourning flower. he's dead asf. it's probably there because he meant well? this doesn't really add up actually hmm..)
[I like the narrative that nothing of the supernatural is outright evil. There is neutrality- just Being- and then there's goodness. I believe the Void is kind. The religion of the Ancients in its purest form is kindness and freedom. Karma is fairness or a statement. The reality and its ripples just Exist. Sufferings are real though and they are the closest thing this world gets to evil.]
⢠It's either that â or something something, outside power in the form of the karmic balance of the worlds gut punching the Prince for overstepping the Rot's placement within it.
⢠On the theme of eyes...
They appear continuosly. Obviously, the Watcher itself. The squeaky toy in Spinning Top's room, her vase has eye patterns as well. Iterators, only having eyes on their faces. I could swear I've seen graffiti that were just eyes. Scavenger Disciples blind themselves. Ancients' masks don't seem to have eyeholes. This room in Infested Wastes is an eye.
Vision, as a means of knowing where to go. Neither Spin or Prince have eyes (that white thang is not an eye and I will die on this hill, it's his god given Stamens). Spin needed our help (unconscious help, we didn't help her directly from own conscious activity). And Prince screwed himself over not really seeing what he's doing (yet Watcher somehow comes out of that unscathed - if it's Karma's ,,vangeance"/it coming back to bite at the one who's at fault, I find it strange that Watcher just gets to watch).
I don't really know how to formate this thought honestly, but my point here is supposed to be something along the lines of ,,If Watcher's whole things are eyes and they are a repeating pattern for us, could we end up with a third eye or something by the end of this story?"
⢠Idk, I've seen some people talk about this and it smells of a potential discourse: my take on Prince's age is that it either doesn't matter or he's been both.
Doesn't matter: if this consciousness is recycled from a multitude of things, with possibly a Starcatcher (Iterator-esque biomachine, different directive) in the forefront, then this mix is more reborn altered than outright born for the first time + it's partly robot and who the hell is gonna call a toaster or Alexa or whatever a Minor.
Been both (the one I like better): when we meet him he is indeed a child (or fetus if we are talking about his first two dialogues as well), but he does grow up during the whole quest to infect the world. He tells the player during the fifth meeting that it has been eons.
At the end when all the Karma flowers bloom, he's ancient. Spent his whole life off-brand iterating and converting in a dark room without anyone but the Watcher ever checking in on him. I wouldn't call his relationship with the Watcher a childish attachment, more like conditioned by circumstance.
I like this one because it feels like a good parallel to Spinning Top.
She's been stuck in her childish mindset for who knows how long and had to put conscious effort into growing up after the Watcher indirectly influences her towards it. She grows and then passes peacefully; Watcher lingers stuck in childishness.
The Prince grows up in a rather linear way. We see him grow up as a flowerbud, hatched and then see him go as a tired aged thing. He evolves effortlessly, without the Watcher really interfering with That process. He grows and then passes perhaps in pain, prematurely; Watcher lingers again, but now perhaps getting the message it's time to grow up, too.
The Watcher is necessary for Spinning Top's ending but not her beginning, and it is necessary for the Prince's beginning but not his ending (he brought that on himself tbh).
⢠I'll say, I find it very important that the Prince- despite what he is- is soft spoken (can hear it in his ,,voicelines" - he has a whispery, a bit hissy, quality to his mumbling- he sounds like he's smiling, too, but that just might be me), calm and kind to the Watcher.
It is a good parallel to Spinning Top. She doesn't affect the physical world and she's a fucking brat (I adore her, but good god.). He intends to take over the world, but he's also on par with Moon when it comes to kindness to the player (with the patience and the ,,health" to withstand a slug running around and getting hit by it).
I'd even assume he'd be polite and sweet to other sapient beings, too, but with the twist that his perception of what is ,,morally good" is a bit broken (aka what he says when the player dies to the proto rot underneath his feet).
But what is even more important to me is what this approach-goodness of his means when combined with the Watcher's character.
Watcher is a shy, lonely soul searching for a companion in the sordid world. Aaand he's willing to sacrifice everything that he is and Then even what isn't his to obtain and retain these relationships. He's desperate to have them. They've lost their family and depending on how you've played the campaign, most likely they've recently lost Spinning Top, too.
And then here comes this flowery starshine of a sapient turbo cancer who Is, by all accounts, a solid friend. As in he cares about the little creature's comfort, reassures them they are safe with him, makes the effort not to shower them in his issues. He doesn't press on the Watcher to infect more regions, he's Thankful to them for what they already have done. You could say he really does love them.
If Watcher stopped doing this for him, whether he'd get mad or venomous, only sad or dejected, wouldn't be fazed at all, that we can't really know, but what is interesting is that this possibility can never even come up to consideration.
Because Watcher is so damn desperate to keep him here as a friend that they are willing to damn multiple worlds for it. Even though he never asks for it. They just assume they Have to. That there is nothing else to do, especially with Spin gone, but make the Prince happy and satisfied with them. [this I get from the fact that we as the players don't have anything else to really do. *eventually* we will turn to Prince if we want to progress in something solid. our relationship to him as the story's device can be put on Watcher with a paint job of its emotional desire for connection.]
And I like that as a commentary on the fact that relationships shouldn't be the number 1 priority of a person, because this is what it looks like (highlighted by the extreme situation of There Is Decay Everywhere Now) & as a commentary on that even if a person is genuinely kind and sweet, it doesn't mean staying friends with them is the right decision. Goals of a person matter too and if they should be at odds with one's own priorities/values in life, a seperation is in place.
⢠Here's a stupid Princey drawing.
Dandelions cover by Disco Face fr fr.
I'm still working on getting the gardening ending for myself, but I've been collecting some ponderings I'd like to write down. So:
A congregate of thoughts on Watcher lore (as of now):
⢠I really like that this DLC is right now three kids in a spiritual trenchcoat. None of them is normal. I bet they'd all be friends if they met.
⢠I really like the color coding of these 3, as for what I've assumed regarding to colors' symbolism in this world: - Black stands for NirvÄáša, the Void, being outside of the reincarnation cycle - Gold/yellow stands for holiness, ascension - Blue/purple stands for damnation/stagnation - White stands for SaášsÄra, the cycle of reincarnation, the physical world (the Watcher lingers in the physical world, unwilling to leave it)
On the account of blue and yellow being on opposing sides on the color wheel, I'd also gander a guess that the Rot and the Void don't entirely agree with each other/may be on opposing sides.
⢠Therefore, I don't think the gardening ending was exactly what the Rot Prince wanted to achieve, supported by his last two dialogues with the Watcher:
[Greeting lines]. As with all great deeds, my work is not without great challenge. It has taken eons and the light fades. The paths close and change. I can almost feel... a will... at odds with my own.
[Greeting lines]. Forgive me if I go on! You have done so much for me, I will not burden you with my troubles. Please, rest here as long as you wish. You are always safe here, my dear friend. You, who were there for me.
My guess is that the content that hasn't dropped yet will introduce either a new character/s in a sort of godly roles, or will explain the powers playing behind the wheel flowers and the Cycle.
⢠A light at the end of the tunnel (or something white/bright with a way to it?) is mentioned by both Spinning Top (at her ending) and the Prince (both as a flowerbud and in that first paragraph I copied up there).
I don't know what to do with this yet, I just found it interesting. Something something the white light within the Void Sea in the original game?
⢠,,Outer Rim...?"
The Buddhist cosmology says the world is made out of 9 mountains (Mount Sumeru [the axis mundi], 7 golden mountain ranges and 1 outermost iron mountain range [maybe the withered buildings here are made of rusted iron, buried in stardust]) and 8 seas (7 freshwater and 1 saltwater), with 4 continents within the salt sea who's inhabitants each have a little something extra (except the South I guess, that's where *we* are. well apparently all Buddhas appear here actually, so you know. that's a something).
For an interesting example, the north continent called Uttarakuru is said to house the wealthy, owning no private property, where their food grows by itself and they live in the skies (Iterator cities, nudge nudge).
The name of this region could point to the Buddhist cosmological map being a physical fact for this world. I'd like to think that the dimension hopping aspect to the Watcher's worming through the space-time is at least limited to 4 continents(/realities?).
Also a fan fact: in Chinese mythology it is said the waters flow and stars fall slowly, because a water god with a bad tamper, GònggĹng, broke one of the pillars supporting the sky. Combining this fun nugget with the established lore in a pearl that everything is once eaten away by the Void down below, I'd say it is safe to assume on 89% that the dust mentioned in that pearl comes from the heaven itself and creates a sort of a cycle of the physical matter.
Suppose stardust is what creates everything, powers everything (just as is said in science). Suppose the Starcatchers are superstructures made for conversion of it into desired forms, these ones perhaps in the West of the world specifically, because of their circular shape.
(Meaning Signal Spires are perhaps of the South, while original game- aka Pebbles and Moon- are in the North of this world.)
⢠I find it fascinating and validating that Spinning Top needed some sort of an Embrace from one of the Five Urges/Hindrances (the third one, companionship) to be able to pass on.
It points to my idea of what the religion is Really supposed to be about: the Five Urges are what they are- urges- and they cannot run rampant. The point isn't to absolutely *eradicate* violence, pleasure, companionship, hunger and desire to live from oneself. The point is to be able to control these things and not cling on to them.
Because if one clings on to something, they stagnate, they cannot progress, they rot and they *fear* losing the something more than they can truly enjoy it or they get far too lost in it to feel it right anymore. To cling on to life means being afraid of taking risks, trying something new and really Living.
But now that doesn't mean going for the opposite is the correct way to go about it- that still creates a desire, a clinging- an urge for death is just as good as urge for life. It binds. It's extremism without careful consideration for what is really the best to do, feel and think in any given situation.
(This goes for love, too, it is GOOD to love, but going too far becomes unhealthy obsession instead of love. Going the other way results in hatred, another utterly useless and harmful thing to harbor. Same as indifference - that is stagnation again, that isn't picking up something, working with it to move forward. Love is a forward motion that is required, but cannot be overdone because as so it would be bastardized into something else, possessive and caging.)
Spinning Top could move on only when she knew that the flipside of the Third Urge- a sickening loneliness- wasn't something to fear anymore.
⢠Yeah, I don't think we can count on backgrounds too much when it comes to size calculating on the basis that they are probably shaped around gameplay. Specifically thinking about how the spinning top toy changes sizes between it's in-game model and the art. When it comes to Ancients, I'd say the best one can do is do what feels right.
⢠The Rot Prince is some sort of a boosted up Preta, I swear to heavens. Hungry guy. Maybe the Rot as a whole is a Preta stand in, just way more physical.
⢠Can't believe my ,,Respawning is real" headcanon has been officially given the thumbs down... The *Strand* Theory is real. (Even though DP is separate from the Watcher, this at least explains why Artificer didn't just go back to the last shelter she slept in when her cubs were still with her. They went to a different strand, where a different Artificer managed the situation better and we are stuck in this reality without them.) (We see them in her Void ending either because they are the one thing her heart wishes for [the Void gives comfort to those who are passing, as far as I am concerned], or because the Void is where all the reality strands and times coincide into one another.)
⢠On that note, no Fucking wonder the Ancients wanna bail - we don't really know to what extend they were aware of reality's unwounding nature, but assuming it is Pretty Thorough, I too wouldn't wanna live with the knowledge that in one reality I might've died on my loved ones, leaving them broken, while in the other everything is just fine and dandy.
The endless wondering of ,,Did I die in a different reality at any point in my life? Did I leave these people I love behind to hurt, alone, and I can't do anything to help them? I can never know, I'm not allowed to comprehend..." would slowly kill anyone with a heart, I think.
⢠I wonder if the Prince is a puppet/the Rot made itself a puppet, - because the Starcatchers were Iterator-esque biomechanications with a different directive than iterating on the Big Problem and this is a consumed Starcatcher (something about its budding dialogue feels to me like there was a sense of a Self beforehand that was drowned out by the Rot and then was pulled forward again with additions) - because the Rot is at the edge of the universe (humming a tune) where a messed up slugcat decided to start ripping holes in the reality, therefore connecting different strands including to places where the Rot already existed as a plague upon Some Iterator, which gave spark to sapience and inspiration to a new mind
⢠The new karma set is definitely a droplet and the ripples it leaves behind. Makes sense, too, there's more ,,movement" within it the more Spinning Top yanks the Watcher around in time-space (accidentally, I'd guess. or the ,,blame" is more on Watcher *somehow*), messing up their physical existence more and more.
Maybe the karma symbols or the imagery itself have something to do with a combination of an axis mundi and the strand form of existence.
Something about there being a main timeline in which each action and decision creates a new ripple, a new strand.
⢠I wonder if the Watcher could've come across Spinning Top and effectively latch on/follow her, - because they were already dead/echoed (the dream sequence upon reaching the final karma level could mean they did go to the Void Sea and swam pretty deep but turned back and that resulted in Echo-ification? then again why can a lizard bite me. Spinny's laughing at me for it. Goddammit.) - because of their nature as someone who's so damn hesitant about things, who hangs in the backlines, only observes and learns. Very Echo-esque personality - because of their desire to have someone there
⢠Just realized that we have a canonical design for Spinning Top's mask, hot damn. ,,How do children's masks look like?" answered.

I don't know why, that kind of creeps me out.
⢠The portals existing outside of us are made by Spinning Top, I'm pretty sure. She's always over them.
Is it normal for Echoes to leave tears like that? I think if the Rot Prince met her and knew she's the one who started this whole journey that resulted in him coming to exist as a consciousness and to bloom, he'd see her as a friend the same way he sees the Watcher.
⢠I wonder if his approach to the Rot Triple Affirmitive is ,,it's going to get worse before it gets better". He has suffered, too- while he normally speaks gently, calmly, orderly, when he is a flowerbud he seems frantic to me. Like someone breathing through death before getting better.
⢠Is the concept of the Rot Prince created for the first time in all existences' or is he a repeating pattern, too? The Rot in the least seems to be a pattern, because of what Spinning Top says when we meet her in one of the original regions, eaten through by the Rot.
,,You shouldn't have come here. It's too far." Does that refer to this strand's/ripple's distance from the axis mundi/the water drop creating all these realities? The further out the little wave carries out, growing smaller and weaker, the more rotten through it is? Is it because still water is stagnation, just as the Rot is?
So the Cycle is change and movement, life and love, that exists in a hurtful matter not out of its design, but because it has to contend with absolute stillness/stagnation/the Rot? Or it's all part of the same system, truly designed like this?
Could a Mass Ascension be seen as an escape plan from a ripple growing old? Man...

⢠A quick attempt at illustrating the previous thought:
Some Pepe Silvia level nonsense going on here.
#spot says stuff#rw#rw watcher spoilers#Prince sounds like he's smiling in that GâŹto Su/guru way. quite a nice smile calm eyes but there is Some kind of plotting and mischief-#-behind them. lightly malicious mishief specifically. a Little bit of a snake quality. also he has slanted eyes too. tired.?#if not that then kind of an... aloof pensive look? maybe a bit of apathy actually. he's got a bit of shen from KFP in him. specifically-#-that scene where he's talking more calmly with the soothsayer about his parents. I think in their last scene together.#trying to explain characters is so hard.. I hear them and imagine a specific expression and that's how I characterize. what do you mean-#-I have to put it into actual words now. without metaphors??? hell nah...#''dzeebo'' he says. ''monzoom'' apparently. amen to that I guess man.
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Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)
Type: one-shot, songfic
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 4700
Summary: Sometimes itâs hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.
Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.
Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.
Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language
A/N: P!nkâs Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - itâs soooo beautiful.
*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ
You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.
It wasnât that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just⌠the timing wasnât ideal.
Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you â and initially without your knowledge â she had an image to live up to.
You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.
You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.
Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.
You werenât even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company â perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.
You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.
You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.
âParty of one?â a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.
 There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good
 âFelt like crashing it?â you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.
Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.
âWell, I didnât get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.â
You sighed tiredly despite Steveâs kind teasing. Tonight was just⌠so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.
Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell â nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-⌠â or call it a night.
Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you werenât certain that was a good idea.
It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.
You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to⌠to be compassionate.
Dammit, Steve.
âMust have got lost in the mail then,â you said eventually, offering a weak smile. âSorry.â
âNah, itâs alright,â he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. âDoesnât look like much fun and I think itâs about to end anyway.â
âI guessâŚâ
 Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?
 This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didnât have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.
Steveâs eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.
âCome on. Iâll walk you home,â he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.
Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.
Right?
Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more â they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.
Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.
And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.
âNo, itâs fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. Iâll be okay.â
âItâs three in the morning,â he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.
ââŚand?â
âAnd Iâd feel better if you werenât walking the streets alone,â he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.
Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldnât find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.
âSteve, Iâm a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-â
âBut you donât have to. And-â He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.
Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natashaâs enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.
Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.
It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.
âIâm not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,â you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. âAnd two beers.â
âI know,â he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.
God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.
Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.
Huh? He⌠knew?
âI⌠might have kept an eye on you,â he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.
âWhy?â
Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you donât count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.
Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?
No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but⌠why?
 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside
 The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
âWell, I mean, I know that you probably wouldnât-â he started, only to grimace. âItâs not that I think youâre an alcoholic! Itâs just that... you--- and itâs only been-âŚâ
-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.
One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.
â-I was worried. But you didnât look like you were interested in having company, I didnât want to be a bother and-â
You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.
He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because⌠you werenât looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didnât help to lift his spirits.
â-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,â you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didnât appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. âThatâs understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and Iâm the one being antisocial.â
You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steveâs forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you⌠honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.
âYou⌠you shouldnât have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.â
Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.
âThatâs what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?â
You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was â you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.
A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.
âYes, Steve. You can walk me home. Itâs conveniently located on the way to yours.â
He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. âHappy coincidencesâŚâ
 There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm
 Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.
Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.
Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.
On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steveâs imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steveâs point that you shouldnât walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.
âI would have been fine, you know,â you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.
It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didnât mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.
It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added âBut thanks.â â Â a whisper full of honesty.
âUh-huh.â
Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasnât the only cause of it.
Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.
ââŚare you? Okay?â
âWhy wouldnât I be?â he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.
âJust⌠today-â you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that âtodayâ was a confusing term. âOr, more like, yesterday��â
A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.
Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.
âWhat about it-?â
You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?
You were aware what the day meant for him â another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.
Though this particular loss â of his mother â haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.
âNothing, I guess,â you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. ââŚMr. Nothing Can Touch Me.â
The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.
âI⌠Iâm okay. I think. I⌠should be. Itâs been so long. Decades,â he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didnât know him, hadnât witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.
You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didnât retrieve from your touch instantly.
âNot for you,â you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.
The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.
Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and⌠harmonizing once more.
âHow did you know?â
âThatâs what friends are for, Steve,â you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. âThey remember important dates, good or bad.â
âNo one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one⌠youâŚâ his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought â or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.
Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.
And you were alright with that. More than alright.
Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didnât have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.
You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.
âShe didnât make it,â you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didnât react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it.  âKayla, one of the kids⌠from last weekâs mission. I found out yesterday⌠she-she didnât make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.â
âIâm so sorry,â Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.
âYeah, so am I.â
Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. âYou know that wasnât your fault, right?â
âWasnât it? If I was faster, if I-â
Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.
You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.
âHey, hey, donât do that to yourself.â Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. âYou did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.â
You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.
âSometimes I think he might have been right, you know?â
Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking â it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You werenât too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.
â⌠Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That Iâm just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, Iâm not even close to being as good-â
Steveâs feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop â as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.
âI feel like taking a detour now,â he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.
âHuh?â
âWhere does Jim live?â Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldnât help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. âHe has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-â
âSteve, he wasnât wrong, Iâm just-â you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.
âWe all make mistakes. But thatâs beside the point, because you didnât even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-â he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.
Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.
â-I havenât met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then Iâm glad that that asshole is gone from your life. ⌠though I would still appreciate his address.â
Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steveâs strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.
You deeply appreciated Steveâs display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldnât stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.
Tonight, you⌠you needed serenity and comfort.
ââŚthank you. That⌠that means a lot. But⌠maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?â you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.
Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steveâs eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.
So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.
âAlways.â
You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.
 Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on
 You reached the Tower hand in hand.
Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to eachâs private quarters.
You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.
Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.
âFor the record, you do a great deal of good,â he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. âYouâre amazing and youâre the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.â
That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.
âYou admire me? Steve, thatâs really nice of you to say, but donât be ridi-â
Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.
âAnd youâre a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,â he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. âIf he didnât praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.â
You gulped, a silly association with the word âpraiseâ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.
âIâm not a dog to be praised, SteveâŚâ
One corner of his lips â and when did they got so close anyway? â twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.
âIâm very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.â
You only nodded at the ridiculous statement â why was he thanking you? â too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?
His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.
Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.
âSteve!â
Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.
âUh⌠are you ready to go to bed or⌠or maybe⌠would you like to watch a movie or something?â With me?
I donât think Iâm ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.
Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.
âI think Iâd like that,â he called out lowly. âTen minutes? Iâll get the blankets. You pick the movie.â
âSee you in ten then.â
You pretended that your heart didnât flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.
 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside
*â§ď˝Ľ Bonus *â§ď˝Ľ
If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steveâs arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didnât mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.
He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.
Heâd rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.
Probably.
*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ
S.R. masterlist
*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ*â§ď˝Ľ
Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word âgriefcaseâ as an alternative to emotional baggage.
Also, Iâm pretty sure songfics arenât supposed to be so long... oops?
Thank you for reading!
#fanfiction#songfic#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers imagine#hurt/comfort#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers angst#avenger reader#shield agent reader#captain america x reader#captain america x you#captain america imagine#walk me home tonight#anika ann
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Chapter Nineteen: A Psychotic Break

Rated PG
Masterlist
~Oh, she's sweet but a psycho
A little bit psycho
At night she screamin'
"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"
Oh, she's sweet but a Psycho~
"HOW DO YOU KNOW SAM AND DEAN?!" He shouted.
It took effort, but I didn't flinch. I blinked and, slowly, raised that eyebrow again. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel the annoyance rising in his mind.
"Tell ya what," I said, putting on my best 'let's make a deal' face, "I'm a reasonable girl, so if you tell me just one thing, then I'll tell ya anything you want to know."
"Hmmm..." The guy studied me, walking in a circle around my chair and eating his lolli-pop.
Normally, I'd be scared out of my wits. This entity in front of me, whoever he was, was clearly immensely powerful; warping reality on that scale isn't exactly a party trick. Just by looking at the scene around me, I knew this guy wasn't Loki. Loki was never this powerful. The Norse god wasn't capable of a full-on reality shift. As long as you knew it was an illusion, Loki couldn't make his illusions solid. Whoever was talking to me now, however, had made four solid copies of himself. It would take an immense amount of raw power to do something like that. One would think that a being with this much power would scare me more than Loki just on principle.
But he didn't.
For some strange reason, he didn't. There was just something about this guy, quite opposite to the original owner of the face he was wearing, that told me he meant no real harm. I didn't want to mess with any more heads but a quick poke around his emotions told me that this guy was a friend to the Winchesters; he was fond of them actually. A part of him looked up to the Winchesters and another part felt like he owed them something. So, if I was their friend, then this entity wasn't going to harm me.
All mind reading and prior knowledge aside, I just wasn't intimidated by him. Maybe it was the cherry-flavored lolli-pop stuck in his mouth. Or maybe it was the height. I'm not one to talk about being vertically challenged but this guy was no Sam Winchester, that was for sure.
"It's up to you." I shrugged, spreading my hands. "But I want you to know, that I have literal days to sit here and not say a word."
The man chuckled and pulled the lolli-pop from his mouth.
"Well, I'd like you to know that I am very good at getting people to talk." He paused, tilting his head to the side as if thinking about something. "Not as good as Castiel o'course. Now, that guy could make em' sing. Wowie!"
The man didn't seem to be making a threat as much as an observation. I could feel my nose scrunch up with discomfort for thoughts of what Castiel might do to me if he ever found out my secret. Would he torture me?
I pushed the thought away and wiped the discomfort from my face, replacing it with a smirk. Now was not the time for grim thoughts.
"I think you'll find that I have an extraordinary talent for saying 'no'," I said, leaning forward and folding my hands together on top of the table.
"You think so?" He challenged, amused by the tiny child that thought she could beat him.
I shrugged.
"It's one of my charms. Besides, are you really gonna torture a kid?" I pointed out. I had to remember to use my physical age as the tool it was.
"Of course not!" The man scoffed, waving a hand, "That's low; even for me."
"Guess we're at a stalemate then!" I sighed.
"Hmm." The man twisted the stick of his Lolli-pop in between his fingers. "What if I were to ask really nicely?"
"I'd say 'no'."
"What if I said 'please'?"
"I'd say 'no'."
"What if I gave you candy?"
"I'd be tempted, then I'd be creeped out, then I'd say 'no'." I grinned at him. The man frowned and pointed his lolli-pop at me accusingly.
"You know, for an eight-year-old or whatever you are, you sure don't act like a kid," He said, I couldn't see past his stupid reflective glasses but I thought he was narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, sorry. Is this better?" I cleared my throat in a very mature way before giving him my best pouty frown and doe-eyed puppy look.
"Mommy tol' me nevur to take candwy fwum stwangurs," I said in an innocent baby voice.
"Hmmm. It's close, but you're still acting just a smidge too old. Maybe a 'goo-goo ga-ga' would help!" He smirked. He'd turned my own sass against me. This guy was good. I kinda wanted to punch him.
"Nah, I don't think it would work," I said, smiling thinly.
"Aw, that's a shame. So how old are you really?" He asked.
"No."
"C'mon!"
"No."
"Geez, kiddo. You are really good at saying that, aren't you?" He tried.
