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theladyofdeath · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter 8}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby’s blogs! >> @snelbz

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Cassian didn’t have to go into the bar until noon, so until Viviane arrived for her first day at 11:30, it was just him and Nyx.

The sun was out, and Cassian intended to take full advantage of it. Nyx was in his stroller and Cassian was jogging down the side of the Sidra. He’d only had him for the last half hour.

After Cassian’s breakdown last night, Nesta had apparently decided to let Cassian sleep in. Before Nyx could even cry, Nesta had gotten him up, ready, and fed before she left for work that morning.

He was mortified that she’d had to see that, that he’d broken down in front of her like that. But there was so much of Rhys looking at him, all the time and he’d been holding it in for so long. And knowing that he hadn’t been able to figure out what Nyx needed was the final straw last night.

After Nesta had hugged him, he’d finally gotten the strength to pull himself together, and he pulled from her grasp. He’d noticed the dress she wore to go out then, showing just as much skin as that damn towel had, and had made an excuse about being exhausted. He’d shut himself in his room, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep around two or three in the morning.

He wasn’t surprised she had barely wanted to see him this morning. She probably thought he was an irresponsible mess, probably figured she was better off taking care of Nyx on her own.

And maybe she was.

Nesta had some natural motherly instinct, just like Feyre and Elain had. It was an Archeron trait, Cassian had no doubt.

And although the Archeron sisters certainly hadn’t had a perfect upbringing, the three of them had always had each other.

Cassian couldn’t say the same.

His mom died young.

He’d never had a father.

Or siblings.

Or any other extended family.

He’d just had Rhysand and Azriel, and although fatherhood had come decently easy to both of them, Cassian couldn’t say the same for himself. He was the goofy, unpredictable uncle of the group, he was good in that role.

Not the ideal father figure.

Cassian picked up his speed.

Nyx giggled and threw his hands in the air.

Regardless of his mood, he couldn’t help but smile down at him.

He loved this kid, and he knew that this kid loved him. He may not be his father, but he would do his damndest to make sure he knew how much he was loved. Every damn day.

Cassian had just gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed when he heard the doorbell chime.

Nyx was standing in his playpen, holding onto the padded railing when Cassian rushed to the door, throwing it open.

“Viviane, hey,” he said, opening it wide enough for her to step through. She gave him a polite smile and he shut the door behind her. “Okay, so Nyx is over there, Nesta left a note on the fridge with our cell numbers, the number for her restaurant, my bar, uh, his pediatrician-.”

Viviane laughed quietly and headed for the playpen. “I’ll call you if I need anything, but I’m sure this little dude is going to be an angel.”

She reached down and scooped him up and Nyx did nothing but beam up at her.

“He’s in good hands,” Viviane went on when she saw the worry in Cassian’s eyes.

“I know,” he smiled, although hesitantly. “Nesta will be home at four-thirty.”

“We’re going to have fun,” Viviane promised, and Nyx giggled.

Cassian took that as cue to leave and hurried out the door. It was stressful, leaving him for the first time, alone with someone they had only just met.

He found himself wondering if Rhysand or Feyre would approve.

He prayed they did.

When he got to the bar, Kallias was already there, making sure everything was ready for opening.

“You’re two minutes late, boss,” he teased.

Cassian snorted. “New nanny. Had a hard time leaving.”

Kallias raised a brow. “Hot nanny?”

Cassian grinned as he came behind the bar. “Just your type, actually.”

Before the conversation could deepen, Cassian seeing the intrigue in Kal’s eye, he was heading to the store room, grabbing a few bottles to keep within reaching distance when they undoubtedly got a little busy over lunch.

“I like hot nannies,” Kallias hollered. “It would be nice of you to share.”

Cassian snorted, heading back up towards the bar. He didn’t reply, shaking his head as he glanced at his friend, and he set about cutting and readying the garnishes for drinks.

With a dramatic sigh, far louder than it needed to be for Cass to hear him, Kallias began turning on the televisions around the room, two on different sports broadcasts and one on a local music channel.

Maybe he would set Kallias up with Viviane.

Even he had to admit…they’d make a pretty damn cute couple.

It was just before 4:30 when Nesta pushed open the front door, prepared to find the house thrown into chaos.

But, it was spotless, Nyx was sleeping, and Viviane was on the couch, reading a book. She looked up at Nesta and smiled.

“You’re home,” she whispered, even though Nyx wasn’t in the room. “He’s been down for about forty-five minutes. We played hard today. I think he’s worn out.”

Nesta blinked, carefully stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. “He was good?”

“Oh, he was great,” Viviane promised, standing up and closing her book with a bookmark placed neatly between it’s pages. “Although, his diaper rash is getting pretty bad. I changed him more often to try and keep him as dry and rash-creamed as possible. But, you may want to keep an eye out. I’ve seen worse, but you still may want to get a prescription from his doctor to help clear it up.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed that Nyx had had a rash and chastised herself. “Yes. Absolutely, I’ll make him an appointment as soon as I can.”

Viviane smiled again, stopping to grab her purse where it sat by the floor of the couch and dropped her book inside. It was well loved, Nesta could tell, and for a moment, she considered asking what the pretty, young woman was reading.

And then she remembered who she’d been here alone with that morning.

Her eyes popped open. “Oh, gods, I hope Cassian was okay this morning. He’s not…always on his best behavior.”

Viviane brows bunched towards each other, confusion on her face. “I don’t follow?”

“I hope he didn’t say anything too inappropriate,” she rushed out. “He can be a bit much in the mornings, and-.”

“Oh, no, no,” Viviane interrupted, her crystalline eyes going wide. “No, he was an absolute gentleman. On good behavior.” She then added, “And please, don’t mistake my enthusiasm for this job, Nesta, I’m not interested in your husband or anything like-.”

It was Nesta’s turn to interrupt. “Husband?! No, no, Cassian isn’t my husband. Cauldron, no we just have to live together. He’s not even my boyfriend. I can barely stand the guy.”

Viviane hesitated. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed-.”

“It’s alright,” Nesta said, and knew her cheeks were red. “I could see how it would be easy to make that assumption.”

Viviane nodded and rocked back on her heels, uncomfortably. “Right, well...I’ll see you all tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Nesta said, trying her best to give a convincing smile.

She knew she was failing.

Convincing smiles weren’t her specialty.

But, husband? As if she would ever marry a man like Cassian. They may have had a moment where they didn’t absolutely loathe each other the night before, but that’s only because he was having a complete mental breakdown.

Nesta may be a bitch, but she wouldn’t kick a man when he’s already down.

Well, at least not in that situation. In a different set of circumstances, perhaps she would.

Viviane let herself out and Nesta said her goodbyes, and shook her head.

Husband.

Oh, fuck no.

After a quick call to Nyx’s pediatrician, and an appointment made for the following afternoon, Nesta set out to make dinner. Nothing too crazy, just a new recipe she’d been toying with at the restaurant and she needed an unbiased opinion - one from someone whom she didn’t employ - to give her an honest opinion. She knew Cassian would be at the bar until eight-thirty or nine, but the chicken salad would be better chilled anyways.

Or she thought it was. She’d have to ask what he thought about that.

She was halfway through chopping up the roast chicken she’d spiced and marinated all day when the monitor to her left let out a lonely cry. Washing her hands, Nesta was hurrying up the stairs and found Nyx standing in his crib. He immediately reached for her, those blue eyes still drowsy with sleep, but Nesta knew he needed to be changed as soon as she got within sniffing distance. Hopefully he’d be sleepy enough that he wouldn’t fight her on the diaper change.

“What did Cassian feed you for lunch, kiddo?” She asked, scrunching her nose as she unsnapped the onesie he wore, and swapped out his diaper for a clean one.

True to Viviane’s word, Nyx had developed a splotchy, red rash on his bottom. After setting Nyx up in a swing by the door, Nesta took a few minutes to Google what a normal case of diaper rash looked like. Afterwards, she had wiped her search history and was thankful she’d gone ahead and called the pediatrician’s office, especially considering they were now closed until the following morning.

She also had to figure out a way to thank Viviane for her suggestion. Nesta almost felt like she owed the girl an apology for her initial reaction to her, based on her assumptions of Cassian. Not that she had any idea how Nesta had felt, but she still felt bad.

She may know a few things about Cassian Nazari, but she knew nothing about Viviane, not yet. Nesta should really give her the benefit of the doubt.

Even though such a thing was not her specialty.

The second they walked into the kitchen, Nyx was crying and reaching toward the fridge. Nesta put him in his high chair, letting him cry it out as she fixed him supper.

In the meantime, she dumped a pile of strawberry puffs on his tray.

He was immediately stuffing them into his mouth.

“You know, I’ve tasted those and they’re not all that great,” Nesta said, preparing him a small bowl of sweet potatoes.

Nyx looked at her and held up a star-shaped puff.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, but thank you for the offer.”

Nesta finished her salad and put the rest in the fridge for Cassian to eat once he got home. After taking a seat, and placing her salad and Nyx’s potatoes on the table, she dug in.

It was, obviously, delicious.

Nyx even seemed to be enjoying his sweet potatoes, though, as always more ended up on his high chair’s tray than in his mouth.

“You have an art for making a mess, buddy,” she said, shaking her head as she lifted another spoonful of the sweet potatoes to his mouth.

He took the bite into his mouth, and sprayed most of it back out in a raspberry.

She raised an eyebrow, setting the bowl down in front of her. “You’re just playing at this point, aren’t you?”

To say yes, in fact, he was, Nyx smacked a chubby hand into the mushed up mix of puffs and sweet potato on his tray.

“That means it’s bath time and then bed time,” she mused, wiping as much of him down as she could. She decided to go ahead and ditch his smeared onesie in the laundry room, and carried a diapered Nyx up to the bathroom.

A mostly uneventful bath later, she discovered Viviane must have been telling the truth about playing hard today. Nyx had been asleep before she’d made it through the second page of his favorite book, his pacifier falling out of his full, little lips.

She gently laid him down in the crib, and tiptoed downstairs to flip through bad reality TV until Cassian got home.

She hated how much she had thought about Cassian throughout the day. For once, it wasn’t about his body. Instead, it was about the fact that he had spent five minutes in her arms the night before, sobbing. She wasn’t sure what to think.

Cassian had a rough exterior.

He was known for his good looks and how many women those looks attracted. Since Nesta met him five years prior, there were only a handful of things she could say about Cassian.

He was beautiful, but that much was obvious.

He knew how to make beautiful instruments, which meant he was good with his hands.

Nesta would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about just how good he was with those hands.

Lastly, Cassian was cocky as hell. He was hot. He knew he was hot. And he had to convince everyone who didn’t think he was hot that he was hot.

But, one thing that Nesta hadn’t known about Cassian until the night before?

He cared.

He really, really cared.

And he was scared.

She had been willing to put aside their differences for Nyx. They’d come to that agreement when he’d begun to depend on them. But now, she wanted to make things work…for him. He was terrified of letting Rhys down, something she understood. Every time she thought of something she may have done wrong, all she could think about was how disappointed Feyre would be in her.

Except…she knew that wasn’t true. Just like she knew that Rhys would never be disappointed in Cassian. The fact that he’d stepped up, had been willing to care for Rhys and Feyre’s only child…

She just had to make sure Cassian believed it.

Nesta was half asleep on the couch when the door unlocked and opened, Cassian walking through. He blinked once upon seeing her, clearly not having expected her to be downstairs when he got home.

“Hey,” she said, stretching. “How was your day?”

He tossed his keys on the table by the door, looking around, pointedly not looking at her. “It was good. Where’s Nyx?”

“He’s been down since seven-thirty or so, Viviane did great today,” she said, watching him as he walked into the kitchen. “I owe you an apology. You were right, she’s good.”

She heard a grunt of acknowledgment as the fridge opened. He came back into the living room, shaking up a bottled protein shake and cracking it open.

“I made a roasted chicken salad,” she said. “I put leftovers in the fridge for you.” “That’s okay,” he said, voice low. “You can take it to work with you tomorrow. Don’t want to take your food.”

Nesta blinked. “I put it in the fridge for you-.”

“I’m tired,” he said, heading toward the stairs. “Night.”

Nesta’s mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “I’m sorry, what?”

Cassian stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

I made you dinner. I stayed up to make sure you were alright. “Nothing. Just didn’t realize you were so insistent on being an asshole this evening.”

“An asshole?” he repeated. “I just got home, I’m tired, and now I’m an asshole?”

Nesta just shook her head, falling back on the couch. “Nevermind. Goodnight.”

Cassian just stood there, looking half like he wanted to go upstairs and half like he wanted to chuck the half-empty bottle at the back of her head. He’d already had a long, horrible day full of shitty, rude customers. He hadn’t even realized it was nearing Spring Break until the underage kids with shitty, fake ID’s had descended on the bar today. The amount of customers he had to turn away since they were practically children possibly outweighed the actual customers he and Kal had served.

He’d also had Nesta on his mind all day, on the pity she had to feel for him after he lost it the night before. The fact that she made him dinner was just proof of it, that he was right.

“You didn’t need to make me dinner,” he said, staring at the wall behind her head. “I can take care of myself, alright?”

Nesta’s eyes were closed, her arms crossed as she laid back on the couch. “I didn’t say that you couldn’t.”

“Just because I lost it for a minute last night, doesn’t mean that I’m helpless,” Cassian went on. “I’m just as capable of taking care of Nyx, of being a grown ass adult, as you are.”

Nesta’s eyes opened, then, and she slowly looked over to him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, simply.

“Really?” Nesta asked. “Because you’re acting like a gods damned child right now.”

Cassian snorted as he shook his head. “I don’t have the patience for you tonight. Goodnight.”

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nesta snapped.

“It’s all you think I’m good for, so I guess I may as well act like it, too,” he called out, not turning back to look at her.

The words struck her, made her feel two feet tall, especially considering how she’d begun to regard him instead. But she wasn’t able to stop the bite of her words as she snapped, “Oh, fuck you.”

Cassian didn’t say a word as he topped the stairs and headed down the hall.

She almost wished he’d slammed the door, almost wished he’d made a spectacle of being angry and shutting her out again, after what she’d thought may have been progress the night before.

It was almost that much worse that his door shut with a soft click.

#nessian #nesta #cassian #modern au #fanfic #sjm #collab #shara #shacmc

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akindofmagictoo · 3 years

Text

manuscript search tag game

I have been tagged by @diphthongsfordays! I have a bunch of yours still to get through. strap in.

my words are immediate, include, enemy, presence, weak, return

immediate (Dragonsong) (dun dun dun...)

Something chirped and she reached immediately for her sword once more, one eye on the pale pink bulk of the dragon in front of her. But it hadn’t moved. It lay still as stone.

Whatever had chirped, it had come from behind Robin.

“Oh,” whispered Robin, and Isi stepped over the dragon’s neck to look.

include + presence (Dragonsong)

Her oath had also included swearing to protect the innocent and those who couldn’t protect themselves. What was more innocent than a baby dragon? A baby dragon who probably had no idea what was happening. Enya probably didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t her fault. Her parent had presumably brought her, and Isi had brought her here to the citadel. If anything, Enya’s presence was Isi’s fault.

She cast the sword aside. It rang on the stone floor, but the sound seemed very far away all of a sudden. Blood roared in her ears. She swallowed and lifted her chin. “No.” One word, but it cut the silence like a blade.

enemy (Hurricane)

Twelve oars moved again, droplets flashing in the sunlight as the blades dipped back into the water. Aella blinked hair out of her eyes as a fuse burned down in her hand, trying to clear her vision before she threw. She reached up with her free hand to deal with the problem, and Sequoia snatched the bomb up and tossed it. Aella wrangled her hair back behind her ears where it belonged, and realised why she was having the problem: the wind had picked up. The Firebird’s sail billowed out from the mast and she began to move faster and faster.

Aboard the enemy ship, someone went to light another cannon, but Emmy snapped off a pistol shot with her free hand, and the man fell back with a screech. Then the Firebird was clear, her stern sliding past the other ship’s stern. It would take the other ship too long to turn, however they went about it. This was the Firebird’s chance to get a lead. But where would they go?

weak (Hurricane) (angst time oops)

With considerable effort, he managed, “My family. Can’t leave them wondering. Please…” He took a deep inhale and clutched at Tempest’s hand. “They won’t know.” A tear slid down his temple. “Please.”

She wiped the tear away with her sleeve. “If I have to, I’ll tell them.”

He nodded weakly, apparently exhausted from the effort of forming the words. His voice was almost inaudible when he whispered, “And… tell Aella… I’m sorry.” He shivered and fell silent.

Tempest pulled off her coat and covered him with it, ignoring the bite of the cold evening air. He didn’t respond. She shook his shoulder. “Tell her yourself. You’re not going to die. I forbid it.” She wasn’t sure when she’d turned into the optimist—usually Aella was the one to talk like this. No matter. She refused to give up hope. “Aella will never forgive me if I let you die.” She might never forgive herself, either.

return (Dragonsong)

As they rode into the town, Isi recognised Baya’s tavern immediately. Even without a Crown symbol on her chest, it seemed likely there would be a place for them there.

She let Sierra and Robin book them some rooms while she stabled and tended to their horses, with SB’s help. She knew Baya. But without her uniform, without her title, she felt somehow out of place returning here. So she trailed in last, hoping Baya would be too busy to recognise her.

She hoped in vain.

“Tor Isadora!”

Isi hesitated. “I think… I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

I shall leave this one an open tag for anyone who wants to play! your words are arrow, error, irrational, surreal

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt #wip hurricane #hurricane excerpt

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years

Text

philautia

n. a love based on deep connection to one’s well-being and built upon a love for one’s self; a centered wholeness

Words: 2.3k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Sasha James & Tim Stoker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Minor Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Characters: Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims, Sasha James

Additional Tags: AU - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Humor, Statement Fic (but not in the way you expect!), Aromantic and Asexual Characters, Implied/Referenced Homophobia (very minor), Implied/Referenced Arophobia (also very minor)

Summary:

SASHA

So, according to Tim, I’m supposed to be recording a statement on, quote, my “most swashbucklingest experience as an esteemed member of the LGBT community.” He left this recorder on my desk and stole my scone. Timothy Stoker, I will not forget that.

---

Statements of members of the archival staff at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding certain facets of their aspec identities. Statements compiled by Timothy Stoker on 10th June, 2016. For personal use only.

Ao3 link in reblogs

Or read below:

[CLICK]

MARTIN

—really don’t think this is necessary—

TIM

Aaaaand we’re recording!

MARTIN

(exasperated) Tim.

TIM

Oh, come on Martin, it’s more fun this way!

[MARTIN MAKES A NOISE OF DISAGREEMENT]

TIM

You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that this doesn’t appeal to your, and I quote, “retro aesthetic.”

MARTIN

(reluctantly) It… might.

TIM

See! So it’s perfect!

…

[HE SIGHS]

Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Martin. I just thought it might be nice—to have something to look back on when we’re all old and sick of each other, you know? Here, I can go first.

MARTIN

Tim, you don’t have to—

TIM

(overlapping, adopting the ‘Archivist’ voice) Statement of Timothy Stoker, regarding the first time he went to Pride with his brother, Danny. June 10th, 2016.

(cheekily) Statement begins.

TIM (STATEMENT)

(in his normal voice) I realized I was into blokes too when I was 15, you know. Think it took me a while because of the whole ace thing, though that took me until I was in uni to really figure out. I was still fine with sex, you know, always enjoyed it when it came up, just… never really wanted it with anyone in particular. So I suppose I’d assumed for a while that the things I was feeling toward other guys weren’t romantic because I never had the sexual parts to go along with them. (with wry humor) Almost ruined a few relationships that way, actually.

But I’m getting a bit off-topic. Can’t be one of those rambling statement givers Jon hates. God, I can see his face now, that thing he does with his nose—Martin, you know the one, the- the way it looks like he’s just smelled something really, really rank.

MARTIN

I thought you said you weren’t going to ramble.

TIM

Cheeky, cheeky. Okay, where was I. Right.

TIM (STATEMENT)

Mom and Dad weren’t real big on the whole bi thing, so the first time I got the chance to go to Pride was in uni. The first time I got the chance to go with Danny was after he turned 18 and got his first modeling gig. At least, I think he was already modeling back then. Point is, we were both out of the house, and Danny had been dying to go to Pride with me ever since I sent him pictures of me and Sasha eating an entire box of rainbow-colored donuts that first year. I’d figured out I was ace by then, but it had been pretty recent, so when we got there, I found one of the vendors selling those big flags you drape over your shoulders and got an ace one. Felt a bit weird having the ace flag instead of the bi one like the other years, but I had worn that pink, blue, and purple button-down Sasha got me for Christmas once, so overall, it felt all right.

And Danny—god, he loved it. Pretty sure he ate his weight in fried food that day.

[HE LAUGHS]

Almost got the aro flag he’d borrowed from Sasha dirty, actually, when he—

(quickly changes course) Ah, nothing! Sasha, if you’re listening to this, absolutely nothing happened to your flag, and I definitely did not have it laundered before I returned it to you.

TIM

Aaaaand that’s it! Statement ends, I guess.

See—easy! (a bit more seriously) But really—you don’t have to record one if you don’t want to, Martin.

MARTIN

…

No, I- I want to.

TIM

Are you sure? I don’t want you to do that thing where you just do something because you think someone else wants you to.

MARTIN

I do not—!

…

Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, I- I’m sure.

[RUSTLING AS THE TAPE RECORDER IS PASSED FROM TIM TO MARTIN]

MARTIN

(with an audible smile) Statement of, er, Martin Blackwood. Regarding… a crush. No, no, wait—god, that sounds so juvenile. Regarding himself, and a person who- er, someone whom he—

[HE SIGHS]

Fine. Regarding a crush. Statement given June 10th, 2016.

Statement begins.

MARTIN (STATEMENT)

I’m always a little embarrassed to tell people that I’ve never dated anyone before? Okay, a- a lot embarrassed, actually. I try not to bring it up, but people will say things like, oh, you know how it is to shop for a partner or meeting her parents is definitely nerve-wracking—which is wrong on, er, two accounts, actually—and then I feel more awkward not telling them that I don’t know, actually, because I’ve never been in a relationship longer than a week or so. Then, they’ll get all sympathetic, like it’s some- some tragedy that I’m not involved with someone, and that’s worse, because then they’ll offer to set me up with people, or say that they don’t understand why I’m single because I’m a catch or whatever, and I have to give them some excuse about not interested at the moment.

It’s not that, not really. Dates with strangers, they- they just never work out for me.

I think I fall somewhere on the aromantic spectrum? I didn’t think about it much until Sasha mentioned it once over drinks—I think you were there, Tim, although you were (laughs) very drunk by that point. I told her I hadn’t had a crush on anyone since sixth form, and she threw around a bunch of terms. I- I honestly don’t really remember, it was kind of overwhelming and (laughs) I was also pretty drunk as well. But yeah, it… it sounds about right.

(hesitantly, as if bracing himself for impact) So… this person. Who I, er. Recently, that is, who I…

[HE CLEARS HIS THROAT]

It’s really strange, that’s all. And a- a lot. I—heh—I don’t really know what to do about it.

MARTIN

…

Uh, statement ends? I guess? I, uh, don’t really have anything else to say. (jokingly) It’s not like there’s any, er, follow-up or whatever. (to Tim) Was- was that okay?

TIM

(audibly smiling) Yup! Most excellent, Marto. (more seriously) You felt okay, right?

MARTIN

(huh) Yeah. Yeah, I- I did. A bit nice, actually. (quickly) As- as long as this stays in the archives, though. It… it is staying in the archives, right?

TIM

Oh, definitely. Right next to the section on love potions, I think.

MARTIN

Tim!

TIM

(laughs) Yes, Martin, it’s staying in the archives. Pinkie promise. Just you, me, Sasha, and Jon. (in the tone of a man who knows a great secret and wants nothing more than to share it) Speaking of Jon—

MARTIN

(quickly) Uh, recording ends!

TIM

(undeterred) —is he the—?

[CLICK]

SASHA

Right. So, according to Tim, I’m supposed to be recording a statement on, quote, my “most swashbucklingest experience as an esteemed member of the LGBT community.” He left this recorder on my desk and stole my scone. Timothy Stoker, I will not forget that. It was white chocolate raspberry, and I’m stealing the money it cost out of your wallet.

…

Anyway.

[SHE CLEARS HER THROAT]

Statement of Sasha James, given 10th June 2016. Subject of statement is… hmm. Let’s say… (laughs) A brief relationship with one Timothy Stoker.

Statement begins.

SASHA (STATEMENT)

Tim, I know you’re listening to this, and I just want to preface this by saying that yes, it was Italian that we had for dinner that night, not Greek. You’re thinking of a different friendship-turned-hookup-turned-awkward-aftermath-turned-friendship.

[SHE LAUGHS QUIETLY]

Anyway, I guess the best place to begin with this whole thing is by saying that I’ve known I was aro since I was 16 and that I’ve never been very good at talking about it. I’ve ended plenty of tried and failed relationships with the it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk because I didn’t know how to explain that I just… wasn’t interested in romance.

I wanted to explain it to you beforehand, Tim, I really, really did. We’ve had this conversation, I know I know—I won’t rehash it over tape.

[SHE SIGHS]

But the important thing is that I like you so, so much, and—god, this is stupid—I guess maybe I thought that it wouldn’t matter with you? That you could like me romantically and I could like you platonically and it would be fine. Like I said, stupid, but you asked me out to that Italian place—yes, Italian, for god’s sake, I had the chicken parm and you had some sort of lasagna abomination—and I just… couldn’t say no. And it was nice, really. I had a lot of fun.

And then we slept together. And… that was really nice. But then, the next morning, the… the guilt set in. Because I felt the same as I always had about you—which is to say that I loved you, just not in the same way you loved me—and I became convinced that I’d gone and ruined the whole thing.

Ignoring you for a week was probably not the correct response. (quieter) Yeah, definitely not my finest moment. But I’d gotten it in my head that the moment I told you that I didn’t feel that way about you and that I would never feel that way about you—or about anyone—you’d hate me. And you don’t have to say that you’d never hate me—I know you wouldn’t. I think I knew it then, too. But fear is a powerful thing.

…

Anyway, you know how it all turned out. You finally dragged me out to coffee and I finally told you why I’d been avoiding you and it was really, really awkward for about a month after that and then it just… wasn’t anymore. (audibly smiling) And you’re still my best friend, Tim. Even if you did steal my scone.

[THE SOUND OF PAPERS RUSTLING AND A CHAIR ROLLING BACKWARD]

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Kyle Henning, regarding a strange mushroom he found growing in his garden. Original statement given April 15th, 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begi—

[DOOR OPENS]

TIM

Hey boss! Got a moment?

ARCHIVIST

(irritated) Tim, please at least knock when the door to my office is closed. I was just about to record a statement.

TIM

(unbothered) So if you were about to, that means you’re not recording one right now, which means you do have a moment.

ARCHIVIST

(flatly) Shut the door on your way out, Tim.

TIM

(brightly) Right you are, boss! Juuuust going to leave this here on your desk. Bring it back whenever you’re done!

[PAPERS RUSTLE AS SOMETHING IS PLACED ON THE DESK]

ARCHIVIST

(dryly) I’m fairly certain that I’m the one who assigns you tasks to complete, Tim.

TIM

That you do! I guess I better get back to them then. Have fun!

ARCHIVIST

(firmly) Tim—

[DOOR CLOSES]

[HE SIGHS]

ARCHIVIST

Right. Well, given that this recording is essentially useless now and I hadn’t even gotten to the statement, I may as well start over. (mutters under his breath) Bloody waste of tape and my time—

[CLICK]

[PAPERS RUSTLE. FOR A MOMENT, THERE IS ONLY THE SOUND OF BREATHING. THEN, JON SIGHS.]

ARCHIVIST

Before I begin, I would like to make it very clear that this is not an appropriate use of working hours or the tape recorders, which should be used for statements that won’t record digitally as per Elias’s request.

…

That being said, I am… not entirely opposed to this project. So, I suppose…

[HE CLEARS HIS THROAT]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London, regarding… regarding a black ring worn on the middle finger of his right hand. Statement recorded by subject, June 10th, 2016.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I’ve often been told that I am not a very open person. I don’t necessarily intend to be closed-off, but I’ve also never found the need to disclose every aspect of my personal life to everyone I come into contact with. And yes, Tim—because I trust that you and you alone will be listening to this tape—that is a perfectly respectable way to live one’s life. Not everyone needs to know what I ate for breakfast that morning or who my favorite primary school teacher was.

…

I… will admit, though, that in certain circumstances, I… could probably stand to be more transparent regarding aspects of my personal life. Perhaps that’s why Georgie bought me the ring.

It wasn’t a special occasion. She just brought it back from the shop one day, a few weeks after a… particularly illuminating conversation about certain sexual identities, and dropped it atop my copy of Wuthering Heights. Honestly, I had no idea what it was at first. I- (heh) I tried to make a joke about unorthodox proposals, but I- I don’t really think it landed. Georgie just looked at me and said that she’d seen it on one of the online forums, that it was called an ace ring, and that she thought I might like it. I think I was more surprised about the fact that the ring fit perfectly than at the fact that she’d bought me the ring in the first place.

So I wore it. And it felt… nice. Understand, I don’t keep quiet about my romantic and sexual identities out of shame or embarrassment or indecision; I simply don’t feel the need to announce them at any given moment. So I’ve always been fond of small things—pins and stickers and such—that I can incorporate into my life, insignificant enough that they aren’t readily apparent to anyone but me, as they’re for me more than for anyone else. My ring is one such thing.

[THERE IS A MOMENT OF SILENCE. MORE WORDS SIT IN THE AIR, WAITING. EVENTUALLY, HOWEVER, HE SIGHS, AND THE WORDS REMAIN UNSAID.]

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

…

Right.

(with something that might be a smile) As for your other request, I do have a prior engagement with Georgie and Melanie this weekend. Though if you’re willing to accommodate two more, I’m sure they wouldn’t be opposed to coming along. Georgie’s always telling me that Pride is more fun when you’re with a group, after all.

End recording.

[CLICK]

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #AspecArchives #asexual jonathan sims #gray-aro martin blackwood #aromantic sasha james #asexual tim stoker #sex-favorable tim stoker #biphobia //#arophobia //#(minorly for both)#my fic #my writing

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

Text

Ducktales Review: The First Adventure! or Baby Donald Says Eat the Rich

Welcome back. I’d been looking forward to this one for some time in the hopes of getting one thing i’ve been waiting for.. sadly that thing didn’t come, we’ll get to that, but this was still a fun episode so let’s hop right in. Spoilers in a second but my tag is spoiler tagged soooo. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We open in the 1960′s. Austin Powers just went into Cryo Freeze to prepare for Dr. Evil’s eventual return, The Marvel Universe was in full swing, a teenager in baltimore was battling racisim via a dance show, and Black Heron had just been caught by Agent 22, aka Beakly when she was young and just as gorgeous then as she is now. Heron once again engaged in her usual cartoonish supervillian, and now SHUSH has her. Meanwhile in a nearbye room a young accountant by the name of Bradford Buzzard is outlining his plan for Director Von Drake: The way he sees it every time a villian costs chaos Shush “Wastes” billions causing MORE chaos to stop it without controlling things. He proposes taking over the world, weeding out the chaos and ruling from the shadows. Naturally, Ludvig isn’t on board with any of this and points out they aren’t super villains. It’s here this episode fully defines something about Bradford’s character. Back in “Let’s Get Dangerous!” when Huey called him a villain, he said he’s not one... at least from his point of view. It’s here, in his youth we get a clear understanding why he dosen’t think so: So far most people we’ve seen in the world of Ducktales take the chaos and insanity of the world in stride: Either just numb to it like most of the citizens, Rolling with it like Daisy and Violet, or diving straight into it like.. pretty much the majority of the cast, either for the love of adventure and treasure like the McDuck/Duck family, or for their own ludcrious ends like Glomgold, Mark Beaks or Magica. To them the world’s fine the way it is and there’s to explore, take or whatever. To Bradford.. this is madness... he feels all these people are just a bunch of overgrown children, and in some cases actual children, are just making the world worse and worse until one day their going to break it. One day skill, intuition, wit, and knowledge just wont’ be enough. Someday Scrooge, SHUSH or whoever’s standing in the way of evil will fail and the world will fall. This simply can’t go on, and SOMEONE has to control this, someone has to take this world, shake the chaos out of it and MAKE it sane. Make it work the way it’s SUPPOSED to. And to Bradford that’s him. Someone has to, no one else will, so he will. To him SHUSH doing this is just the logical thing: They want peace right? Their fighting for good right? Then what’s better than making the world a utopia? Ending these conflicts and remaking it. The thing is.. that’s not what Heroes do. As we’ve seen in various stories where the superheroes, the Good Guys take over they do improve things.. but at the cost of free will. At the cost of free thought. At the cost of their morals. They become what they were fighting all those years and have to bloody their hands and keep them bloody just to make THEIR world right. And that’s not Utopia, that’s a dictatorship. The example I always come to, even though there were ones before and after this including Marvel’s incredible Squadron Supreme maxi-series, is Justice League the animated series’ two parter, like most of their episodes really but that’s not the point, a Better World, about an alternate reality where Superman kills Lex Luthor after Luthor kills the flash and hte League take over the world. The thing is.. the world isn’t BETTER. It’s just crime free. You can sweep the chaos and the crime under the rug.. but your not making a better world, your just making YOUR version of it. No one person is a god even if they have a power of one and no one person can or SHOULD be able to decide what’s best for everyone. It’s up to each of us to MAKE the world better, to fight for a better world. That’s what Ludvig knows full well and what Bradford just can’t see. You can’t control the world, you just have to accept the things you can’t change like it being chaotic and change the things you can like injustice.

Bradford however, who was hired as a favor to his grandmother, can’t though Von Drake lets him off with a warning.. and a laugh about an accountant being able to be a super villian. Bradford however realizes ther’es some truth to that.. he needs someone to teach him out to operate outside the law, and if SHUSH won’t take the world and remake it.. maybe it’s time someone else did. So in the prison cells of SHUSH, which are conveniently empty outsdide of Heron, Bradford outlines his plan to her. To create a massive orgnization to steal the world and give it the order it needs. To combine their skills: Heron’s for grandeur and crime, and Bradfords for strategy and focus, to take the world. The Orginzation for World Larceny, or OWL, fitting bradford’s hatred for theatrics. Heron objects, adding an F for fiendish, and Bradford relucntantly agrees to get her on board, lets her loose and fakes like he just saw her escape. FOWL is born. And the world would never be the same. Cue credits and cue the rest of the review under the cut.

After the opening we cut to 1994-5.. sometime around then as it’s hard to get an exact year, and that’s how the crew likes it. Point is it’s the 90′s, and Scrooge is.. busy running his company. We’ll get into the weeds of that in a bit, but this is a different Scrooge, one who while no less capable, has no thirst for adventure or drive. He’s not nearly as miserable as the Scrooge we saw back in Woo-Ooo but he’s still a much less complete man. Anyways alongside him for his planning is Duckworth, whose very much alive at this time, and who tells his boss his sister Hortense left something in his office for him. To no one suprise, that thing is the twins, at the tender age of i’m guessing 10. Since your probably curious, Della is still voiced by Paget Brewster, just using a slightly different voice like the Triplets and Webby’s voice actors do. It’s just a bit more jarring here since unlike those characters, we’ve seen adult della and thus are used to this voice coming out of a grown woman. It’s not bad and I got used to it eventually but it was jarring at first especially since once again Donald has a completely diffrent voice ACTRESS doing his voice. This time around it’s cristina valenzuela, of Miraculous Ladybug fame, who I know more for her song work and twitter than her actual work ,but am delighted to see her here and she does a terrific job. I genuneily did not realize it was her, and while not exactly like the late great russi taylor, it is just similar enough to work.