I didn't answer. I just smiled at him, pleasantly. The man rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," He muttered. He turned to me. "Fine! What's your question, kid?"
I folded my hands in my lap and collected my thoughts. He couldn't read my mind, I knew. I felt like a sphinx of stone. Speaking as calmly as I could, I asked my question.
"Earlier, when I called you Loki, you said 'wrong religion' and you said you'd killed him; I'm guessing for a slice of revenge. So, my question for you is this: What's the name of the one that talks to you when you're all alone?"
The man shifted his weight and tugged at the collar of his stupid police outfit. The color drained from his face and all his muscles tightened. He clenched his lolli-pop in his teeth, pressing so hard that it shattered. Moving to grab another, he stuck quivering hands into his pockets, but he didn't remove them. The man raised an eyebrow at me and forced a laugh. He was uncomfortable, deeply so, and afraid of something. Afraid not of the thing itself, but the memory of it. Something was haunting him. I could see it in his eyes. All that time alone.
Using my power, I pulled on that fear.
"That's it?" He scoffed faking nonchalance. I shrugged, simply.
"That's it."
"Call me the Trickster." The man smirked. He ripped off those stupid sunglasses and leaned into a mocking sort of bow. "Pleasure to meet ya, kiddo! No, I don't answer fan-mail."
I tilted my head and kept smiling at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I didn't speak. The man's smirk shrank from his face as he slowly straightened back up, regarding me with a suspicious and cautious expression. His feet shifted him a little further away from me.
"What's that smile for?" He asked.
"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Trickster." I kept my voice that same unsettling calm and pulled harder on his fear, feeling it rise and crowd his mind. The guy calling himself the trickster pretended to think about my statement.
"Yeah, no; I'm pretty sure I did." He said, nodding. I smiled wider.
âNo, you didnât.â
âYour question doesnât make sense, kid.â His voice was harsh and biting.
âYes, it does.â
âWell, I sure as Hell donât understand it.â
âYes, you do.â
The man forced a laugh, but it only came off as nervous; he shook his finger at me.
âAre you a sphinx or something?â
"Only in the metaphorical sense, and you are not so clever as you think."
The man glared at me, his lip curling into a scowl. He leaned against the table and looked down at me. I'd made a wrong move; he was angry now, but I could still fix this.
"And you are way too clever for a kid."
"You're right." I nodded.
"Ya gonna tell me why?"
I leaned forward, looking him dead in the eyes. I grasped onto his fear and yanked on it as hard as I could without making it too suspicious.
"No."
The man scowled, glaring down at me. I kept my face impassive and stared back up at him. It was a battle of wills. Who would be the first to look away? Who would be the first to break?
Not me.
The man cast his eyes to the ceiling, throwing his hands into the air.
"GABRIEL!" He shouted. "My name is Gabriel!â
âYouâre the angel?â
âArchangel and yes. Ya happy?!" He asked bitingly.
I smiled again, this time in a much more childish way.
"Yes."
I released my hold on Gabrielâs emotions and folded my hands in my lap. Gabriel nodded briskly. His stupid police getup disappeared, replaced by his outfit from earlier, a white t-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and a pair of standard jeans. Across the table from me, a second metal chair appeared out of nowhere and Gabriel pulled it out and sat. Folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop as I had previously done, he studied my face.
âMy turn now, right?â He asked.
âThat was the deal,â I replied with a shrug, returning to my usual sarcastic ways.
âAlrighty. You like games, kid?â He spoke the word as if he didnât believe it was true. âLetâs play a game.â
âOoh goodie! What game? Is it checkers? Iâm great at checkers.â I rubbed my hands together in faux excitement.
âItâs easy,â Gabriel smirked. âYou think youâre clever? Letâs see how clever. I ask you up to fifteen questions per topic, and you have to answer them. But, hereâs the catch: You can only answer with one word. Got it?â
I was about to open my mouth to speak but, taking a look at the expression on the archangelâs face told me that this confirmation of my understanding was his little gameâs first round. I pursed my lips, reforming my reply.
âWhy?â I asked.
âWhy only one word?â He clarified.
âYeah.â
Gabrielâs eyes widened a bit and he nodded as if understanding something.
âWell, because Iâm a professional liar and I know that it is much harder to tell a lie if you canât provide details. You lie, you lose. And I donât have to read your mind to know if youâre lying. So, one word,â He explained. I nodded.
âReady to play?â
âYes.â
Suddenly, we were sitting in the bunkerâs library. Gabriel was smirking at me. The game was on.
It was time to see if I was smarter than a five-billion-year-old cosmic entity. My bets were on no.
***
âLetâs start out easy, shall we? How did you meet the Winchesters?â Gabriel asked.
He watched her face. This game was a test, it was all about the words she chose and the way she said them. The more abstract the childâs answers, the cleverer the kid was. Details of the story she was barely telling registered in the Archangelâs mind; one after the other, like lines on a page.
âAlleyway,â The child answered. Interesting already.
âWhat happened in the alleyway?â
âSalvaged.â Thinks herself lesser in value.
âFrom what?â
âIdiots.â Views some as beneath her. Strange.
âWhy did the idiots attack you?â
âInebriated.â Drunk. Why not say drunk? Why choose the word inebriated?
âWere the inebriated idiots all the Winchesters salvaged you from?â
âAbridged.â Another abstract answer. Yes!
âWhat else was in that alleyway?â
âSuffering.â
âPhysical pain or otherwise? Elaborate.â
âAll-encompassing.â Hyphenating, clever move.
âCheater, cheater, pumpkin eater! Who said you could hyphenate?â Gabriel spoke accusingly. The girl shrugged with an innocent expression on her face.
âUnstipulated.â Exploiting loopholes; perfect.
âSo why was this suffering of yours all-encompassing? What was causing it?â He asked, getting back to the point.
âShiver.â Not shivering but shiver. Why only say shiver?
âWere you in danger of dying by hypothermia?â
âAgony.â
âBut not death?â This question was more directed toward himself, but the girl answered anyway.
âEnduring.â Fierce pain but not death.
âEnduring for what?â
âVictorious.â
âWhy do you want to win?â
âObligation.â
âObligation to what?â
âBrother.â
âWhy?â
âNevermore,â She said, coolly.
Edger Allen Poe: The Raven: Verse 14; Quoth the Raven âNevermoreâ
Time to switch topics.
âWhy did the Winchesters help you?â
She shrugged.
âScreamed.â Simple enough. Disappointingly simple.
âWhy were you in the alleyway?â
The girl paused.
âCaution.â She said, slowly. Yet she had been attacked. That was an interesting answer.
âCaution for what?â
âHarm.â
Gabriel nodded, that was a little confusing, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.
âSo, were you looking for the Winchesters, or did they find you by chance?â
The girl thought about this for a bit before answering. Just the pause she had taken was interesting, that meant the answer was more complicated than a yes or a no.
âWatching,â She decided.
âWhy were you watching?â
âWaiting.â This was getting better by the second.
âWaiting for what?â
She paused again.
âSeek.â There was a secret smile in her eyes when she answered this time. She thinks she has an advantage. Maybe she doesâŚ
âWhere was this?â
âMichigan.â
âWhat town?â
It was a trick question; her answer would have to be two words; there was no avoiding it. Only a few minutes into his little game and he was already trying to trip the girl up. That wasnât cheating or anything; if this kid thought that beating him was going to be a cakewalk then she had another thing coming.
âTwo,â She replied.
âThe townâs name is two words?â He asked her only to be sure of the context.
âYes.â
âOkay, answer the question anyway. If I donât know the town when you give me the word, then you lose.â He challenged. The girl took a second to think.
âFerry.â
âWas the town Copper Harbor, Michigan?â
The girl grinned.
âYep.â
Gabriel raised an eyebrow and nodded, the smirk on his face growing wider. This kid was clever. He was getting excited. For the first time in he didnât know how many millennia, Gabriel had a decent game to play, and for the first time in just as many years, he finally had someone to play with. For as long as the archangel could remember, he had loved a good game. He had always relished the challenge of solving a brilliant puzzle or capturing an opponentâs king. When chess had been invented, he had become a master. Gabriel adored beating people at things. He loved to best them, yes, but not only that. He loved to teach them something too; to show them how they could be better. But for as long as he had lived, Gabriel had never been given a real challenge. His brothers could have given him one of course, but they were so predictable and they had always been fighting. They had never cared to really play with him; not the sort of game he had wanted. A game of wits. A game of minds.
For someone who had been stuck on Earth as long as he had, things just got so boring. It wasnât as if he could leave the planet; despite how much he had desperately wanted to. He had to stay and honor the terms of his witness protection agreement with Loki. After a while, no game on the planet could capture his interest or cure his horrid boredom. The only minor distraction heâd had was the humans.
Gabriel thought humans were wonderful things. Though, for a much different reason than his little brother, Castiel, did. Castiel loved humans for their hearts; Gabriel loved them for their minds. Not all of them were entertaining of course; he wasnât lucky enough for that. The fact of his life was that there was only a disappointing handful of interesting individuals out there to entertain him. The archangel had had a hay-day when heâd met Einstein! (And you wonder why everyone thought he was crazy.) Though it was somewhat fun for him to watch the boring majority of humanity stumble and fall whenever he tried to teach them a lesson, it wasnât ever enough.
Gabriel had longed for someone, anyone, even a human, he could play a game with. Now, suddenly, here she was. Someone clever, someone who knew what clever meant, someone who actually wanted to play a real game. Gabriel had seen it in her eyes the moment heâd given her the chance to ask him her question. She was bored too. This was exhilarating for her too.
As if all that wasnât good enough, Gabriel couldnât read her mind. This fact probably should have concerned him more than it did, but he couldnât focus on a tiny detail like that. No, this was too good of a chance to pass up. Not even his nephew had been able to give him a decent challenge. Gabriel was too excited to focus on something so seemingly trivial. He was excited, he was high on the thrill of the chase. No one ever said you couldnât fool an archangel, and Gabriel didnât know it, but he had been fooled. He had been fooled by a tiny girl with the face of a child.
Another entity as powerful as he was would most likely consider it beneath them to play a game of wits with a child, to be challenged by a child. But not Gabriel. He had been waiting for a chance like this for all of his existence; age simply didnât matter to him anymore. That wasnât to say he wasnât curious, however.
This was his element. This was his obsession. This was his chance. It was time to have some fun.
âNow all thatâs out of the way, letâs ask some things about you. Whatâs your name?â
âMarty.â
âNice name. How old are you, Marty?â
âEnough.â The girl smirked. She was good. But he was just a little better.
âHow many years have you been alive?â
âFourteen.â That was her answer. There was darkness in his eyes this time. Interesting.
âHow many years have you existed?â
A look of fear crossed her face, like a deer caught in headlights. But the look vanished as soon as it came and was replaced with a confident smirk.
âConservation.â She answered.
Gabriel cursed internally. The law of conservation of energy; energy is neither created nor destroyed. Of course, she would say something like that.
âOkay, miss-smarty-pants. How many years have you been aware of your existence?â
Marty swallowed and looked down at her hands in her lap.
âNineteen.â Now they were getting somewhere.
âRiddle me this, Batman. How can you be fourteen and nineteen at the same time?â
She glared at her folded hands.
âTrapped.â The way she stressed the word told Gabriel that she was more than resentful of her condition.
âTrapped how? Elaborate,â He demanded.
âSkin,â She said, nearly growling.
âElaborate,â He repeated, nodding.
âCage,â Her voice quivered.
âWhy?â He leaned forward now, waiting. This would be the crucial response. Marty looked up, there were ghost tears in her eyes.
âNeverland.â
Very interesting. Time for a new line of questions.
âWhy did you come with the Winchesters?â
âInvited.â
âWhich one invited you?â
She smiled a little.
âJack.â
âWhy did he ask you to come here?â
âProtection.â
âWhat led him to offer you protection?â
âMendicant.â
Mendicant. Definition: One who begs. So, did she ask to come or was she invited? And if she was begging, that begs the question of why.
âWhat were you begging for?â
âLife.â
âWhy were you begging for your life.â
Marty tilted her head.
âGuillotine.â
Her use of the word guillotine could be a metaphor, or it could mean something very literal. Gabriel had the suspicion that it meant a little of both.
âWhat did Jack offer to protect you from?â
She shrugged.
âMonster,â She said as if it was obvious.
âYours or someone elseâs?â
âEveryoneâs,â Marty whispered.
There it was. That was it. That was the clue.
Gabriel laughed; he was winning.
âTell me, Marty, how long ago was your family massacred?â He asked. Marty looked like sheâd been stabbed in the gut and Gabriel felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off. It was nothing compared to his excitement.
âFive,â She replied after a moment.
âFive what?â
âYears,â Her voice cracked. Gabriel nodded.
âHow have you spent those five years?â
âAlone.â
âIf youâve been on your own for so long, why accept help now?â He prodded.
âTired.â
âWhat are you tired of?â
âRunning.â
âThatâs the practical reason, whatâs the other reason?â
Marty pursed her lips.
âName.â
âOf what?â
âCharacter.â
âSay it.â
âPeter Pan.â Two references to the same story in one conversation. Definitely not a coincidence. She was comparing herself to something, but what was it? What was he missing?
âOkay pumpkin, just a few more questions; then weâre done âcause I donât have all day.â
âNice.â She smiled.
"Why should I believe a word you've said to me?"
The girl grinned in a way that was meant to be friendly, but fell critically short.
"Psycho."
That response unnerved the five billion year-old archangel. What was this kid?
âWhat do you think of Jack?â He continued, he didn't miss a beat.
âViridity,â She replied. Viridity; noun: NaĂŻve innocence.
âWhat do you think of his parentage?â
âIrrelevant.â Gabriel had heard many words used to describe his family. Irrelevant was definitely not one of them.
âWhat do you want more than anything in the world?â
Martyâs answer was unexpected.
âBack.â Her voice wasnât desperate or wistful; it was cold and hard.
âDescribe yourself. Who are you, Marty?â
She had to think about this one. When she had her answer, the genius girl grinned. It wasnât in a happy way.
âDomino.â
âAlright, one last question, then youâre free to go.â Gabriel leaned forward, his face a grim mask. âDo you have a crush on my nephew?â
Surprised by his question, Marty blinked but before long a smirk split across her cheeks and mischief gleamed in her eyes.
âTalent.â That was all she said. Gabriel knew that meant; âThe answer may be yes, but I will say no until the day I die.â The archangel reached a hand across the table; Marty grasped and shook it.
âGood game, kiddo. Mind telling me where Sam and Dean are now?â
âTheyâre on their way to New-York. Theyâll be there in a few hours,â Marty said.
âCool beans. Now go get some breakfast and Iâll see ya later.â
With a nod of his head, Gabriel was gone. The reason why he had originally come to the bunker was completely forgotten. Now he had only one thought on his mind.
He needed to find Sam and Dean.
He needed to warn them about the girl they were protecting.
When it came to individuals, there had never been something that Gabriel couldnât figure out.
Never. Not one thing. Until now.
Gabriel had no idea what that child was.
That thoughtâthat question mark unnerved him. That notion shook him down to his very core.
That blank space child, that missing piece little girl.
She was more terrifying to him than anything he had known in five billion years.
~You're just like me, you're out your mind
I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind
You're tellin' me that I'm insane
Boy, don't pretend that you ain't just the same
Oh, she's sweet but a psycho
A little bit psycho
At night she screamin'
"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"
Oh, she's sweet...
But a Psycho~
Lyrics from: Sweet But A Psycho by Ava Max
#jack kline x oc#jack kline#jack kline fanfiction#jack kline x reader#spn#spn fanfiction#superntural#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#alexander calvert#alex calvert#jensen ackles#jared padalecki#jack is baby#the writing gets better#jack kline humor#jack kline fluff#fluff#my name is cas and i write stuff#fanfic#thanks for reading#have a nice day#misha collins
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Wave inspired!Seonghwa au x reader
summary: Maybe just maybe the boy out in the water can make you loosen your stance up on the tourists crowding your town
word count: 2.1k-ish��
warnings: none
gender neutral!reader
The first time you see him youâre walking home from work along the sea wall, your work bag clutched tightly between your arm and polyester polo, a scowl weighing heavily across your face
Every year this time (summer) rockets you directly into a terrible mood, it is literally clockwork and hereâs why:
tourists
these rich people and their bad manners flock to your town to spend their summer breaks at the resorts, littering your beaches, buying your groceries, taking your space, and just generally being pretenious dicks
last year you and the rest of town spent a full week cleaning the beaches after the last of the out-of-towners were gone
But this boy, this boy was different
After all it was sunset and he was out in the water fully clothed looking like he walked out of a calvin klein shoot or some shit
the light spilling through the sky cast a orange glow, lighting him up like angelÂ
you were kinda dumbstruck standing on the seawall staring at him for a good minute
he looked like an angel and you looked like someone smacked you over the head with a frying pan, primarily because you had spent the entire day (and all your energy) responding to terrible customers
No they can not just bargain the prices with you because guess what...
You D O N â T set the prices
and as much as they complained about the price on beer you C O U L D N O T change the price, and even if you could you clocked that gold rolex and the expensive pressed polo the minute they walked in so you sure as hell W O U L D N O T
they could more than afford the price of your storeâs beer and after they had it they were insufferable
Then there was a women who made you count back your change three times because she thought you were stealing from her, stealing insignificant change
Needless to say you also wanted to get into the ocean in your clothes too and maybe swim out to an island without any people and live the rest of your days as hermit lost in nature
because wow humanity S U C K S
But you had to save money up for the fall semester so that meant putting up with some of the worst of humanity for you bigger dream; that just didnât leave a lot of space for seeing the good in many people especially out-of-towners
so this mysterious swimmer was probably just another annoying tourist, being pretty didnât mean he was nice too
so you put him out of your mind that first night
but you kept seeing him on your walk home from work in the heat of the setting sun: always in the same spot, always sporting clothes that werenât made for swimming
you saw him so much you were actually getting curious, some of your anger lessening, especially when you saw him picking up trash along the shoreline
It wasnât until your day off that you finally spoke to him and by spoke you ran head first into him walking through the beachfront shops with your friends on your day off
he was surrounded by a group of friends with colorful hairstyles that were all laughing and playing around
you on the other hand were sporting your first non-customer service smile in weeks and you were holding a very precious cone of mint chocolate chip ice cream
Well you were holding it because now it was all over this boyâs shirt and you were mortified and grieving the loss of your ice cream
âoh my god, my ice creamâ is the first and only thing out your mouth so maybe not mortified just grieving
Sure you shouldâve said sorry but all your apologies had been used up on the customer that said you were mean for making her wait in line instead of cutting everyone after she said she couldnât wait because it would give her acne
So EXCUSE you if you really wanted your ice cream on your day off
Caught up in your self righteous inner monologue about ice cream, you almost didnât notice: âwait youâre the boy whoâs always in the ocean at sundown?âÂ
Oh wow he was much pretty in person and that was saying a lot because you had been admiring him from afar for far too long
âlol at least you donât have to worry about washing your shirt since youâre hoping in later anywayâ
Oh my god, you could smack yourself; why did you just say that, why did you just expose yourself as a stalker?
He let out a little laugh âand youâre the person on the seawall, nice to see youâre cute up close too. Iâm Seonghwaâ
ây/nâ Wait did that actually work? Did you not scare him away? Did he know who you were too?
Did? He? Say? Cute?Â
âYou should come down and talk to me next timeâ
his friends were oohing and aahing at him watching the awkward exchange, your friends were doing the same
And that you did, like clockwork he was down by in the ocean in the middle of the sunset while you were walking home from work
Only this time you didnât just stop and look, you made your way down the stone stairs through the hot sand and to the edge of the beach.Â
God why was your work uniform all black? it was hotttt out here and you were sweating while this boy looked like a sculpture in front of you
his acid washed jeans sticking to his calves as he walked through the tide pools searching through the sand, his arms on display in the pastel tie dye cut off
âum hey Seonghwaâ thatâs the best you could conjure up, trying to get in a carefree position but careful not to put your backpack on the ground for fear you would never get the sand out
your non-slip work shoes = already ruined
âY/n you came?â he stopped his search through the tide pools to smile up at you, nearly melting your customer service persona
âum yeah, sorry I just got off work though so Iâm not really dressed from a swimâ You looked down to your black slacks and black polo with the store logo on the upper left breast, god you shouldnât have come maybe if you just slowly back away he wonât even notice you disappearÂ
âThat seems like the best reason to get inâ there was a soft smile on his face as he pulled up a lump of seaweed mixed with some shells from the sand
âMaybe next time, find any good mementos?â
Only next time you donât get in either but you did roll up your slacks, take your shoes off, and stick your feet in
He was right, it was much a much needed break to just relax in the cool water and this way you could help him find whatever he was looking for
It doesnât stop there though, you get a little further into the water every night after work when you meet but never like he was the first night
you also learned a little more about him and him about you
He is here with a group of friends, they are spending their last summer together before some of them head off to college, some go overseas, and some are stuck in high school. They were here the whole summer working on one of the resorts and this was the only time he could get away from everyone for some peace
âSo you invite me?â Peaceful, all you did was stomp around in my work clothes and be loud âIâm not sure I fit what youâre going forâ
âNah but I like having you here.â
after that you start to see him outside of the actually water too, once he is picking up the trash on the beach, once he is just laying on the sand watching the sunset
And every time you would make your way next to him and spend all night talking to himÂ
So every year at the peak of tourist season, the locals throw a huge party on a section of the beach that only the locals know about
Itâs a power move against the seasonals, one that you participate in every year. In fact you're dropped off some alcohol earlier in the week
Usually you go alone (read: with friends) but for some reason this year you invite Seonghwa, well more like you word vomited your invitation in a 10 minute long nervous ramble about beaches and parties while he smiled at you
normally you would cover your nervousness in a smirk with some sassy remarks but from some reason your stomach is fluttering too much this time, you can feel the nausea bubbling up
tense you throw in a quick "your friends can come too" then metaphorically smack yourself because you don't want his friends to come, you want to go with just him
this was supposed to be you confessing that your countless nights on the beach had kinda made your initial crush stronger but you messed it up
For your incessant rambles he responds with only a few words "Yeah that sounds fun"
"ok ok cool cool" nice save (oh my god you are actually acting like a middle schooler)
"But I don't think my friends can come, is that ok?"
"Oh yeah, um-" insert your nervous tick here- "i don't think my friends can come either so it'll just be us" cheesy smile
btw your friends could make it, they were there the whole time but you told them to stay away and they have not stopped teasing you about it sinceÂ
the night of the party you meet in your normal place and your jaw drops to the floor like in those movies when the princess comes out wearing the ball gown and looking regal
Only seonghwa isn't a princess but he sure as hell is beautiful and who gave him the right to look like that because your heart momentarily stops before you finally breath some sense back in and hold yourself together
"Are you ready? It's a bit of a hike"
You spend the whole night talking, and maybe you're a little tipsy but only enough to give you a confidence boost and a looser tongue
nothing seriousÂ
Or at least you thought it was nothing serious but then you are prying into his life, asking some of the weirdest questions and finally "so why do you swim with your clothes on?"
Meanwhile this whole time he's been laughing at you, not the mean kind of way more like a "wow they really ramble a lot how cute"
"I don't know, normally I just donât have my swimsuit and the water looks too beautiful to pass up"
"But if you do it every night then why don't you just pack ahead of time" *hiccup* nah jk but you might as well hiccup⌠maybe you should put that beer down before you embarrass yourself
"I don't know, if I bring my swimsuit everyone will want come with me and as much as I love my friends they're a little high energy" he let out a sweet laugh "speaking of them, I should probably admitâŚ"
Oh god, what was wrong? Is this where you found out he was actually super creepy? Or like a murderer or something? Of course the cute ones always had to be the crazy ones, just your luck
"My friends aren't busy tonight I just said that because I didn't want them to come...â
Oh good not creepy at all (maybe you should stop watching dateline), that's what you did too
in fact your friends kept sending you snapchats of the both of you sitting by the bonfire talking
"I actually think one of them is here, heâs kinda hard to miss his hair is bright red"
Oh strawberry dude, you remembered seeing him wave when you first arrived (very confusing for a powerful tiny man who you had never seen wave at you)
But hold up, you're still caught up on the first thing he said, he wanted to come with you, just you. Did he?? like you??
"Do you like me?" Straight to the point, how in character for you
A rosy blush spread over his cheeks and down his neck and the confidence you had skyrocketed, that all but answered your question
and if that didnât answer it then his little âyaâ did
in a bout of confidence you grabbed him head and yanked him up from the lawn chairs by the crackling fire âCome on!â
 "what are you doing?!" he replied, calling out as you dragged him toward the dark water, glowing in the light of the moon
Splashing through the water, you settled on a place where the waves lapped up against your waist like they had the first night you saw him, it didnât even matter that the warm salty water was soaking through your clothes (don't think about your soaked shoes, don't think about your soaked shoes)
"I'm not sure but the water just looked too beautiful to pass up" cue cliche cheese and a signature smirk provided by you
"Haha don't make fun of me"
"Why not? Itâs too much fun" you leaned in closer, your hand still wrapped in his âand anyway I like you too much to stopâ
about twenty minutes later you opened a snapchat from your friends of you and Hwa kissing in the ocean and turned bright red
read hongjoong's and yunho's
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chapter 20
Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 20/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: nothing major. A little language, some angry peeps. Notes: Like I said a few chapters back... Fuck the canon.
"They need to know."
Loki flinched, glaring at Bucky over his shoulder. "Not now, love."
"Okay, how did he get out?!"
The bland look Bucky gave Stark made both Loki and Rogers smile. "I was an elite, untraceable super assassin for seventy years. You think I can't pick an interior lock?"
"Didn't you learn how to do that when-"
He grinned. "When I was twelve, because you got your dumb ass locked in the basement at my grandfather's house. Yep. But the other version sounded better."
Rogers laughed. "How much do you remember?"
Bucky's smile immediately faded as he glanced at Stark and then quickly averted his gaze to the floor. "Enough. Too much. Listen, there's something I need-"
"James, don't."
"Nah, let him talk, God of Misfits." With a cold smirk in response to Loki's irritated glare, Stark crossed his arms over his chest, staring him down. "We've heard quite enough from you already. Let lover-boy get a word in."
Ignoring him, Loki turned to face his lover fully and implored, "Don't say it. Trust me, love, it won't end well."
"They deserve to know," was Bucky's quiet, but firm reply as he stepped past him and approached the Avengers. "Stark... There's something I need to tell you about your parents."
"What about them?" Suddenly the quippy billionaire didn't look so amused anymore. He actually looked terrified, and with an unexpected twinge of empathy, Loki remembered that he'd nearly died only a week earlier.
"Really, darling, perhaps later..."
"No." Bucky was shaking his head, but it was Stark who'd spoken, his voice sharp with forced anger and impatience to mask his trepidation. "Shut the hell up and let him talk, or I'll hand you both over to this Thanos guy myself."
"There is nothing you can do to me if I don't allow-" A firm grip on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned to see his adoptive brother staring at him.
"Loki. Will you continue to silence him, the way they did? Trade a literal muzzle for a metaphorical one?"
He shrugged Thor's hand off with an impatient snarl, but didn't speak again. He hated it when that moron had a point! With an apologetic look to his beloved and a resigned flourish of his hand, he spun on his heel and walked away. He didn't leave the room, but he did move to the far wall so as to let Bucky see that he was no longer in Loki's protective shadow.
The sad, grateful half-smile he received nearly made him weep. Then Bucky sucked in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and told Stark as gently as he could, "HYDRA had them killed."
"When you say HYDRA," Stark began slowly, visibly shaking. "You mean..."
Bucky nodded. "They sent me." He closed his eyes. At first, it looked as though the conversation was causing him pain, but then Loki noticed the tension in his muscles and the way he moved his feet just a bit farther apart; he was bracing himself.
He did it just in time. Tears in his eyes and body still shaking, Stark still managed to put a surprising amount of force behind his punch. Bucky's head snapped to the side, though Loki knew that was less from the impact and more to keep Stark from injuring his hand too badly; he threw so much of his weight behind that punch that, if Bucky hadn't moved, he would have broken his hand.
"What the fuck is your jaw made of?! Jesus!"
"I'm a super soldier," he explained calmly as he opened his eyes, ignoring the look of numb shock on Rogers' face. Keeping his gaze locked on Stark, who stood shaking his bruised fist and gaping at him, he told him, "The first time HYDRA caught me, they shot me up with their version of the serum Erskine used on Steve. I didn't know what it was then, but it didn't take long to figure it out. But it was inefficient; there were others they tested it on, but I was the only one who survived, as far as I know. After the War, they didn't have access to their scientist or his research, so they sent me to retrieve the newest batch of the serum from the Americans... From Howard Stark."
"And you couldn't have stolen it without killing him â them?! Why did my mom have to die?"
From his position behind him, Loki couldn't see the tears in Bucky's eyes, but he could hear them in his voice as he croaked, "'Sanction and extract; no witnesses.' When I'm given an order, I can't refuse it. I don't even get to decide how to carry it out; I took the first opportunity, eliminated the witnesses, and took the prize back to base."
Stark lunged for Bucky again, but Rogers quickly caught him around the waist and held tight. "Those 'witnesses' were my parents, Barnes!"
"I know." Bucky nodded, head drooping as he stared at the floor again. "They were an innocent woman and a man I liked. They sent me to kill a man I'd known during the War; a man I admired and respected."
"And you didn't even fucking pause, did you?!"
"That's quite enough, Stark." Loki pushed himself off the wall, about to step between them again. He stopped when Bucky held his hand up for him to do so, but didn't keep quiet. "He was never given a choice. And I don't mean that in the soft 'the options before him were unpleasant' way you people like to use it in; I mean literally. With weaponized science, his ability to choose, to even think beyond weapons and strategy, was stripped from him."
"Loki, I don't need you to defend me."
"Well, someone ought to!" Oh, delightful. Now he had tears in his eyes. Both hands clenched into tight fists, he glared at Stark because he couldn't bear to look at Bucky for the moment. "I know a thing or two about being a pawn in someone else's game, Anthony, but even I had the luxury of unpleasant options. Do as I was told and be ridiculed for how I went about it, or be ridiculed for refusing? Watch Asgard fall into ruin, or delay my brash, violent brother's coronation and be villainized for it? Always a choice, even if the choices before me were painful. Can you even imagine someone using machinery and hypnosis to dig around inside your brain and push down and strip away everything that makes you who you are, until you know nothing but the mission they present to you? I've seen a large portion of the Sergeant's scrambled and suppressed memories, and they frightened me. Me. With the notable exception of my brother and the beast, I could eliminate all of you right now if I so chose, and what HYDRA did to James frightened me. He did not murder your parents, Stark. HYDRA did. And they used a friend of your father's to do it."
Stark actually appeared to be calming slightly; he still looked as though he wanted to rip Bucky apart, but the tension was leaving his muscles and his breathing grew less labored. Then Bucky had to go and open his big mouth again.
"There's more. Steve... You might wanna sit down."
"Good Gods, James! Quit while you're ahead!"
With a half-hearted chuckle, Bucky attempted to joke, "Is this what 'ahead' looks like? Guess I've been out longer than I thought."
___________________________________________________
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#fanfiction#mcu#loki#bucky barnes#thor#tony stark#steve rogers#natasha romanov#bruce banner#clint barton#iron man#captain america#black widow#hulk#hawkeye#winter soldier#the first avenger#thor 2011#avengers#sebastian stan#tom hiddleston#chris hemsworth#chris evans#scarlett johansson#mark ruffalo#jeremy renner#m/m#loki/bucky#winter's frost
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Mischief & Madness - Chapter 12 (Loki x Reader)
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Loki/Reader (No physical description of reader other than female presenting)
Warnings: LOKI, Angst, lots of violence, graphic gore, extreme cursing, anxiety attacks.
Summary:
Living in New York has its ups and its downs. Upside - You have a cushy job at Stark Industries. Downside - You wind up getting yourself kidnapped by The God Of Mischief.
All you wanted was a decent cup of coffee, now youâre stuck on the otherside of the universe with a sociopath who has only begrudgingly not murdered you.
To get back home youâll have to work with Loki, and probably stop trying to stab him.
To regain his power, heâll have to work with you, and probably stop trying to slaughter you.
When Mischief and Madness collide, chaos ensues. Even if you survive this, the universe probably wonâtâŚ
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Chapter TwelveÂ
Loki was staring at you like youâd grown a second head. You waited patiently for him to process it, occupying yourself by kicking rocks and watching them explode into dust.
 âYou want to what?â He eventually demanded, his eyebrows raised so high that they practically merged with his hairline.
 You shrugged at him, your smirk growing exponentially. Flummoxing the actual God of Chaos was satisfying as hell.
 âThe Infinity Stones! We just go back to before Taa was destroyed and remove the Deathwaves.â You grinned.
âWe can not just go back. Even if we could, we wouldnât be changing anything. We would just create an alternate timeline with no Deathwaves, this universe would still die out.â He argued.
 âFine, ok⌠Letâs not go back in time. Letâs reboot the universe. Look we can try and determine who or what is causing these Deathwaves and we can try and stop them, or we can just delete the program and rewrite it without the bug in the coding.â You tried to explain giddily.
 âHow?â He asked.
 âWe use the Infinity Stones to destroy the universe, just wipe it all out, clean slate. Then we rebuild it exactly the same way, minus Deathwaves. Nobody will even know what happened, they wonât feel a thing.â You told him.
 âAre you quite mad?â He questioned, a little fearfully.
 âQuite.â You agreed.
 He gaped at you but you could see the spark in his eyes, he could see the (psychotic) genius in your proposed plan.
 âLook, Iâm not a hero. Hunting down the bad guys and kicking ass isnât my thing. I create things, and when they donât work I burn it all down and start again. Thatâs the only thing I have to offer this partnership. The universe, itâs just a really elaborate computer program. So we save all the coding, the people and the plants, download the files into the infinity stones and then we upload them to version 2.0. No time travel, no hunting down baddies, just straight up âsavingâ the universe.â You coaxed.
 âAnd what do I bring to this madness?â He asked, mirroring your slightly maniacal grin.
 âYouâre the god here, youâre not only strong enough to use the Stones, youâre the only person I can think of whoâs smart and cunning enough to pull this off. This is going to take more than brawn and power. Besides, come on Loki⌠Donât you want to destroy the universe?â
 âThis is quite literally the most insane, chaotic plan I have ever heard.â He sighed.
 âYeahhh, and youâre totally on board arenât ya?â You needled.
 He started impassively at you while he weighed it all up in his head and when the corners of his lips started to gradually curl upwards; you knew you had him.
 âVery well. Say I am willing to go along with this plan of yours. How do you propose we obtain The Infinity Stones?â He challenged.
 âWeâŚâ You faltered as soon as the first word was out of your mouth. âI hadnât thought that far ahead.â You admitted.
 âThis entire mad scheme of yours hinges on us having The Infinity Stones, how have you not thought that far ahead?â He grouched.
 âHow am I the one doing all the work? You could do something more useful than standing around bitching and being pretty.â You shot back, crossing your arms in a sulk.
 âAm I infringing on your territory? I do apologise.â He scoffed.
 âHow many are there again? Five?â You asked, ignoring his snide compliments.
 âSix. The Space Stone, The Reality Stone, The Time Stone, The Soul Stone, The Power Stone and The Mind Stone.â He corrected, rolling his eyes at for not even knowing how many of the darned things there were.
 âWell, we know where three are. The Time Stone and Mind Stone are back on Earth so thatâs easy.â You shrugged. âTessie the Space Stone isâŚâ
 And right on cue, as if summoned by your voice, The Tesseract materialised right in front of you. It spun in the air, glowing before it dimmed and dropped towards the ground. You instinctively reached out and caught it, flinching when you realised what youâd just done.
 But nothing happened. You remained on Taa and The Tesseract remained in your hand.
 âFound one?â You breathed out in awe, holding it up to an equally awestruck Loki.
 âVĂŚnn, how are you doing that?â He asked fearfully.
 âDoing what? It just popped up, I didnât do anything.â You said.
 You tilted your head at it curiously before you realised exactly what it was you were doing. You were holding The Tesseract. You. A mortal.
 âAhh!â You yelped, dropping it.
 You admittedly didnât know that much about The Tesseract, just what youâd read from the files you hacked one afternoon and skimmed through in boredom. What you did know was that it was too powerful to be held directly by anyone human.
 Lokiâs eyes were burning into you suspiciously as he slowly approached and knelt down to pick it up.
 âYouâre human.â It wasnât a statement, but it wasnât a question either.
 â100%. I donât even have any Kree DNA, I got tested after those fish oil pills started turning people into husks.â You confirmed.
 âWhat?â
âOh, Inhumans. They gots little bits of alien DNA and can get superpowers. I was curious, I got my DNA tested. I am utterly, unquestionably human.â
 He looked down at The Tesseract, turning it over in his hand before he looked back up at you.
 âCurious.â He said softly, holding it back out to you.
 âNah. You keep it.â You grimaced, backing away fearfully.
 âJust take it.â He demanded.
 âNo.â
 âVĂŚnn.â
 âNope, not on your fucking life - LOKI YOU BITCH!â He tossed The Tesseract at you in the middle of your sentence and you had a split second to decide whether to catch it or let it smack you in the face.
 You clutched it in both hands, inches from your nose. Looking up at Loki you found him smirking at you.
 âWhat the fuck Loki? I could have been vaporised!â You screeched.
 âYou werenât.â He replied calmly.
 âYou didnât know I wouldnât be!â You protested.
 âYou were holding a moment ago, so I did know. Iâm not sure how youâre managing it but you are. For all your arguments about how you are nothing special, you appear to attract powerful entities VĂŚnn.â He pointed out smugly.
 âYou think The Tesseract has a crush on me?â You frowned.
 âNot that kind of attract. You are like a magnet, pulling power into your orbit.â He said, almost⌠proudly?
 You scoffed and opened your mouth to rebut his claim but paused and actually thought about it. Of all the places in the city, it was your window that Iron Man flew past on his way to The Tower. The intern youâd taken under your metaphorical wing turned out to be Spiderman. Vision inexplicably turned up in your lab on an almost daily basis. Earths Mightiest Heroes had taken to you without any hesitating. And then of course there was Loki.
 âHuh. Guess I do attract trouble.â You snorted, regarding The Tesseract in a new light.
 You knew without a doubt that you were human, nothing special about you. But apparently fate disagreed, because here you were.
 âSo now we have The Tesseract under our control, as it should be. There are still five more stones to obtain, and we will need The Gauntlet. Do you have a plan for talking your friends into handing the Time Stone and The Mind Stone over to us?â He prodded.
 âWell, The Mind Stone is literally in Visions head so⌠no. And itâs not like we can just waltz up to Earth and ask them to hand the Stones over to us. It would take us months to convince them to trust you and we just donât have that kind of time. Maybe we should leave those two till last. At least we know theyâre safe. You donât happen to have any idea where the other three are, do you?â You shrugged.
 He held his hand for The Tesseract with a smirk. You happily handed it over, grateful not to be touching it anymore.
 âI know exactly where The Aether is but obtaining it will not be easy. We will need to be careful, we will need a plan. I suggest we take refuge somewhere safer while we decide how to get it away from The Collector.â He told you, holding out his hand to you.
 âWait.â You said softly.
 He didnât have to ask what he was waiting for, he knew what you were planning and only rolled his eyes ever so slightly as you backed away.
 âHey, um⌠Weâre leaving now. Would you, would you like to come with us?â You asked gently as you approached The Stranger.
 They hadnât moved since youâd wandered after Loki and they didnât move when you spoke. Shining blue eyes gazed into the distance, bearing witness to the lingering death of their home world.
 âWe can take you anywhere. You donât have to stay here.â You whispered.
 âYou are standing in the remains of the temple I have spent my life worshipping in. The Temple may be gone but I am not, so I remain. My world will not die unwitnessed.â They finally answered.
 âYour world isnât going to die at all. Weâre going to fix this.â You promised.
 Because if you could reboot the Universe, you could reboot it to the point before anything went wrong and no worlds would fall to the terrible destruction you had witnessed. You werenât going to bring those worlds back, you were going to ensure they never fell in the first place.
 If fate kept putting you in the path of powerful people, if fate had led you to Avengers tower then this was the reason. The Tesseract chose you to help Loki, and this was the only way you could think that you would be of any use.
 So you didnât feel bad as you walked away from the lonely Stranger. As you placed your hand in Lokiâs, you let go of all the pain of not being able to save the fuzzy Druffs. It didnât matter anymore, none of it mattered. You might not be a hero, but Loki could be. And you, you would be the Tech Support.
 He gently scooped your slumbering Winnie from his pocket and gave him back to you, watching as you secured the little dreaming Grofflink in your own pocket before he laced his fingers with yours, and then in a blinding flash of blue you left Taa and the Stranger behind.
A/N -Â What's this? A second chapter in one day? :OBeen a while since I pulled one of these!Honestly, I just got kinda giddy reading all the comments and needed to give you (and myself) more! You guys deserve all the chapters I can give for being so supportive and lovely đđđ
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#Loki#Loki x Reader#Loki Odinson#Loki Laufeyson#God of Mischief#Loki x Y/N#Loki series#Loki Fic#Loki Smut#The Avengers#Avengers x Reader#Avengers x Y/N#Avengers Reader
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Could you try 9 for kiribaku if youâre still doing requests? :))
things you said when i was crying
*minecraft villager noise*
___
By the look on Bakugouâs face, Eijirou suspected that he was supposed to think that he was making a rather large mistake. The blond was grinning, but not in a friendly way. It was slightly predatory, as if he was preparing for Eijirou to falter so that he could swoop in with a smug laugh and an âI told you so.â It was irritating but also kinda hot, so Eijirou didnât really mind.
He inspected the piece of meat held between his chopsticks.
If Eijirou didnât know any better, he would have assumed the meat was innocent, that the colour on it was merely from the combination of sauces and spices it had marinaded in before cooking. Well, that wasnât totally untrue, but it was a matter of which sauces. Some would be benign. Some would not.
Like, for instance, capsaicin oil. Also known as (at least in Eijirouâs opinion) the concentrated sweat of all the damned beings rotting in the underworld. This substance was the stuff that gave heat to chili peppers, the stuff that induced that awful, terrible burning sensation that Bakugou liked so much.
The heat wasnât real, of course, but the capsaicin fooled the mouth into thinking it was. It got into the temperature detecting nerves and played havoc.
This particular meat was part of a range of Bakugouâs favourite dishes at a restaurant known for its stupidly spicy meals. It was Bakugouâs turn to pay this week, so he was the one who got to pick the place to eat at. It was apparent to Eijirou that this place was payback for him being âembarrassingâ at their last outing together.
âEmbarrassingâ was, of course, code for âBakugou got too flustered by Eijirouâs obvious flirting and exploded a menuâ. Honestly. One of these days they were going to stop dancing around this Thing between them and admit that these outings were dates. The main obstacle was Bakugouâs understandable hesitancy over the whole declaration of feelings stuff, but really, the moment Eijirou got the go-ahead to kiss his best friend he wasnât ever going to stop.
Anyways. The spicy meat. Eijirou knew that Bakugou was expecting Eijirou to crumble in the face of such an object. Maybe have a spice-related breakdown in the middle of the restaurant. Thing was⌠Eijirou had a Secret Plan to deal with exactly this sort of situation.
He ate the meat. Eijirou chewed it, slowly, so that he could watch the gradual, delicious change in Bakugouâs expression as it became clearer and clearer that Eijirou wasnât going to even blink. Eijirou swallowed.
âWhat the fuck,â Bakugou hissed, having transformed from gleeful gremlin to grouchy grump.
Eijirou took a swig of water to make sure he washed everything out of his handily-hardened mouth before he responded. âYou call that spicy?â
âYou cheated,â Bakugou said, narrowing his eyes as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. âI donât fucking know how, but you cheated.â
âOh? Are we playing a game?â Eijirou said, leaning forwards to flutter his eyelashes a little. He privately thanked the genetics lottery for giving him the power to turn into a non-porous rock specifically. Huh. Imagine if he became like basalt? Would he float in water instead of sinking? Would-
âYou know what I mean,â Bakugou said, pouting off to the side. There was a little colour smudged over his cheeks and Eijirou mentally high-fived his brain.
Eijirou just ate another chunk of meat. Pork? It was hard to actually taste at all thanks to his hardening. He took another swig of water. âSâgood! Donât forget to eat yours!â
âI bet they forgot to season it,â Bakugou muttered darkly, plucking up a piece from Eijirouâs plate.
âHey!â Eijirou said. âThatâs mine.â
âI paid for it,â Bakugou ate it with a glare and then pulled a face. âOkay, what the hell are you doing?â
Eijirou beamed at him. âI donât know what youâre talking about, Blasty.â
âYes you do you-â Bakugou cut himself off mid-insult. He sighed. âYou big dumb rock. Youâre using your fucking quirk, arenât you?â
âYour words, not mine,â Eijirou snorted. Damn, Bakugou had sniffed him out already. âArenât you impressed by my fine control, though? I had to practice for ages so I wouldnât turn my lips to stone, too.â
That got Bakugou staring at Eijirouâs mouth, which counted as a big win in his books. Bakugou seemed to realise what he was doing all too quickly and turned his attention back to his own plate. âWhatever.â
Oh yeah, it wouldnât be long now. Some day very soon would roll around and Bakugou would finally reach for his hand. Eijirou didnât feel bad about pushing things sometimes - heâd tried to back off once when he thought his feelings werenât reciprocated and that had just ended in Bakugou not-so-subtly hinting that Eijirou should go back to ânormalâ.
The rest of the meal went by smoothly, Bakugou rolling his eyes as Eijirou ate his food without a sweat and Eijirou nodding along to stuff his friend was saying.
All too soon they were on their way back to the dorms. It was nice, Eijirou thought, that now they were in their third year they were allowed to go out for short trips be themselves. The school wouldnât be able to give everyone bodyguards after graduation, after all.
It was also nice to walk side-by-side with Bakugou in companionable silence. Eijirou very much looked forwards to the time when they could be holding hands as they went, too.
The Heights Alliance building came into view, and Eijirou heard the sound of paper tearing. Huh. He turned to look at Bakugou. The blond had a very weird expression on his face, but Eijirou didnât have time to ask what was up because all of a sudden there was a hand tugging at the collar of his shirt and a pair of lips meeting his own.
Holy shit.
Eijirou responded eagerly. Greedily, even, clutching at Bakugou to bring him closer. He melted into the kiss, surprised but not displeased in the slightest when Bakugou slipped his tongue into his mouth. Bakugou kissed with aggression and fire, almost burning in the way that he- Wait a second.
The burning wasnât metaphorical. Eijirouâs mouth felt like it had been set alight, and that wasnât typically supposed to happen in a kiss as far as he was aware. He pulled back from Bakugou, detached his limbs, saw the triumphant look in his best friendâs eyes and felt the burning sensation increase. Oh. Holy fucking shit. Bakugou was an absolute bastard and Eijrou liked him so damn much.
âDid you just hot sauce me?â
Bakugou grinned and held up a small empty packet labelled âXXX SUPER HOTâ.
âYouâre an asshole,â Eijirou said, panting and feeling himself break into a sweat. Spice tears began to pool at the corner of his eyes and he leant foward to put his hands on his knees. Maybe if he jumped into a pool of ice he could stave off this feeling?
âYeah,â Bakugou agreed. âYou good?â
âIâm dying,â Eijirou said, dropping to the ground and rolling onto the grass. âCall the fire brigade, Blasty. I need water!â
âNah, water makes it worse,â Bakugou said, looking down at Eijirou with amusement. Holy shit heâd just kissed Eijirou for the first time. âWhat you want is sweetened milk.â
Eijirou groaned. He was sure his nose was streaming along with his eyes now. It was only because of the spice. That was the only reason he was teary. âCall the milk brigade, then.â
âDramatic. Thereâs milk in the kitchen,â Bakugou said, kicking lightly at Eijirouâs side.
âUgh, I think Iâm gonna spontaneously combust from the face down,â Eijirou stuck his arm up so that Bakugou could help him to stand. Once he was on his feet, he moved Bakugouâs hand to the other of his own and linked their fingers together. Heh. Bakugou didnât even try to pull his hand away! âToday was nice until you tried to murder me. With your tongue, what the fuck? Not that Iâm complaining about the tongue bit - that was great - but the hot sauce?â
Bakugou looked almost unbearably smug. âThatâs what you get for cheating.â
âWhat, poisoned kisses?â Eijirou asked, fanning himself with his free hand. âI cannot believe you used our first kiss as a prank. I mean, I can, but like,â He paused his fanning for a moment. âYou know what? Worth it. You should definitely kiss me again. Without the pain.â
Bakugou turned a little pink and pulled Eijirou towards the Alliance building. âMaybe I will.â
He did.
#kiribaku#bakushima#drabble#fanfiction#my fanfiction#reply#anon#ask meme#only a few of these left and i can... reblog a *different* ask meme for more prompts
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something to take the edge off
date: Sunday, May 10th, 2020
characters: Chase and Cyrus
summary: cyrus went ghost, chase felt sad, the bros get together and talk about the most dramatic part of fight night and what caused it
Cyrus knew that he had been out of line and, with his messy emotions, he'd lashed out at fight night. He even felt bad for ghosting his best friend the day afterward. He was very aware of how much time had passed though, and was itching to get this apology out of the way. During the moments that were in between then and now he'd felt pretty much like a raw nerve. He still felt a little out of it but only because he'd been sober for way too long. He hadn't messaged Chase but, by now, Crooke had the other's schedule pretty much down. He thought about knocking but, instead, figured to play it like he would on a usual day. He entered the Morpheus townhouse slowly and cleared his throat as he glanced around. "...Aye, yo, Chase?" Cyrus called out.
During fight night, Chase had been worried about the savagery, but was somehow more surprised about the way that his friend had lashed out at him. After thinking about the circumstances more, he moved between being upset and then understanding that what he'd said was less than a comfort to his friend, especially with the way that he'd put it. After, he'd left Cyrus a few messages, one about swimming for his brother despite the fact that he didn't win, one about his cats, a few about smoking up his closet, and yet no reply came. Chase was starting to get somewhat worried, unsure if it was his best friend being upset with the world or specifically him. He was in his room, lying on his floor and staring at the ceiling when he heard someone enter, and heard a familiar voice call out. He rolled over and pushed himself up, then bounded down the stairs. "Hey, Crooke," he said, trying not to seem out of breath. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"
Cyrus heard footsteps before he saw Chase quickly emerge from down the stairs. He moved the rest of the way so they stood nearby one another. He shot Chase a narrow-eyed look but it lasted only a moment because he shifted in his stance. "Shit, so, I was thinkin'..." He said, rubbing his hands together. "I kinda flipped on ya' a few days ago, huh?" He raised his brows and then sighed, shoulders dropping. "Uh, can we smoke first, man?"
Chase chewed on his thumb nail and nodded at Cyrus, not really sure what to say about the first two statements. "Sure, yeah, no problem. Y'wanna go sit in the closet, or just my room? The roof?" he offered, already starting back up the stairs.