So we get to see what the Twins were like when they were the Triplets age: Della is about the same, but with more of Dewey’s impulsiveness, and Donald, much like he’d be a few years and some dead parents later, is a bitter, grungey musician whose constantly on his guitar and railing against the man.. which is Scrooge in this case which is fair. Hortense left a note.. which bothered me as I genuinely expected her to show up and was majorly disappointed she did not. We are in year 4 of this series, season 3 and STILL no appearance of Hortense or mention how she died, as she and Quackmore are still alive by the end of this. Given she’s easily my faviorite part of Life and Times, this bothered me, and the only reason i’m not more upset.. is the clever way they wrote around actually using her. The letter she leaves for Scrooge explaining things is the same one Della herself used in the comic strip, and using a bit of the postcard she left in the cartoons, when leaving Huey, Dewey and Louie with Donald, down to the Twins having left a firecracker in their fathers seat, thus leaving him in the hosptial. As disappointed as I am my favorite Ginger is completely absent once again, this is a brilliant reference, and I have to give them credit for it, so it’s a fair enough trade off. As for his “Angel Nephew and Niece”, Della wants to dive into adventure while Donald struggles to write a song, singing throughout the episode. It varies in tolerablity, though mostly due to the writing, Cristina is doing fine. Della however is disappointed to find her legendary uncle views his past exploits as merley a means to an end to get his fortune and now he has it he can just focus on building it in the boardroom. This is an intresting take.. and one I could easily have seen happening to the Don Rosa version seen in Life and Times. The Scrooge there himself saw building his wealth as the most important thing until his encounter with Teddy Rosevelt, who taught him experince was what mattered and the having isn’t as fun as the getting. It works for me: This is a scrooge who never got that lesson so once he got to be richest duck in the world, having achieved his life’s goal nothing was left. He’s not miserable like the Scrooge we saw at the start of the series, having lost his love for adventure after loosing his niece/daughter, and having lost his fight. This one has retired.. but because he likely just sees no point in going on. He’s the richest duck in the world, has a vast empire.. no amount of treasure is really going to add to that like it used to, and as he points out in a second Shush has tons of agents at this point to clean up what’s left of FOWL. He’s the man who has everything, so why keep going. It’s weird to see a scrooge without the hunger to keep going, but it makes sense when his belly is full. Without someone to get him to see there’s always another rainbow, he just stopped chasing them. Also a fun nod to the comics I almost forgot to mention is when hearing about the “Gift”, i.e. the twins, Scrooge dreads it’s another surprise party, a nod to life and times where Hortense threw Scrooge one that went.. badly and lead to their entire relationship collapsing. Though Donald did get back at Scrooge for screaming at his parents and Auntie Matilda

However his busy day is disrupted with a call from Beakly. They’ve found the last known cordinates of Captain Yellowbeak, but FOWL is on them and Scrooge is the only one Beakly trusts for this since they have a leak. Beakly is also director of SHUSH at this point, with Von Drake having retired or died or both at this point. Scrooge reluctantly accepts, while Della is excited at the prospect of a real adventure and Donald ends up sharing her enthusasim as it’d make a good song. Scrooge, naturally, has no intention of bringing them with him to their disapointment and leads Donald to sing another “Suck it the man song” which totally isn’t about Scrooge.... spoilers: It entirely is, he’s just a little dumbass grunge baby and I love him. We then get a cute sequence of Della popping up in Scrooge’s Luggage and Trunk to try and convince him to let them tag along, before we cut to the Limo, driven by Duckworth at this point, which solves that mystery. Scrooge is firm in having his butler take them back and have them work with him and Duckworth’s fine with that.. but wants overtime, which is fair. Scrooge, being Scrooge, grumbles about not being made of money, proven wrong by gold spilling out of him. Though I do like the update of Scrooge’s classic cheapness when it comes to pay: INstead of barely paying his employees like a monster, he’s simply reluctant to pay extra if he dosen’t have to, and would rather drag two 10 year olds with him on a dangerous adventure than pay overtime, which tracks. It’s also clear if he had to he WOULD actually pay it, either due to legal reasons or his moral standards, he just isn’t happy about it. So he agrees, though he wants Donald to leave the guitar behind which.. given the most Donald’s been able to come up with is “Suck it THE MAN” and “This guy’s a greedy asshole”.. he’s extremely correct and when Donald tries to pull a “YOU CAN’T CENSOR ME MANNNN”, Scrooge just chucks it out of the car. At the airfield while Della is excited like an rabid chipmunk, and genuinely thinks she can fly a plane because she’s played Outrunner 2.. which I have only vaguely heard of before now. And is apparently just a pc game where you run a lot so I genuinely do not get where Della gets piloting from that.. but she IS Dewey’s mother. So with that in mind the family take off and Scrooge explains what their after: The Papyrus of Binding. It’s a dangerously powerful magical artifact from Ancient Egypt that will make whatever’s written on it happen. The dangerous part is that it’s incredibly literal: As Bradford puts later in the episode, ask for unlimited power, it might zap you dead with a million volts, ask for infinite wealth, prepare to be crushed underneath it. It’s a nice twist on a Monkey’s Paw or Jackass Genie situation. Instead of either the source of the wish granting magic just being inherently evil, or some dickhead screwing with the hero.. it’s just an object that has no ability to interpret nuance, just like your phone with the goddamn autocorrect. It can’t judge intent or tone or meaning, it just gives exactly what it’s asked. It’s a thoroughly interesting concept.

Something I really like about this episode is the fact it answers some little questions. While none were Hortense related, and I am still grumpy about that even with this coming out a good 17 hours after I watched it due to getting caught up with other stuff, it does have little touches that explain small parts of the lore: Who drove Scrooge? As just mentioned, Duckworth. Who flew scrooge? Paid pilots. Did he have a plane before the sunchaser? Yup. It fills in some small gaps in the world. Stuff we weren’t dying to know but’s stil lintresting. Said pilots in this case however are Heron and Bradford. This episode also fills in Heron’s character, as while we’ve already seen bits and pieces this season she LOVES being a classic, take over the world james bond type villian, like she stepped out of a duck version of kim possible.. and i’m just now realizing there probably IS a duck kim possible somewhere in this world as while far after disney afternoon, it fits too neatly to not be wedged in there with your tailspins and goof troops. I wouldn’t be suprised if there were brid versions of every human based disney afternoon and one saturday morning show. My.. my head’s swimming from this. I could be, and probably am wrong but the sheer idea of this... it’s amazing. Back to Heron, she just LOVES being evil and destructive, letting the world know she exists and operating on a grand scale. Now we’ve seen more of her while she’s Beakly’s nemisis.. she’s really an evil scrooge.. yes another one. Like Scrooge, at least how he normally is, she simply gets how the world of Ducktales operates and can take advantage of that to the best of her ablility. Just like adventuering, cartoonish supervilliany is about risk and reward.. sometimes you faceplamnt hard, that’s the risk, but the rewards and rush is worth it. She’s as addicted to grandoise villiany as Scrooge is to adventure by this point. And like Scrooge, and unlike her partner Bradford, she sees the world as it is: Chaotic and one big sandbox to play in. She contrasts Scrooge by the fact that while Scrooge is willing to bust down doors, he still has morals, as well as the wisdom to not go overboard Heron often lacks. It also makes her a good contrast ot the equally skilled Beakly: While Beakly is taciturn, controlled in all things especially her emotions, Heron is bombastic, gloating and borderline insane, and while deadly in a fight, dosen’t exercise any control in her plans, preferring it big and loud despite her partner usually being right about reiging it in. So Heron evacuates dramatically, taking a grumpy Bradford with them, and sending the plane into a tailspin.

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I can’t wait for Next Year’s Tailspin episode. I swear to god. I’m hoping for Shere Kahn but this episode has taught me to be okay with disapointment, if a grumpus. Della however shows her natural talent and despite having no real experince with planes, lands it gracefully. While that’s going on, Bradford berates Heron for her plan, pointing out that they COULD have simply landed the plane, then captured the McDuck family and executed them quitely, versus leaving a chance they’ll survive which they do. They AREN’T supervillains.. or at least he thinks he isn’t. Heron does show off her competence though, pointing out that this way they can simply stay low, and FOLLOW the Ducks to the treasure. Bradford is impressed for a second.. till Heron’s evil shows as she plans to use the Papyrus. Bradford loudly objects to this, listing the possible risks shown before. If not used CAREFULLY, it could kill them, and she balks and wants him to just embrace being the Villian already. It’s what I love about their dynamic set up here: While they are equals, Bradford is a better strategist, able to think and plan way in advance, and prefers subterfuge, and if present day is any indicatoin probably used Heron’s flash to distract from the real mission or goal often or to do something on the down low while she kept SHUSH busy. His last two plans, while again requiring some pizzaz, relied on misdrection: having the ducks take care of an immidate threat like their used to.. while he gets exactly what he wants while their busy and whatever they get out of it is either nothing (Impossibin) or something he couldn’t use just yet and thus if he didn’t get it, no loss, but if he did it just moves up the timetable. Not only that but he’s outlasted all three other big bads, lying in the shadows till it was too risky to leave scrooge and play and even THEN, only coming out into the open when forced out. IT’s why he’s Scrooge’s most dangerous opponent: He knows how Scrooge’s other enmities operates as well as Scrooge himself. And since he knows everything he can maneuver Scrooge exactly where he needs him to do exactly what he wants. It’s unknown how the family will beat him, but he’s easily the biggest challenge they’ve had.

But back to the show and the past, Scrooge bonds with his niece and nephew, retelling stories of his past as they get closer, with Donald ending up high at one point and thus seeing the ship stranded on a mountain. As he recounts a fight with El Capitan, the villian from the ducktales 87 pilot, he counts the story as as a loss: He didn’t get anything from it, no treasure no new contracts. But Della shows him the point he’s been missing; He got a story. Sure he lost.. but he got experince, a tale to tell and a legend grown.Just because you don’t get everything dosen’t mean it wasn’t worth the experince and you can’t hold it in your heart. And this episode shows why this scrooge needed his family: Without Teddy to mentor him, he simply never got that adventure wasn’t about gains or what you get.. it’s about the thrill of it, the enjoyment of discovery and the memories you make.. it’s about the Journey not the destination.

As Scrooge starts to warm up to that, he finds a gap, with Della volunteering Donald to jump but Scrooge just having the kids hop on his back and pogo caneing across. The family find the Papyrus, and find out why the ship is all the way up here: Captain Yellowbeak, who’s a character from one of barks stories and the one who had the scroll last, wished to escape.. but that just stranded them. He asked for water.. and it drowned his crew.. and finally with the document hteir reading he asked for release... and thus is now a skelington. The kid are happy to have reached the goal.. while Scrooge is back on his Zack Morris phone trying to reschedule things and schedule a SHUSH evac, to the kids annoyance. However Scrooge raining on their parade gets interupted by Heron and Bradford, as Heron can’t resist popping out dramatically and Bradford is UTTERLY furious since she blew his cover, and Scrooge recognizes him from his christmas party, a nice callback. Scroog being scrooge figures out he’s the mole and Bradford runs , furious at Heron. Their conflict is an intresting one: Both have a point but both will not back down. Bradford is right this showboating nonsense has only hindered Heron’s plans.. and Heron is right that Bradford needs to accept he’s the bad guy. Even if he has well meaning motives, he’s the villian, he works with them, he leads them.. he is one. He just can’t accept he’s wrong or dosen’t have the answers... huh.. I wonder who that reminds you of. And that’s 100% intentional as Frank has outright compared Huey and Bradford and like last season it’s neat to have the main vilian contrast our chosen Duck for the season.

Heron outfoxes the kids and gets the papyrus and being just an enitrely black hearted bitch, plans to kill them just to spite scrooge.. writing that “his sidekicks will perish on this mission.”.... but Scrooge’s character development, and her choice of words, means nothing happens. As Scrooge outlines, “Their not my sidekicks their my FAMILY, and this isn’t a mission, it’s an ADVENTURE”. Scrooge has finally accepted his life for what it really is.. and the thrill of the chase over what lies at the end. There’s always anothe rainbow.. and he’s finally become the man who will chase every last one.

OF course this is interupted, and Heron escapes with the papyrus, when a skeletal pirate attacks.. why is Yellow Beak alive, why’d the scroll do this?

But we get a neat fight as Scrooge fights the skeleton while he sends the kids after Heron. Scrooge gets a cool looking swordfight, while Bradford gets the papyrus, and Yellowbeak even terrifies me what with his bestial roll and fucking centepede crawling out of him.. jesus those things freak me out. Meanwhile the kids battle Heron, who throws della overboard... and thus for the first time, Donald taps into his beserker rage, snikty snoink, and easily incapaciates the more experinced and fully grown adul, though Della since we’eve been following her kids for the past three seasons, is fine, if suprised by her brother being the goddamn wolverine.

While heron is out for a second, Scrooge heads after Bradford, and vows to tell Beakly and chase him all across the world. However Bradford gets an utterly awesome moment.. he admits scrooge may be right and probably would.. but since he has the papayrus and is careful in everything he writes his request carefully and perfectly “As far as the ducks are concerned, I was never here.” Grante dit COULD have left scrooge out.. but since he didn’t sday duck family or specificy, and likely knew it’d do that, it instead just means the three bilogical ducks. Bradford dissappears, turning invisble and leaving the papyrus for scrooge, who foils heron by simply writing that this scroll will be lost until one day found by his heirs.

So Heron takes a fall and looses an arm, again.. or for the first time.. the family is triumphant and despite loosing his goal, Scrooge is convinced he and the kids will find it again. See above. Scrooge then pulls out his phone and tells Duckworth to rework his schedule.. but it’s so he can find someone to run his comapny so he can spend more time with the kids. As for why Hortense would allow this before her still mysterious passing.. i’m guessing A) she notices her brother is happier and more alive than he’s been for a while and B) they just blew up their dad’s ass with a firecracker, and she won’t be able to use it for a while, so she’s double mad, so if it means she gets a moment’s peace and is with someone she trusts.. why not?

So we end on Scrooge packing up, preparing for further adventures.. i’d love a spinoff of this one day. I mean Disney plus needs it, and since Frank is probably going over to Darkwing.. maybe matt could take a crack at this. Just saying. You have the cast ready, a giant world to explore, and 15 years worth adventures. Run that baby damn you! But yeah the inevitble happens and Bradford further proves his magificent bastardry.. by appling for the position of running the company as head of Scrooge’s board, and setting up said board. So now FOWL has unlimited resources, he has a direct eye on what he now realizes is his greatest threat, and the complete trust and faith of both Scrooge and Beakly. It also puts Beakly’s breakdown in context: We now see WHY she went as far as she did: While the revelation was bad for Scrooge, finding out one of his most trusted allies was a traitor the whole time and knew everything about him, for Beakly.. it had to be worse. Finding out one of your best employees, one of the FEW people you ever trusted, and someone you DIRECTLY RECOMMENDED TO SCROOGE, was not only the man who set up your greatest enemies, but had compromised your organization for most of your career. IT’s no wonder she broke down so hard.. while I already gave several reason adding “This level of betrayal and self doubt to the list” only makes it that much harder on her. But for now a partnership is started.. one that very well may end scrooge.

Final Thoughts: A pretty good episode overall. It’s well paced, to the point I probably forgot a LOT, has some good jokes, and fills in a lot of the gaps in the lore, while giving us a nice insight into bradford and heron. Even without hortense this was a pretty good episode.

Upcoming Reviews: LIfe and Times; Master of the Mississippi Ride of the Three Cabbleros: The Three Cablleros (House of Mouse) Tomtrospective: Lava Lake Beach

#ducktales #ducktales spoilers #scrooge mcduck #bradford buzzard #della duck #donald duck #black heron #bentina beakley #the first adventure!#the first adventure #cristina vee

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happys-crazy-queen22 · 4 years

Text

Title: Caught Feelings

Gif credit @inlovewithtvmen

Hope you all enjoy

Happy reading dollies

Tag list: @nocturnalherb16. @jesseswartzwelder

"Hey Hector, what's happening papi"? You greeted the handsome man coming into your bar.

"Nothing mamacita, where's Pablo"? He asked kissing your cheek.

"In the back, I must warn you he's on edge".

"What's up"?

"Cops. They came to the bar yesterday".

"They have a warrant"?

"Yeah, trashed the place and didnt find anything".

"Good. I'll see if I can calm him down. See you later". He walked away, turning his head and sending you a wink..

"Pablo. Woah". Hector nervously chuckled with his hands raised as a gun was pointed to his head, Pablo came out from behind the door.

"What the hell are you doing here? I wasn't supposed to see you until Friday".

"My guy called and said he needs some party favors for tonight. Hes throwing some kind of pill party. Where you put a bunch of pills in a bowl and you take what ever you grab. So he needs some oxy and whatever else you can throw in. He's already got the viagra". Hector laughed but Pablo was amused.

"Then you should have called. The cops raided the place yesterday. Arrested me and Y/N. Threw her to the ground. I will not be disrespected like this by no one". Pablo threatened.

"What do you have in mind"?

"I want to find this little rat that has been spilling my secrets. Feeding the cops with information. They just dug their grave. Find them and bring them to me".

"I dont think someone is feeding them information. They fear you and they like the money coming in".

"Then why are they at my door? I fly under the radar, I dont sell to gangster. I dont cook in Chicago. I just sell to junkies who so desperately needs it".

"I heard on the street that people are overdosing".

"Then they shouldnt get so greedy with the needle". Pablo laughed.

"Alright. I'll go ask around see if anyones heard or seen anything". Hector excused himself and closed the door behind him. Letting out a breath he was holding in.

"Everything okay"?

"Yeah, he's just worried". Hector walked up to the bar.

"We still on for tonight"? You asked.

"Yeah, I'll pick you up sevenish"?

"Sounds great. Be careful out there". You leaned over the counter and kissed Hectors lips.

"I always do". He said licking his lips with a smirk.

"Bye".

"Bye baby girl". Hector opened the door and walked out. This would be the last time you would see Hector again.

"Chicago pd, hands in the air". The cop yelled at Pablo to get on the ground.

"You piece of shit rat. I'm going to kill you". Pablo spat, putting up a fight to get in the handcuffs.

"You okay"? Someone asked him.

"Yeah. I gotta go". He quickly left.

You were getting ready when there was a knock at your door.

"Hector? It's early. Everything okay"? You asked as he came in.

"The bar was raided again and Pablo got arrested. They found twenty gallon bags of oxycodone and ten bricks of cocaine on him. He's going away for a long time".

"How do you know all this? Where you there? Why weren't you arrested"? You questioned but quickly realized. "You're the rat. How could you"? You felt sick to your stomach.

"I'm sorry. I had to do my job".

"You put my brother in prison for the rest of his life. What about me? You here to arrest me"?

"You had nothing to do with that and I cleared your name".

"Oh you cleared it? Did you tell them that we were sleeping together as well? Hmm"? He didnt answer "That's what I thought. You didn't want me to get arrested because you knew that they'd ask about us and you would get trouble. You saved your own ass".

"I'm sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt".

"I dont believe you. What's your name? Are you married? Did I mean anything or was it just to get close to Pablo"?

"You meant everything. I didnt lie about how I felt about you. That was real. I swear".

"Liar".

"My name is Antonio Dawson. I'm a detective at Chicago pd and I'm separated from my wife. I have feelings for you, they're real".

"Well Antonio, tell me when I can see my brother"?

"You can't. He has one phone call and he's already made that to a lawyer".

"You ruined my life. I have no family now. I have no bar, that I worked so hard at getting and keeping. Now I have no Hector. You took everything away from me when you decided to play dress up for the police". You started to sob. "Get out. Get out". You screamed.

"I'm sorry. I may not be Hector but I still love you". You pushed Antonio out the door and slammed it in his face. Falling to the floor. Your heart was broken but you couldn't let go.

Later that night you couldn't sleep. You tried everything. But your mind wouldn't let you. Usually you would call Hector up, sorry Antonio and he would talk with you until you were asleep. He made you feel at ease and safe. You had to get it in your head that he wasnt who he said he was. He lied. But you still wanted him after everything. You couldn't shake the feeling of him.

Calling up some people that Pablo knew you found out where Antonio lived and went to see him. It was about three a.m. when you pulled into his driveway. You knew this was a bad idea but you wanted to see him.

Getting out of your car you walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. It was forcefully opened with a man pointing a gun at you.

"Y/N? What are you doing here"? Antonio lowered his gun. You could tell you woke him up. He has sleep in his eyes and he was in a pair of grey sweats that you loved so much on him.

"I know I shouldnt be here but I can't lose these feelings I have for you. After everything you did I can just stop". Tears rolled down your face as you looked up at him.

"Come in". Antonio rubbed his fave with his hand, while closing the door.

"I'm sorry I came".

"How did you find me"?

"I know people".

"Now they'll come after me. Pablo will make sure of that". Antonio went to his window hiding behind the curtain and peeking through.

"I didn't tell them who you were. Your secret is safe with me".

"Why? Just a couple hours ago you wanted me out of your life now you're here. What do you want"?

"When you said you loved me and everything you felt was real. Did you mean it"?

"Yes. I shouldn't but I do. I lied to my boss, to my team and to the Chicago police Department. I could be in big trouble but that doesnt matter. I fell in love while undercover and that wasnt supposed to happen but it did. I love you and I can't change that". Antonio sighed.

"I love you too. More than any other person I've been with. I know it's stupid and you're probably thinking I'm an idiot because I'm here but I can't help it".

Antonio came closer to you, moving a strained of hair from your face. Taking his hand, grabbing your chin and making you look at him. "It's not stupid when you love someone". He leaned in and gently kissed your lips.

"Antonio"? It wasnt supposed to come out as a moan but it did.

"Do you want me to stop"? He kissed you again.

Shaking your head not breaking the kiss. You slid your hands down his bare chest, over his abs and stopping at his waistband. Antonio chuckled into the kiss as you snaked your hand into his sweats and grabbed his cock. Stroking him. Antonio broke the kiss and licked his lips.

"Do you want me to stop"? You asked with a seductive teasing voice, not missing a stroke.

"God, no". He roughly kissed you, his hand wrapped around your throat.

You pulled down his sweats and he stepped out of them. He was hard as rocks.

His grip on your throat got tighter as he backed you to the couch.

Quickly unbuckling your pants you threw your shoes off and your pants somewhere in the room. Lucky for Antonio you weren't wearing any panties. You spread your legs giving him a view. Bring your fingers to your mouth and sucked on them get them wet and dragging them down your body. You rubbed circles on your clit. From the pressure of Antonio's hand around your throat to you roughly rubbing your clit you were close to orgasming. Antonio saw it in your eyes as you were about to, he removed your and slapped your throbbing clit. It was missed between pleasure and pain.

"Did I tell you to cum"? He asked running his big thick fingers threw your wet lips, getting awfully close to your entrance. Just inching his fingers.

"No, daddy".

"That's right. No, I didn't". Antonio pushed his middle and ring finger inside you. Pumping in and out quickly. Binding his fingers inside you hitting your g-spot over and over.

"Fuck". Your body trembled as you couldn't contain yourself. The way he moved his finger was magic. He fucked you so good.

"Antonio, please"? You begged him to let you cum.

"Please what"? His forearm flexed those bulging arm veins you loved so much as he fingered you faster.

"Please daddy. Please". You moaned throwing your head back in pleasure. Your back arched off the couch as you came. Not letting Antonio give you a yes or no.

You squirted all over the couch, the floor and Antonio. He removed his fingers your juices running down them and his arm. You were a panting mess on the couch. Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest and smack Antonio. But you were loving it.

"Good little girl". His hand squished up your cheeks as he kissed you. He took his tongue and licked along your lips.

Quickly removing your shirt he attacked your hard nipples. Taking on in his mouth and swirling his tongue. The nipping at them. Pressing down on it between his teeth. Your hands went to his hair, giving it a tug.

"I want you inside me". Your breath hitched as Antonio engulfed your breast into his mouth. You had big breast but some how he sucked the whole thing in.

Figuring if you wanted him you had to get him since he was occupied. Laying down on the couch, you pulled him along with you. He forced your knees open wider as he settled in between them. You grabbed his cock and lead it to your entrance and he eased in. But quickly picked up pace. Rocking his hips, you bucked yours trying to get as much friction as possible. You just needed him so badly. He was a drug that you couldnt stop taking.

"Shit". You gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as hit a spot that you didnt even knew you had. Your nails raked down his back leaving red marks. Grabbing ahold of his butt you helped him push in deeper. His thrust were wild and deep. Hard and rough. Everything that you love.

Grunts and growls left Antonio's mouth his thrust became sloppy which sent vibrations threw your chest as he still had your breast in his mouth sucking.

"I'm going...to..cum". You warned him as you bit down on his collarbone. His hand wrapped around your throat, he released your breast with a pop and thrusted hard. Shock waves of pleasure rushed over you and your legs held onto him tight as you came.

Your legs shaked around him. Antonio was close to releasing. He pulled out and climbed on top of you. Bringing his cock to your mouth. You needily sucked his tip tasting yourself and him as he shot his load down your throat. You swallowed it greedy.

"Fucking hell". He panted, wiping the sweat from him brow. He sat between your legs, watching your chest go up and down.

"I didnt hurt you, did I"? Antonio sounded much less confident than Hector.

"I'm fine. You should be use to the roughness that I like". You huffed as you found your shirt on the back of the couch.

"Stay". Antonio rested his hand on your bare thigh.

"Where do you expect this to go? I cant be with you. You're a cop".

"We can work it out. I want to be with you and I know you do too. If you didnt you wouldn't be here".

"This was just a goodbye fuck. That's all. Just needed to get it out of my system".

Antonio scoffed. "Bullshit. You want me just as much as I want you. We love each other and theres nothing anyone can do about it".

"What about your boss, my brother? What are we supposed to say to them? I'm not lying or hiding. I won't".

"I'm not asking you too. I'm just asking you to give us a chance. To see where it goes".

"I just dont want either one of us to get hurt or worse killed". You sigh with worry.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to either of us. You have my word". Antonio pulled you into his arms as you both laid back on the couch. "So please. Stay".

"Okay, I'll stay". You said with a smile but deep down you knew that this relationship wouldn't last because either your brother would find out and kill Antonio or you both. His boss will find out and make you go away. Either way it wouldn't end pretty.

#antonio dawson chicago pd #antonio dawson smut #antonio dawson fanfiction #chicago pd antonio dawson #antonio dawson #antonio dawson imagine #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd smut #chicago pd drabble #chicago pd #happys crazy queen22

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gemstoneconstellations · 4 years

Text

Request: Hey Sweet Tooth

Summary: You are an Irish candy crafter, getting ready to open your first sweets shop in Japan. Lucky you, a hero was spotted eating your sweets.

Wordcount: 1957

A/N: so the person who requested this deactivated their account? so yeah. here’s an irish reader and sato fic. my beta changed swapped some words around with irish terms and slang.

“Shoot! It’s almost three!” You quickly finished frosting the last delicate rose on a small cake. Rushing, you throw off your apron onto the table, dust off your long skirt for any unseen remaining flour before running to the front of the store. Every day, you put on a little show for the children walking home from school, with the help from your quirk. With small, gentle movements of your fingers, you can manipulate the movement of sugar and sugar-based treats. Currently, you are temporarily working part-time as an assistant to the head baker, an old classmate from confectioner school in France. You decorate cakes and make intricate candies for toppers.

Today, you were excited because the store would start selling your hard candies separately from the cakes and other baked goods, advertising for your own candy shop that will be opening in a few weeks. To celebrate, you’d decided to do something you’ve never done before: making life-like candy carvings of people. You can see children already gathering around the display window. You smile at them as you start placing the hard-candy figures down. Gasps could be heard from the other side of the window as the first candy was revealed to be a beautiful ballerina made entirely of clear pink strawberry candy.

You waved a hand over the ballerina, making her come to life and bow to her audience before dancing along her stage. The children watched in awe as the ballerina twirled and leapt through the air with nearly the same grace of an actual ballerina. In the middle of her dance, you discreetly placed down three villainous looking candies; you’d mixed in several other candies to make their color muddy and cloudy compared to the beautiful, clear color of the ballerina.

You have the villains surround the ballerina, who tried to run. Small hands and faces pressed to the window, anxious for her and crying for help. Then the hero came with his cape dancing in the wind! Based off of All Might and made with his colors of red, white and blue, the hero lifts one of the villains away from the ballerina.

The hero took on the other two, tying them up with a rope made of licorice. The third villain snuck up on the hero as he was still busy with the rope. Little voices yelled for the hero’s attention. And just like the hero had swooped in for the ballerina, the ballerina twirled over and surprised the villain with a high kick. The villain was sent flying to the ground. The kids cheered as the ballerina and the hero both stood strong in heroic poses, the villains apprehended. You had all of the candy figures bow before freezing back into their original stances.

You placed a sign up, letting people know that the café is now selling hard candies made of the same candy used during the shows. You stepped out of the café to hand out small samples to the kids who’d stayed to watch. Hopefully, they’ll come back to buy some of their own later. You were greeted by happy voices who told you how amazing the hero and ballerina were; you had to bend down to their eye level so they’d stop pulling down your skirt. This was your favorite part of the day: getting to throw shapes with your candy crafting skills and the other things your quirk can do. The kids’ happiness is just icing on top of the cake.

The crowd began to disperse and you waved the last child goodbye before turning around, walking right into someone. The bag carrying all the samples slips through your fingers. “Ah, gabh mo leithscéal!I’m so sorry!” You quickly pick up a few candies back into the bag and look up at the person, only to see their knees. Your eyes continue up, your neck cracking from how far you have to crane it up to look at the person in the face. Holy shite, he’s huge!

“No, it was my bad.” The man squats down with you, helping you pick up the candies. You watch this man, who towers over you even in a squatting position, delicately pick up the small candies.

You stood up once the last candy was picked up. He gave you a smile as he held out his hand to pour more candies back into your bag. “Thank you…um, keep them, they are free samples anyways. Trying to advertise for my shop that’s still in the making. Have a good day.” You closed his palm and head inside, waving him goodbye.

“I-I watched!” You stopped, turning back to him. He scratched his blushing cheeks. “Earlier, um…when you did that thing with the candies. It was cool.”

You smiled brightly, filled with pride at your work being recognized. “If you like those, come back and buy some more.” You rushed back inside, motivated to work even harder today.

“Welcome, lad!” You cheered when you heard the bell jingle. The tall man from your candy show had been coming back almost every week. He’d bought so much candy that you’d started calling him Sweet Tooth in your head. You greeted him as he came to the counter. “Oh hi stranger, how she cutting? Back for more candies?”

“Yeah…” He sheepishly nodded. You should really get his name. He might have told you before but you couldn’t remember and it felt fiercely awkward to ask at this point.

You started filling a bag with your small hard candies in it and made small talk with the loyal customer. “You sure got a sweet tooth.”

He only chuckled as he paid for the candies. “Hehe, yeah. I eat them at work a lot. Really helps me out.”

“That’s good!” You handed the bag to him but motioned him to bend down for you to whisper in his ear. “I put some extra candies in there, they’re new flavors. Come to my shop’s opening to let me know how you like them, okay? I’ll have some more flavors, ones you suggested, for next time.”

He cleared his throat a few times before giving you a quiet thank you and running out the door.

You and the head baker got back from lunch to a shower of people in the café. One of the workers burst into the kitchen, looking relieved to see that the two of you finally come back. “Hey! We need more of those candies!”

Luckily, you had a stash still in the kitchen; over 200 candies fully wrapped and ready to go. “What is going on?” You quickly threw on an apron as you stepped out to the front.

“I don’t know but your candies are a hit!” The worker took the candies from you and ran out into a sea of people.

You clutched onto your chest, completely shocked. “Sweet and glory. It's a candy riot.”

“Yes, I want a bag of those Hero Candies!” a customer shouted.

“Hero Candies?” You looked to the head baker, who just shrugged.

“No problem! ___ is the wonderful candy artist who created them! We are currently out of stock for today, but you can reserve a bag for you for pick up tomorrow!” Out of stock?! Did you really just sell over 200 candies in two minutes!? What is going on?!

The previous worker came back and turned you around, shoving you back into the kitchen. “Hurry and make as many of those candies as you can.”

“But why are they calling them Hero Candies?” you questioned as you gathered ingredients.

Your friend shook their head. “I have no idea, but don’t think about it. Just think about how the sales are going to help fund your own store!” Fair point; you quickly got to work.

Opening day was class. People were lining up around the block to get into your store. The shelves for your “fill your own bag” section was completely barren and the display case only had a few items left inside it. And the Hero Candies were completely and utterly sold out. You had back orders for them for weeks! Somehow, a bunch of pro-heroes had been spotted eating candies with the wrapper that you’d designed, which had your shop’s name on them.

One particular hero had been seen with them more than the rest: Sugar Rush. He’d apparently been spotted eating them constantly and a fan had asked where he got them. That’s how this entire riot had happened. You haven't even had time to look up the hero you owed all that free advertisement from.

You were closing up for the night when you heard the bell over your door and you turned to see one of your most loyal clients from the café. “Oh, Sweet Tooth! What’s the story? I haven’t seen you in a while!”

Sweet Tooth chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Heh, yeah. I haven’t been able to get away from work for a bit.”

“I feel ya. It’s been so busy.” You rush over to flip the open sign over to “closed” so no more customers would come in. You crane your neck up to smile at him; you’d kind of forgotten how tall he really was.

Just like always, he was so bashful about his love for candy and anything sweet. It was adorable. “I see…you probably don't have any more of those candies? I can go if you're closing.”

You motion for him to follow you. “I actually put some to the side for you.”

“You did?”

You hum, walking behind the counter and pulling out one of your one-pound candy bags, full of the simple round, hard candies. “Aye. You've been so helpful with giving me advice on what Japanese people like when it comes to flavors, so I made a bunch of testers that I want you to try. You know so much, I'm surprised you only bake as a hobby. If you ever are in a need of a job, come to me.”

“Really? This whole bag is for me?” You slid over the bag, nodding. He took it, holding it to his chest like it was something precious and laughing at the tag on it, where you had written, ‘For Sweet Tooth’. “Thanks.”

He turned around to leave but you grab onto his shirt. “You can stay and try them. Willya?” You were especially eager to hear his opinion on the red bean and white peach flavors. You aren't a big fan of red beans, so it's hard to tell.

“Ah, yeah.” You smiled at him, satisfied that he was staying. You went back to sweeping up the floor around you. Sugar, flour, and all other kinds of powdery substances often get dragged up front from the kitchen. You made small talk with him, just catching up from the last time you guys had talked.

You suddenly remembered the reason why you’d so busy while you were cleaning the inside of your display case. “Do you know who Sugar Rush is?”

“Wh-What?” You must have caught him by surprise because you heard him cough and pound his chest a few times.

“He’s the one who got my candy to be so popular! I haven’t a baldy notion about Japan’s heroes yet so I need to look up this guy. I know this will die down in a few weeks, but this is a great start for my brand new shop. Ahhh, I’m so delira and excita about it, I could kiss that hero right on the mouth. If I ever meet him, he better watch out.” You stood up, throwing a towel over your shoulder and looked over to him. “Why do you look so red?”

#sato rikido x reader #satou rikidou x reader #sato rikido #sato x reader #satou x reader

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sorenmarie87 · 5 years

Text

Please Don’t Go

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Adam x F!Reader. Dean, Sam (mentioned)

Word Count: 1,353

Warning(s): Angst, Pregnant Reader. Language (from Dean), Pissed off Dean

A/N: I want to thank @iflostreturntosteverogers for betaing this for me and I want to thank @flamencodiva for helping me when I got stuck on a portion of this <333 This fic was written for Mel’s 3k Celebration and my prompt was “Don’t leave me… ”

There was nothing that could ruin your day, or at least that's what you thought at the time. You had just finished sending some good news to your boyfriend over a text, and were making plans to go visit him when you heard Dean stomping through the bunker. Sam trailed behind him but it was clear that something, or someone had pissed him off.

“Hey Dean -” Your greeting fell on deaf ears as he stormed past the room you were staying in. You knew it was probably the wrong time to bring anything up, so you quietly closed your door and started throwing all of your dirty clothes into your laundry basket. You threw your phone and a book you were currently reading on top of the basket and made your way towards the laundry room.

Have you eaten yet?

It was those four words that pulled you away from your book and made you wander down the bunker halls toward the kitchen. You searched through the fridges and cabinets until you found a loaf of bread, a jar of creamy peanut butter and some grape jam. You took four slices of bread and placed them on a plate before you started spreading the peanut butter on the first two slices and then the jam. You were hungry enough to eat this at least so you pressed the sandwiches together before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“PB & J. the dinner of champs.” You quietly chuckled as Dean walked past you and headed straight for the fridge himself.

“I know I should be eating more, but I didn’t want to dirty up a bunch of dishes.”

Dean nodded his head and proceeded to make a couple sandwiches of his own. "Mind if I eat with you?"

"I always enjoy your company Dean, you know that." You smiled as you took a bite of your sandwich and that was when you thought about the conversation you had with your boyfriend beforehand. You placed your sandwich back on your plate, and just watched Dean as he ate.

“Dean, there’s something I need to tell you.” You had been dreading this conversation since you found out but he was your best friend and you wanted him to know. It was hard enough keeping it a secret that you were dating someone, but it would be harder to hide your growing belly in the upcoming months. “I just need you to promise me something.”

“Anything, you know that.”

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship..” You whispered as you felt Dean squeeze your hand that was resting on the table.

“It won’t. Now what do you wanna tell me?” He’s gonna hate me, I know it. You took a deep breath, and released it before looking him in the eye.

“I’m pregnant.” Dean let out a cough as his food went down the wrong pipe. Did you really just say you were pregnant? He let out a few more coughs trying to dislodge the food that he felt got stuck.

“Is it mine?” You shook your head no as Dean slumped forward in his chair. “Thank god.”

“Why would you even ask if the baby was yours?”

“Because we slept together a few months back, or don’t you remember that?” That night was simultaneously one of the best and worst nights of your life.

“I remember that night quite vividly and I know for a fact you wore a condom.”

“You know what I remember from that night? You got dressed in a hurry after we finished and then we didn’t hear anything from you for a couple of weeks.” Dean took a sip of his beer and placed it down on the table. “Are you planning on keeping it?”

“That’s a stupid question, Dean. Of course I am.”

“Is your boyfriend a hunter, sweetheart?” Hunter’s kid sure but Adam was raised without any knowledge of the hunting world.

“No, he’s not and I’m grateful for that everyday.” Dean sighed as he took another drink of his bear. “What would you have done in my place Dean?”

“I would’ve kept my legs shut.”

“That’s rich coming from you Winchester. I seem to recall the nights when all it took was a woman winking at you and you left with ‘em. So don’t pull this holier than thou routine with me.”

“I’m just saying you could’ve been smarter and not tied down this guys life with a lifetime burden.”

"Joke's on you because he's actually excited that I'm pregnant. Unlike you Dean, he has no one besides me and our kid.”

“If he’s so excited, then why are you still here? Why aren’t you off playing house with your mystery boyfriend?”

“Gee Dean, I’m grateful this baby isn’t yours but if you want me to leave I will. I was gonna have a nice civil conversation about what I should do, but I don’t want to do that anymore.” You gathered up your plate and moved towards the sink. “I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow morning. I guess, thanks for housing me until I get my shit together.”

Dean is silent as he watches you walk out of the kitchen. This whole situation was fucked up and you still didn’t tell him who the guy was and that pissed him off even more. He picked up his beer bottle and threw it at the wall. Once it shattered, he realized that he was not feeling any better. Dean picked up his plate and immediately did the same thing. Dean didn’t want you to leave, not really. He was being a stubborn, upset jackass and he knew that.

"Please don't leave us."

"Dean, you made it pretty clear how you felt about this entire situation."

"I was pissed and not thinking straight. You know how I can get."

"I know Dean, I really do but it's better this way." You had just finished loading your bags into the back seat of your car.

"Don't leave me..." Dean usually wasn’t an emotional man you noticed. He guards his feelings and when no one is around, that’s when he breaks down. You know if you turn around and look at him, you’ll regret it. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you so that his chest is pressed flat against your back.

“Dean -”

“I know you’re set on leaving. Just let me have this, okay?” You softly whisper out an okay and you feel him press his lips on the back of your head. “He better treat you right, you hear me?”

“He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me.” You wanted to add something more to that sentence but that little voice inside told you not to. “I just want to give him the life he was never able to have.”

“Will you finally tell me who this mystery guy is?”

“I can’t - you’re already pissed at me…”

“Please, just tell me.”

“Adam.”

"Adam....The only person I know that's named Adam is," The gears in Dean's head started turning as you felt his arms drop from around your shoulders. "Adam Milligan?"