"Uhh, closet's fine with me," Cyrus said after thinking for a second and dropped his eyes to the floor as he followed Chase up the stairs. Being antsy, he wanted to do something with his hands so he rubbed the back of his own neck. "I haven't smoked, like, all fuckin' day, man." He commented from behind.
Chase nodded and opened the door to his room, making sure there were no cats around while he was smoking up his room. He pulled his grinder from his drawer and his bong from his desk, then tilted his head at Cyrus. âDude, are you good? Cause you seem really... Not, man. Like, off.â
Cyrus sighed. "I wanna be better," He simply answered Chase's question as he moved to enter the closet. He let himself take a spot against the wall. "I'm shook, to use my brother's words," He claimed with a frown, continuing to speak so Chase could hear even as he was still gathering things. "I got bad shit on my mind, man, and I owe you an apology."
Chase chewed his lip and stopped for a moment so that he could look at Cyrus fully. He frowned, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "I was thinking about the other day, and honestly, I can see why you kinda flipped. I gave you a shit answer."
"Nah, man. You were fine, really," Cyrus responded. "I don't know why I expected you to be perfect. That's so fuckin' unfair to you. Especially when I'm far from it..." He'd realized how much he'd come to rely on Chase even before entering the townhouse for this visit. "I mean, I hadn't even told you anything. At all, about what I've been dealing with, so I'm sorry for spazzin' out," He apologized with a sober mind after swallowing his pride. "Whether you wanna say it was warranted or not, I shouldn't talk to someone I think of as a best friend like that," He sighed and let his eyes settle on Chase again. "I want to explain some things to you though... If you're in a headspace to hear about some life-changing bullshit?" He questioned.
Chase frowned as he watched his friend, letting his eyes scan over him, take in his expression and the way he carried himself along with his words. âNah, man, youâre fine.â He could admit that there was a bit of a sting that came with the realization that most of his close friends felt uncomfortable sharing anything too deep with him, but he decided not to take it personally, and to accept the information when it was presented to him. âIâm... nah, yeah, Iâm totally down for some life-changing bullshit. Yâsure yâwanna be high for this? We can just chill. Unless yâwant something to take the edge off.â
Cyrus felt a tiniest bit at ease. Maybe it was due to how the other spoke their words, or just the calming atmosphere of the Morpheus townhouse settling in once again. "Yeah, I wanna chill, but get high as hell too," He assured Chase but his tone still wasn't as mirthful as he usually came across. The metaphorical grip that Crooke held onto his secrets with started to lessen even more-so. "With whatever you got too," He then promptly added without much of a blink. He had ripped right into this same confessional with the previous people he'd told about his curses lately, but he figured this time would be different. "But, uh, aye," Cyrus shifted in his seat. "So I guess I can start with the easy stuff first? Um... I did something reckless and impulsive, like, five or six years ago and my past is still haunting me." He expressed with a frown.
Chase's lips twitched upwards in a semblance of a smile at Cyrus's words, and he began to pack up a bowl so that he and Crooke would be able to smoke their worries away. He wasn't sure what else he had, but he made a mental note to check his drawers once he didn't have to be so focused on his friend. He pressed his lips together into a line and nodded, fully feeling as though he understood Crooke's situation. His decision to leave camp was one that was not fully thought through, and the thought of it still put knots in his stomach. "Ah, yeah, um, I get it." He crossed the room to take a seat next to Cyrus. "What happened?"
âIt was right before the war got really bad," Cyrus spoke again once Chase had sat down. "I was upset? I thought I was doin' things for the right reasons, but I honestly don't know what I was thinkin'... But, I fuckinâ graffitiâd the shit outta one of Hecate's temples," He finally admitted. "Call it retaliation, or retribution, or whatever. Graves was with me too," He sighed. "But I was the one who also broke an artifact that was on display. It actually ended up being irreplaceable to her,â Cyrus explained only to fall quiet again. He sighed and ran his hand down his face. "She showed up that night, and was so damn pissed. Absolutely livid," He described. "And... Well, she cursed me. Twice." Crooke confessed.
Chase let Cyrus tell his story in its entirety before responding, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say even when he heard everything. It was like each layer of the story only made it more complicated, and the fact that his best friend was living with this for so long without ever mentioning it to him made his heart heavy. "Fuck..." Some part of him was relieved that the night didn't result in the kidnapping of Cyrus, as had happened to others who challenged her. "So once for the graffiti and then for breaking the shit? What are the curses?"
"Yeah," Cyrus spoke softly. Talking about this topic had oddly become familiar to him within the past days. "They're basically personalized, fuckin' just for me to be the most miserable," He continued on, swallowing hard one last time before further addressing the situation. "The first one, makes it so that I have to tell a handful of complete truths. Which wouldn't be that bad, but I've been spilling my truths every day since I was fuckin', like, still a punk-ass kid. I hate it, sometimes I don't want to tell the truth," Cyrus finally added in confession and frowned. "I'm sorry, dude, for not telling you earlier too..." He faltered, but pushed through anyway and continued. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, I just hoped it'd go away," He shook his head. "But they never did... The other is a curse of obsession, by the way." He then attempted to gloss over the nastier of the curses.
Chase frowned and rubbed at his collarbone. The idea of Cyrus having to do something that he didn't want to for so long felt... wrong, but the fact that he was trying to ignore it until it went away seemed quite in character for his best friend. "Yeah, nah man, it's like, you can do whatever you want, but as soon as you have to do it, maybe you don't want to anymore, and that should be up to you." He shook his head. "Fuck, man, nah. Don't apologize for not telling me. Like, I'm just glad I know now, I guess. Or... It's the type of thing that's weird to bring up, but I'm just glad that, I dunno, you feel like you can tell me." He frowned playing with a piece of his hair. "Obsession with...?" he trailed off, hoping that Cyrus would fill in the blank.
"I feel like there's not much I wouldn't tell you at this point. I tell you a lot," Cyrus shrugged. "I mean, I've used you for the truths quite often. It's just a sore fuckin' subject," He admitted. "But, hell yeah," Crooke agreed with his best friend's sentiments about free-will, but his tone lacked his usual enthusiasm. "It's my prerogative if I wanna change my damn mind," He added to his agreement and sighed out of frustration. He closed his eyes, head hanging back for a moment. "I get obsessed with anything I start to really care about. It just spirals. Uh, fight night, dealin' drugs," Cyrus chuckled, very bitter, and opened his eyes again. "âOr Malia. Those are the latest, if you wanted examples." He commented and yet was conscious of how all of this sounded.
Chase felt his lips twitch upward, not quite a smile. He would be happy to hear that one of his friends trusted him with anything, if not the fact that this something was particularly terrible. One of his favourite things about Cyrus was how blunt he was, and he didnât like that (or anything) being impacted by some godâs will. âAh.â He twisted a piece of hair with his fingers. Malia was a... rather sore subject, since two of his closest friends were quite infatuated with her, and the one that wasnât Cyrus was his brother. Heâd suggested that they all could date, but apparently that didnât fly, and so he tried to avoid the subject all together. âSo thatâs why you went so wild on Lulu?â
Maybe there were multiple reasons why all three wouldn't work if they dated, but mainly Cyrus's opinion of Jesse, and vice versa, was nothing less than disdain. He nodded as if that explained everything, especially regarding any past actions he might've taken. "Yeah, sorta like an outta body experience too. I was conscious of everything my body did, aware of the thoughts I wouldn't normally have thought and, yet..." Crooke huffed and then gestured to the weed that Chase figured he'd forgot he was preparing. "You almost ready there, bud?"Â
Chase tugged at his hair when Cyrus explained himself, his gaze growing far away as he thought about his own experience in that department. âI, uh, kinda get what you mean. The out of body thing.â He licked his lips, then blinked quickly as Cyrus addressed his again, just about snapping himself out of his momentary daze. He nodded and packed the bowl up like he planned to, then held the bong and a lighter out to Cyrus. âYâwanna start?â
Even if nothing had changed regarding his curses, Cyrus did feel relief that he'd gotten his best friend on the same page as him. He nodded sullenly as he took the bong from Chase. He faltered before actually taking his hit. Eventually doing so, he exhaled the smoke and gave the bong back to the other. "Thanks, man," Cyrus sighed, leaned his head back again and closed his eyes to usher in the high until it was his turn again. "I feel a bit better already."
Chase watched Cyrus as he took the hit, and as he took the bong from his friend, he reached out to give his knee a small squeeze. ââCourse, man. Whatever you need.â He lit up and took a long hit, blowing the smoke over at Cyrus as he exhaled. âYâwanna do something? Or just chill? We can fuck around.â He leaned back on his elbows. âBut Iâm also good to get stoned out of my head and leave my bodyâ in a good way.â
Cyrus gave the other a genuine smile upon feeling Chase's hand on his knee. He happily accepted being blasted with the smoke from his friend's hit. "We can fuck around," He accepted the offer. "But, let's just chill like this for a bit longer..."
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N7 challenge - 3 and 4 (Cooperation and War)
Summary: Well... that just happened. Genophage cure set, now Alistairâs setting the stage to get the krogan to help out. You know itâs serious when heâs wearing clothes that both fit AND match. Clearly, we need all the help we can get.
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There were things Alistair liked about the retrofitted Normandy. The war room, however, was not one of them.
That was where he was sitting, staring out the window and waiting. Outside, they were stationary and waiting. Soon, they would be boarded by delegates in an attempt to smooth things out with the salarians after what had happened on Tuchanka.
Apparently, they were a little steamed he hadn't stopped Mordin from ending the genophage. Go figure.
âThis is going to be a headache.â He was already massaging his forehead at the thought. It was hard to think about Mordin, too. Someone had gone back for his body, but what they were going to do with it should they find it was beyond him. During his studies, what salarians did with their dead wasn't really covered.
It was probably something quick â live fast, die young and all that. Mordin would probably appreciate that.
âTrying to get the best seat for the meeting?â
Alistair looked up. A familiar face was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his carapace. Garrus looked a little tired, but that was to be expected. The last week had pretty much been nonstop action on Tuchanka. Now that they were back on the Normandy, it was the first time either of them had really had the chance to catch their breath.
He stood from his spot, smoothing down the front of his shirt. For once, he wasn't dressed down. It had been his idea to wear his formal uniform; it was a move that had shocked most of the Normandy when they found out. Apparently, it was kind of a big deal when the guy who went around in neon blue sneakers and a hoodie with ears dressed the part of a military officer. Once again, go figure.
âI'm the host, so I can move people around if I want.â
Garrus gave him an appreciative eye as he approached. âPulling out the dress blues to impress the dalatress?â
âNah, I plan on baffling her into silence so I can actually get a word in edgewise.â Alistair chuckled weakly as he reached out to squeeze the turian's hand. It was pleasantly cool, probably because he hadn't been clutching at a red hot weapon for hours on end. âI think it's a pretty solid plan, don't you?â
His boyfriend chuckled like the giant space chicken he was and nudged him on the cheek with his faceplates â his version of a kiss due to the lack of lips. There was nothing charge behind it, of course â there were too many people around for that. Hell, there was still a chance the primarch would bust in, and where would that get them besides a lot of hot water?
Not that he minded the primarch â he was a pretty decent guy, all things considered. Garrus was still his favorite turian, but he probably ranked about a solid 3, maybe even #2.
âWell, I'll certainly appreciate the view.â Garrus chuckled, but then the sound died as he stared out the window. Beneath the Normandy loomed Tuchanka â there was a large dust storm raging on the planet's surface below. Somewhere down there, the genophage cure was spreading like wildfire. How long, he wondered, until it took effect?
Maybe he should have asked Mordin before... but it had slipped his mind, he supposed. It wasn't like he had expected it all to go down like that.
âYou really know how to shake up the galaxy, Â Al.â
Alistair chuckled weakly as he squeezed Garrus' talons gently, avoiding the sharp edge thanks to experience. It wouldn't do to get blood all over his uniform just before his guests showed up, though it might have upped his intimidation factor from -2 to a solid 0. Not that he needed it â negotiation was more his forte than beating people up.
If he needed the latter, that's what his XO was for.
âYou can say that again, babe.â Still, he sighed. âThough, I better figure out what to say. You know it's going to be cranked to 11 when everyone gets here, and once the krogan pop in that knob's getting ripped off and thrown out the airlock.â
He could practically imagine it floating through space, eventually going to fuck someone's day up just like Sir Isaac Newton intended. After all, he was the deadliest son of a bitch in space and had a reputation to uphold.
Garrus shook his head at that as he nudged him in the side. âI think that metaphor got away from you.â
âMust've climbed over my head, it's the easiest escape route.â
They both shared a chuckle then, but something about it just felt... quiet. It was just too damn quiet in the War Room. Plus it was impossible to forget what had been there only months prior. In a way, maybe it was appropriate they were standing in the remains of Mordin's old lab as they discussed the outcome. Maybe in some small way, he was there with them.
He missed him. He really did. Maybe if he had been a little faster...
âYou did what was best for everyone, Al.â Garrus was apparently a mind-reader now as he gently squeezed his hand. âMordin chose-â
Alistair sighed as he shook his head. âI know... it just never gets any easier.â
He should have been used to losing people by now. After all, he had lost a planet as a child, and then his entire unit as a young marine. Hell, he had died himself once. It shouldn't have bothered him... but it did. There was probably never going to be a moment it didn't bother him.
That was what made him human, most likely.
âWell, at least you'll have something to take your mind off things. Look who just showed up.â Garrus pointed a talon out the window as a ship appeared alongside the Normandy, already beginning the process to link up. âThat the salarian ship?â
Alistair squinted as he made out the details. âDoesn't look like it. Maybe they sent someone to tell me to fuck off.â
âSomething about you swearing in uniform does terrible things to me. âGarrus let go of his hand as he stepped back. âI'll be here if you need me.â
Duty was calling. Alistair nodded as he stepped away from his boyfriend and left the war room behind. After a scan, it was straight to the airlock. Someone was waiting for him there â it was a salarian, but not the salarian he had been hoping for.
Well... this was going to be a headache.
âCommander Shepard?â
One of them anyway. Alistair resisted the urge to joke and kept his face as neutral as possible as he nodded. People said his skill was reading a room, but really his hidden talent was knowing when to keep his damn mouth shut. It was a highly underrated ability, especially among military officers. Not for him â it had full skill points applied.
The salarian cleared their throat. âThe dalatress sent me to remind you of your agreement â which you broke.â
âShe couldn't have seriously thought I would go with that, Wrex is one of my closest friends.â Alistair kept his tone neutral. âBut, yes. I suppose I did break it by not letting Mordin sabotage the genophage for you.â
Sorry, not sorry.
His guest didn't look amused by this. âYou realize this ends the cooperation between Sur'Kesh and Earth, yes?â
Pretty much. Though, personally, he thought the dalatress was being an utter moron. Eventually, the Reapers would be kicking her door down just like they had done to Earth. Without the alliance, who would they have to rely on? Their brains were great, but... they kind of min-maxed there. It wasn't a good look.
But, who was he to tell people what to do during a war? He was just trying to muster a galactic army to save everyone from the Reapers...
âMy line will always be open should she change her mind.â He swore he saw a blue number pop up in the corner of his vision as he watched the salarian twitch in front of him. âIs... there a problem?â
âJust the fact he's still standing here breathing.â
A deep, grumbly voice drew Alistair's attention. Probably because he had been busy trying not to tell his guest how he actually felt, he hadn't noticed the fact they weren't alone. Someone else had come up to the Normandy, and now they were in the airlock.
Wrex filled the small space, practically forcing his other guest into the Normandy proper. Apart from a few scratches on his armor and some superficial cuts that were already healing, he looked pretty good. Not bad for someone who went to battle with the Reapers.
Alistair smiled. âNice to see you, Wrex. You're early.â
âWanted to get the best seat.â He gave him a once over. âYou're wearing clothes that match. That serious then?â
He felt his eyebrow twitch a little, but the smile never left his face. âWorld's on fire, how 'bout yours?â
âThat's the way we like it.â Wrex stepped past the salarian, already heading for the war room. He wouldn't be alone for long â it was something of a conference call. Still, he would have been a shitty host if he left the krogan alone.
He just had to eject the trash out the airlock first...
âI will be taking my leave. It is clear what side you have chosen.â The salarian would've looked down their nose if they had one probably. Instead, they turned on their heel and started going through decontamination. Alistair just shook his head as he watched the messenger leave, taking with him any hope for Sur'Kesh.
Why did he get the feeling he'd have to break his neck to save their asses later? Some days it just didn't pay to be the good guy.
âStill don't regret it.â He shrugged and turned away. Back to the War Room it was. Wrex was waiting for him, and they had a lot to talk about before the actual meeting got underway. He had to focus on that in his mental task of putting one foot in front of the other.
First step â figuring out what the krogan could help with. That was easy enough. Who said planning a galactic war was hard?
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Tommy & Meena
Tommy: [Late enough that the clean up is done and she could've potentially heard about some of the drama but not late enough that if there's a mcwalsh party whereby Ali gets knocked up that he wouldn't already be drunk at that feels like a starting point] Tommy: CĂĄ mbeidh tĂş ag fliĂşchadh na seamrĂłige? đđ§Ąđ Meena: I was about to go down to the restaurant, just hang out there Meena: Caleb and Drew were going to some party but I was not invited so 𤡠Meena: What are you all up to? Tommy: đťđĽ Tommy: but the vibe's more drinking ourselves to death, doubt you want an invite either, like Meena: I think that's most people's vibe but they sound happier/more in denial about it...? Tommy: Yeah, it's casually cultural Meena: Yeah? Tommy: You're not feeling patriotic today? Meena: I don't really vibe it any day Meena: but that's not important Tommy: that's a no for the Irish dancing then, alright Meena: We can try Meena: I look even taller when I'm not allowed to move my upper body though Tommy: đ Meena: no leprechauns here Tommy: any đđ°? Meena: no more than normal đ Tommy: I'll be right there then đ⨠Meena: That's your superpower Meena: I don't know how đđ§Ąđ Gus has gone, you'll probably feel more at đĄ where you are Tommy: It ain't feeling very đĄ but đ received Tommy: I'll stay put, feet & upper body Meena: Why not? Tommy: long story Tommy: you'll hear the short one at đŤ probably Meena: You don't feel like telling it, understood Meena: is there anything I can do? Tommy: I don't know how to, more like Tommy: you'd redraft it before you were done with the 1st for being too Tommy: unreadable Meena: Nonsense poetry is my specialty Tommy: Yeah? Tommy: maybe you should've been there to roll out the welcome wagon for my new sister Meena: New sister? Meena: Oh, do you mean your mum's baby Meena: not baby now, from before Tommy: she definitely ain't a baby now Meena: So, she came and it went bad Meena: I'm so sorry, Tommy Meena: how bad are we talking? Tommy: bad as it gets Meena: Is your mum alright, I mean Meena: stupid question, but Tommy: It's a fair question & I wish the answer was yeah Tommy: or there was fuck all I could do Meena: That's terrible Tommy: I've gotta go back to school, how can I? Meena: For them Meena: sometimes all you can do is give everyone a small sense of normality Meena: even when you don't want to, or think you can't go on yourself Tommy: Ali can't hold down the fort all on her own, alright, she probably can, but she shouldn't have to Meena: She won't be Meena: she has Carly, and me and Ro and, loads of people, really Meena: I promise we'll all do what we can Tommy: Don't start me on Ro, she wasn't even there Meena: Where was she? Tommy: Fuck knows Tommy: I thought she might be with you Tommy: or your brother Meena: She wasn't with me Meena: maybe Drew but I doubt it, he's been out and about everywhere all day, obviously Tommy: she'll be at home then Meena: Oh, that's a bit Meena: I understand under normal circumstances the pub on St Paddy's is not her ideal place to be but as it was Meena: anyway, that's all to say, you don't need to worry about Ali, she has a good support system to support your parents and take care of Rocky Meena: do you have people YOU can talk to and lean on at school? Tommy: yeah, Carly's ace with him & Ali to have lasted this long, like Tommy: I ain't telling anyone at school about this, loads of 'em already think I'm trash Tommy: or come from it Tommy: they've got a point now Meena: No, they don't Meena: your family are some of the best people I know Meena: you're not anything to be ashamed of Tommy: Everyone around here knows that Joe would be your brother's best customer except he don't carry the right stuff & now loads of 'em also know she's as bad, nah, worse Tommy: & that together they're Tommy: I can't even fucking go there Meena: People shouldn't judge him by that, never mind you as his family Tommy: They do though Tommy: keeping my mouth shut about it at school is my best option Meena: as long as you can express yourself and have an outlet through your work, I can't say I blame you Meena: you don't have to tell everyone everything Tommy: or anything Tommy: 𩰠will do Meena: I shouldn't say anything against words, given who I am and what I want to be but Meena: a comfortable silence can be preferable to words you're unsure of, words that hurt, or that you don't want to speak into existence Tommy: Yeah, I'd take an uncomfortable silence over that too Tommy: everyone's hurting & unsure enough Meena: if it's good enough for Maya Meena: đ¤ Tommy: I didn't mean with you Meena: You can always talk to me Meena: no matter the quality or quantity of your words Meena: you know that Tommy: okay Meena: but no rush on it Meena: obviously Meena: and I won't fill the silence with total nonsense, like Tommy: but those poems are your speciality Tommy: self proclaimed, like, but still Meena: Rude to doubt me Meena: đĽŹđ˘đđ Tommy: Gimme one then Tommy: best shot Meena Though some at my aversion smile, I cannot love the crocodile. Its conduct does not seem to me Consistent with sincerity. Meena: đđ Tommy: He is basically a đ with feet Tommy: You đ that? Meena: Sadly not Meena: I'll try to write something as appropriate scathing for your brother Tommy: Or as đ for me, yeah? Meena: Of course Meena: what could be better to cheer you up? đ Tommy: as a feel good goes it's obviously unrivalled even by đťđľđđş Tommy: that's the level of your talent Meena: You're either that drunk or you wish you were...code red either way Meena: you could come to the restaurant though, if you actually wanted Tommy: Get ahead at waiting tables for when the West End fucks me off & over Tommy: good thinking Meena: Please Meena: your name is already in lights, I can see it Meena: 𤊠Tommy: as you said please, I'll come Meena: manners maketh the man do what you want? Meena: interesting Tommy: works on this one Tommy: how much of a man I am is up for debate, usually Meena: People are idiots Meena: and too invested in stuff that doesn't affect them whatsoever Tommy: like you said, practically a local celeb at this point Meena: still, what's going on in your tights is just not their business Tommy: that's such a you way to put that Meena: I'll choose to take that as a compliment on me having a consistent voice Meena: though the alternatives are đ¤ Tommy: take as I miss you Meena: Are you back for long? Tommy: Nah, they ain't that patriotic either Tommy: I shouldn't even be here, wouldn't have been if she wasn't coming Meena: That's shittier Tommy: maybe JC is trying to keep me humble before I get too 𤊠Meena: It's Patrick that needs to make a second coming to banish your brother đđ Tommy: he's already done that himself Meena: Oh, that was the purpose of today then? Meena: I get it Tommy: if he had one Tommy: might have just been out of his đ§ on whatever đđđĽđŹ Tommy: or worse so đ over her that's all that he gives a shit about besides the above Meena: Wait Meena: he's what? Tommy: you'll hear about it soon as you get back to class, they were doing it for everyone to see Tommy: her purpose given what it did to my ma Meena: Jesus Meena: that's Meena: you're right, no words Tommy: at least he one upped Fraze, I guess Meena: does make that situation seem totally run of the mill in comparison Meena: I have heard it happens Meena: when people who are related but estranged meet Meena: it's like a thing⢠Meena: not that that helps you personally, obviously Tommy: Really?! Meena: [sends articles like nerd] Tommy: fucking hell Meena: It's crazy Meena: like you know there should be some strong emotional response but you kinda get it fucked up or something Meena: I don't know, science isn't my forte Tommy: nor mine, but if anyone would get those kind of wires crossed, it would have to be him Tommy: Jesus Meena: at least he didn't have a wife and kids to leave or something like some of these people Meena: it's really sad Tommy: you didn't see her though, she's like Tommy: terrifying Meena: I don't think they have to be a hottie but it probably helps in some cases Tommy: đ Meena: how so though? like what was she like Tommy: Alright so if they were putting a modern twist on Frankenstein's monster for the stage she could play that, but she'd need serious anger management first Tommy: electroshock wouldn't be far off, funnily enough Meena: Okay, that does sound scary Meena: even if looks can be deceiving, is the moral my own life has hit home hard, sounds like the insides matched so Tommy: It was like if you took every teenage horror story my ma has told us, scraped off the sugarcoating and then mixed that with the worst shit Fraze has ever done when he's on one, you still wouldn't come close to the mark Meena: I know the sort you mean Meena: no matter how well Drew and Caleb think they do with protecting me, I've had plenty of people approach me asking for them, messing with me Tommy: this once I'm gutted you know what I mean then Tommy: 'cause fuck that Meena: mostly it's the former and it's stupid little kids who want some weed or pills, that's just annoying but yeah Tommy: you know boxing's footwork is dead easy, I could teach you what my dad taught me Tommy: any time you want Meena: thanks Meena: at least my height would finally work in my favour, right? Meena: better reach Tommy: bigger đŻ too remember Tommy: you have to keep your guard up to protect that face Meena: sounds like you're saying I'm đ Tommy: đŽ Tommy: that's awkward Meena: *frantically googles how to shrink head* Tommy: nah, it's awkward 'cause you grew into your head ages ago & I didn't throw you a 𼳠or anything Tommy: must of happened all of a sudden or without me realising Meena: grew into it?! Meena: so I was a bobblehead before, thanks so much đ Tommy: only slightly Meena: I'm only slightly đ then Tommy: don't be, it was endearing Tommy: you were a cute kid Meena: okay đľ Meena: no need to patronize me Meena: my head is only literally big, not metaphorically Tommy: come on, a đ is a great look Meena: Better than a pea-head Tommy: or a đ head like I've got Meena: it's distinguished Meena: be gutted you don't want to be a character actor Tommy: nice save, you can teach me â˝ when we're done with đĽ Meena: Sounds good to me Tommy: đ Tommy: [show up boy cos the restaurant can't be that far from the pub surely] Meena: [have a nerdy but more chill time, Gus loves everyone he's a good egg, I say you should go to this party for the drama of it all sod it] Tommy: [agreed x 2 the restaurant would have such a nice vibe when Drew and Caleb aren't there which they obviously aren't rn and then yeah we can get more messy with it] Meena: [okay so the plan, we having a lovely time (given the circumstances tonight lol) then her boyf shows up] Tommy: [I just picture her bf being so underwhelming like no offense but he'd have to be someone that Tommy didn't clock on socials so when he realises he's like oh and then dials his campness up to 1000000 being that gay BFF stereotype which she would pick up on immediately cos that's not how he is with her except when he's hiding behind it cos things are uncomfortable between them. I just imagine him raiding Ali & Carly's makeup and wardrobe and making the gayest cocktails he can and getting Meena involved and stealing her attention] Meena: [he wouldn't be and he's also lowkey an arsehole as per her type so he wouldn't be all ⤠on her socials anyway, but all this can be a thing 'cos not seeing the gay boy as a threat and probably wants to get drunk so] Tommy: [don't beat him up Tommy you don't want her to think you're doing it for Drew and Caleb like reasons] Meena: [at least we know you two are distracted] Tommy: [thanks for also getting Carly and Ali involved in your gay antics because we all need whatever fun we can get] Meena: [until you gotta go pregnant Ali] Tommy: [lord, I hope Tommy has left by then] Meena: [lordt] Tommy: [casual 3way with your missus and the less attractive drug dealer in town] Meena: [thank god your genetics are solid underneath that mess boy] Tommy: [and we know Rio looks like Ali anyways] Meena: [you do alright out of it kids] Tommy: [it could be so much worse] Meena: [blame your dad for your insecurities grace] Tommy: [and your evil nan] Meena: [junie is just #unique like no one looking like you boy, the closest is fraze as your uncle] Tommy: [unless he looks like Caleb's dad because we don't know him] Meena: [who can say baby] Tommy: [anyway take a moment to appreciate all the Tommy and Meena dancing everyone, giving you that for free] Meena: [love that] Tommy: [soz shit bf he is a threat because their chemistry especially when they are dancing is ridiculous goodbye] Meena: [deffo gonna get mardy at that and go off to have an argument] Tommy: [are you happy now Thomas? Thought not] Meena: [awkwarddd] Tommy: [get drunker boy that'll totally make it better and not worse] Meena: [cry in the bathroom that's a mood] Tommy: [ruin your make up, oh babe] Meena: [everyone else is so wrecked you'll fit in] Tommy: [by not doing drugs you're one of the least messy] Meena: [exactly dr phil] Meena: [the next day] Meena: Have a safe flight back Tommy: Cheers, I'll probably just đ¤ Meena: Can't blame you Tommy: did you get any? Meena: Yeah, I'm fine Meena: had to get up early to clean the restaurant though so not as much as I'd ideally want Tommy: had another đąđđđĽŹđżđđĽđĽđź juice, yeah? Tommy: that's pretty patriotic, you know Tommy: better late than never, like Tommy: throw đđđĽ in there too & you're sorted Meena: Yeah, I bet EVERYONE in this fair nation is starting a juice cleanse this AM, not having a fry-up, nah Tommy: đ Tommy: green eggs & ham would keep you in theme Meena: 𤢠Tommy: fair đłđĽđ§đĽđĽđĽŻđ then Tommy: take your pick Meena: are you gonna post it to me? Tommy: be messy if you're having đł or đĽ but saves me having to use any words Meena: Probably best to stick to non-perishables Meena: best option for us both, like Tommy: Yeah Meena: How was it, this morning Meena: before you left Tommy: how you'd expect Meena: Yeah Tommy: Bea has to leave too so Fraze's dramatics will take centre stage for a sec but Meena: Distraction is probably the best technique for right now Tommy: worked last night Meena: I bet the parties you have in London are even better Tommy: only 'cause we 𩰠ain't supposed to be partying Meena: and what's more fun than prohibition, sure Tommy: forbidden đđđđđđđđđđđđđĽđđĽĽđĽ juice is my fave, can't lie Meena: đđ Meena: enjoy Tommy: you're not supposed to give me your blessing, sucks the fun right out Tommy: forbidden, remember Meena: I'm not a teacher Tommy: yeah you are, whenever Anne needs you Meena: Okay, smartypants Meena: there's nothing I could teach YOU Tommy: not with THAT attitude Meena: 𤨠maybe next time Meena: bring your own 𩰠Tommy: & đĽ Meena: a look Tommy: the 𩳠are too Meena: what do you wear on your top half though Meena: leotard? Tommy: lads don't usually wear anything to show off đŞ Meena: Who are you showing off to? Tommy: The other lad of course, name a sport that ain't homoerotic Meena: not when you come back here Tommy: when I come back here most of all Meena: no boys in my classes Tommy: Anne's been a letdown from the very beginning, what can I say? Tommy: you're on your own, Meeps Meena: I'll survive Tommy: I know
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Finis
Authorâs note: This is the fifth and final part of an ongoing good omens fanfiction. You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here. Itâs also up on AO3 (x)
Aziraphale drifted. Â
His mind wandered through old memories and thoughts. He dreamt of falling, and then of an unpleasant fire that licked at his humming soul without doing any harm. Power washed over him in a wave, cooling the blaze. It felt like plants after a rainfall, open night skies, a car rocketing along to the beat of drums and the wail of a guitar, and questions asked in sarcasm and desperation. Â
Crowley, Aziraphale thought with a sigh, slipping deeper into sleep, comforted by his presence. Â
Now he dreamt of soaring upward in the heart of a nebula, clouds of turquoise and silver cradling him as he slept. A constellation snake formed around him, stars igniting, watching him as he drifted. Â
Finally, he woke up. Â
The first thing he noticed was that he did not seem to possess eyes. Or hands. That is, there were eyes he could see through and hands he could feel, but they werenât his. Â
The second thing he noticed was what felt like Crowleyâs soul, wrapped around his own. It was warm and comforting and felt like home in a way that even the bookshop didnâtâafter all, heâd only had the bookshop for a century or two, but heâd known Crowley for millennia. He tentatively spread his wings, pressing them against Crowley in a gentle question. Â
âAngel?ââ the demonâs voice asked, âare you awake?â Â
Yes. Iâ think I can understand why you like sleep so much, my dear. That was quite interesting. Although I must ask, why do we appear to be sharing a body? Â
âYours got discorporated Iâm afraid. Really, Iâm wondering if that bookshopâs bad luck for you; 6000 years and the two times youâve lost a body are sitting in it.â Â
Oh dear. What happened? Â
âThe frontal attack was a distraction. While we were focused on that, Hastur snuck in the back, disposed of your body and dragged your soul down to Hell.â Â
Alarm sparked through Aziraphale; to Crowley, it felt like sparklers looked, golden, sharp, and bright. Â
Are we⌠Â
âNah, I got us back out. Pretty sure theyâll leave us be now.â Â
Well, thatâs good news at least. Â
Aziraphale paused to peer through Crowleyâs eyes, taking in their surroundings.Â
My dear, where are we? Â
Around them was nothing but rolling dunes, dimly illuminated by the millions of stars in the clear sky. Â
Crowley glanced to his right, and the world shifted for a second. For half of one of the demonâs heartbeat, Aziraphale saw familiar towering walls and the vibrant green that peeked over the top. Â
Hireath was an old Welsh word that meant longing for a home one could never return to. It felt like a cool fall wind and a parched desert as it rolled from Aziraphaleâs soul into Crowleyâs and out into the night air. Â
âBetween the Euphrates and the Mediterranean, or thereabouts,â Crowley answered after a silent moment. Â
Is there a reason why? Â
Crowley glanced down. The angel took a moment to orientate himself in the demonâs body. The form was longer and lankier than he was used to and had a certain restless energy that seemed to be built inâ or maybe that was just Crowley. Currently, it was sitting cross-legged, staring at a pile of what looked like black sand, red and silver pebbles, and pale blue and white ice. Â
My dear, what is this? Â
âWell, seeing as you donât have a body anymore, I thought Iâd try to make you another. Right here are all the big building blocks, fresh from the stars; Iâve got carbon, phosphorus, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, and calciumâŚThe problem is Iâ donât know how to put it together.â Â
To Aziraphale, Crowleyâs frustration felt like popping embers, hot and orange and able to flare up with any breath of help. He spread his wings and sang-sighed-murmured soothing words, spreading out the coals to cool off. Â
My dear, I know it takes teams of angels to create a single body. Thatâs why there's so much fuss and paperwork involved when one gets discorporated, and I donât imagine the demons do much better. Only the Almighty can create human bodies easily; it may take some time before you can even assemble a skeleton. Â
âBut itsss not fair to you, to keep you stuck in here with me. Not that I mind sharing space, but, wellâŚ.â Â
We are two separate individuals. It's perfectly natural that we each want a body to our own. You have no reason to be apologetic about not wanting me sharing yours for an extended period of time.
Relief was cool water on a summer day, the idea of homemade chicken noodle soup during a cold, taking off a jacket and relaxing into home. Â
âLove you angel,â the words escaped Crowleyâs lips on the faintest of breaths; had Aziraphale had his own body, he would have never heard them. Â
But he felt the motion of Crowleyâs throat, the lips and tongue that traced the words into the welcoming star-strewn air. Â
Crowleyâs sudden burst of anxiety was a thorny flower, sending roots tangling down into his gut, scratching thorns up his chest, unfurling leaves forcing motion into limbs that had never learned what do with themselves and blooming a choking flower in the back of his throat. Â
Aziraphale gently tugged the flower free, casting it aside. Hesitantly at first, forcing his way through thousands of years of fear and silence he opened his hands (his wings his soul his heart his being) and showed Crowley what was at his core. Â
It was⌠It was the first note of Creation, it was pure white light and radiant darkness; it was sunrises and moons and stars, it was the birds singing to greet them all; six thousand years of laughter and meetings and food and drink, six thousand years of friendship instead of hatred. It was six thousand years finally being able to look back and recognize what had happened. Â
It was six thousand years of love. Â
I am an angel. My wings are white and strong and can carry me however high I choose to go. When the War came I did not Fall, but oh my darling, my dear, for all of that Iâve spent a very long time Falling. Â
I love you too. Â
The Almighty is, first and foremost, a being of love. When the demons had been cast out, they lost their ability to feel that love and any lesser extensions thereof. (This is why Crowley has spent the last millennia convinced that there is no way Aziraphale could actually love him; Aziraphaleâs excuse is general obliviousness coupled with worryingly low self-esteem.) (That, and theyâre both idiots.) Â
What this means is that Crowley had been cold and freezing for a very long time. He had gotten used to being numb, convinced himself that there was nothing else. Aziraphale had done the metaphorical equivalent of wrapping him in a heated blanket and giving him a cup of rich hot cocoa. Â
Crowley trembled as that warmth rushed through him, inside and out, shook as he suddenly regained feeling in parts of his being that he thought that had been lost forever in his Fall. Â
Oh, my love. Itâs alright. Itâs okay. Â
ââM fine,ââ Crowley gasped, wrapping his arms around himself, ââsokay.â Â
Youâre crying. Â
âDemons-- Demons canât cryâŚâ But there was a warm wetness dripping from his eyes and he knocked off his glasses as he dragged a forearm across his eyes. ââs not tears, âm not crying.â Â
Of course my dear, of course. Â
âOH,â MY CHILDREN.â There was a voice in the wilderness, a light where before there had been nothing. Crowley jerked and the light coalesced into a human shape. Kind of. Â
She was human, She was entirely blazing dark/light, she was a Mobius strip with two edges, she was a shape with one dimension or infinitely many.
Aziraphaleâs soul sang a pure joyous note at her presence and the whole landscape was blessed for miles. Â
Crowleyâs reaction was more mixed. His soul hummed a low abandonment made of questions without answers, of a long hard Fall, and every lost childâs desperate wish for love and an explanation. If there had been any humans within hearing, they wouldâve fallen to the ground and wept. Aziraphale offered shelter under his wings and Crowley curled beneath it, head poking out and tongue nervously testing the air. Â
She smiled at them both and reached out to the pile of raw elements Crowley had assembled. It twisted and reformed and while it was doing that She reached out and gently tugged Aziraphaleâs soul from Crowleyâs body. In a way, Aziraphaleâs soul in her hands resembled a bird, darting slightly from side to side with graceful motions. But it was alsoâŚmore in some indescribable, ineffable way and Crowley knew that when the world did come to end and all that was left of them was this, he would recognize Aziraphaleâs being even if it was surrounded by a million other angels. Â
She gently placed the soul into the new heart and let the body finish forming. Then she gently cupped Aziraphale's face as he blinked into awareness and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. It left a glowing silver mark that quickly faded. Â Â
Then She turned to Crowley and hugged him tightly. Â
He shuddered once, twice and then broke down, weeping into her shoulder/wing. Â
âMY GREATEST JOY ANDâ MYâ GREATEST GRIEF WASâ WHENâ Iâ GAVE MY CREATIONS FREE WILL. I SAW WHAT THE DEMONS WOULD DO, AND I SAW THAT THE ANGELS WERE NO BETTER. I DID NOT AND DO NOT WANT ARMAGEDDON. THUS I PUT AZIRAPHALE IN CHARGE OF THE EASTERN GATE SO THAT HE WOULD LEARN TO LOVE HUMANITY. I LET YOU FALL BECAUSE HE WAS GOING TO NEED SOMEONE TO CONVINCE HIM THAT THE ANGELS WERE NO DIFFERENT THAN THE DEMONS, HE WAS GOING TO NEED SOMEONE TO PUSH HIM INTO ASKING WHY. AND I SAW THAT YOU WOULD NEED SOMEONE TO HELP YOU KEEP YOUR FAITH, IF NOT IN ME THEN IN THAT THERE WAS SUCH A THING AS GOOD IN MY CREATION. TAKE HEART CROWLEY; I HAVE A PLAN BUT ITS RATHER INEFFABLE FROM YOUR STANDPOINT.â Â
She gave him one last squeeze and placed a kiss on his forehead. It rippled through him, a small fire during a biting winter night, and stayed, crackling in his being. Â
The world twisted and She was gone and they were once more sitting in the back of Aziraphaleâs bookshop. Â
The angel looked around and sat down heavily in his chair, looking like someone had hit him over the head with his original copy of the Lord of the Rings. Â
Crowley just kind of collapsed into a snake, a half coiled puddle of scales on the wooden floorboards. Eventually, Aziraphale reached down and scooped him up, draping him carefully around his seat. Â
They both sat there for a very long time. Â
Finally, Aziraphale spoke. Â
âMy love, would you consider moving out of London for a couple of decades at the least? Iâve heard thereâs a lovely cottage in the South Downs whose owners are trying to find a buyer.â Â
Later, when theyâd settle in Adam and Anathema swung by and told them immediately that there was a mark on both their foreheadsâ Anathema described it as a âbright white light that blanketed their aurasâ, while Adam said it looked like a shield. Â
The angel and the demon gave each other sidelong glances and decided to move on with life. After a decade or two, Heaven and Hell both began exchanging very, very, polite messages with them. Both Gabriel and Beelzebub looked like they were going to pass out when they came to âcheck inâ and left in a hurry, eyes trained on Crowley and Aziraphaleâs foreheads. Â
As for the angel and the demon, they spent their time contentedly in that cottage. Crowley started a garden that took up most of the yard (he no longer screamed at his plants), oftentimes growing edibles for his angel who was learning to cook. He also grew grapes, and many a neighbor commented that that nice couple down the way made the best wine. Aziraphale started a smaller collection of books and never had to worry about anyone trying to buy them. After the sun had gone down he would often read to Crowley in a low murmuring voice that lulled the demon to sleep. Â
And you know what? Â
They all, the Them, Newt and Anathema, and most especially Aziraphale and Crowley, lived happily ever after. Â
Finis.
#good omens#tv omens#good omens fanfiction#fanfiction#crowley x aziraphale#Aziraphale#aziracrow#anthony j crowley#crowley#God#Ineffable Husbands#ineffable husbands fic#ineffable partners#finis#aziraphale gets a new body#south downs cottage#inkstained-qfantasydragon#qfantasydragon
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Some Sunny Day - Ch. 13: Isomers (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)
Summary: Ford shares an unsurprisingly scientific metaphor, the sun sets, and the day comes to an end.
Warnings: some self-blame and looking back on suicidal thoughts, but itâs mostly comfort and talking through things
AO3:Â https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947964/chapters/46028998
Previous
The Beginning
Itâs finally here. The final chapter!
(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)
***
The sun was just beginning to dip beneath the treetops as they headed back to the Mystery Shack. The sky was still cloudless, but now took on a purple hue close to the horizon. Stan and Ford walked together, arms thrown over each otherâs shoulders, reluctant to let go.
They nearly lost their grip, however, when they reached the Shack to see Fiddlefordâs search party waiting for them, and Wendy barreled up to knock the wind out of Stan with a hug.
âYou guys, we were so worried! You better not ever disappear like that again, Stan, or â or Iâll ââ
âYeesh, you spend one year working for someone else and suddenly you get to boss me around?â Stan grunted. âGimme some room to breathe here, at least.â
Wendy laughed, and let go of him. âNow that sounds like the Mr. Pines I know.â
âYeah, IâŚâ Stan smiled sadly, rubbing his ribs. âI think, even today, Iâve never been anything but the Mr. Pines you knew⌠I just didnât always feel like it.â
âBut youâre doing better now, right? Mabel chimed in. âYou feel like yourself again?â
Stan gave a slow nod. âI think so. Having something to yell at that wasnât inside my own head⌠I think that helped.â
âThatâs such a relief,â Wendy told him. âSounds like youâve got a hell of a story to tell, though â if you want to,â she quickly added.
âSomeday,â Stan said. âNot now, but someday.â
Fiddleford watched the exchange, nodding approvingly at first before a thought seemed to dawn on him and his eyes suddenly lit up with concern. âThis is all rightly touching, and Iâm as relieved as anyone to see you safe and feelinâ like yourself, Stan, but⌠have yâall eaten anything since this morninâ? You donât want to end up just keeling over from plain olâ starvation, not after everything yaâve survived today.â
As if one cue, Fordâs stomach rumbled, and he smiled sheepishly. âWell, Fidds, this is probably going to remind you of our college daysâŚâ
âYou didnât even eat this morning, did you?â Stan muttered.
âI think I had half of a granola bar, around eight-thirty? Maybe closer to a third of ââ
âThatâs it, weâre ordering pizza right now!â Mabel declared. âAnd ice cream too, âcause you deserve it, Grunkle Stan!â
Stan bit his lip and closed his eyes, instinctively trying to suppress the tears he could feel coming⌠Ah, screw it. Itâs Mabel.
He opened his eyes and reached down to ruffle her hair.
âYou deserve it too,â he said softly. âYou all do. I wouldnât be here without you.â
âNeither would we, Grunkle Stan,â Dipper told him, gently taking him by the hand. âYouâve saved us too, donât you ever forget it.â
The others began to file into the Shack, and Stan followed, holding Dipperâs hand on one side and Fordâs on the other as Mabel scrambled ahead to hold the door open. He felt the field from the unicorn hair wash over him, temporarily neutralizing the power to reshape reality and blocking his ability to see outside the barrierâs limits, and made a beeline for his chair in the living room, where he immediately sat down to rest.
Rest. It had been the furthest concern from his mind an hour ago â because yes, heâd wanted to die, but never because he was tired of living. Heâd wanted to die to protect his family from the demon that he feared that he still was, to serve justice against wrongs from a previous lifeâŚ
Because he thought his death would be best for the universe, not because there wasnât anything else he wanted out of life.
But now, as hard as it had been to convince himself, he knew he was Stanley Pines â an actually half-decent person who was allowed to want things â and right now, Stan just wanted a nice, peaceful, temporary rest, here in his home and alongside his family.
So he turned the television on to a familiar Ducktective rerun, and smiled as everyone gathered around him to watch as they waited for the food to arrive. He still grimaced from time to time, as new memories of Billâs would pop into his head, but something was taking the sting out of them â he wasnât drawn towards dwelling on them anymore, he realized, not with his family around him. Not with Mabel on the ground by his feet, still laughing at jokes sheâd heard plenty of times before, and Dipper at his side, pointing out foreshadowing with a proud smile on his face.
One by one, memories of anger and suffering returned only to be drowned out â not by denial this time, but rather a flood of competing memories of joy, of relaxation, and of family bonding.
***
âThanks for leaving a note,â Ford told Stan as he sat down in the grass a few feet away.
âWell, you still worried, didnât you?â Stan asked. âThatâs why youâre here?â
Here was the clearing where Billâs statue rested, the clearing where the blue fire had first flickered up around Stanâs hands and began to drive away the dark, dark fog of denial that heâd cloaked his memories in. But now, the only fires visible were the stars in the sky, a million little lights illuminating the statue from above.
All those stars had their own stories, Stan realized, stories he could see if he wanted to â but he didnât feel the need to look, to turn his all-seeing eye so far away from home, not when everything he could ask for in life was right here with him.
Through hardship to the stars? Nah, through hardship to family is enough for me.
âNot as much as I would have worried had you not left it,â Ford replied after a long pause, disrupting Stanâs thoughts. âI just⌠wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to, in the case that you wanted to talk. Iâll leave if you donât want me here ââ
âNo, you can stay,â Stan told him, then after an awkward silence, he asked: âAre the kids asleep?â
âAs far as I know, yes.â Ford must have noticed Stanâs sigh of relief, because he added: âPlease donât blame yourself for making them worry so much. You know that no force in the multiverse could ever stop them from doing their best to be there for you.â
âYeah. I donât ââ
Stan almost said I donât deserve them, but caught himself. Ford wouldnât want to hear him say that, and⌠well, even though intrusive thoughts of self-doubt still lurking in the back of his mind tried to convince him otherwise, he knew that it just wasnât true.
âI just kinda felt like I needed to take a look at the statue again,â he told Ford. âSince I havenât come near here since⌠this morning.â
Ford nodded. âI guess weâve learned a lot since then, havenât we?â
âHard to believe all that went down in just one day.â
âWell, there were a few things that âwent downâ outside of time itself ââ
âOh, come on, Sixer. Youâre seriously gonna bring your nerdy technicalities into this? Now?â
For a second, Stan feared that heâd put a bit too much anger into his words, had said something that sounded too much like a thing Bill might say â but Ford started to laugh, loudly and genuinely, and after a momentâs hesitation, Stan did too. It felt like an incredible weight had been taken off his shoulders â the two of them had gone too long without any banter, any jokes, any good-natured mocking. It had only been a day, but that day had felt like an eternity, like it too was maturing at a rate completely independent of the passage of time.
(Or maybe, the weight on Stanâs shoulders was still there, but he was no longer bearing it alone.)
Their laughter fizzled out, and for a while, they sat there in silence together, alternating looks at the statue with looks at the beautiful cloudless night sky. Now there was something Stan would be happy to use his powers for â making the sky clearer for family stargazing nights, and keeping the rain away when they wanted to go camping.
The idea improved his mood, so for a while, he held off on bringing up the topic that had been bothering him for the past few hours. But eventually, Ford began to awkwardly shift in place as if thinking about starting another conversation, and Stan finally said:
âI have⌠whatâll probably be a hard question.â
Ford turned to look at him, a reassuring smile on his face. âIâm ready to hear it.â
âItâs, uh⌠itâs just that Iâm not sure if I even know what answer I want, andâŚâ
âItâll be okay.â Ford scooted closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. âYou donât have to say it if you donât want to, of course, but after everything weâve already gotten through today⌠I think weâll be able to find a good answer, together.â
Before he lost his nerve, Stan blurted out: âDo you forgive me?â
Ford let out a long, slow sigh. âI⌠had a feeling it was going to be something like that, and⌠Iâve been thinking about that a lot myself.â
He withdrew his hand from Stanâs shoulder, as if sensing Stanâs wish for a bit more space. âIf you donât mind me asking, do you know if you want me to forgive you?â
âNo,â Stan decided at that instant, voicing his answer with a vehemence even he hadnât expected. âNo, you shouldnât. Because that stuffâŚâ
He looked down. âThat stuff I did to you just wasnât forgivable. And Iâm different now â Iâd never do that again, I know that â but that doesnât just make all that shit okay, just because I realized how fucked up it was. So⌠donât forgive me for it.â
Fordâs expression changed into a strange sort of smile, something sad but not hopeless. âThatâs⌠thatâs a fair point, about it not being forgivable. And for the most part, Iâd think Iâd say that I agree â but with just addendum.â
He took a deep breath. âItâs a long addendum, though, and Iâm not sure how best to phrase it. I hope youâll bear with me.â
Stan nodded.