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“How long?”

“Why does it matter at this point?”

“How long?” He growled out.

“A year or so…”

"You’ve been going behind our backs for a fucking year now, and never thought to tell us who you were seeing? Did Sam know?"

“He had no idea.”

“I won’t wish you good luck, or tell you that you’re going to be an amazing mother. I’m going to pry myself away, and tell you goodbye before I say something I might regret.” True to his word, Dean stepped away and you heard his boots stomp on the pavement towards the door leading into the bunker.

“Goodbye Dean.” You quietly whispered to his retreating figure and got into your car.

I don’t know how long this drive will take but I’ll be home soon. Wanna meet up at our spot when I get closer?

Adam - Of course. Please be safe, alright?

Always am. See you soon.

Forever Tags - @lovetusk @coffee-obsessed-writer @justballoonfishthings @littlehotmess26 @mirajanefairytailmage @kazosa @wings-of-a-raven @docharleythegeekqueen @clockworkmorningglory @lefthologramdeer @ellen-reincarnated1967 @holyfuckloueh @buckyscrystalqueen @ilovetaquitosmmmm @n3rdybird @super-fan-of-all-things @disneymarina @sandlee44 @babykalika2001

Dean Winchester - @idreamofplaid @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @akshi8278

#mels3k #adam milligan x reader #Adam x Reader #Adam Milligan x F!Reader #Adam x F!Reader #SPN fics #Supernatural fics #Reader Insert #Angst fic

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 39)

Country Pursuits

Reader’s art dealer job has some unfortunate (but is it really unfortunate..? You’ll see) results. Arthur starts making plans. The bank job is looming on the horizon, y’all... Enjoy!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

The men were out doing the art dealer job. My art dealer job. I felt full of nervous energy, sitting by the campfire with my sketchbook and pencil, tapping the end of it against the page as I looked around for something to draw that'd take my mind off of it.

The day had been pretty uneventful until then. Arthur and I had returned to camp with a pair of pronghorns for Pearson and the gang, so nobody commented on the fact that we'd spent the evening away from camp. I thought that was a nice trade. Food for their silence. Not even Dutch had anything to say, only stopping to tell Arthur that he had been thinking of how to deal with Bronte, and that he'd need to talk to him once he, John and Lenny returned from stealing those paintings.

That was so long ago, it felt like. The boys had only been gone a couple of hours and realistically it was going to take a few with how far they'd be travelling to Valentine, then Emerald Ranch provided everything went correctly (Hosea had spoken to a friend of his over there, Seamus, who'd be taking the art off our hands). Even so, I was restless the entire time.

I focused my attention on Javier's guitar where it was leaning up against a barrel, and started drawing it. I sketched it to fill up a page, giving it plenty of detail in a bid to stretch out the process, have it consume more time before the boys got back. I could only pray that the job went well, considering I'd brought it to them. If anything went wrong, I wouldn't be able to stomach it.

"You, uh, you ever drawn me in that book o' yours?" The log I was sitting on shifted unsteadily as someone dropped in beside me. Micah. I froze for a moment, eyes going wide with shock.

Micah hadn't been particularly friendly with me as of late, given our quarrels and the whole Arthur kicking his front teeth in thing. He either didn't speak to me at all or he barked some order at me, got me to do something for him. A lot of which, I simply didn't do. I wanted to be useful, not a damn servant.

"Why, you gonna demand that I do so if I say no?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the guitar, carrying on sketching. Micah chuckled, and my throat itched from cigarette smoke as he exhaled it, not bothering to direct it away from me.

"Well, would be nice if you did. Show a little friendliness, make out like you might just be able to stand me," it was all spoken in jest. I finally looked at him.

"I stood you for a long time, remember? More than that, thought you were a decent feller if you tried."

"Well, I told you you was wrong, that this is just who I am."

"Yeah and I never believed you. Though, that was 'bout the only thing that came out of your mouth that's true, so I should've."

"You saying I'm a liar, princess?" He questioned and my mood withered further, eyelids lowering in irritation.

"I ain't gonna waste my breath asking you again, Micah. You know I don't like you calling me that," I deadpanned, and I heard him exhale a drawn out breath. "And lying might not be the right word for it. Twisting things, though, that you do plenty of."

"Still think I was going 'round trying to convince people I'd fucked you? That's all rather conceited of you, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. Not half as conceited as you thinking me showing you the barest of kindnesses means I must want you to kiss me," I quipped back, and there was a pause before he made an unconvincing chuckle.

"Whatever," he breathed, sucking on his cigarette hard enough to hollow his cheeks, the end glowing bright before ebbing again when he exhaled the smoke; once again in my direction. It made my eyes water.

"I don't wish to be unfriendly with you, Micah. I never was one for conflict."

"Then I guess you chose the wrong business, this ain't a life that comes free of conflict. That pretty gash in your neck's some pretty solid evidence of that," he muttered, gesturing to my throat.

Every time someone mentioned it, it burned.

"I can't argue with that. I guess I could be more clear; conflict with people that once upon a time I got along with, dare I say liked," I replied, snapping my sketchbook closed when I became too distracted to carry on.

"You liked me?" He smiled and spoke in a sickly tone that was completely condescending and not in the least bit pleasant or sincere. "First time I've ever been told that. Truly, I am touched."

"Maybe it'd happen more often if you didn't go 'round treating people like crap."

"I've never treated you like crap," he told me in all seriousness, brow forming a heavy line above his eyes. I cocked a brow at him and snorted.

"You ain't? How about dumping all your shit on me, telling me to wash this, fix that, I stood in horse shit, scrub my boots? And saying all those dirty things to Arthur right in front of me?" I provoked and he laughed, shaking his head. Anger fizzed up and over inside. "And telling me that all I'm worth is my unsullied body, and you only wanted to fuck me 'cause I'm a virgin?"

Micah's eyes snapped to me at that, and it was a fair bit of time before he responded.

"If I'd've buttered you up real good, would you have been up for it? If I whispered sweet nothings in your ear and called you beautiful and scattered rose petals on the bedroll? Would you have fucked me then?" He levelled his gaze to me, looking directly at me after flicking his spent cigarette away.

"No!"

"Then what's your problem? So what if that's all I wanted you for, if I weren't gonna get you anyway?"

"Well, I suppose you would look at it that way."

"What way do you look at it? Educate me."

"It just weren't nice having that spat at me like I was nothing, like I was completely useless to you since I weren't gonna give you what you wanted. Especially with how well we worked together, how we got along whenever you weren't in one of your moods."

"Well, I guess I figured I owed you the truth. Otherwise you'd be walking 'round thinking you'd hurt my feelings, feelin' guilty, and we can't have that," he shrugged and I rolled my eyes, looking away. "You got an attitude somewhere in you," he added at that. He was smirking.

I didn't respond, opening up my sketchbook again and flicking through it absentmindedly, opening it to a blank page.

"Well, you should know," he began, "I ain't got no hard feelings. It's pretty clear the ship has sailed, anyway."

"I'm sorry?" I questioned, looking at him.

"You think nobody notices when you walk in here with Morgan, acting like he ain't been pokin' you all night? The bags under your eyes are as tellin' as they are unflattering, my dear," his tone was low and dirty and I screwed my face up in distaste. "You ain't no virgin no more."

"Whatever," I hissed, though my face felt hot.

"Those marks on your neck, too, you didn't get those from that O'Driscoll's knife, did you, sugar plum? Likes doing that, does he? Marking what's his," he added, and I stared at him, mouth agape. He was unbearably audacious!

"I don't know. But he sure liked kicking your teeth in," I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. His lip curled up, revealing the gap in his teeth, and he wriggled his tongue between them crudely. I wrinkled my nose. "Just leave me alone," I eventually sighed.

His nasty little laugh petered off as he surprisingly did as he was told.

I must have dozed off at some point when I was supposed to be darning a pair of socks, leaned up against the large tree by the fire. I woke with a start when something tapped my arm; for a moment I was ready to receive a lecture from Miss Grimshaw for sleeping on the job, but instead a hand holding a bundle of cash was in front of my face. My eyes travelled up the arm it was attached to and settled on John.

"Here's your share, sleepy head. Get up before someone sees you, I know Hosea don't take kindly to people doing what you're doing," he advised me, and I took the cash from him, my brows raising.

"Wow, this is my cut? Just for setting it up? You must've got a lot."

"Yeah, we didn't do too badly at all," John nodded.

"Did it go okay?"

Amusement twisted his features.

"Yeah, went off without a hitch. We all rode off without having to fire a single bullet, no one was hurt on the job," he began, and I was about to voice my relief when he continued, "didn't stop Lenny from fucking his leg up somehow on the way back."

"What?" I balked, sitting up. John stepped aside and gestured to where Arthur was helping Lenny down off his horse. Well, dragging him off of it with control while Lenny clung to him, wincing at every jostle of his leg.

I bolted up and raced over there, John hot behind me.

"Lenny! What happened? Are you alright?" I asked uselessly holding my arms out towards him and Arthur in some vague attempt at offering to help. Arthur managed to get him on the ground, balancing on one foot.

"Sure," Lenny said, face frozen in a grimace, "don't worry, ain't nothing to worry about."

"The kid's horse threw him," Arthur informed me, mild amusement on his face too. Neither Arthur or John seemed too concerned, which brought me some relief.

I looked at the horse in question. Little, tiny Maggie.

"She threw you?" I murmured.

"She saw a snake and got spooked, that's all."

"Was pretty impressive, the way he landed on his feet," Arthur mused.

"Till he hit the floor, screaming bloody murder," John added and they both chuckled.

"Glad it's so amusing," Lenny sighed, looking nothing short of mortified.

"We just robbed a whole bunch of valuable artwork from a serious collector without a single problem, but you can't manage to ride home? Yeah, it's a little amusing. Don't worry, it don't look broken, you probably just sprained it," John said. Lenny shook his head, leaning heavily on both Arthur and John as they helped him towards the house. Arthur called Hosea over, who immediately joined us.

They set Lenny down on a chair inside, and Hosea kneeled down in front of him. He inspected the injured ankle, asking him about the pain; where it was, how bad it was, if he felt anything snap. Hosea seemed satisfied after some investigation that no bones were broken, but he needed to rest it. He sent me off to fetch some medical supplies, and when I returned he bandaged up the ankle firmly to support the joint, and Arthur gave Lenny some whiskey for the pain, patting him on the shoulder.

"Now, you just take it easy for a few days, keep your foot up. You keep moving around on it, you'll make it worse," Hosea explained, tying off the bandage before pushing up to his feet, leaning on Lenny's good knee for support as he did.

"What about the bank?" Lenny queried, and Hosea went quiet for a moment. Arthur and John looked to him for his response.

Bank?

"Well, I'm sure we can manage without you, son," Hosea started, and Lenny sighed and leaned his head back, face a picture of disappointment. "Hey, don't be like that. How irresponsible would it be of us to have you along on a bank job when you can barely walk?"

"I know," Lenny grumbled, "I just wanted to be along for that. Show you fellers I can do a good job."

"I trust you would. Don't worry, there'll be other opportunities, I'm sure."

"'cept Dutch keeps saying this'll be the last big score," John noted with a humourless chuckle. Hosea looked at him, unamused and with a certain look in his eye.

"Well, I ain't got much to say about that," Hosea replied, his tone abrupt. It was clear he believed as much as they did that their scores were numbered. "Anyway, you stay here, Lenny. Rest up. Can we bring you anything?"

"If I'm gonna be sat here on my ass for the foreseeable future, some books would be nice," Lenny snorted, slumping glumly in the chair as Hosea dragged over a crate and had him rest his foot on it.

"Books," Hosea repeated with a nod, "certainly."

With that, he headed off. John left too, with a parting sympathetic pat on Lenny's shoulder, leaving just the three of us behind. I immediately turned to Lenny, fiddling with my own fingers, chewing on my lip a moment before speaking. I felt Arthur's eyes on me the whole time.

"Lenny, I'm so sorry," I began, and Arthur laughed.

"I was waiting for that," Arthur said, and I frowned at him in confusion.

"Huh?" Lenny simply grunted, looking at me cluelessly.

"I'm sorry about your ankle, I was praying all day that none of you'd get hurt, but…"

Lenny looked at Arthur, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

"Is she for real?" Lenny shook his head and I flushed a little, feeling foolish. Was I missing something?

"Just tell her it's okay," Arthur put an arm around my waist and carefully began leading me away.

"You think this is your fault?" Lenny called to me, then laughed, "hey, don't worry about it. I forgive you for making Maggie throw me, I don't appreciate it, but at least you're sorry," he teased.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to him, resisting Arthur's tugging.

"It was my job you got hurt on, that's what I meant. I mean, obviously, right?"

"Listen, somethin' I came to learn real quick. Shit happens. Sometimes it's somebody's fault, but most of the time? It's just shit," Lenny snickered, shaking his head and grinning at me.

"You're speaking to the lady who felt bad over killin' an O'Driscoll who was about to slit her throat, just let her say what she's gotta say," Arthur explained and I frowned deeper.

"Hey, don't tease me for having… morals and– and guilt. You were the one blaming yourself for that O'Driscoll ordeal just 'cause you didn't make me leave the gang, Arthur, so you're one to talk," I snapped.

"That was a whole different thing," Arthur frowned, going serious, "I still think about that, you know."

"Well, don't!"

"How long you two been married?" Lenny asked and we swivelled our heads to look at him, observing his mischievous grin. Hosea walked back in then, a bundle of books in his hands.

"Here you go, son. These were by your tent, but I can ask around, see if anyone can lend you something different?" He began, putting the books down next to his foot on the crate.

Arthur took the opportunity to lead me off again, with that marriage comment ringing in my ears I didn't try to resist. Oh, to be married to Arthur Morgan… I stopped myself before I got carried away.

He led me outside and we took a seat at the front of the house, on the edge of the fountain. He groaned as he sat down, sighing in exhaustion. He looked about as tired as I'd felt all day.

"You alright?" I asked. Arthur nodded, yawning. "Wow. I hope last night was worth it," I said light-heartedly, smirking.

"Oh, it definitely was. Much better than a restful night, princess," he chuckled. "That job went well, John give you your cut?"

I nodded. "It's a lot."

"Yeah, we did real well. I'll tell Dutch… I gotta speak to him at some point. Wants to talk about Angelo Bronte. Dutch is on about robbing a bank in town, so something's gotta be done about him; the man who seems to run the whole damn city."

"You're gonna rob a bank in the middle of the city?" I balked, eyes going wide and bile rising uneasily in my throat.

"Apparently. Hosea thinks we can do it, couple of the girls have been out scoping the place. Doesn't look too heavily guarded," he explained, though it didn't quell my fears at all.

"Yeah, but what about after? Fleeing through the city? It ain't like Valentine, where you run for thirty seconds and you're out on open plains," I exclaimed and Arthur shook his head, agreeing with me.

"It's a risk. I know. But Hosea says the place is full of cash and gold, so if we get away…" he trailed off, looked up towards the house. Hosea and Dutch were sitting up on the balcony above us, talking.

With a sigh, Arthur took my hand and led me away, over towards the edge of the water, out of earshot from any of the camp. I went along with him wearing a concerned frown. He turned to me, then, taking both of my hands and looking down at them.

"If we get away," he continued, not yet meeting my eye, "we should have a lot of money. Enough for the whole gang to get out."

I stared for a moment, wondering why he needed to tell me that in secret. "That's great, but–"

"Not only that, my cut… my cut would be big enough that – put together with what I have saved – you and I might just be able to– to– we could get away," he finally met my eyes at that. "You and me, princess. We could leave, we'd have enough to support ourselves. I could keep you safe."

My lips parted. I had to admit, that all sounded rather wonderful. A totally fresh start, far away from Dutch and the Pinkertons and the O'Driscolls… with Arthur. Just him and me. I must've started smiling a little because Arthur smiled too, pulled me into a hug.

"We could do it. We'd see that the others made it out alright; Charles, John, Mary-Beth, all those people you've grown close to. We'd have peace of mind and then we could leave, be done with all this getting shot at and knives held to our necks. Start leading a proper life," he whispered against the top of my head, swaying me from side to side in his arms.

"You gotta do the bank, first," I reminded him, "oh, please be careful, Arthur."

"I'm always as careful as I can be," he told me, then pulled back to look at me, "I want this. I'm so certain of that."

"Me too," I nodded, cupping his cheeks.

"All that's holding me back is not knowing what'll happen to these people. I want to make sure they're gonna be okay," he whispered and I nodded in understanding. "This bank could be it, princess."

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled across the camp. I looked over Arthur's shoulder to see him leaning over the edge of the balcony, waving him over. Arthur held a hand up in acknowledgement, then let out a soft breath.

"I'll see you later," he said, kissing my forehead and squeezing my hands. I watched him walk back to the house, a feeling in my stomach a bittersweet combination of hope and dread.

I awoke the next morning in my bedroll, laying on the floor of Arthur's room. I knew he'd be returning at some point in the night after heading out with Dutch, so I'd left his bed free. I had to smile to myself, then, when I felt his presence behind me, a hand softly resting on my hip.

The next thing I registered was the smell. Wet, stagnant, musky… unpleasant. I shifted, looking over my shoulder at Arthur to see him lying asleep in just his union suit. His clothes were in a pile nearby, and I realised they were the source of the smell; his jeans and shirt sodden with filthy water, his boots caked in mud. What on Earth had he been doing last night?

I laid back down, lacing my fingers with his on my hip, lifting his hand from me as I rolled to face him, replacing it on my other hip. Arthur woke up a moment later, either stirred by my movement or sensing my eyes on him. His eyes creased with a smile when he saw me, but before he could say anything, I couldn't help but ask;

"Have you been swimming around in the swamp?"

Arthur only paused for a moment before answering. "Yes."

I quirked a brow, utterly perplexed.

"Dutch had us helping out some feller with a boat, reckons he'll get us to Bronte's house so we won't have to go in through the city," he told me sleepily. He started to appear more alert until it all seemed to come back to him in a rush and his face shifted to urgency. "You should'a seen the goddamn alligator out there. Big as a damn bison, I swear."

I nodded in understanding. "Yeah, some big ones out there. You couldn't pay me to set foot in the water, and I grew up there, what on Earth were you doing out there?"

"It's a long story. Ended with me in the water saving some kid, almost had his leg torn off. This alligator… there's big, and then there's big,” he shook his head in disbelief.

I stared at him, a little bit horrified. "You were in the water with a bloodthirsty gator?"

"I still got all my fingers and toes, don't worry," he chuckled, but it quickly faded off, "this kid weren't so lucky. Well, everything's still attached, I just hope he don't get gangrene. Could be pretty bad…"

"Goodness. And where was Dutch during all of this? It was his thing, getting the boat, right?"

"He was in the boat, yelling, but otherwise being unhelpful," he said drily, moving to sit up with a groan. He stretched out his back and I watched the muscles work through the clingy material of his union suit, my head propped up with my arm. "Still, I reckon he was shittin' himself. Course he weren't getting in to help."

"Course," I tutted. "I'm so glad nothing happened to you. Gators, they can be real vicious."

"You're telling me," he snorted.

"When I was a kid, my closest neighbour's son met his end that way," I started, Arthur looking to me with widened eyes, "was out there fishing, waded in too deep and didn't see this big guy in the water."