âNow, Iâm no philosopher,â Ford began, âbut Iâll say this: the idea of holding someone accountable for actions they donât remember is generally regarded as⌠a gray area, at best.â
He paused, as if a word was on the tip of his tongue. âAnd your case⌠I think your case may actually be more clear-cut than most, due to the sheer severity of your amnesia. Bill is gone, destroyed by the loss of his memories, which leaves you with no reason to be blamed for his actions even though you arose in his place. And if someone doesnât deserve the blame for something in the first place, then there would be no need to forgive them, wouldnât you say?â
âBut I remember now,â Stan cut in. âThose memories didnât stay lost.â
âThey stayed lost for sixty-two years,â Ford replied. âThatâs got to be more than enough time to become someone else altogether. To change so much, to mature so muchâŚâ
âInto a totally different entity? I know Iâm not the same as he was â I know Iâm better â but me and Bill, we were still made of the same stuff. I see what youâre trying to do, and I appreciate it ââ
Ford snapped his fingers. âExactly! Thatâs the metaphor I was looking for!â
âBut someoneâs still gotta be responsible for â wait, what?â
âMade of the same building blocks, in the same ratios ââ Ford was beaming all of a sudden, and gesturing wildly as he only really did when talking about science. âBut assembled together in different ways, and producing vastly different properties!â
âIâm sorry, but I have exactly no idea where youâre going with this.â
âDo you remember what constitutional isomers are? When two molecules have the same chemical formula, but different connectivity between the individual atoms?â
âYeah, and thatâs relevant becauseâŚ?â
âBecause theyâre made from the same components, but no self-respecting chemist would ever say that theyâre the actually the same compound!â Ford explained. âDifferent names, different chemical and physical properties â just like you and Bill!â
At that, Stan almost laughed despite himself, because the whole conversation â the rambling on, the elaborate metaphors, the science â was all just pure Ford. And truth be told, as much as he might grumble and complain about the complexity and nerdiness of Fordâs preferred brand of analogies⌠there was no way heâd rather have conversations like these than the Ford way.
âOkay, go onâŚâ
âLike â take ethanol and dimethyl ether, for example. They have the same amounts of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen in their chemical formulas, but if memory serves, dimethyl ether will release more energy than an equal amount of ethanol when you burn it. Because of the different ways their atoms are arranged, their respective destructions will have different effects upon the world.â
Ford took a breath, and continued more slowly:
âWhen I believed that Bill had burned and died, I felt no grief for him. The end of the being known as Bill Cipher was no loss to me, or to the rest of the world. On the contrary, there was rejoicing. But when I thought you were goneâŚâ
He laid a hand on Stanâs shoulder.
âStan Pines cannot be destroyed without leaving behind an immense amount of grief. Thatâs one of the many differences between you and Bill â you saw that grief when we thought your memories were gone, and even given what we now know, it still holds true. Unlike Bill, you mean everything to us â no matter how much you two have in common, you have too many different properties, too many different effects upon the world, to ever be called the same, just like two isomers cannot be called the same compound. As far as Iâm concerned â and as far as anyone should be concerned â Bill Cipher really is dead, and I couldnât be happier.â
âI think⌠I get what youâre saying,â Stan said. âNow donât get me wrong, Iâm still not sure an entire chemistry lecture was the best way you coulda explained it, but⌠I think I like the point youâre making there.â
Ford chuckled a little. âIâm glad. You and Bill â youâre inherently and inextricably connected by your origins, but no one would ever mistake one of you for the otherâŚâ
He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. âYou know how to use a toaster, for one thing.â
âOkay, why the fuck do I have such vivid memories of Bill not knowing how to do that?â
âHe got so defensive about it, too â insisted humans were the crazy ones for wanting to cook bread twice!â
âWhat a dumbass! Good thing heâs just a statue now.â
âItâs appropriate, because the statue is exactly as good as he was at using a toaster.â
Much to the disappointment of any nearby wildlife attempting to sleep, their raucous laughter took a while to die down. When it finally did, Ford checked his watch.
âHuh,â he murmured. âIt just struck midnight.â
âThe dayâs over,â Stan added. âFinally.â
Ford laid back, hands behind his head as he gazed up at the stars.
âYou know, when Bill told me â well, sung to me â that weâd meet again some sunny day, I didnât think it would come true so literally.â
âAnd he really didnât know where or when either, did he? Bet he wouldnât have liked the song so much if he had.â
They both fell silent for a moment, before Ford continued:
âI think â at least, I hope â that I already conveyed this sentiment yesterday, if not the exact words, but⌠Iâm really glad that you exist, Stan. And that youâre my brother.â
âThanks.â Stan leaned back into the grass, feeling its cool blades tickle his arms and neck. âI am too.â
***
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Well, itâs been one year, thirteen chapters, and tens of thousands of words, but Some Sunny Day has reached its conclusion. Not too long ago at all, this day seemed impossibly far off â early this year, I thought there was no way Iâd possibly be able to finish during the summer of 2019, but here we are! Iâve worked on this fic through good times, Iâve worked on it through bad times, Iâve grown so much as a writer and as a personâŚÂ
And as cliche as this probably sounds, none of that would be possible without all the comments and kudos and reblogs and general support everyone has shown. I hadnât expected a story based on a somewhat convoluted fan theory about a show that had ended years ago to resonate with many people, but I was overwhelmed in the best way possibly by the response this fic got. This project was probably the biggest creative challenge Iâve ever tackled, but it brought me so much joy. It feels so strange to let go of it now, but Iâm also so excited to move on to new projects!
Of course, there are still a few sequels and extra tidbits coming, so donât forget to keep an eye out for those! Or in other words:
Weâll meet again, Donât know where, donât know when, But I know weâll meet again, some sunny day!
This is Rose, signing off.
#gravity falls#same coin theory#stanley pines#bill cipher#stanford pines#dipper pines#mabel pines#wendy corduroy#fiddleford mcgucket#fic: some sunny day#rosalia writes fic
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Bobby pins (Scholar x Tyler)

(because iâm not over that illustration)
The day of the competition is easily the most hectic one Arthur's spent at Arlington yet, though he supposes that's to be expected. Everyone seems to be buzzing with energy as they gather around, waiting for the opening ceremony to start, and he finds himself soaking it all in. It culminates in a weird mixture of apprehension and anticipation inside of him, and he feels vaguely annoyed at the sensation; he was never this emotional before Arlington.
At least, he thinks with a sort of dry amusement, it's not as though he doesn't have a reason to be nervous. If his idea for the fashion show doesn't work out, the entire department would probably come after him, pitchforks and sewing kits in hand, with Karolina leading the mob. Or, he muses, she'll just stand aside and enjoy the show; one or the other, for sure.
"Psst," he hears from his left and shifts, eyes narrowing. Any frown that might've been making its way on his face, however, immediately softens as he spots Tyler's grin -- for whatever reason, Arthur finds it hard to be moody around him. "Shouldn't you be with your department?" he raises an eyebrow instead and, as he feels the bead ring on it being pulled, he wonders, distinctly, if he should've perhaps taken it out; he's âArlington's sweetheartâ, after all, and piercings don't exactly scream nice and approachable. Ah, well, he decides. Screw people if they judge him based on that. At his question though, Tyler waves a hand dismissively. "There's still some time left, it's fine. Besides," he grins and Arthur must be imagining this because he can swear he sees Tyler's cheeks darken. "I wanted to see how you were doing." Oh.
It's a sweet gesture, really; one Arthur would probably be rolling his eyes at if it was anybody else. But no, it's him, and it's Tyler, and that seems to be enough to leave him speechless, mind blank. "Er," he says finally and winces, annoyed at his own fumbling; he's never had problems with eloquence before. "I'm fine. I know we have a good idea, it's only a matter of executing it well." It's a very him thing to say, he's aware, and Tyler nods, unsurprised. "Yeah, I figured," he says and something in his grin seems to soften as he reaches out to give Arthur a light pat on the arm. "Even if you were nervous, though. Well. You'd still be a badass." Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling -- he doesn't think he does a very good job but the effort has to count for something. "...Thanks." Tyler laughs, hand sliding off of Arthur's arm, says, "Anytime, man," and suddenly Arthur has no idea what's next. Is he supposed to say something? His mind once again goes annoyingly blank. He thinks he's about to say something really stupid when, thankfully, Tadashi calls out to the student body. "We're on in two minutes, everybody join their department!" Arthur lets out a small sigh -- whether one of relief or disappointment, he's not really sure -- and throws Tyler a half-smile. "Well. Guess that's your cue." (He's surprised by how much he wants Tyler to just stay and chat, and the feeling is so bizarre he nearly frowns. ) "Yeah," Tyler says and returns the smile. "Before I go though, here." He pulls something out of the pocket of his uniform and holds out a fist, gesturing for Arthur to extend his hand. "Are you going to put something nasty in it?" Arthur asks, snorting in amusement even as he's already extending his right hand towards Tyler, who then laughs as well, and it registers somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind that he has a nice laugh. (Itâs a weird thought.)
"Nah, not this time."
Arthur's officially curious and as Tyler finally drops the supposedly-not-nasty object in his hand, he has to squint. "Are those... bobby pins?" "Damn right they are," Tyler says, proud, but there's a maybe imaginary flush on his face once again. "And they're grey so they fit your whole 'prince of darkness' aesthetic." Arthur blinks at him as he slowly processes everything thatâs just happened. "That's... Okay, first of all, never call me prince of darkness again. It makes me sound like a twelve-year-old that shops exclusively in Cold Topic," he says and makes a face because damn it, he really used to be that kid and itâs a memory he definitely doesnât want to go back to.
"Anyway, uh... thanks. I guess." It's not that he's not grateful as much as he doesn't really understand why Tyler's given him this, and belatedly Arthur realises he could've probably worded that better. Fortunately, Tyler doesn't seem offended as he lets out another laugh. "It's for your hair, tall-dark-and-handsome," he says and Arthur is torn between rolling his eyes at the new moniker (which also makes him sound like the aforementioned twelve-year-old) and teasing Tyler for pointing out the obvious. In the end, he says nothing as Tyler continues. "It's covering your face. And while I do think you absolutely rock the whole messy look, you're more likely to get votes if people can see your entire face." Arthur stares at him for a long moment until Tyler eventually shifts in his spot. "It's kinda a silly idea, I know, and you don't have to actually use them, obviously, but I thought I'd suggest it anyway. Since, you know, you mentioned you had to get into the Silver Tier and all -- which I'm sure you'll do even without the bobby pins. Like I said, just an idea." When Arthur's brain finally catches up to what Tylerâs saying, his hand closes around the bobby pins almost involuntarily. "No, uh," his voice comes out weird and he clears his throat. "No. It's... it's a good idea. Thank you. Really." Tyler lets out an exaggerated sigh and makes a show of wiping the metaphorical sweat off his brow. "Oh, good! You're welcome!â After a beat, he adds, âYou're gonna look so good the cameras won't be able to look away! And itâll all be thanks to yours truly."
Arthur rolls his eyes as he lets out a snort; he's not sure he'll even get to be on camera, with how many people there are, but he doesnât exactly mind; he works best in the background anyway. "Right, I'm sure," he plays along regardless. âIâll be sure to remember you when I skyrocket to fame.â Then he unclenches his hand and he looks down at the pins. "Er, do you mind...?" Tyler needs no further prompting as he immediately jumps in action. "Absolutely! Let me just..." And he moves closer, eyes narrowing in concentration as one of his hands goes to push Arthur's hair to the side. "Pin please." Arthur obediently hands him one and then, a few seconds later, he hands him the other as well. When Tyler steps back to examine his work, he raises an eyebrow. "Well, doc? What's the verdict?" It takes Tyler a moment to respond. "Uh, yeah,â he nods, and thereâs something Arthur canât quite place in his eye. âLooking good.â And then just as quickly as that something appeared, it vanishes, replaced by a cheeky grin. âJust like I said you would." Arthur's eyes linger on him a moment longer, though, and there's a thought half-forming in his head. Before he can accurately place the feeling in his chest, however, Tadashi interrupts once again. "Tyler," he calls, walking briskly in their direction. "We're starting any moment now; for the love of god, go to your department," he says and Arthur has to stifle a snort. It shouldn't be funny, he knows that, in theory; Tadashiâs probably had only a few hours of sleep and he's been running around the school like mad for the past few days. However the pure annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of resignation on his face makes for one hell of an expression and, well, Arthurâs only human. (Then he happens to meet Tyler's eye for the briefest second and containing his amusement gets even harder.) "I'm already gone," Tyler turns to Tadashi, raising his hands in surrender. "Now you see me..." and he throws Arthur one last look before dashing off. Arthur sighs, still amused, but what can he do, let Tyler down? As if. So he shakes his head and dutifully finishes, "Now you don't." The glint in Tadashi's eye at that promises murder but aw, hell, Arthur's tired too; he shrugs. "Don't look at me, I'm just an innocent bystander." (Tadashi stares at him for a bit before letting out the deepest, most desperate sigh Arthurâs ever heard and walking away, muttering something about dumb teenagers. Which, fair, but hi, kettle, it's pot.) When he finally turns to glance at where Lady Arlington is standing, ready to begin her speech, Arthur finally lets out the smile he's been fighting off. He feels... better. Not necessarily calm but that's alright; he always gets a buzz under his skin whenever he gets to work on something he's passionate about and if anything, it only helps him focus. But getting to talk to Tyler, even if just for a little bit, was... nice. His hand, almost subconsciously, goes up to touch the bobby pins, and as he does, he notices a random student staring at him. His hand drops immediately and his eyes narrow; heâs unabashedly pleased as the guy quickly averts his gaze -- Arthur does have a reputation of a prince of darkness to uphold, after all.
#sweet elite#god i'm so rusty but damn i needed to get that out of my system#basically 1k words of my fashion dept scholar pretending to be 2 kool 4 skool#and having a crush without realising it (bc let's be real the canon realisation was so good)#oc: arthur#ugh why am i even trying my tagging system is a Mess
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hot cross buns
conversation from Bakerâs POV, shortly before the Road Trip of doom. I canât say why heâs talking to the audience like this, except that heâs rather lonely and doesnât have anyone else to confide in.
You want to know why I'm in love with Angel Eyes?
Ask me a hundred times, you'll get a hundred answers. That squint he does, trying oh so hard to look mysterious- and succeeding. His graceful sang-froid while blowing smoke, whether that's from a pipe or a gun. The best goddamn squash soup I've ever tasted or ever will...but number one, that one tiny crazy mystery that sets him apart from everybody else in this business, is this. Angel doesn't do this because he has to.
He did once, I'll grant you; anybody with that family background was bound to end up in the stew one way or another. Either ordering the hits or managing them himself. He told me once, he didn't have the guts for the former.
(In Angel's defense, he was younger, very drunk, and his last partner had just tried to do him in nasty while they were performing same. I got a call after, came over to help with the clean-up; realised I had a good shot at either sex or secrets and plumped for the latter. Closest I've yet got to fucking him, but that night I don't regret.)
Point is, Angel Eyes doesnât have the blood-lust. He doesnât want after power or money or both in ever-increasing numbers, and while itâs obvious he gets a kick from the danger like the rest of us, heâs last to feel and first to come down. A controlled addiction.Â
Not afraid either, the way we all are.Â
So- who knows where he learned it, but our cool, collected angel can make anything seem classy, up to and including a business that's about the shabbiest on this earth. James Bond, you say? Sure. Sean Connery's anything but class, he just dresses the part- and that's a fair enough metaphor for the whole damned situation.
First time I ever heard an assassin say they preferred Roger Moore, it was this lunkhead in front of me; and you know, I think he believes it.
"So why'd you track me down?" Blondie asks, lighting one of his trademark cigarillos. This cramped room heâs rented is already swelteringly hot, but he seems indifferent to that. "Angel send you?"
He's got the nonchalance down pat, I'll admit that- we're all good at faking in this business, but being is something else again, maybe that's what drew Angel to him. Certainly not his skill level, since even a third-rater such as yours truly could take him any day- probably he has offed someone, but strictly street-level, nothing big time. He doesn't seem to know or care about the distinction, which isn't so unusual; but it's coupled to a - a-
oh, hell, I don't know the word for it. Point is, Blondie's pretty fabulous, and he does know how to play up to it.
"Angel's boss. Ever heard of him?"
"Rose. Yeah, I remember." A sardonic little grin, which strengths my notion that Blondie has no idea what he's talking about. You get out of the habit of smiling that way about the guy before you meet him, or you might do it- and then, wallop!
(Rose says that if a man can't keep from laughing while meeting him, he'll break the minute a fed has him by the collar. I'd try the same tactic in his shoes.)
"Right. You've attracted his interest. Very unhealthy position." Iâd prefer to sit down by now, but thereâs nowhere except the floor or the bed, and both of those are fairly undesirable. Leaning against the wall will have to do, filthy as it is.Â
"I can take care of myself."
"Sure you can, sweetheart, and if it was up to me I wouldn't mind leaving you to it- but you get the same chances as anyone else." I take the gun out for emphasis, rap it against my palm. âAfter a lifetime of playing it by the books as is possible to get on the wrong side of the law, Angel Eyes just pops up one day with a brand new assassin nobody's ever heard of. You ever wonder what I do, Blondie?"
"Angel says you're an errand boy. A finger in half a dozen different pies, just about too useful and too lowly for any of the cooks to bother killing, so nobody does." Heâs ignoring the gun altogether. It points to a fair instinct for when the instrument might actually be in play, thatâs good to know.
"About the measure of it, yes. So how do you think I keep my hand in?"
"Don't know. Couldn't care less."
"Kid goats like you, mostly. You think you're the first man to try to shove his way into this business, on sheer pluck and willpower alone? I'm not saying it can't be done, but there are a couple entrance qualifications- and one of them's me."
"Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to check for your shadow, next time I head down a dark alley."
Cigarillo finished, he's starting another one. I contemplate taking out my pipe, but it's hard to keep a grip on it while I'm talking. Last week I set my pants on fire trying that- so, no then.
"I'm the least of your problems. Here's the thing. Angel's vouched for you, but Rose wants some loyalty out of the fellow who's trying to filch his best hit man- so you do the job, I watch and tell Rose, Rose has prosecutable on you if he ever wants it. You can get on with romancing Angel all you like after that, he won't care."
And may all that oh-so-cute stubble of yours blaze like a bonfire in hell if you do, I don't say- but that's besides the point. Blondie's still chain-smoking, but he does that so often I can't tell if it's nervousness or nicotine withdrawal. I should recommend him my therapist.
"Who's the job?"
At least he's not as much of an idiot as the last amateur I gave this speech to- that guy had asked me what. "Take your pick. There's always a list of nobodies who could use the killing when somebody has the time, pour les encouragement- or maybe you want to take it closer to home. Rose has a funny sort of taste that way. Bad business but a man has his inclinations, and when it doesn't interfere with the cash flow- know why Angel never had to do this? Because Alma told him he'd helped her kill Romano pere, and that tickled his fancy no end."
"Hope you're not suggesting I kill Angel. That's going to be a straight-up no."
"Of course not. We both want him bad, don't we?"
"Difference is," Blondie says indifferently, "I have him and you don't."
"That's what you think. You're not the first incompetent Angel's taken up with, he's had quite the string of those in the past." Probably because he knows he'd outshoot them, in a pinch; for the thousandth time I wonder whether being just a little worse at my job would have made the difference. "That little Mexican who he's taken up with now? That one's different. Something's wrong there-"
"Wrong?" Heâs still lounging across the bedspread, pretending to look casual, but that jealous frissonâs unmistakable.Â
"Angel cancelled on Rose last week. For the first time ever- we're talking about Angel Eyes here. Perfect record. Careerist. So proud of never letting a target slip through, until he sends word- sorry, cannot be bothered with this very choice assignment, otherwise engaged. So that's got Rose concerned, rather."
"I'm sure Angel Eyes could take him, if it came to that."
"Gawd, Blondie- I thought you loved him too." Or is he just that dumb? A street brat could just be dumb, I suppose. "If he ever kills Rose, hell breaks loose. Complete power vacuum, and Angel only has two ways out of it. Either he dies the next month or week or day, as soon as whoever scrambles to the top has him gunned down to show you can't do that kind of thing without consequences- or he has to become head cheese himself. Do you want to share Angel Eyes with the entire mob? Because I don't."
"Hmm."
Damn it, Blondie's unshakeable. Maybe he doesn't even care about Angel Eyes at all- nah. No. Angel's convinced of it, for one, and if Angel thinks so it almost doesn't matter what the man himself thinks.
"So you know what? Kill two birds with one stone. Off the Mexican, I'll back you up with any proofs you want for Angel Eyes. Rose gets off your back, you're all done."
(And so would he; Angel would never forgive the man who murdered Ramirez, I learned that much from my last visit. And with both his partners so neatly crossed from the list, why, who knows who Angel might turn to for comfort?)
"...I've slept with him," Blondie drawls, kinda slow and thoughtful. "Now that is what you might call impolite."
"Hell, you're not going to make it very far in this business if you make that a criteria for who you wonât kill. We've all done it. Angel Eyes has, I have. You will."
Blondie nods, takes a final drag and brushes ash from his hands. "Suppose I told you- suppose I said that I've never killed anybody before."
"Funny thing. Very funny thing. That's exactly what Ramirez told me, after I got him into bed- and he's a lot more believable when he says it, too. On account of not going around bragging the exact opposite, you know?"
"Mmm-hmm- you scare him with the same offer I just heard?"
"May have done." Didn't actually, but I never encountered a situation where a flat statement was better than a sly ambiguity. "Prisoner's dilemma of sorts, I suppose. Only if neither of you kills anyone, you're both getting into trouble, so...more the opposite?"
"Suppose," Blondie says, rather quietly, "I killed you."
"Well. You muck up quite a few people's plans. Rose gets rather put out- what makes you think you could manage it?"
He's a nobody. Unimportant. An amateur whoâs never made a name for himself, whatâs he going to do-Â
âIâd manage.âÂ
I wait, for him to explain himself. I wait a long while.Â
I wait for a long time. Time enough for the initiative to slip slowly out of my hands, burning up in the roomâs heat, dead in the air. Â
The amateurs, they talk. They get positively rhapsodic by this point. Spilling over with plans and hopes and eagerness- one with plans for favourite hated rival back home, or another just begging me for a justified target. Iâve never had any trouble supplying them with everything they desire.Â
And theyâre none of them been so self-confident, as to think they can murder the man whoâs offering them the way in to all their dreams.Â
âIf youâd rather, I could find you someone else-âÂ
âDonât think youâre getting out of it that easy,â Blondie says quietly. His hands donât move, his knees donât shake. Heâs sweating less than I am. âIf Rose wants me to send a message, heâll get it- but letâs be fair to you. Go home and get your affairs in order first. Come and find me whenever youâre ready- and weâll have ourselves an old-fashioned duel. Iâll tell Angel Eyes to referee. You know heâll play fair by you.â
âWe- we donât need to do it that way. If I had something else to tell to Rose-â
âYou want Angel, donât you? Same way I do? Thinking in the night that for the right look youâd let him gut you, bleed you to death, and youâd die smiling? That fantasy youâve got, unpicking the ropes after youâve saved him, do you think youâre ever going to get that from him? You wonât. Not unless,â and heâs smiling, close-lipped joy-Â ânot unless we make it happen. Winner takes all, Baker. Iâll be seeing you.â
If I could speak- anything but oh god you mean it you mean it to reassert normalcy- I open my mouth-
âGo home, little rabbit,â Blondie says crisply. Takes out a third cigarillo and fires it with one quick flick of the lighter, while I stare. Stuffs it in my mouth, leans back to admire the effect.Â
The doorknobâs blistering under my hand.Â
But I get out of there fast, before he can make me feel any more sheepish.Â
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Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming (9/35)
Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadnât been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didnât know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasnât New York City, but it certainly wasnât Boston or New Orleans either and heâd always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.
Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didnât take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.
Neither one of them expected a year of of video games and feature stories to dredge up old enemies and even older feelings, but, together, they made a pretty good team.
Rating: Mature AN: Stuff. It happens. David is an absurdly overprotective brother and I actually drew a color-coded flow chart while I was plotting this to make sure I knew how everyone was connected to everyone else. Weâre getting into the good stuff and thereâs a lot more happening than Killian being confused by Overwatch catchphrases. Thanks for continuing to click and read and comment, guys! || Also on Ao3, FF.net and Tumblr ||Â
He was going to kiss her.
He was.
He couldnât come up with a reason not to â not when he could feel her everywhere, that one hand resting on his chest feeling like some kind of live wire in the middle of the hallway and maybe it was the wine, but Killian was fairly positive it was just the echo of her voice and the slightly nervous smile on her face and God he wanted to kiss her.
One of them moved or maybe both of them moved and he could feel her fingers tighten on the front of his t-shirt and his hand fell to her hip, wrapping all the way across her and they should have drank more wine.
If only to make sure that he couldnât spill the wine. All over Emma.
âHoly shit,â she gasped, jumping up and there were droplets of wine falling off her leg and that wasnât helpful at all because it only made Killian look at her leg and he was frozen in the middle of the hallway trying to figure out how to not want to kiss her.
Ethics. Ethics. A line of professionalism that should be as wide as several city blocks. And wine. A lot of spilled wine.
âHow did we not drink more of this?â Emma continued, trying to brush her leg off and that was distracting too. God damnit.
Killian shrugged, standing up and stepping back into her space like there was a magnet there or some kind of gravitational pull and the carpet was absolutely soaked too. This was a disaster.
And maybe he should tell Henry to stop talking so much.
Or come up with a way to kiss Emma.
The two things didnât really go together.
âWe havenât been out here very long, love,â Killian pointed out, immediately groaning when the words seemed to land at his feet. Emma scoffed, but there was still a ghost of a smile on her face and barely any space between them.
Killian felt like heâd drank the entire bottle of wine.
âMaybe thatâs why no oneâs come out here,â she mumbled. âUsually theyâre more obnoxious about that kind of stuff.â âAh, well, maybe theyâre trying something new.â
âMaybe.â
Emma laughed softly, head falling forward and Killian didnât think she meant for her forehead to brush against him, but they were practically occupying the same space and his hand was back on her hip before he could even consider something different.
She didnât move her head, but he could see her shoulders shift, the sound of her deep breath bouncing off the walls in the abandoned hallway and for one, absolutely insane moment he wanted to tell her everything.
He wanted to tell her about that night in New Orleans and the suspicions heâd never been able to actually confirm and he wanted to tell her why he still hadnât been able to look at a single apartment, why he couldnât imagine living anywhere below 86th Street and how he kept finding himself running up the West Side Highway if only to be close enough to the water that, maybe, things would start to make sense again.
He wanted to tell her that, maybe, she made sense.
âEmma,â Killian breathed and her whole body stiffened, going taut with tension as her hand fell back to his arm.
âStill here,â she muttered. She didnât lift her head.
He laughed softly, fingers tracing across her shirt and over her back and theyâd teleported across those blocks. âYeah, I can see that.â âYouâve got to stop doing that.â He dropped his hand as quickly as if heâd been shocked, eyes going wide and Emma, finally, pulled her head up, staring at him like she couldn't quite figure out what sheâd done wrong. âWhat?â âWhat?â âWhy are we repeating each other?â âI have no idea whatâs happening.â It wasnât a laugh, not really, but Emma smiled at him and maybe the world recentered or gravity shifted slightly and heâd never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss her and maybe they could walk out of some kind of quasi-family, team-bonding dinner without anyone noticing that they were gone.
âI donât think weâre doing a very good job of this,â Emma chuckled. âThis whole friend thing. Weâre kind of talking in circles here.â âWhat are you trying to say, Swan?â Killian asked, ignoring the flash of sheer terror that seemed to shoot down his spine at her words
Melodramatic idiot.
She rolled her eyes, squeezing her hand and heâd forgotten it was there â fingers wrapped around his forearm and just above his brace and the terror turned back to nerves and he was back in the middle of whiplash all over again. âWe keep having these vaguely emotional, heavy conversations in hallways and corners and, well, this was just supposed to be fun.â
She laughed again and heâd probably think about her lip in between her teeth for the rest of dinner.
With her brother at the other end of the couch.
Fuck.
âAre we not having fun?â Killian asked, determined to stop thinking and considering and Robin was going to kill him. He didnât want to think about Robin either.
âIf emotional backstory is your idea of fun.â âI wanted to know. AndâŚâ He took a deep breath and moved his hand again, fingers tracing over the back of her palm and the wine bottle was still on the floor. âI wanted to know,â he repeated. âNot...not on the record or anything, just because itâs you.â Emma blinked, lips parting slightly and he could hear her breath rush out of her, like she was stunned. âSee, youâre doing it again.â âBe more specific, Swan.â âYouâre...nice.â âThat didnât sound very confident.â She shrugged, clicking her tongue. âI didnât expect you to be nice. Youâre just supposed to be here for the angle or something.â
âIâm not,â Killian said seriously, bringing his hand up to wrap around her shoulder and she bit down on her lip again. âYou know I donât just steal cinnamon and risk lawsuit for people Iâm only interested in getting a few quotes out of.â Emma laughed and he could feel that too, some kind of overly emotional, metaphorical light that seemed to sink into every inch of him. âI donât think one Starbucks is going to miss its cinnamon container. Which is all you stole, by the way. Itâs not like you staged this major theft of the entire cinnamon supply.â âYouâve put a lot of thought into this.â âNah,â Emma shook her head. âIâm just trying to keep that ego in check. Canât have you getting too far ahead of yourself. And, after all, arenât you just supposed to report on the crime, not live it?â âThatâs a good point, although, if weâre going to follow through on that line of thought, Iâm not much of a crime reporter anymore.â Emma hummed and Killian tried not to consider just how easy it was to fall back into features and caring and stories that kept him up until five in the morning. And he wasnât nervous â not really. The story had done well, better than he thought it would with far more hits than heâd promised Cora, but anything could happen and Killian found himself wanting all over again.
That was dangerous.
He needed to get out of the hallway.
âHey guys,â a voice called from a few feet away and Killian spun around to find a nervous looking Belle leaning around the doorway. âUh, David and Ruby want Emma to come play MarioKart? Something about wrecking on Special Cup? And also Mary Margaret says thereâs food. She also mentioned combating the wine. I have no idea what that meant.â Emma sighed, rolling her eyes when Killian glanced over his shoulder. âShe thinks sheâs my mother,â she explained and he couldn't even find it in himself to be frustrated. Even if he still wanted to kiss her a questionable amount.
âItâs still not a bad thing, love.â Her eyes flashed back up towards him and he couldnât seem to stop moving towards her. Belle was still standing in the doorway. âYeah, I know, I know. I just....theyâre totally putting on a show for you. And we wasted all that wine.â âIâm not worried about the wine. Or the show.â âNo?â âNo,â Killian said easily, shaking his head and Emmaâs feet hit up against his sneakers. Heâd never taken his shoes off. And she was barefoot in the hallway with her eyes tracing over his face like she was looking for the lie and a small puddle of white wine a few inches away.
Emma nodded once, lips pressed together tightly and she tugged on his shirt again. He was, at least, ninety-nine percent positive she rocked towards him and maybe she wanted just a bit too. âAlright,â she sighed. âYou want to be incredibly impressed by my MarioKart skills?â âIâd like nothing better, Swan.â
âGood.â He followed her back into the apartment â the empty bottle of wine in his hand â and he didnât think he imagined the knowing look on Belleâs face when she closed the door behind them.
And if Killian wanted to kiss Emma in the hallway then it was nothing compared to how much he wanted to kiss her on her brother and sister-in-lawâs couch, watching with something that probably looked a bit like awe, as her thumbs flew over the controller in her hand and she let out a string of trash talk and laughter that made him reconsider everything he learned in Journalism 101 at least twenty-four times.
It was the same thing that had happened at the qualifier. She was more confident with a game in front of her and Killian couldnât seem to stop watching her, the way her eyes flitted across the screen and tongue pressed into her cheek and maybe he should drink some more.
David groaned again â his car spinning out into what appeared to be an actual moat of lava when Emma ran into him. She let out a triumphant sound, flashing a smile at Killian, and David slumped further into his seat, dropping his controller on the ground.
âTold you I was good,â Emma muttered, knocking her shoulder into Killianâs arm and for as tense and cautious as theyâd been in the hallway, she was the exact opposite with the game on TV and the chance to gloat just a bit in front of her brother.
Killian grinned, shifting slightly and maybe his arm moved over the back of the couch on purpose. Maybe he completely ignored Rubyâs quirked eyebrows and the quick glance she shot Elsaâs direction. âI wasnât doubting you, Swan,â he said. âAlthough Iâll admit that my experience with this game is limited to being absolutely destroyed by Henry and Roland.â âRoland, too? Jeez, youâre just painfully bad at all of this arenât you?â He shrugged, but Emmaâs smile didnât waver and David picked up his controller again, demanding another round and another race. âHenry is, of course, some kind of expert, but Rolandâs getting there and this is at least an almost acceptable game to play with a seven-year-old. Heâs just got better hand-eye coordination than I do.â Emma widened her eyes and Killian wasnât sure if that crash was Davidâs controller falling again or Mary Margaret dropping several pounds of food. Ruby snorted softly, holding her own controller out expectantly a few inches away from Killianâs nose.
âWhat?â he asked, possibly just asking the entire apartment.
Ruby pushed the controller into his chest. âHere,â she said. âYou can use mine. Iâve got...whatever, come on David.â David had absolutely dropped his controller, still bent over when his head snapped up to gape at Ruby. âWhat? No, no, Rainbow Road! Weâve got one more track! Iâm almost actually good at that one. I could knock Emma into oblivion.â âNothing says family like threatening to knock each other into oblivionâ Ruby laughed, taking a step towards him and tugging him unceremoniously out of the chair. âCâmon. Mâs probably needs help or something.â David stared at her for a beat, glancing quickly towards a clearly frustrated Emma. âRight,â he nodded. âRight, right. Thereâs a ton of food. Absolutely.â âReally selling it, Detective,â Ruby muttered, pushing him back towards the kitchen and leaving Killian on the couch with Emma next to him and three other teammates sitting awkwardly in the living room.
âWell,â Belle said awkwardly, grabbing a handful of empty cups off the coffee table in front of her. âThereâs a lot of food, soâŚ.come on Anna.â Anna blinked, barely taking her eyes off her phone screen before it buzzed again and Belle eyed her meaningfully. âOh,â she sighed, jumping up immediately. âRight, right the food. Yeah. Ok. Letâs go, El.â
Emma closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands and her shoulders had gone tense again. He should have bought two bottles of wine.
They never should have left the hallway.
âSorry, sorry, sorry,â Elsa mumbled, resting a hand on Emmaâs shoulder as she followed her sister back towards the suddenly crowded kitchen.
They sat in silence for what felt like an entire lifetime and another Saturday night of whatever any of this was and Killian only realized he was still holding the controller when the game started to make noise and the stupid thing vibrated in his hand.
âUh, Swan,â he muttered and she snapped her head towards him, something that looked like dread on her face. âHey, whatâs the matter?â She sighed, her whole body sagging forward and he moved again, twisting back towards her, the controller and the game forgotten completely. âAre you kidding me?â âNo.â âThis is a disaster.â âItâs not.â âI didnât even think aboutâŚ.â Emma swallowed, pulling her lips back behind her teeth and if he still didnât want to kiss her so much he probably would have been concerned by the look on her face. âGod, you should just...I donât know what Iâm doing here. I didnât even think about your hand-eye coordination and IâŚâ âSwan,â Killian interrupted. She stared at him, hands twisted in her lap and Mary Margaret dropped another dish. âIs she doing that to make sure we donât think theyâre all eavesdropping?â âProbably.â âTheyâre not very subtle.â âWhy do you think Iâm freaking out? Between the pans and the food and, God, we didnât even tell anyone about the puddle of wine in the hallway. The whole place is going to smell like...what was that?â âChardonnay.â âJeez, did you spend a lot of money on that? I hope you didnât spend a lot of money on that.â âI didnât,â Killian promised, not sure if that was an admission he was particularly pleased to make. Emma sighed. âAnd I donât mind the lack of subtlety. Itâs almost funny.â âGee, thanks.â âYou know what I meant.â âI promise I donât,â Emma groaned and she was dangerously close to him again, half on the same couch cushion and this all felt a bit teenage and somewhere close to absurd, but a few days before heâd bet his entire career on a series of video game features, so it almost made sense.
Killian grimaced and he should tell her he couldnât. There were rules and expectations and, shit, bias and Regina would absolutely push him onto the tracks at the Astor Place station if she realized he was thinking any of this.
He didnât.
Of course not.
He couldnât seem to get his mouth to move.
âAsk me a question,â Emma said suddenly.
Killian lowered his eyebrows, blinking twice and she smiled at him, certain and confident and exactly the way she looked when she was playing the game. âWhat?â
âA question. Ask me. Something. Anything. Make this less weird.â âAnd interviewing you is going to be less weird than trying to play this game and ignoring whatever it is Mary Margaret is doing?â âYes,â Emma said evenly. âPlus Iâd absolutely destroy you on Rainbow Road. If weâre going to actually do this then we need to start on something easier.â Killian felt his lips twitch, something that might have actually been nerves settling in the pit of his stomach and maybe easier was better.
Friends. Friends. Friends.
Goddamn fucking ethics.
âWhy is your coffee order so absurd?â he asked and maybe heâd think about Emmaâs laugh even more than that thing she kept doing with her lip.
âThatâs your question?â âItâs been driving me nuts since the qualifier.â Emma smiled at him â the green in her eyes getting slightly darker as soon as that particular admission seemed to just fall out of him. âYeah?â she asked. He just nodded. âAh, well, itâs a complicated, dramatic story. And mostly all Mary Margaretâs fault. When we were in high school, she worked at the diner in town and she was...letâs say very good at experimenting with food and drinks and dessert options.â
âAnd you were her favorite test subject?â Killian asked.
âThose journalism instincts.â âPerceptive.â âRight,â she grinned. âWell, Mâs started getting more and more ambitious and finally she came up with, as she will be the first to tell you, the perfect ratio of hot chocolate to coffee. See, we lived in a tiny town and the closet Dunkin Donuts was twenty minutes away, so the idea of a fancy cup of coffee was a bit of a dream to the residents of Storybrooke. Mâs changed all that.â
âYouâre right, it was a very dramatic story.â
âItâs a staple at the diner now. Although no one makes it as good as Mâs does.â âNaturally,â Killian agreed. âWhy the cinnamon though?â
Emmaâs breath hitched and there was another crash in the kitchen and feet padding across the living room floor â a drastic and immediate return of family and a distinct lack of subtlety. She twisted her hands again, the knuckles in her fingers cracking from the movement and Killianâs stomach clenched, not quite sure how one follow-up could have blown up in his face like that.
âSo,â David said pointedly, dropping back onto the chair and kicking his legs out. Killian sat up a bit straighter. âHowâs someone start writing about the video games?â
Emma groaned, grabbing a pillow off the floor and tugging her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. âSubtle,â she muttered, but David just shrugged. âProbably the same way someone becomes a professional video game player,â Killian said. âInterest. Maybe a bit of talent. A deep-rooted desire to pay rent and become a functional member of society.â âI wouldnât go that far,â Emma said, but the smile was back. âThe functional member of society part. I mean, thatâs just kind of my corner of the apartment now.â
âAh, but youâre not sleeping in a hotel and living off room service.â âAre you?â âBarely.â
David made a noise and Killian pulled his eyes away from Emma, trying to look as if this wasnât all blatantly obvious. âBut youâre only just getting back into feature writing now, right?â
âYeah,â Killian said. âIâve only been at Mills for about a month. I got back to the city a couple days before I met the team.â âWait, really?â Emma asked sharply. Killian shrugged, far too aware of the audience in front of them and whatever checklist of questions David was working his way down.
âRight, right,â David muttered, tapping his fingers on his thigh like he was trying not to actually start taking notes. Emma still hadnât let go of the pillow. âAnd you were covering...crime before? Seems kind of generic?â Killian lifted his eyebrows, the couch creaking slightly when Emma moved. âWas that supposed to be a question?â
âI mean thereâs a lot of crime.â âOh my God, David, this isnât even entertaining anymore,â Ruby muttered, but David didnât seem deterred. He straightened his shoulders, eyeing Killian like some kind of journalistic threat and Emma couldnât stop staring at her still sockless feet.
âI didnât start with that,â Killian explained. âI did a lot of longform stuff when newspapers were still interested in longform stuff, but that changed fairly quickly and uhâŚâ He glanced towards Emma, trying to take stock of her face and her eyes and how much he wanted and the truth just kind of tumbled out of him. âWhen my brother died, there wasnât much left in the city to keep me interested and the industry was changing and I wanted...a change of scenery.â Emma let go of the pillow.
âSo,â Killian continued. âI picked up a bunch of freelance stuff, all over the country and I landed in New Orleans about seven years ago, started working on a series of stuff, got hit by a car, came back to New York, left New York again, went to Boston, stayed in Boston for a few years, wrote whatever they told me to and then stopped doing that when I got fired. Now, Iâm covering video games and trying to figure out how to play this game and, hopefully, going to Philadelphia with my photographer so we can keep getting hits on the site.â The entire goddamn apartment stared at him and Killian tried not to blink or look at Emma and neither one of those things was particularly easy.
âIt was a good story,â David said, breaking the silence and standing up. He took three steps towards Killian, reaching his hand out and Emma made some kind of strangled noise on the other end of the couch.
âThanks,â Killian said cautiously, taking the outstretched hand and shaking.
âAnd Philadelphia shouldnât be a problem,â Elsa added quietly. She clicked her tongue when every head in the apartment turned towards her, Killianâs eyebrows shooting up his forehead quickly. âEmma didnât tell you?â âI was getting there,â Emma sighed. âEventually.â He turned towards her, certain every single nerve ending in his body sparked as soon as her eyes met his and heâd talked about Liam. Shit. âThere was a point to this celebration, remember?â she asked. âWe figured out Philadelphia.â âElsa figured out Philadelphia,â Ruby corrected and Emma hummed in agreement.
Elsa waved a dismissive hand through the air, rolling her eyes for good measure and Killian tried not to actually explode with questions. âThis is also a very long story,â she warned.
âItâs good though,â Emma mumbled, a nervous smile on her face and she certainly hadnât missed that whole dead brother part of the story. He wished they were in the hallway again. âSheâs secretly a lawyer.â âWhat?â Killian asked. His neck wasnât going to stand up to a full year of this. His muscles already felt like they were being twisted in impossible ways.
âThatâs not technically true,â Elsa corrected. âI never actually took the bar in New York and Iâve never really practiced and...whatever, it doesnât matter. What matters is that I know people in a corporate type way and, well, our parents knew even more people and I donât really like Weselton, but he did a lot of work with my parents and theyâre interested in getting into sponsorship possibilities andâŚâ She shrugged, clearly not comfortable with the spotlight or the half a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her. Killian wished heâd brought a notebook. Or a pen.
He was woefully unprepared.
âWhat do they do?â he asked and Emma widened her eyes in confusion. âThis Weselton guy and, Iâm assuming, his company? What do they do?â âOh, uh, shipping. Trade stuff.â âTrade stuff?â âIs it really that important? I mean we werenât going to be able to do much of anything if we didnât get the money. From what I can tell theyâve got their hands in a bunch of different things. Thereâs really no rhyme or reason to it. It just seems like a money thing and if they can ship it, they move it.â âAnd they want to get involved in sponsorships?â Killian pressed, some kind of metaphorical alarm bell going off in the back of his mind.  âOf video game teams?â âTheyâre the only ones who responded,â Elsa admitted quietly and Emma stuttered at that, eyes going wide and shoulders sagging when her head darted towards a slightly stunned looking Ruby. âI...Anna and I came up with a bunch of people our parents might have known or could have worked with andâŚâ âWait, wait, wait,â Killian said. âMight have? Past tense?â Anna scowled at him, finally dropping her phone on the ground. âPast tense,â she repeated, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice. This was an unqualified disaster. Maybe there was a twenty-four hour liquor store nearby. Probably not.
âIâm sorry,â he muttered. Anna made a face, not quite disappointment, but not quite acceptance either and David looked like he couldn't quite believe heâd started this whole conversation.
âThey worked in collections,â Elsa said, answering a question Killian hadnât actually asked. âYou know, fine art, antiques, that kind of thing. We basically grew up in the back corner of Sothebyâs.â âYou grew up in New York too?â Killian asked, working the first genuine smile out of either one of the sisters since any of them had started talking.
Elsa nodded. âUpper East.â âNaturally.â âDid you say too?â
âMorningside Heights,â Killian mumbled, trying not to actually sigh at the admission. It felt like an admission. God, Liam would punch him. âAlthough now itâs more a very expensive hotel room room on 92nd. Thatâs a work in progress, though.â
He chanced a look Emmaâs direction â something about those pesky, metaphorical magnets again â and he couldn't quite read the expression on her face, a mix between confusion and interest and, maybe, concern. âDid everyone in this room grow up in the city except us?â David asked, nodding towards Mary Margaret and Emma.
Belle shook her head. âHartford,â she said. âUntil I went to school and then a couple years abroad and back here for the job at the library.â âYou and Emma should talk the old town.â He gasped as soon as the words were out of his mouth and there was far too much going on in that living room. Mary Margaret banged on another pan, announcing she needed more help and David practically leapt out of his chair.
Killian didnât move his eyes away from Emma, trying to read her mind and coming up decidedly short. âSwan,â he said slowly, reaching towards her arm. She shook her head.
âWeseltonâs going to pay for the whole thing,â Elsa continued. âGetting to Philadelphia and being in Philadelphia and we just have toâŚâ âWhat?â âWin,â Emma finished. âWe have to win. Immediately.â Killian furrowed his eyebrows. âThatâs not how it works though. Itâs a whole season. You canât just win while youâre in Philadelphia.â âThere are events though and rounds and things that we can win,â Elsa said, sinking onto the arm of the couch. âAnd if we can keep up this whole publicity thing then Weselton thinks heâll get a push and maybe heâll start shipping video game consoles or something. We keep winning, he keeps winning and the company keeps paying. Itâs a win-win.â That wasnât right.
There was something wrong about this, but Killian couldnât figure out what it was or what it could be and he couldnât think when Emma looked so worried and Mary Margaret was announcing dinner and drinks.
He tried not to think about it â the hallway or the wine or how he could nearly feel the nervous energy radiating off Emma the entire night, just a breath away from him on that stupid couch and every time he got another piece of information, Killian just found himself more confused than ever.
It didnât matter.
There was no room for questions in a celebration and David tried to get him to play MarioKart again and he was just as horrible as promised, trying to twist the entire goddamn controller underneath his left thumb so he could steer â until Emma jumped off the couch and dropped onto his left side. He gaped at her and he couldnât actually feel her fingers when they dropped onto his brace, but Emma didnât flinch, just looked at him hopefully and Killian nodded.
He had no idea what he was agreeing to.
âJust hit the buttons when I tell you, ok?â she asked and he nodded again.
They won the next race, Emmaâs quiet instructions in his ear and a smile on her face that seemed to erase whatever sheâd thought about Hartford and questionable video game sponsors and she steered and he hit the âAâ button a questionable number of times.
David threw his controller again.
âServes you right,â Emma announced, her whole arm pressed up against Killianâs and it felt a little bit like staring straight into the sun. âI donât know why you keep picking tracks you suck at.â âHe sucks at every track,â Ruby mumbled, snapping her jaw when David kicked another pillow her direction. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but she didnât look surprised to see any of this and even Elsa looked amused.
Belle tried to turn her yawn into something that didnât sound like complete exhaustion, but it didnât really work and it was already after midnight. Killian hadnât looked at his phone all night.
âAh, well,â Ruby sighed. âMaybe nowâs a good time to save David some more embarrassment. Canât have the pride of New York showing just how shitty he is at basic video games in front of the press like this. What will the commissioner think?â David scoffed, flicking his finger at Rubyâs arm. âI would imagine heâd be concerned why anyone is judging another human being on their MarioKart skills.â
He glanced at Killian and Emma groaned, her whole body going slack against Killian and he tried not to actually wrap his arm around her shoulders.
Or kiss her.
Definitely kiss her.
âHeavy handed, Detective,â she hissed, but David just grinned and held his hand out towards her, pulling her off the couch and tugging her against his side. Emma shook her head, but she didnât argue the movement and she was still smiling when she looked back at Killian. âI think we figured it out right? Some kind of absolute-destroyer team?â âThatâs a little violent, Swan, but, yeah, weâve definitely figured it out,â Killian said and it was a lie and he didnât have anything figured out.
Mary Margaret forced leftovers into his hand â thereâs no getting out of it, you can give it to me later if you donât want it, Ruby promised, but Killian couldnât imagine eating another round of room service and he did have a tiny fridge in his room. âThank you,â he said honestly, tucking the container under his arm and Mary Margaret beamed at him.
âI have no idea what portion control is,â she said and the entire night hadnât made much sense, but being mothered by Henryâs teacher and Emmaâs sister-in-law was probably the only thing heâd almost expected. âAnd room service makes me want to cry.â âYou and me both.â She smiled even wider, using his shoulder as leverage and pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. Huh. Killianâs eyes flashed towards Emma â just a bit paler than sheâd been all night with wide eyes that, somehow, seemed greener and he tried to remember what the definition of friends was. âGoodnight, Killian,â Mary Margaret said.
He nodded slowly, the other conversations in the apartment white noise in the background when he could hear Emmaâs footsteps following him to the front door. âSheâs going to try and feed you all the time now, you know,â she warned. âSheâll probably keep non-perishables in her desk at school on the off chance you pick up Henry and Roland again.â âTuesday then,â Killian said without even thinking about it.
âYeah? You know for someone who keeps promising theyâre not much more than passing through, youâre doing a bang-up job of posing as top-notch uncle.â He laughed, leaning against the side of the open doorframe. âThereâs some kind of third quarter meeting for Mills on Tuesday afternoon thatâs expected to, and Iâm quoting here, last until the end of time and I wonât have much to do this week. So I volunteered. Plus,â he added softly and he wished he could stop talking, âthereâs always the chance of serendipitous run-ins when I wind up at school. And ice cream.â âVocabulary,â she muttered and Killian grinned at her. This was flirting. This felt a hell of a lot like flirting. âAnd weâve got to practice on Tuesday. The only reason I was there this week was because of some school emergency that I showed up late for.â âAh, of course.â
âAlthoughâŚ.â âAlthough?â Emmaâs eyes flashed and the flirting had turned into some kind of unspoken challenge. Or maybe heâd just lost his mind. They were blocking the door completely. Killian could hear Ruby mumbling under her breath, the sound of Annaâs fingers tapping on her phone screen and Mary Margaretâs quiet assurances that there was more than enough food for Elsa to take some as well.
âAlthough,â she repeated. âWeâre off on Wednesday because Iâm a benevolent captain.â Killian chuckled. âGood word.â âYou know Iâve never been farther uptown than Lincoln Center.â He was going to fall over. Or maybe collapse under the force of Rubyâs continued glare and he clearly hadnât flirted in a very long time because he was kind of slow on the uptake. âWhat?â Killian asked. âHonestly, Swan?â âIâve only ever stayed here with Mâs and David and they live here and Ruby lives downtown and there was no point.â
âHuh.â Ruby groaned and even Elsa looked a little amused when she shouted, jeez, you are dense from the other side of the apartment. It took another two seconds before he realized.