"Shit…"

"Yeah… all I know is, his dad started firing his gun at the gator, but ended up aiming at his son just to– well, it was the kindest thing to do, apparently," I murmured solemnly.

"Jesus. This ain't filling me with confidence about getting back in that boat, heading out into the swamps again tonight," Arthur breathed, shaking his head.

"Just make sure everyone keeps their limbs inside the boat this time. You'll be fine," I offered him my most comforting smile.

"Noted. I don't particularly feel like watching someone get torn limb from limb by some dinosaur-looking bastard," he sighed. "Anyway, I best get dressed."

"Me too. And I'll wash those nasty clothes of yours. They stink," I laughed, sitting up and reaching for my suitcase, pulling it over to me and retrieving my corset.

"They do? I'm sorry. I can't smell it, must be used to it. Either that or I stink too," he snorted.

I leaned over and sniffed him, amusement worming its way onto my face. I held my thumb and index finger an inch or so apart and gave him a sheepish smirk. He dropped the clean shirt he was about to put on before nodding.

"I'll wash up first."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #atink #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

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the-foxes-fangs · 5 years

Text

I Wish I Was the Moon Part II

tagging @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age <3

So this got longer and spicier than I intended, whoops.

Warnings: blood, mildly nsfw, really running hot and cold

Part I

The morning sky was a flat grey that looked dirty where it met the horizon of the snowy field that he’d pock marked with his footprints between his target and his mark.

He fired and narrowed his eyes in irritation at the weakness in his injured arm, how it wobbled slightly and threw his aim just enough to be troublesome. He flexed his fingers and began to reload when he heard the creak of someone trudging up the hill.

He knew her footfalls by heart after two weeks of hearing her come down the hall to his room every evening, undaunted by his eroding will to keep her at arms length. Difficult to do with only one fully functional arm, or so he told himself.

She was stubborn and patient, and even when he refused to allow her to examine or re-bandage his wounds, she still came with food and medicine, officially there to assist him with his correspondence, unofficially to tempt him him to distraction.

“I don’t suppose that remarking on the cold would convince you to go back to the castle?” He asked, without turning to look at her. He could still feel the ghost of her body pressed against his, just long enough to shake his resolve.

“I’m not the one who almost died of hy-” she cut herself off and sniffed before finishing “of cold.”

She walked to his side, wrapped nearly to her nose in a heavy coat and scarf, carrying a steaming flask.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused at how fragile you think I am.” He said and readied his rifle to fire again. She started slightly at the sound but it didn’t stop her from studying the side of his face for a lingering moment.

“I’m sure you can be both at the same time. But I have to say you look better icy on the inside than the other way around.” She answered and pulled a scarf out from inside her coat to loop around his neck, nearly slipping off her tiptoes until he caught her by the elbow.

Careful and not too close, not as close as their shared breaths mingling white in the air.

It was beautifully sewn, pale gold silk lined with fur and embroidered with the bell-flower standard in gleaming silver. He pretended not to notice that and nodded his thanks to her, sure his voice would give him away if he spoke.

“Didn’t you tell Masamune you’d teach me to shoot?”

“Did I? I don’t recall. I did take a hard fall off my horse recently, heaven only knows how many unimportant details have slipped my mind.”

It sounded stilted even to him, and her softly amused expression didn’t falter at all now, which tempted him toward further deviltry despite himself.

“Shirking your duties will get you into all sorts of trouble, little seamstress.” He said as he leaned close enough to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, pleased so see her eyes go darker through her lowered lashes.

“Self defense lessons are a part of my duties, unless I misunderstood Hideyoshi terribly, which is completely possible given my- what was it you said- ‘fluffy little brain?’’ She answered with a near purr in her voice that he could feel to the tips of his cold toes. “I’m sure he’ll forgive me.”

“Trouble avoided then, it’s too cold and too bright today.” He said, and stepped a pace back from her, dropping his smile.

“In that case, have some tea and warm up.” She motioned to a snow covered bench and went ahead of him to sweep it clear. He watched with bittersweet admiration as she made a show of sitting down and pouring herself a cup as if it was a foregone conclusion that he would join her.

All he had to do was turn away. He could just turn around and go back to shooting, or simply walk away. He could’ve used his injury as a pretext to return to his own fiefdom before winter settled in completely, put solid distance between them long enough for her to cool off.

But an image of her lonely expression was too easy to conjure, and threatened to haunt him unless he could see some other look on her face to drive it away.

He joined her on the bench and accepted the cup she handed him. It was only lukewarm now, but he barely felt the cold at all as their fingers grazed.

They sat in silence for a time, and he wondered if that would be his last desperate resort, if silence would do what his cutting words and schemes couldn’t do.

She turned and studied him intently for a moment before she looked away again at the white mist of their breaths dissipating with the steam from their tea.

“Everyone had a friend in every wisp of cloud

that’s how it is with friends where the world

is full of fear

even my mother said, that’s how it is

friends are out of the question

think of more serious things” She recited softly.

“Your mother sounds shockingly clever.” He said, trying to keep his voice even as he tucked her words away, tried to blunt the edge of them before they could cut him too deeply, while he could still tell himself that she didn’t understand him at all.

“It’s all I can remember of a poem I read a long time ago.” She said and turned to smile a funny little crooked smile at him, quizzical and sad and sweet all at once. She stood and looked him up and down, and reached out to adjust the scarf she had brought before she picked up the flask and the cups and made to leave.

He felt a pang at that gesture, he felt the rush of some regret he didn’t want to name. “Don’t slip on your way back down,” he said, so quietly he didn’t expect her to hear him over the creak of the snow underfoot.

“It won’t heal unless you let it rest. Don’t stay out too long.” She said, and shook her head at him. She vanished from sight as a flurry of snow began to drift down.

^^^^^^^^

Another week of heavy snow had forced him to rest for longer than he would’ve normally allowed, and he trudged restlessly toward to castle to return several volumes to the library and drop off some reports.

It was too blustery to bother target shooting, and he told himself that the enforced rest was the cause of his general impatience, and not that she had finally stopped visiting him when he had casually mentioned to Hideyoshi that they’d probably find her buried up to her nose in a dirty snow bank if she kept trying to come and go in the dark.

He could’ve offered her a room, of course. But he could still feel the heat of her lips on the back of his neck, could still hear the soft sound of her hair sliding over the pillow next to his, and he wasn’t in a fugue of pain that might blunt the desire that those memories raised any longer.

He had stopped and picked up the box of foreign incense he had asked a merchant to set aside for her. A simple gift of thanks, something that would burn and drift away, nothing as suggestive as a hairpin or a comb. Nothing permanent.

Ieyasu joined him as he was leaving the shop and nodded by way of greeting, with a sharp once over of his posture and how he held his arm.

“Going to the library?” He asked brusquely.

“Are you? I do hope Mistunari is there, watching the two of you go rounds is the best entertainment I can find this time of year.”

Ieyasu snorted derisively at that and looked at him again, curiously and then with unusual amusement. “Is that a new scarf?”

“Is it? Who can say?”

“Oh no, it definitely is. She gave me one too, and everyone else.” Ieyasu said with a smug edge in his normally dour voice.

“Fools are often generous.” He answered and ignored the jolt of disappointment he felt at learning that it wasn’t a special gesture.

“Mm hmm.”

They trod onward in silence for a few moments before Ieyasu added “None of the rest are quite that nice though.”

“You’ve always been too peevish to have much aesthetic sense.” He shot back, punctuated by the wet noise of a lump of snow falling off a loaded tree branch.

“Don’t let Hideyoshi see you looking so pleased with yourself, it’ll start a civil war in the halls.”

“Over a scarf? My goodness, I never thought I’d have to tell you to think of more serious things.”

He was annoyed to find that he had repeated the phrase from her poem, but kept his mask firmly in place.

Ieyasu turned toward the library and shook his head in disgust.

“I can take your books, so feel free to slither over and check on her without the subterfuge.” He said and held his hand out expectantly.

“As a matter of fact I do need to deliver these reports first,” he said as he passed the books off.

“Of course you do.” Ieyasu said over his shoulder, already walking away.

He ran his thumb thoughtfully over the knot on the wrapped box. It couldn’t hurt to stop by her chambers quickly, he told himself so glibly even he didn’t believe his own lie.

The sound of her humming softly drifted through her door and down the hall and he stood there listening for long enough that he had to pretend he had been waiting for a servant to ask for sake before he strode to her door and slid it open without knocking.

She gasped in surprise and started, pricking her thumb, and he felt a pang of regret. He enjoyed flustering her, but not this.

“Don’t you ever announce yourself?” She said and raised her thumb to her mouth to lick the bead of blood off of it before it stained the fabric bunched in her lap.

He strode to her and knelt down, caught her wrist and brought her thumb to his mouth wordlessly, recklessly. He couldn’t taste her blood, but he could feel the ridges of her skin across his tongue, feel her pulse jump under his fingers as she gasped, watch the flush rise up her throat and creep across her cheeks as he held her thumb ever so gently in his teeth and swept his tongue over it again, reveling in the shudder it sent through her arm. Her parted lips and the mixture of shock and heat that glimmered in her eyes in the lamplight raised his own pulse quicken in reply.

He removed his tongue, but kept his lips close to the wound and blew on it languidly.

“I do apologize, I wouldn’t have startled you if I’d remembered your clumsiness.” He said, and finally lowered both of their hands, pressing her wound against the clean hem of his inner robe where it peeked out, stretched over his knee.

“I don’t think you’re sorry at all,” she said, her voice husky and quavering as she leaned toward him, with a look up from under her eyelashes that sent a sharp frisson from his chest downward.

A servant knocked politely and she jerked her hand away, red to the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat and smoothed the front of her Kimono and her hair distractedly.

“Oh, our sake.” He said, placidly. “Come in.”

He took the tray from the maid, who had eyes that resembled teacups as she surveyed the scene and backed out hurriedly.

“Drink?”

“You are impossible!” She hissed, and glared at him as she set her sewing aside.

“Why it’s already dark outside, surely it’s not too early to share a friendly drink.” He answered, looking fixedly into her eyes in spite of himself.

“I could get whiplash from trying to figure you out,” she muttered, and he tried to parse out the unusual word, but tucked it into the back of his mind instead, watching her steadily. She took the proffered cup with a soft sigh.

“What brings you here, anyhow?” She asked, louder this time.

He reached up and touched the fur of the scarf and smiled at her, hoping it wasn’t too easy to distinguish between a real smile and his usual expression. “I came to thank you for the gift, and for your assistance during my recovery, of course.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head. “It’s been a week. You must be very bored indeed.”

“You wound me! I was merely waiting for your gift to arrive.”

He slid the box toward her, and she reached for it, and paused to search his face with her fingers hovering in midair.

“It won’t bite.” He said with a laugh at her annoyed expression.

“Or explode?”

“You have my solemn word.”

She unwrapped it and smiled over the delicate carving of camellias in the dark wood of the box before she opened it and exclaimed with pleasure, lifting it to her nose.

“Rose incense...” she said softly, trailing off to inhale again. “Where did you even get this?”

“One tries to keep one’s trade secrets, but in this case it came from some foreign monks. I can’t really tell of course, but I was assured that it’s a beautiful scent.”

“It really is.” She said softly and stood to find an incense tray, lighting one of the deep red cones from the brazier before setting it aside to watch the soft smoke curl up and vanish. “It’s lovely. Thank you, Mitsuhide.”

She looked so graceful with the wisps of smoke twined around her that he was tongue tied for a moment, and tossed his cup back to give his hands something else to do than take hold of her face, trace the curve of her neck, map the length of her thigh, learn every soft stretch of skin that would make her gasp and writhe and shiver at his teasing.

This had to be enough. The memory of her skin against his lips and tongue was more than he intended, the fierce and sudden pain at having hurt her even unwittingly was what mattered.

He tried to remind himself that that was a whispered warning of the hell that waited for him if he didn’t regain control, didn’t put these impulses out of his head and got her truly hurt.

“Well, I’m pleased that you like it.” He said, and moved his cup away before she could fill it again.

“Be careful, you almost sounded sincere. The sky might fall.” She said, and grinned at him.

“You are a delightful friend, little mouse. I’d be remiss if I never showed my appreciation for the endless entertainment your naivete gives me.” He adjusted his kimono and rose. “But I have other errands left to run tonight. Sleep well.”

“Oh.” She slumped slightly, and he steeled himself against the longing that her crestfallen expression drew out of him. “Well, goodnight.” She said and watched him with a puzzled, frustrated expression. The smoke from the incense framed her as he turned and went through the door, sliding it closed quietly behind him.

“Everyone had a friend in every wisp of cloud” he whispered to himself as he padded toward the tenshu, “friends are out of the question... think of more serious things.”

****

The excerpt is from the Poem “Lacrima (the tear) by Romanian Surrealist poet Gellu Naum in case anyone is curious <3

#ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #cybird ikemen series #akechi mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #mitsuhide #fanfic #my fic #Ieyasu and Masamune have a running bet #Ieyasu is gonna get pissed and yell NOW KISS at some point

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icequeenjules26 · 5 years

Text

Digging in the sand, looking for Gold

Summary: When Dan's Beach-Volleyball partner retires, he's not sure how to continue his career. By coincidence he meets the aspiring Youngster Sascha, his best friend Marcelo and physiotherapist Phil, who shakes believes and rules Dan has lived by for all of his life. Suddenly, Dan's life becomes a lot more complicated...

Word Count: 11,8k

Tags: Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff, a bit of angst

A/n: This is my first fic for this year's @phandomreversebang! Art is by @penisdinosaur, beta'd by @rubberbandx, big thank you to both of them!

Read on AO3

For as long as Dan could remember, sand was everywhere.

Even when he wasn’t currently on court, when he was training in the weights room or running his laps on track, jogging in the morning, even on vacations - there was always sand. He could feel it in his clothes when he moved, no matter if he had actually worn them on court yet or not. He could see - hear it trickling out of his hair when he shook his head, even right after a shower. There was sand at the bottom of every bag he owned, used for training or not - it didn’t matter.

Sand was his everlasting companion, like family members - they were always there, and sometimes they showed up out of nowhere even when you definitely did not want them to.

But even though sandy clothes or bags usually meant displeasure to normal people, like an itch they couldn’t scratch, to Dan it was comforting - it was home. It was that little piece of his life that he brought everywhere, that he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to; it was his sign of belonging. Whenever he felt foreign, strange, he’d see a few grains of sand, like the Universe showing him You’re not alone. You belong.

Other people would look at him funnily whenever he mentioned it and his own rationality told him how absolutely insane it sounded, but it didn’t matter. It was the way he felt.

As long as the sand would follow him, he would be okay.

That’s why his partner’s retirement hit him even harder. Sure, he could search for a new partner, could try to find someone else he had this on court connection with, someone who knew what he’d do before he knew himself - but not only the improbability of that was a big dampener. They were a Team , him and Markus, had always been; all the way from the sightings matches in their youth to where they were now: training for Olympia. Even though it was still a long way, and if he wanted to, Dan knew he could do it… It was more the way there that made Dan question if it was even worth the effort.

It was his life’s dream. It was everything he’d ever worked for, the only thing he’d ever wanted to achieve. He’d never cared much about education, graduations or even degrees. He had dedicated his life to this sport, had given it his all for several years - just to get thrown off course basically only moments before achievement.

He didn’t blame Markus for any of it, obviously. He had torn the front ligament in his right knee, which would take several months to recover from, and had several other projects in the making, a musical career to fall back to and an amazing husband that supported him every step along the way.

He wasn’t like Dan.

Dan had nothing but his goal - he was nothing but his goal.

He drank, breathed, lived this sport, and he wouldn’t have quit had he been the one getting injured - but he wasn’t, and finding a perfect partner was harder than recovering from an injury. Chances were he’d never find anyone else who understood him on court like Markus did.

So, naturally, the situation hit Dan like a brick wall and metaphorically had him lying in a ditch somewhere for several weeks. He put off looking through the documents of the aspirants his trainer had sent him, just flipped through them halfheartedly, barely noticing what he saw before he gave up and frustratedly threw them in the vague direction of his desk.

He slumped around at home, missed training sessions and basically stopped strength training altogether. He even shortened his morning and evening runs. Only in the night, when the sun sunk below the horizon and normal people went to sleep, all the energy he hadn’t used over the day caught up with him; he became agitated and restless until he finally gave in and went for a jog.

It was during one of those midnight runs that he met Sascha.

Dan was running through the park a few blocks from his apartment, letting the night air cool his skin and ruffle his wild locks. As usual, he didn’t pay much attention to where he was going - nor did he even look. His eyes were up in the clouds, watching them as they drifted by, getting illuminated by the almost full moon standing proudly up in the sky. He knew this park like the back of his hand, could probably run his way through with closed eyes and covered ears, so he had started on his usual route and let his feet do the rest.

Panic ’s This is Gospel just started playing when there was a strange cracking noise that had Dan fearing for his headphones - he’d literally justbought new ones, they couldn’t seriously be broken again already?! - then something colliding with him mid-step and suddenly, he found himself sitting on his ass.

For a second he was completely disoriented, unable to even distinguish between up and down, just sat there, blinking like an idiot. Then his brain caught up with his body, his sight cleared and he could make out a figure standing over him. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Fuck, I didn’t look where I was going -” A male voice started rambling and a hand reached out to help Dan up.

Dan took the offered hand and got pulled to his feet. The first thing he noticed was the height difference - which was basically nonexistent. The guy was tall , almost as tall as Dan, which said something, and fairly athletically built. “Hi, nice to meet you - I’m Sascha.”

That’s how it all started - somehow it spiraled from there.

Sascha insisted to buy Dan a drink for the inconvenience, even though it was as much Dan’s fault as it was his, at least in Dan’s book. They started talking, and it didn’t take Dan too long realize he was a Beach Volleyball player like himself. When he asked about a partner Sascha just shrugged and told him he hadn’t found the perfect one yet - and a plan started building in Dan’s head.

Half an hour later they had a training session scheduled for the next day, numbers exchanged and on his way home, Dan’s steps felt a lot lighter.

The training went even better than anticipated. From the first minutes on court Dan understood Sascha and vice versa, and Dan had rarely felt this connected to a person that wasn’t Markus on an athletic level. Sascha was a few years younger than Dan and not officially seeking a partner, so he hadn’t been among the documents Dan had gotten from his trainer, but he was adamant to try out this partnership, wherever it would lead them.

Dan’s trainer met with Sascha’s and it was settled - they’d be going through a month long trial and training period, but Dan already knew this partnership was what he’d been searching for.

It didn’t take too long to discover his new partner didn’t only come with fresh energy and new plans, no - he also came with a bunch of associates. There was Mischa, his older brother and one of Dan’s biggest rivals since forever, almost immediately offering to bury all bad feelings and try to be friends, which Dan agreed on without a second thought. There was Marcelo, Sascha’s best friend and training partner - also the one Sascha gazed at whenever he thought no one was looking, and Dan made a mental note to ask him about it as soon as a foundation of trust had been built.

And last but not least, there was Phil - tall and handsome Phil, with a black quiff and striking blue eyes and a smile that basically lit up the room. He was Sascha’s physiotherapist and tested Dan’s restrain to the max.