âOh, shit,â Killian muttered. Emma bit her lip. âDo you have pen, Swan?â âYou are the least prepared journalist in the world,â she accused, but Mary Margaret was there in an instant with a blue and black option and a full notebook. âGod, now sheâs handing out school supplies.â âTheyâre extra,â Mary Margaret promised.
He drew her a map. An actual, honest to goodness map  and Emma looked like she was just on the edge of hysterics the entire time, particularly when the pen stopped working where he was leaning up against the wall.
âHere,â she said, pushing the replacement into his hand and Killian finished tracing out the crosstown route that include a train and one bus and several blocks of walking. âGod, this is the most complex thing Iâve ever seen. Why do you just have this memorized?â âThereâs a giant park in between where I grew up and where I went to college,â Killian explained, nodding towards the crudely drawn rectangle in the center of the map. âYou pick up on these things after awhile. What time?â âWhat?â âTime. We start at Lincoln Center and work our way up or something. God, youâve missed half the city.â Emma rolled her eyes, but she looked excited and heâd drawn her a map. The hallway still smelled like wine. âI already explained that part, plus if I wasnât playing or in this apartment, I was working for Granny, so there wasnât much time for sightseeing.â Killian held the notebook back towards Emma, nodding towards the map and trying not to memorize every single inch of her â the way her fingers curled around the pages or that piece of hair that was back again, seemingly there just to taunt him, or how she rocked back on her heels when her tongue darted between her lips and friends could hang out.
Journalists could be friends with their...God, subjects was a terrible word. He was going to get drunk off wine fumes in the hallway.
âSo, letâs change that then, huh?â he asked, rocking back towards her and heâd have to look up how magnets worked later.
Emmaâs fingers tightened on the paper. âTwo? Do you get days off? How does it work?â âItâll work,â Killian promised and it wasnât really an answer to the question, but the story had done well and Regina owed him or something heâd probably spend the next few days rationalizing because Emma kept smiling at him and heâd drawn a map for Godâs sake.
âOk,â Emma smiled and he was absolutely going to kiss her, but then Ruby was there and Elsa was there and Belleâs face was flushed so red with embarrassment that it was a wonder she was even still able to stay standing.
âCâmon, Jones,â Ruby said knowingly. âLetâs see which city kid who can hail a cab faster.â He hummed, pushing any frustration back into the corner of his mind and maybe he was part of the team now. Emma was still holding the map. âIâm totally going to win,â he promised and Ruby made some kind of contradictory noise at the other end of the hall.
Emma twisted her eyebrows, leaning forward slightly and he could smell whatever shampoo she used as soon as she took a step towards him. Her hand was warm against his chest. He tried not to read into that. âIâve got no doubt,â she said and the certainty in her voice sent that same shockwave of heat through every single one of his veins and probably three-quarters of his arteries. âIâll see you Wednesday.â He tried not to think about it.
He did. It didnât really work. And he was about just as subtle as David had been â drawing questions from Robin and Will and even, once, Roland who wanted to know why he was so distracted when he totally forgot to even offer ice cream after school on Tuesday.
Regina glared at him for most of dinner that night.
Killian absolutely didnât care. He just smirked back over a plate of questionably expensive food and walked back uptown to try and work out some of that residual energy and, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, he ordered two cups of ridiculously espresso-filled coffee and coffee hybrids and took up his spot in front of the Lincoln Center fountain.
âYou didnât have to do that,â Emma said, jogging towards him with two cups of coffee in her hand. âAlthough insert clichĂŠ about great minds here or whatever.â Shit.
He knew his eyes widened slightly when she took another step, could feel the smile inching across his face as soon as he realized she was there and talking to him and sheâd bought them coffee too. God, he wanted to show her the entire goddamn city.
He couldnât remember the last time he cared about the island of Manhattan that much.
Or anyone else.
This was a problem.
âIâll take the compliment, Swan,â he grinned. âAlthough Iâm not sure what weâre supposed to do with all of this caffeine.â âDrink it?â Killian barked out a laugh, nodding towards the sidewalk. âGenius, love.â âThat almost sounded sarcastic.â âAlmost being the operative word there.â âDrink your coffee,â Emma muttered, but she was still smiling and the sun was reflecting off her hair or something equally absurd. âWhat exactly did you have in mind today? And has this fountain always been here?â âAlways. When I was a kid, my brother used to bring us down here with pennies and a whole bunch of those clichĂŠs you were talking about and weâd try and figure out what happened next. It never really worked the way we planned.â Killian took a gulp of coffee as soon as the words were out of his mouth and immediately winced when he burnt his tongue. An absolute, fucking disaster.
She put her hand on his arm. Again.
âHow much older was he?â she asked and that was the last thing he expected. He expected how did he die and why did you run and where were your parents â he didnât expect a question about age. Emma smiled, shifting the cups in her hands and squeezing his arm again. âYou can ask a follow-up if that helps.â Killian laughed, but that knot of anxiety that kept appearing in his stomach loosened. âThatâs not a requirement, love.â âAh, well, whatever helps the interview move along, I guess.â âHe was nearly ten years older than me.â âQuite an age gap.â âAh, yeah,â Killian said and he couldnât run his hand through his hair with two cups of coffee in his grip. âI wasnât exactly...letâs just say I was something someone else had to figure out.â âOh.â Killian hummed and theyâd jumped right back into god awful rather quickly. âChange of subject, Swan? And that wasnât the follow-up.â Emma nodded, taking a sip of her coffee and he probably shouldnât have regretted the loss of her hand as much as he did. âYouâve never been farther north than right here, right?â âWhy are you asking questions you already know the answer to?â âIâm recapping, love. Itâs what you do in a series of stories.â Emma rolled her eyes, just took another gulp of coffee and she was already finished with hers. She held her hand out expectantly and Killian wasnât sure heâd smiled as much in the last six years as he had since Emma Swan had showed up in his life. âYou want to see how the other half lives?â He didnât give her a moment to argue â trying to take stock of the flash of excitement in her eyes and the quirk of her lips as he took a step back towards the sidewalk and led her towards Central Park.
âSo, this is that very well-drawn rectangle on the map, huh?â Emma asked when they kept walking, weaving in between pedicabs and tourists and some cart that appeared to just be selling balloons.
âIâm nothing if not an artist, Swan,â Killian said and the coffee cups were long forgotten, gone cold in between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues. It left his right hand hanging at his side, something that felt like sparks practically shooting out his fingertips.
âAh, yeah, I can see that. Youâve really captured the energy of it. Those four lines brought to life this oasis in an otherwise concrete jungle.â âThat was almost poetic enough for me to ignore that slight sarcastic jab.â âNo sarcasm. A tease at best. Where even are we? Is this just the great New York City fountain tour, then?â Killian hummed and Emma shrugged, the smile just a bit sarcastic as well. âItâs a better fountain,â he said, holding his hand out and Emma eyed him speculatively, the din of early-fall tourists and camera shutters working their way through the archway in front of them. âThis is a historical landmark.â âIs that true?â Emma asked, the genuine curiosity catching him short.
âIâd imagine so.â âYou donât actually know? What kind of tour guide are you?â âI said weâd get you above 66th Street, Swan and made sure you got to see the good parts of the city. I made absolutely no promises about the validity of any of my claims.â She twisted her mouth slightly, turning towards him and God if he just took a step towards her, he could kiss her and maybe it wouldnât feel like his goddamn arm was going to fall off from not touching her. âThe good parts, huh?â Emma asked. âWhat makes them good?â âI like them,â Killian answered easily. âYou like fountains?â âI like....water.â Jeez.
âBecause of the Navy thing?â Emma asked and he couldnât breathe. She winced, squeezing one eye closed. âWas that the wrong question? You can get two follow ups. That seems fair, right?â
Killian nodded dumbly, mind racing to try and keep up with this and none of this was part of the plan. He was just supposed to write. He wasnât supposed toâŚ.no. None of that. âYeah, thatâs fair,â he agreed. âAnd yeah to the actual question too. How did...how did you figure that out?â âJust because I donât have a degree doesnât mean Iâm actually the dumbest person alive, you know.â âGod, Swan,â Killian groaned, eyes bulging slightly and she was still smiling. âWas that also part of the teasing thing?â âMaybe.â âShit,â he breathed. âGod, you canâtâŚ.â Emma laughed â loud and meaningful and both her hands fell back on his chest when her head fell back towards him. âIâll keep that in mind next time. You said Robin was old Navy and that he served with your brother. Wasnât really hard to put two and two together. Although there is one thing I canât figure out.â âWhich is?â âWhy didnât you? Donât those kinds of things go hand in hand? And from the way youâve talked about you brother, I just kind of assumedâŚâ âI did,â Killian interrupted and Emma lifted her eyebrows. âThought he was the beginning and end of everything?â She nodded. âI did. And I probably would have followed, but he wouldnât have let me. He wanted, well, a lot for me and for us and he dropped a hell of a lot of pennies in a hell of a lot of fountains so I wouldnât have to do that. I got into school here and he made sure I went. Probably would have come back stateside if he even thought I wasnât going to class every day.â Theyâd been walking. He didnât realize that theyâd been walking or that Emma was staring at him with something that felt a bit like wonder on her face. âYou alright, Swan?â Killian asked and the noise was even louder near the fountain, more ice cream carts and tourists and coins splashing in the water.
âI just...he sounds like David,â she mumbled.
âYeah, a little. That overprotective streak runs a mile wide, huh?â âIâm sorry about that. They were, well, I was kind of expecting it, but I didnât think the whole lot of them would be like that. I mean weâre friends, right?â Killian ignored the flush of disappointment that shot down his spine, settling in his back and maybe he could just walk into the goddamn fountain and stand there until he melted or something. âYeah,â he said, far too late to sound like he meant it. âOf course we are.â
âGood. Thatâs...thatâs good news.â âGood.â âAre you going to ask your follow ups or nah?â
He laughed and some of that tension that he couldnât quite see through seemed to evaporate right in front of his eyes. And then he tried to take a leap of faith â without throwing a coin in the fountain. âWould you ever think about going back to school? âOh,â Emma blinked, twisting the end of her hair around finger. âUm, well,â she took a deep breath and that standing in the fountain plan was looking more and more appealing until she answered, âyeah.â
âYeah?â âYeah,â she shrugged and that smile was just absurd. Like the center of the universe. Or something. Or exactly that. âI mean, not right now, obviously, but Iâve been thinking about that for awhile and itâs kind of a timing thing, I guess and Mâs and I have talked about classes online and a GED sounds...I donât know, kind of like a copout, butâŚâ Emma cut herself off, eyes going wide as sank onto the edge of the fountain, groaning slightly when she realized there was water involved. âMary Margaret is the only one who knows that,â she whispered. âI donât know why I told you that.â The disappointment threatening to pull Killian into the center of the Earth shifted to something a bit more hopeful and, screw the water, he sat down next to her. âOff the record, love. And I think you could do it. I know you could do it.â âYou donât.â âI do,â he argued. âYouâre not the only one whoâs capable of using Google, Swan. And youâve won a lot of tournaments and thereâs a reason this team just defaulted to you being in charge. Because you should be. You could...you could do anything.â She blushed slightly, but she didnât look away like she normally did. She held his gaze and rolled her shoulders back when she took a deep breath. âYou canât just say that.â âI just did.â âOff the record.â Killian shook his head. âDecidedly on. What would you study?â Emma lifted her eyebrows and he knew his voice had picked up, could feel that rush that he got from a good interview and good questions and he was far too curious for his own good. âYou did say two follow-ups.â âI donât know,â Emma admitted with a soft laugh. âI havenât gotten that far into the plan yet. I just want to feel like Iâve finally caught up to everyone else.â âItâs not a race, Swan.â âAh, so says the award-winner with a job in his degree field.â âYouâre a professional video game player, love,â Killian pointed out. âI donât think youâre sitting in last place of whatever metaphorical race this is.â
âYeah, with everything riding on this entire thing in Philadelphia. Weâve got to make a good impression or Elsa thinks this guy will pull and I...â she scrunched her nose, tapping her fingers impatiently on the granite underneath them, â...did you think that was weird? Not the deal part of it, obviously sponsors want their teams to do well, but a shipping company? It just seems strange, right? David thinks itâs fine.â âHeâs the detective, Swan. I just type quickly.â âYeah, but you did that whole thing in New Orleans, worked out clues or something, right?â âYou think Elsaâs shipping company is...what? Dealing? And sponsoring video game teams? This guy knew her parents.â âThatâs not a disagreement.â
She was right. And she knew she was right. It didnât make any sense and if heâd thought about this afternoon for a questionable amount of time since Saturday night, then heâd considered the reasons for a shipping company offering to sponsor a video game team nearly just as much.
None of it added up.
âItâs not,â Killian admitted. âAnd, yeah, I did think it was kind of weird, but if it gets you to Philadelphia then it seems good for now.â âAnd what happens after Philadelphia?â Killian shrugged. âYou win the entire inaugural season of the Overwatch League.â âObviously. Youâre awfully confident.â
âIn you.â âThatâs weird.â âWhy?â Killian asked and Emma rolled her whole body in response. âHonestly, Swan. At some point youâve got to understand that I am in this for the long haul. You can do this. We can do this.â
âWhyâd you bring me here?â Emma asked sharply, a quick contrast from whatever conversation theyâd been having. âBecause I donât...are we really friends?â Killian nodded. âThereâs no angle here, love. This place is, well, itâs important and I wanted you to come here. With me.â âYou bring all your feature-story subjects up here?â
âNo.â
He hadnât meant to say it so bluntly, but there was no point in beating around some metaphorical bush or very solid fountain and none of this made sense, but he couldnât seem to stop staring at Emma.
âWhat was his name?â she asked. âYour brother, I mean.â He stopped breathing. Or the world stopped spinning. Or maybe just fell off its axis. And Emma Swan smiled at him.
Shit, he was screwed.
âLiam,â he mumbled. âHis name was Liam.â âAnd he brought you here?â Killian nodded, heart picking up and maybe trying to work its way out of his chest and he hoped Emma couldn't hear it because that would probably be embarrassing. âThank you,â she continued, just a bit breathless and he could barely hear her over the kid screaming a few feet away.
âThank me when we hit five-hundred thousand hits, love, not for this.â âYeah, well, you said that was just inevitable or something, right?â Emma laughed and he briefly wondered if it was possible to actually self combust from want. Probably not. He hoped not.
âThat wasnât a guarantee, Swan. But weâll talk thank youâs then.â âLike what?â Emmaâs mouth quirked, a piece of hair flying across her face when a gust of wind swept through the park. âExactly?â
âGratitude?â
âI thought this was a discussion for after the second story. Donât you need to interview someone for that?â
âI thought Iâd talk to Elsa about getting the sponsorship.â âAh.â Killian smirked, well aware that the smirk hadnât worked yet and he knew it wouldnât work then and he couldnât think of a single thing to do â except maybe bring his hand to his jaw, tapping thoughtfully underneath his lips and he was an asshole.
Liam was going to show up in the middle of the goddamn park and haunt him.
Heâd deserve it.
âPlease,â Emma scoffed, but her voice was still just a bit breathless and something in the back corner of his mind roared to life at that. âYou couldnât handle it.â âAh, maybe, youâre the one who couldnât handle it, Swan.â She didnât blink and the whole goddamn city could have frozen or collectively jumped or teleported through some kind of wormhole in space and Killian would have only noticed Emma and her eyes and how quickly her hands moved when she leaned forward, grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.
Hard.
Fuck.
There were people everywhere â tourists and not tourists and sounds and it was so goddamn loud and all Killian could think about was how easy it was to fall into her, like he was falling into the middle of the ocean.
Her nails scraped across the back of his head lightly and that seemed to wake him up, right arm snaking around Emmaâs shoulders until his fingers found their way into her hair like he was trying to make sure he could hold her against him.
He might have groaned or maybe she did and it didnât matter one way or another because thinking about any of that would mean heâd have to think about something that wasnât her lips on his or her hand dragging across his chest. Killian rocked forward and it wasnât exactly easy â they were sitting on a fountain, the water somehow hitting them from what felt like every angle and he was definitely the one that groaned when her tongue moved against his lower lip.
Heâd run out of oxygen.
No. That was...that was absurd. This wasnât supposed to end.
Killian ducked his head again and if he just kept kissing her they wouldn't have to move or consider the line theyâd just obliterated and there went Journalism 101.
They nearly fell off the edge of fountain, Killianâs foot skidding across the ground and the world was still moving â it must have been. He could hear people still yelling, the city moving and existing and Emma breathing just a few inches in front of him.
God, he wanted to kiss her again.
âThat wasâŚâ Killian started, nearly stunned by the strangled sound of his own voice. Emma hadnât let go of his shirt.
âA one-time thing,â she said and he felt his eyes fall shut as soon as the words the words registered. âDonât...donât follow me. Iâve...Iâve got to go.â He didnât say anything. And heâd think about that for hours that night, playing it over and over as he wondered when exactly Emma Swan had found her way into every single word he could even think about writing.
Tag List: @jamif ; @alicerubyfloyd ; @courtneyshortney82 ; @jennjenn615 ; @artistic-writer ; @onceuponaprincessworld ; @kmomof4 ; @resident-of-storybrooke ; @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin ; @coliferoncer ; @strangestarlighttree ; @tiganasummertree ; @game-of-once-upon-an-outlander ; @followbatb (Let me know if you want to be tagged or not tagged or your thoughts on the questionable number of fountains in the city)
#cs ff#captain swan#cs#captain swan ff#captain swan fic#video game fic#hey uhhhhhh here's a bunch of plot and other stuff#OTHER STUFF
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Trust in me - Chapter 4
They had ended up taking down eight drug dealers and had cuffed three prostitutes. They made sure not to hurt anyone more than necessary, and none of the cops came out with any injuries worse than a sprained ankle, so they counted that as a win.
âDude, you were amazing!â Derek says as he sits next to Jensen.
Both of their teams are here, celebrating the achievement of the two departmentâs combined efforts. But Jensenâs joy was short-lived, this operation had only confirmed his doubts; Pellegrino wasnât the boss - far from it actually. He was a small seller at best, the actual boss probably promised him a crap-ton of money in exchange for his extended cooperation and clearly, it worked.
âAll the credit goes to you, partnerâ Jensen says, fake enthusiasm in his tone as he toasts his friend.
âCome on Jensen, be happy a little!â Derek said, sensing his fakery.
âHappy about what? Until we have the boss, everything we do is worthless.â Jensen said bitterly.
âNo man, it isnât. Weâre putting criminals behind bars, thatâs what our job is about. We protect people, and sure, maybe the big win didnât happen today, hell, it might not happen tomorrow! But tonight, Iâll go to sleep knowing that eight more criminals are behind bars, where they canât hurt anyone, and thatâs good enough for me.â
âYeah, because criminals donât do crime in prison,â Jensen mumbled.
âYou know what? If you canât enjoy this win, then itâs your problem, not mine!â Derek says, anger evident in his voice.
With those last bitter words, he left Jensen alone, choosing to chat up another group of their co-workers, which welcomed him with large, tipsy smiles and fresh beer.
Jensen watches the scene unfold from the outskirts of their social group, as always. He gave up trying to fit in years ago, even when he was but a simple agent, he could never deal with the parties that came after a âclosedâ case. You never closed a case - not really. Every time you put someone behind bars someone else will step up and take their place, all wanting the money and power that comes with a higher position/rank on the streets.
He throws back his drink and chugs it in record time as he makes his way to the exit, leaving the glass on a coffee table near the entrance of the bar. He didnât bother saying goodbye to anyone; he knew they would have more fun without him anyways, after all, no one wanted to get drunk in front of their boss.
As he steps out into the crisp air of the night he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, instantly relaxing as the air wasnât as humid as it was before. The temperature is perfect for a nightly walk, he notices as he sees couples passing by. He glances over and notices a girl with her boyfriendâs jacket draped over her shoulders while the man affectionately pulls her under his arm, letting her rest against him. He couldnât stop the smile that crept onto his face even if he tried.
He remembers when he used to do that back in high school, Justin and he would spend hours debating on which diners were better, or which movies so they could take their respective girlfriends out to. The dates usually ended with them being the heroes if the movies were too scary, or if the nights were (purposely chosen to be) too cold.
He doubts that any of the girls were scared or cold, but they had pretended to be, allowing themselves to fall into the flirting game and letting the metaphorical hero with the girlâs heart.
His train of thought came to a screeching halt when he saw Jared leaning against the alley wall, licking his cherry-red lips obscenely, and slowly grinding against the brick, looking like the pure embodiment of lust. Tonight, he seemed to have met his goal - judging by the sleek black car with dark tinted windows that pulled up in front of him.
Jensen frowns as he watches Jared strut forward while bracing his arms against the window, arching his back in a way that gave the man a clear view of his smooth skin and putting his perky ass on display. Jensen knew exactly what was happening, but didnât know if he should interfere - if he waits and follows the car he could get both Jared and the man arrested, but this would mean that this man would have sex with Jared first, and he couldnât let that happen.
Itâs one of the things that Jensen has had the most trouble with since working at the police department. He couldnât get his head around the idea that in order to get someone arrested, he needed to let them commit the crime. Isnât it his job to prevent crimes and enforce the laws?
âHey there, Jared,â He says, walking up behind him âChilly night, isnât it?â
Jared clenched his jaw, his charming smile all but gone, as he kept his arms firmly in place inside the car, preventing the man from driving away from him.
âHey, I didnât come all the way here to see you flirting with someone else!â The man snaps at Jared, visibly upset about what is happening.
Thereâs a ring with a family picture hanging on his keys, as long as a wedding ring on his finger. Classic client, Jensen thinks.
âWhat did you come for, then?â He asks, invading Jaredâs personal space until heâs able to put his arms on the car too.
âDid I ask you a question?â The man said, challenging him with his eyes, but Jensen couldnât care less.
âNah, officers are often the ones asking the questions - not the other way around.â Replied Jensen snarkily.
He could sense the exact moment the man understood what was happening, the moment his face lost all color while is angry glare instantly changed to one of fear.
âI- I was just asking my way around.â
âOf course you were,â Jensen smirks âWell, now that you found it, you should leave, donât you think?â
The man nodded frantically before starting his car, not even shooting one last glance towards Jared.
âYou asshole!â Jared yells, trying to shove Jensen off.
But Jared didnât have time to shove Jensen again before he was pinned to the wall behind him, his arms high above him, immobile, while his legs were spread wide to each side, not giving him enough space to recover his footing as Jensen stepped between them. Jensen instantly regretted pinning him because Jaredâs cocky smile was gone, and his face was pale as he trembled in fear as he lowered his head in submission and... acceptance?
Jensenâs entire body shudders with the thought of this not being the first time Jared was put into this position. That maybe - surely, Jared was taken advantage of like this several times, not having any choice but to submit and agree with his attacker.
âIâm sorry,â Jensen says, instantly  releasing him and putting his hands on display in front of him in a placating gesture âItâs an instinct, Iâm sorry.â
âWhateverâ Jared mumbles, his bad mood back. He keeps his arms close to his chest, and for the first time, Jensen really feels like heâs facing a child. A scared child. âIt was the first car that stopped tonight.â
âIâm not sorry for keeping you from being raped,â Jensen grumbled.
âWhat? Itâs not a rape. Iâm consenting!â
âYouâre not legal, so yes, itâs a rape. And accepting money is still illegal, by the way!â Jensen shouted.
Jared flinched at Jensen's tone and then slumped, a look of utter defeat adamant on his features âYou suckâ he sighed, sitting on the sidewalk, âI really needed this cash.â
âPlease donât tell me youâre doing drugs too.â Jensen groaned, feeling slightly guilty for shouting at Jared.
âNo,â Jared said, rolling his eyes âI just⌠Whatever. You did your good action of the day, now you can walk away.â
It was really tempting, to walk away from Jared and forget this all ever happened, after all, he did his job. But, Jared seemed so lost and miserable that
Jensen felt guilty, didnât he swear an oath to protect and help others? Well, sometimes helping can consist of simply sitting down with someone and listening, letting them talk to you.
Once, he sat with a woman for six straight hours, consoling her after her husband death. Most of his colleges would have leave her, but not him. Putting criminals away isnât the only part of the job. Even if it was, at the end of the days, theyâre all people, trying to survive as best as they can, and the least he can do is offering his help when needed.
âCome on, tell me why you need it,â He said sitting down next to Jared âExcept if itâs illegal, then donât tell me.â
Jared laughs a little, and Jensen considers it as a win.
âIâm hungryâ Jared admits âIt was rent day three days ago and I had to give all the money that I had earned⌠earlier, and I couldnât find anyâŚâ He licked his lips, shooting a quick look at Jensen âAny money. One of the girls was working with the police and she sets up a trap for one of her clients, so now no one would stop here.â
Jensen tried to ignore that Jared had literally just confessed that he was a prostitute and instead focused on what he was saying. He knew about the trap, Derek was the one in charge of it and the case had made the cover of the newspapers; âPolitician Cheats On Wife With Prostitute.â
âWhen is the last time you ate?â
âThree days ago,â Jared said, a soft dusting of pink rushing to his cheekbones. Jensen bit his bottom lip, hoping that he was making a good decision and not just falling in another one of Jaredâs traps.
âThereâs a diner a few blocks away, wanna go with me?â
Jared whole face lit up, and to state the point, his stomach started growling at the same time.
âGuess itâs a yes then,â Jensen said, casting a grin at Jared.
Tags : @mereka18 @golly-god
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