Dan’s first rule had always been no dating - no distractions on his way to gold. For years it had held up; no relationships, only sex, no strings attached, but within days Dan could tell upholding that rule would only get harder with Phil around.

Overall the group was so tightly knitted that Dan wondered if they’d even find room for him. He had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, but something about them made Dan want to belong .

And no, it was not the fact that Phil was too hot for his own good and Dan regularly forgot his own name when he looked at him. Not at all.

Well, at least not solely that…

___

For some time things were calm.

Training with Sascha was going well, great even. The connection on court Dan had felt from the very first minute wasn’t wavering, and he was more than happy about having found a new partner that seemed to fit even better than the last one. He even felt like he finally got somewhere with the group - they started inviting him to outings, Marcelo included him in jokes and Phil had seemingly made it his goal to make Dan lost for words any chance he got. Only Sascha seemed still a bit wary of him - at least in the group. He was incredibly protective of them, even though he was the youngest, and had trouble trusting Dan for a reason that was beyond his imagination. When Dan had asked Phil about it, he’d smirked and told him it was just a matter of time, but he was getting more and more agitated.

About two weeks after Dan and Sascha started playing together, the group talked about going to a nearby pub to celebrate something, but Dan hadn’t paid much attention since he hadn’t expected to be invited.

As he made his way to the locker room, Phil surprised him by suddenly appearing in front of him, looking more than excited. “Dan! We’re going out for a couple of beers. Wanna come?”

For a few seconds Dan just stood there, stunned, blinking at Phil like he’d spoken latin instead of english. He risked a look at Sascha and Marcelo to confirm - while Sascha looked a bit miffed he still smiled kindly and Marcelo nodded invitingly. “I - I mean - Sure,” he stuttered out and Phil’s pale blue eyes shined so brightly that for a second, Dan was blinded.

About half an hour later they arrived at the pub and placed orders for the first round of beer. Dan, still not sure what the occasion was, opened up the conversation. “So - what are we celebrating?” he asked and the table had mixed reactions. While Marcelo’s previous wide smile seemed to dim a bit - Dan was convinced that man would probably smile in the face of death, he’d never seen him not smiling - there was a wide grin on Phil’s face and Sascha…

Dan couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he really blushing ? What was happening ?

It was Phil who took it upon himself to catch Dan up to speed. “So, a few years ago -”

“I was really young!” Sascha interjected, and there was definitely a red tint there. Dan smirked. That seemed promising.

“He had this crazy girlfriend. Like - she was completely nuts. She was... ” Phil traded off.

“Insane!” Marcelo provided, seemingly trying to be helpful, and Phil chuckled. “Not what I was searching for, but thanks, Marcelo.”

Both grinned at each other with a side glance at Sascha, who stared at the beer in his hand, cheeks still red.

“Anyways, Marcelo is right. She was jealous as fuck, controlled him any step he took, posted private pictures of him online, that sort of thing,” Phil said, moving his index finger in circles around his temple, emphasising his words. He waited for Dan to nod in understanding before he continued. “But he just let her. Like an idiot.” He snickered, Marcelo nodded and Sascha acted scandalized, calling out an offended hey! that the other two ignored.

“He -” Phil started up again, but Sascha interrupted him again. “I thought I loved her!” he tried to defend himself, seeking help with Dan. He just chuckled. “What happened?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d bug him about it for weeks , but nothing happened. He found excuses for her over and over again and I was so tired of it -”

“And then I knocked some sense into him!” Marcelo heckled, obviously proud of himself, and Phil shot him an unimpressed look. “Can’t a guy finish a story in peace around here?!” he asked and the rest chuckled.

“But yeah, Marcelo’s about right. They weren’t that close at the time, it was when Marcelo was still active, but Sascha talked to Marcelo during his strength training and when he came to his appointment a few hours afterwards he told me he wanted to break up with her. And that’s the story of how Sascha finally broke up with his crazy ex.” Phil’s smile was wide and his eyes bright, and Dan struggled not to loose focus. He’s fucking adorable… He silenced his own brain. Shush! Not gonna happen!

“Since then we come together at that joyous day to celebrate,” Marcelo explained and Dan just couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite the story,” he pointed out and the rest chuckled.

“You won’t get bored around us, I promise,” Phil said and caught his eyes. “I believe you,” he answered, not looking away, lost in the other’s blue irises, like he was trapped in a kaleidoscope of blue and gold and green.

Goddamnit .

When he finally managed to break the spell and avert Phil’s eyes before they’d suck him in yet again, Sascha gave him a somewhat satisfied, somewhat encouraging look, and this time, it was Dan’s turn to blush. This group would be the death of him, he was almost certain already.

After that incident, Sascha’s wariness decreased, which made it even harder for Dan to avoid Phil and the temptation he caused, but at least it gave him a lot more confidence. Sascha was his one way ticket to gold, and he intended to use it. If he’d become friends with the guy on the way there - even better.

Since his weeks of doing basically nothing Dan had kept to his midnight routine of going for a run in the park next to his house.

The problem, Dan mused as he jogged along the familiar path, was probably that they were similar in a lot of ways, in their drive for success and in the fact that originally, they were lone wolves. Dan couldn’t know what had happened, how Sascha had come to such a tightly knitted group of friends around him, but it shone through in every movement he made that he once hadn’t had a lot of friends - if any at all. Sure, he had a brother, but Dan could tell from his own experience that bloodlines didn’t form friendships of their own. Now Sascha and Mischa seemed close, but who knew what had lead them there?

Dan wanted to know more about them, he realized. He was the most interested in Phil, he’d admitted that much to himself already, but he’d closed that door for himself, shut it forcefully and locked it as often as he could - and surprisingly, the others didn’t leave him cold either. Originally, Sascha had been supposed to be his way to reach his goal, but now he - all of them - had become more. He had a feeling they could be great friends - if he’d just let them.

Completely lost in thoughts, Dan continued down his usual route, contemplating what to do about the whole Sascha situation. There was something wrong with the guy, something laying heavy on his heart, but he had no clue what exactly. He knew there had to be something he could do - the question was what . He wasn’t really skilled in handling other people, had spent his life refraining from relationships that would only serve as distractions for his main goal.

Now, though, it seemed different - a lot was different. Sure, he had no plans on getting a relationship - No, not even with Phil! - but what about friendships? To play his best he had to be open with his teammate, to let him in and truly become a team, he knew that now. But how was he supposed to do that when his teammate obviously hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet?

A voice ripped him out of his thoughts mid-step. He came to a slithering halt, looking up and finding himself just a few centimeters away from someone else - someone he identified as Sascha within seconds.

“Sascha!” he got out between gasps, “What are you doing here?”

There was a smirk on Sascha’s face as Dan struggled to catch his breath, and he had to stifle a grumble. Stupid youngsters and their stupid fitness.

“You okay?” Sascha asked, smirk still in place. Dan shot him an intimidating look, but Sascha only grinned. The wild, dirty blonde locks on his head were hardly contained by the headband he had on and stuck out left and right. His striking green eyes shone even more in the pale moonlight and their bright colour reminded him of someone else - for a second, the eyes were blue as the sky on a sunny day, with a black quiff framing a beautiful face, coming closer towards Dan, closer and closer until his lips finally…

No! Forget it!

Then Sascha snickered again and Dan’s vision of Phil shattered like a mirror. He shook his head quickly, trying to order his thoughts and get back to reality, while Sascha still observed him with a smirk. Dan shot him another look but again, Sascha seemed entirely unimpressed.

He sighed. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, finally focussing on the situation at hand. “So what are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing in a park in the middle of the night in my running clothes?” He raised an eyebrow, then: “I’m about to rob a bank, obviously.”

For a second, Dan just stared blankly, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. It wasn’t even that funny, he wouldn’t - then his eyes met Sascha’s and he lost all restrain. He broke out laughing, so loudly it scared up some birds in the area that flew away with irritated squawks.

That was the start of joint jogging sessions at night and an unforeseeable friendship. They grew closer every day, and Dan was glad Sascha seemed to open up to him more. He trusted him with his group of friends, invited him to hang out with them, and sometimes, when they were alone, Dan could see that he was moments away from talking to him - truly talking. It was obvious Sascha had a lot on his mind, in his heart; and it was also obvious that for some reason, he didn’t think he could talk to the others about it. But there was still something holding him back, something that kept him from talking to Dan about it, and Dan didn’t know what to do to get him to talk. So he waited.

Their trial period ended without acknowledgement. No one even talked about breaking off their partnership - as a matter of fact, Dan forgot about the deadline completely until a month later. He and Sascha were training together for two months at this point, and while on one hand, the training went by so fast he couldn’t believe it had already been two months, on the other hand it felt like they’d been partners forever.

Sure, Dan loved his sport, loved the sand, playing and giving it his all, but training had still tended to stretch out and drag - at least before Sascha. Now, sessions were filled with laughter and jokes, small pranks and friendly competitions; with Marcelo and Phil sitting on the sidelines cheering them on and clapping. Sometimes, Mischa was there, obviously impressed with the progress they made, and even Dan’s trainer basically forgot to nag half the time, silently watching instead, in awe about their teamwork.

Phil’s part in Dan’s life became bigger the more he was around all of them, and he shook Dan’s beliefs to the core. He distracted himself with the mystery around Sascha, with training and group outings, where he tried to keep more to the others, but it got harder by the second to resist. He was pretty sure Phil was interested - he kept flirting, leaning into Dan’s personal space or placing a hand on his thigh voluntarily - so Dan was glad he wasn’t required to spent a lot of time alone with Phil. His restrains slowly started to run thin, and he did not want to push his luck any further.

The partnership between Dan and Sascha continued growing. They started with strategy meetings in preparation for their first tournament together. They played a friendly match against Mischa and his partner which they won by far, and work progressed even faster than anticipated. Sascha still kept silent about his problems, but as he became more familiar with him and their group Dan at least gained enough insight to observe and draw reasonable conclusions.

One night they were out bowling, Dan, Phil, Sascha and Marcelo; and while he spent the most time conversing with Phil - damn the guy for being interested in the same things as Dan, how dare he? - Dan really paid attention to the way the group worked. While trying not to focus on Phil leaning into him with his hand on Dan’s knee, he noticed how often Sascha and Marcelo would look at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. How they always seemed to touch in one way or the other. How they sat so close there was no room between them even though it wasn’t necessary, and how many inside jokes they had.

Marcelo and Phil on the other hand were a lot closer than Dan had first anticipated. They shared looks sometimes, like they were conversing wordlessly, and when Marcelo hesitated in his movements or speech - usually because Sascha came close to him, or touched him, or laughed particularly brightly - Phil would immediately step in and try to distract from it.

All that only served to raise more questions for Dan. It seemed clear to him that Sascha and Marcelo had feelings for each other, but didn’t act on it; and Dan simply couldn’t get behind the reasons. And that, Dan realized, might’ve even been the reason Sascha had been wary of him. He made a mental note to ask Phil about it - which brought him to a whole other problem.

Phil, hot, precious Phil was testing Dan to the max. Most of the times it seemed obvious he was flirting with Dan, dropping hints that he was single and searching while complimenting him, leaning forward and suspiciously into Dan’s space. He grinned at Dan with that honest, open smile of his, probably aware of the fact that it made Dan’s knees go weak. He even asked Dan if he needed treatment, being a physiotherapist and all, and after some hesitance, Dan agreed to make a plan quite similar to the one Sascha had, with regular appointments.

In summary: Dan’s life did not become any easier.

_____

It was during one of those appointments that Dan finally decided to ask Phil for help to unravel the mystery around Sascha.

It had been a particularly weird training. Sascha had had obvious trouble concentrating; he was occupied with looking up at the stands where Marcelo was sitting instead of tactic training. He continued to sigh, but whenever Dan would bring it up, he’d say it was nothing.

Dan was fed up with it.

So, while he was lying on the treatment couch, Phil’s hands kneading his muscles and therefore in desperate need of a distraction anyways, he just blurted it out. “What’s up with Sascha and Marcelo?”

The hands on his back stilled for a moment and Phil took a deep breath. He continued the treatment when he’d let it out slowly, but didn’t say anything, and Dan became worried. Had he said something wrong?

When he’d finally worked up the nerve to apologize - for what, he had no clue, but there had to be something - Phil spoke up again. “As much as I want to,” he said with utter sincerity, “It’s not my secret to tell.” The utter defeat in his voice made Dan’s heart hurt for him. He just wanted his friends to be happy, Dan realized, but was about as powerless as Dan was.

“Okay,” he croaked and they didn’t talk about it again.

Dan would have to go straight to the source.

___

For around two months not much changed. Dan gradually affiliated into the group, he continued to withstand the temptation that Phil posed, just Sascha’s unceasing silence still had Dan worried.

At least until the international beach volleyball association - IBVA in short - uploaded one of their “behind the scenes” videos to their Youtube channel.

Usually, Dan didn’t pay much attention to the videos they uploaded. In all honesty, he followed their channel more out of guilt than anything else. Just this time, he’d anticipated that video: in their catching up with... series they interviewed former athletes that had retired from the sport for one reason or the other. Athletes… Like Marcelo.

Marcelo had been practicing the sport for over ten years until he had won gold at the olympics for the second time, when he had decided to retire; him and Sascha had already been friends at that point. Now he recently turned thirty and worked with different TV Stations broadcasting beach volleyball tournaments, allowing him to travel around with Sascha and the others. The IBVA had interviewed him a week ago, and he’d told the others to tune in when it came out.

The first few minutes was nothing too important, just about Marcelo’s life shortly after his career, how he was handling retirement and if he missed the sports. Then they reached the present, and with it, Sascha - a promising youngster of only 22 years who’s recent switch of partners had caused a lot of frenzy in the community.

Marcelo breached upon the topic with nonexistent ease, with all the awkwardness he held, but the interviewer ate it up. She dug deeper about Sascha, how he was doing, how close the two were.

That’s when he spoke the sentence that had Dan hurting for Sascha. “Yeah, Sascha is my best friend. Like the little brother I never had, you know? I wouldn’t want to do without him for the world.”

He paused the video out of pure panic - even though Sascha wasn’t even in the room - and for a moment, the world seemed to stop, halting in its rotation to give Dan a moment to grieve for the happiness of a friend that had become so dear to him. He couldn’t believe Marcelo just said that - had he no idea how Sascha felt? Did he not care? And what about his own feelings? Dan would’ve bet all his money on Marcelo having feelings for Sascha as well.

Yet again more questions appeared and this time, Dan was more than dumbfounded. He’d never expected this to come out of this interview.

It took Dan minutes to calm down enough to continue watching the video, but no more important things happened. They moved on from the topic Sascha fairly quickly after; Marcelo said a few words about Dan and how well they worked together, with some kind of dull shimmer in his eyes that Dan just couldn’t decipher, then it was mostly about the sport itself and other contestants in the upcoming tournament.

When the video was over Dan sat in silence, staring at the still illuminated screen of his laptop for multiple moments, then he took a deep breath and got up. He had some strength training to do before he met up with Sascha for their nightly jogging session.

___

When Dan arrived at their usual meetup-point Sascha was not there yet. By itself, that wasn’t a big deal since he tended to be always late for literally everything, but after the video it had Dan a bit worried. Sascha was like Dan in a lot of things - like the fact that he tended to work twice as hard whenever something bad happened. He concentrated on work to not think about his problems. Dan could truly relate.

For almost ten minutes Dan waited relatively calm. Then he became increasingly worried. Sascha still wasn’t there, and he had neither answered Dan’s messages nor picked up the phone when he’d called.

After half an hour Dan was beside himself. He’d finally called Phil, and while he didn’t know where Sascha was either he at least gave him the useful advice to check his apartment Phil wondered what the fuss was about, though, so Dan just told him to check the video the IBVA had put up.

It took Dan less than five minutes to get to Sascha’s apartment block. When he first rang the doorbell, cautiously and unsure, there was no answer, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. So he just kept ringing.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Dan the door finally opened. He climbed the stairs up to Sascha’s floor where he found him, leaning powerlessly against the doorframe, and Dan was shocked. He’d never seen Sascha looking like this - so completely drained of energy, without a flicker of mischief in his green eyes. Instead of standing tall his shoulders were hunched over, his cheeks glistened wet and even behind the glasses Dan could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He wore a shirt of the IBVA that seemed a bit older, but wasn’t too suspicious, until he turned around to make his way into his apartment, revealing a big brazilian flag on the back, and Dan understood that it was probably an old shirt of Marcelo, who was of brazilian origin.

“Oh, Sascha,” Dan murmured as he followed him inside, closing the door behind him. Sascha didn’t even say a word as he let himself fall onto his couch, gesticulating vaguely for Dan to take a seat as well.

Afterwards, Sascha was completely quiet, staring off into space motionlessly, and Dan was busy taking in his surroundings. There were several tissues thrown about on the living room table. Sascha’s laptop peeked out under some of them, still blinking, indicating that it had just been closed and pushed away mindlessly. The TV was running, showing a beach volleyball match that Dan had been sure was chosen randomly, until he realized that it was an old one of Marcelo and his partner.

Dan sighed, unsure of what to do, but then he got up and decided some tea wouldn’t hurt. He’d been in Sascha’s kitchen a few times, so it didn’t take him too long to make some.

When he got back into the living room Sascha hadn’t moved an inch and when Dan gently handed him the mug it took him a few moments to even become aware of his presence. Dan sat down again as well, observing worriedly as Sascha cradled the hot mug in his hands. He was sure there were new tears running down the youngster’s cheek and for a second, he wished he’d taken Phil’s offer to come over as well.

He had no idea how to handle this, what to do or what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed useless, meaningless. He felt completely powerless. Phil, caring, empathetic Phil would’ve known how to handle the situation, he was sure of it; but he took a deep breath and threw all of his anxiety over saying the wrong thing right out of the window. Anything was better than utter silence.

“Sascha…” he started, turning towards his friend now, one leg perched up on the couch. His voice was deep and rhusty, worry so evident in it he had to suppress a wince. He didn’t say more than that, but the intent was clear.

Sascha didn’t answer at first, but at least he moved to take a cautious sip from his tea, which Dan counted as a win. Then, when Dan had already given up hope, he started talking.

“How did you know?” he asked, not even looking at Dan, who sighed. “That you have feelings for him? Honestly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

Sascha’s response was a humorless laugh. “That obvious, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed and Dan took his mug of tea into his hands as well, looking at the TV to keep himself from looking at Sascha, who seemed like a wild animal - any sound or direct eye contact could have him running in the opposite direction. For a second he was tempted to text Phil - but deep down he knew he could do this, and that it had to be him. Sascha definitely had a reason to not talk to Phil about it, and Dan would honour that.

“Please talk to me.”

Dan really didn’t think it would work, but it finally seemed like he’d gotten through to the normally so confident youngster.

“I don’t even know why I still have hope. I just get knocked down over and over again. When will I accept the truth?”

Dan physically flinched hearing the defeat in his voice. He’d been through a lot with Sascha already, had grown as a person and stronger as an athlete, and after the initial hesitance, he’d also grown closer to Sascha as well. Seeing something hurting him like that - it made him hurt too. And it made him think of Phil, and how lucky he was to at least know his feelings were reciprocated, even if he’d chosen not to act on them. He’d be okay.

The question was, would Sascha be?

“I just can’t believe it’s one sided. The way he looks at you….” He trailed of, making a vague gesture with the hand not holding the mug. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to give Sascha even more hope after everything, but Dan just wasn’t ready to give up. He’d get behind this, and then he’d get them together, even if it’d be the last thing he’d do.

“I don’t know, Dan, I just - I just don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like - Like…” He stumbled over his words, and when Dan looked over he could see there were new tears shining in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath.

“When I first met him, I never thought - I never even imagined. We didn’t talk a lot, simply because we never ran in the same circles, you know? But then the shit happened with my girlfriend and… He saw me, during strength training, asked me what was wrong, and I just… I felt like I could trust him. So I told him everything. And he told me I was worth more than that. More than the person she wanted me to be. And he said it in a way that…” He visibly faltered for a moment, shooting Dan a quick look before taking a deep breath.

“He looked deep into my eyes. Like I was the most important thing in the world. Like he was able to see what she couldn’t.”

Again there was a pause, and Dan didn’t even dare to move. Sascha seemed so fragile, like the most gentle breeze could scatter him into a million directions.

“Looking back, I think I started fancying him then,” he whispered, almost soundlessly.

The following silence was so looming, so comprehensive it made Dan shudder. It was pretty clear to him that Sascha had never said it out loud before, and it meant a big deal, so he waited patiently for him to continue.

“After I broke up with my girlfriend we truly started talking, and to hang out. He was so nice and easy going, so awkward and adorable, we were interested in the same things and we just - clicked. We grew so close, but every time I think This is it he just… backtracks. He’ll look into my eyes and hold my hand like we’re a couple, like he has feelings for me, and the next thing I know he calls me his brother. And still I-” He stopped short, choking down, and Dan intuitively scooted closer.

“You should say it,” Dan prodded softly. “It might help.”

Still in tears, Sascha looked up to meet Dan’s eyes.

“And still I love him,” he choked out between sobs, then he broke down.

_________

Surprisingly, not a lot changed after that. Dan and Sascha were closer than before, sure; and during training or hangouts when Marcelo would look a certain way or sit closer to Sascha than strictly necessary they would exchange looks, have entire conversations with nothing but their eyes. After practice, whenever they didn’t do things as a group, Dan and Sascha would come together, watch a movie, play video games - be there for each other.

Dan himself was doing pretty good. He and Phil had been growing close as well, but Dan tried to mostly refrain from being alone with him, and so far, it seemed to be working. Sure, sometimes he mourned for the what if , but mostly he was just happy to have gained a friend as amazing as Phil was.

He knew, though, that Sascha needed him. The youngster hadn’t been particularly happy with the situation - or over all. Dan had to stand on the sidelines and watch as his best friend became more closed up and silent by the minute, at least around Marcelo, and he didn’t feel good about that. He didn’t understand what Marcelo was doing, but that didn’t mean Dan wanted Sascha to completely lose someone so dear and close to him. On the other hand, he also understood why the youngster was spending less and less time with Marcelo.

Overall he felt like he was looking at a doom loop and he had no idea how to break it. The state of affairs dragged on for weeks. Dan and Sascha went through their first tournament together, which they ended on an amazing second place, and played against Sascha’s brother and his partner again, who they beat once more.

After the game, Mischa took Dan aside and asked for news, but Dan couldn’t give him anything. Marcelo on the other hand seemed to struggle to understand what was happening, continuously cornering Sascha and asking him what was wrong. The situation seemed to pain him considerably, too; but that made things just more confusing to him. How had the older man still not figured out what Sascha felt for him?

It took more than two months to break Dan. He’d had the same talks with Sascha over and over again - “Talk to him!” “I can’t! He can’t know what I feel for him, it would destroy everything!” - “It can’t go on like this. It’s starting to affect your play!” “It has to. I’ll just have to get over it.’’ - etcetera, and he’d had enough.

Dan also couldn’t imagine how things could get any worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Sascha that.

Sasch had lost his touch and was struggling to get it back, and Dan had to watch helplessly as he lost more and more motivation to Marcelo, so one Tuesday during one of his routine treatments from Phil after a particularly bad training - Dan kind of just... spit it out.

He knew it was wrong, somehow. But it wasn’t like he was able to stop himself, either.

“It’s so bad. My trainer averted his eyes, and I can’t even blame him. I can’t look at it anymore either,” he groaned when Phil asked him about how training was going. The physiotherapist halted in his movements, just for a moment, hardly noticeable, but Dan sensed it anyway.

“Why?” Phil asked before continuing working on his back. Dan was almost used to it by now, at least when it was unspectacular places like his back, so he didn’t even have to bite his lip anymore to keep down a moan.

The question confused Dan, just a bit, but it was like Phil’s calm and trustworthy presence had finally broken his self-imposed spell of silence on the matter. Sascha hadn’t particularly told Dan to stay quiet, but it might have been implied somewhere. He honestly couldn’t remember, and at this point he didn’t care. He couldn’t just stand by and watch as his best friend got more and more broken by the second. He’d kept silent and not done anything for too long. But not any more. Not for a second longer.

“Is that really a question? After the video? He’s in pieces. Every time I’m picking him up something happens and he’s breaking apart all over again.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely helpless.”

Phil’s hands on his back stilled, then they vanished. “You’re done,” he croaked out, breathless, and took a step back as Dan sat up. He gulped visibly, then: “Get dressed. We’re going to my place, and then you’re telling me everything you know. I’m tired of this.”

______

“So, what you’re saying is - Sascha has actually had feelings for Marcelo the whole time?” Phil looked at him with wide eyes, so innocent and unaware Dan wanted to scream. How could someone be that pretty and that clueless at the same time?

Dan’s eyes felt like they were falling out of their sockets as he stared at Phil, completely dumbfounded. He wasn’t - he couldn’t actually - it wasn’t possible -

He was. He could. And yes, it was possible.

“Please don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I had no idea!”

“Are you blind ?”

For a moment, Dan felt bad about it, but he got over it pretty quickly. Honestly, Phil kind of deserved it. The physiotherapist still looked shocked by the news but was now also blushing profusely, avoiding Dan’s eyes.

Dan sighed. “You cannot be serious, Phil.”

More blushing, then: “Marcelo said Sascha didn’t love him back. So I didn’t question it.”

Silence settled in until the words properly registered in his mind, then Dan’s head shot up, fixing Phil’s eyes in a gaze. “Back. So I’m right. Marcelodoes have feelings for him!”

Phil nodded, picking up the coffee mug he’d placed on the table in front of him and taking a huge sip while pressing his foot firmer into Dan’s thigh. “He’s been in love with Sascha for ages.”

Then he furrowed his brows, staring into the dark liquid like it held the answers to all his questions.

Dan wished .

“Wait, but if it was that obvious - he knows Sascha better than anyone else. He must have known about it. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he lie? What is he doing?”

Dan sighed again. “That’s the one million dollar question, isn’t it. What’s Marcelo doing?”

_______

When Dan asked Sascha why he hadn’t talked to Phil about the situation yet, he told Dan he was scared the physiotherapist would tell Marcelo everything, so Dan cleared up the misunderstanding. Luckily, Sascha wasn’t mad at Dan for telling him, and the situation dragged on. The one good thing about it was that Dan was so enrolled in the mystery that Marcelo posed, he didn’t even have time to think about Phil - to question how close they had become. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that as soon as things were resolved he’d probably break down and throw himself at Phil like a lovesick fool, but he ignored it completely.

Maybe he was falling for Phil. Hard. So what? He’d just have to restrain himself. He’d been doing that for months now - what could possibly go wrong?

Never in the history had that sentence not lead to things going horribly wrong, but he ignored that as well.

As a team, Dan and Sascha continued to make progress, but as an individual, Sascha’s performance didn’t improve significantly. Sure he had trainings where things were going a bit better - for example when Marcelo was gone for a week, visiting his parents in Brazil and Dan kept him distracted as well as possible - but that wasn’t a lot. Overall, the brash, mischievous Sascha whom Dan had met months ago was missing in action.

It didn’t take long for Dan and Phil to start worrying. Group hangouts became less and less frequent and Sascha was asking for time alone, so they spent most of their time together, worrying about their friends and planning how to get them back on track. Sometimes, they’d put on a movie or play video games, and Dan’s restraint around Phil would falter, just for a moment, for a lingering touch or an endearing look, but he managed to keep it at that - as long as it wasn’t more it would be fine. As soon as his lips would touch Phil’s, though, it would be over, and all attempts of abstention would have been in vain.

Their attempts to get Sascha and Marcelo to talk were mostly unsuccessful. They refused to talk to each other openly, and that did not help calming Dan and Phil’s nerves. The first qualifying matches for the Olympics were approaching with big steps, and they knew: with Sascha being like this, they’d be lucky to even stand a chance.

That was why, only a month from their first match, Dan finally lost his patience. After practice he lured Marcelo into Phil’s treatment room and kept him there while Phil brought Sascha for his daily checkup. He sat them down onto a couch in the corner of the room, refusing all protests, and took a seat on some chairs facing them.

He and Phil shared a look, squeezing each other’s hand - something they had started doing only recently and completely without Dan’s conscious approval - then he took a deep breath and turned his attention to the men on the couch.

“Guys, we’ve been patient. Really patient. We’ve sat by and watched as you drift further and further apart, but it has to stop.”

“This is an intervention. You two need to talk and because you’re obviously not going to do that on your own, we’re forcing you to,” Phil explained further, and Dan nodded. The look of utter betrayal in Sascha’s eyes weighed heavy on Dan’s heart, but he knew that this was the only way. Sascha was too stubborn to try to improve the situation, and Marcelo had simply given up. Someone had to do something, and there was no one else that would.

“Anything one of you wants to share with the group?”, Dan asked, gesticulating with his hands like they were in group therapy, and Phil gave him a grin. The other two didn’t seem particularly impressed with this joke, though.

“I have nothing to say,” Sascha said, breathless, hardly making a sound, and Marcelo flinched like someone had punched him. “Who’s surprised,” he mumbled under his breath, and Sascha’s sharp, green eyes turned to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was nothing but a hiss, low and dangerous, and Dan was glad it wasn’t directed at him. His partner was a few years younger than him, sure, but he was also tall and well trained and his look could be so sharp Dan swore it could pierce through skin.

“You haven’t talked to me in weeks!” Marcelo accused, and Dan and Phil shared a quick look. It was true, sure, but that didn’t mean Sascha’s silence wasn’t at least justified. They had tried to get him to talk as well, but they weren’t the ones causing the behaviour.

Sascha’s eyes narrowed and Dan swore the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees within a second. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he hissed, pure venom in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the goddamn reason!” Sascha blurted out forcefully, short of seething. “You’re the goddamn reason for everything! For me being distracted, for my sadness, for my performance dropping! You and that fucking video!”

“Sascha -”

“No! Just no! Not again! I’m tired of it, okay? I’m tired of all of it! Do you know what it does to me, every time you say something like this?” There were tears in the corners of his eyes and Dan unconsciously reached for Phil’s hand. It hurt him, too, and he didn’t have the strength to go through it alone.

“Do you know how fucking much it hurts ?”

For a second, it was silent, and Dan couldn’t help but look at Marcelo - who looked close to tears, obviously trying to avert Sascha’s eyes. “But -”

Sascha cut him off again, shaking his head silently. “No buts, Marcelo. Not again,” he said, his voice close to a whisper, and from one second to the next he looked so broken Dan couldn’t help but strengthen his grip on Phil’s hand.

Then he got up, attempting to leave the room. Dan was about to get up as well, to keep him there for just a second longer, just to give Marcelo a chance to explain, but the brazilian was behind Sascha and taking a hold of his wrist so fast Dan didn’t even have the time to move a muscle.

“That is not fair, Sascha. You were the one telling me off years ago and I can’t know you’d still react like that -”

“I did what?”

“Telling me off. During the first interview you did. Remember?”

Sascha shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“When the reporter asked you about the rumors concerning that woman you played a match with for charity. You laughed and told him she was too old for you anyways.”

Sascha blinked, obviously dumbfounded, but at least a lot calmer than before. “How could you have possibly applied that to yourself?”

Marcelo’s look was so sad Dan’s heart would’ve broken in his chest would he not be holding onto Phil’s hand for dear life.

“She’s exactly my age, Sascha. I got the message, bright and clear. I did my best to keep away from you and that aspect, I swear, but you’re just so irresistible and I was already so fucking much in love with you -”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dan mumbled to himself, and the physiotherapist next to him nodded affirmatively, but the other two guys weren’t even aware of them anymore.

Sascha choked out a sob, tears streaming down his face as he continued to stare into Marcelo’s eyes. “You idiot,” he whispered without any malice, “It was never about you. I just wanted him to stop asking about her. Especially because I had feelings for you …”

That was the point where Dan had to avert his eyes, where the connection between Sascha and Marcelo became too much and he just felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He carefully tugged at Phil’s hand, gesturing him that they should go. So they did, leaving Sascha and Marcelo and any further developments alone.

____

Training was a lot better the following week. Sascha’s performance improved and went back to normal within minutes on court; he was able to concentrate, he smiled and laughed with Dan and his technique was back to top quality. Dan was more than relieved. The first qualifying tournament for Olympia was less than a month away and they needed to be at the top of their game.

Within the week after that, though, Dan got a feeling something was different - or, to be more precise, something wasn’t different. A specific something.

Sascha and Marcelo didn’t act differently at all. They were obviously back to being friends, sure, participating in group outings, joking with each other; but if anything, the touching had decreased . No teasing about their relationship, no suggestive comments, and definitely no kisses, not even on the cheek. Something was definitely not right.

He knew he needed Phil’s opinion, so during his physio-treatment - while desperately trying not to get a hard-on because Phil literally had his hands all over his body - he asked.

“What’s wrong with Sascha and Marcelo by the way?”

There was no hesitance in the hands kneading his left thigh dangerously close to his ass and Dan had to stifle a moan.

“What do you mean? Everything’s the same as before.”

“Exactly,” Dan answered with a raspy voice, trying to hide the pleasure. “Shouldn’t something be different?”

Phil was silent for a moment, switching from the thigh to the calf - slightly less dangerous territory - and Dan allowed himself to relax before the physiotherapist spoke again. “You know what? Now that I think about it… You might be right. They don’t act like a couple at all. Or, well, at least not more than usual.”

“Precisely.”

After twenty more minutes of treatment - and therefore, twenty more minutes of Dan feeling ridiculously underlaid - they agreed to do some digging.

The first task fell to Dan. Him and Phil had agreed that - after everything they’d been through with Sascha - it was unfair to not give him the chance to speak. So during their midnight run Dan asked Sascha about it, about the relationship and if they were in a romantic one, but the youngster’s answers were unsure and vague. After some prodding, he straight-up denied it, claiming him and Marcelo would “work better as friends”.

Needless to say that Dan was furious.

Just to confirm the story, Phil asked the same questions during morning practice, when both him and Marcelo were on the stands. The answers were pretty similar.

Both Dan and Phil were more than disappointed about that outcome. They got together for some Mario Kart that afternoon, and while Dan was half a round ahead and Phil was fighting for the third spot, they realized they couldn’t just… Leave it at that.

In reality, they could. They just refused not to. For their friends’ happiness, but also for their own pride.

“That can’t be it,” Dan observed as he was skillfully maneuvering around a banana peel on track, “They love each other. Why the fuck not start a relationship?”

Only after saying it out loud did he realize it was basically a stab into his own guts, and he was lucky Phil was too preoccupied with the game to look at him.

“True,” Phil confirmed, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

For a second, it was silent aside from the sounds of the game, then Dan made a decision as his car was driving past the finish line. “You know what? Not on my watch.”

Something misschievous glinted in Phil’s eyes when he turned to look Dan into the eyes. “No. Not on our watch.”

____

Two weeks later they were in the car on their way to their first Olympics-relevant tournament and nothing had changed. Nothing at all . They had tried (and, well, failed) to get them together multiple times, had shoved them together for practice, had given Sascha the opportunity to say something, but so far, all their attempts had been in vain. Not only Dan, but even the bubbly, optimistic Phil was rapidly losing confidence in their ability to meddle.

It was Marcelo’s shift to drive, so Sascha had, naturally, chosen to sit shotgun - “working better as friends” my ass , Dan thought - leaving the backseats to Dan and Phil.

Dan, sitting behind Sascha, hadn’t been paying a lot of attention - he was fairly occupied trying to get Phil to relax, with his car sickness and all - so when he looked forward for the first time, trying to get a look on their navi, and he saw a dark spot on the back of Sascha’s neck, almost at his shoulder, for a second he didn’t think anything of it. Then he processed what he’d seen and - Huh?

He couldn’t be sure, his view was obstructed by both Sascha’s hair and his shirt, but - he leaned over towards Phil, whispering in his ear. Phil’s face, slightly less green than before, showed surprise, then he exchanged a look with Dan, the same question in his eyes.

Is that… a hickey ?

___

The tournament went amazingly well. They’d survived the group phase and the first knock out round and were now on for the quarterfinals tomorrow. They’d agreed to have a light training session around midday, but Dan had spent the day hiding from Phil since they’d had a near slip-up the other night playing Fifa (Dan had lost, so he’d started tickling Phil and ended up closer to him than intended and almost kissed him), so he went directly to the training court instead of meeting the others at the hotel. When he arrived, Sascha and Phil were already there, laughing while Phil tried - and failed - to warm Sascha up.

When they noticed Dan, Sascha gave a wave and a grin, walking over to his bag to take a drink, but Phil came sprinting towards him through the deep sand. “That is Marcelo’s shirt,” he said in lieu of greeting, and Dan blinked dumbfounded before he understood what Phil was getting at.

He took a closer look at Sascha’s outfit, and sure enough he was wearing a light blue shirt with a Volleyball emblem on the breast pocket that he’d seen Marcelo wear before.

“Oh my god, you’re right. He wore it just two days ago!”

For neutral parties, it probably wasn’t a big deal, but to Dan and Phil, it definitely was. They were invested in this relationship - more than they would’ve thought before.

“Are we becoming fanboys?” Dan asked as they walked over to Sascha. Phil’s stunning blue eyes were glinting in the shining sun and for a moment Dan forgot how to breathe.

“Absolutely.”

___

Dan and Sascha made it through the quarterfinals relatively easy, beating their opponents in two straight sets. The match directly after was determining their semi-finals opponents, so Dan and Phil decided to stay to spy on them and get a feeling for how they were playing, but both Sascha and Marcelo chose to go back to the hotel, claiming they wanted to skype their families.

The stands built up for the sake of the tournament went up fairly high, and to be less likely to get spotted Dan and Phil decided to search for seats in a far up row, which were mostly empty. From up there, they had a really nice view of the ocean far off to one side - and, coincidentally, the hotel they were all staying in. They were looking straight at their floor and with it, their shared balcony - between the five of them, including the trainer, they occupied the whole side of the floor for themselves. The rooms were connected by a long, shared balcony, which made going over to one of the other rooms for a treatment or a talk with their coach a lot easier.

While the teams on court were still warming up Dan looked over to the hotel. He found Sascha at his balcony door, looking out to the court. He had changed into a red shirt and grey shorts shining brightly in the sun, and Dan softly elbowed Phil in the side an gesticulated for him to take a look as well.

They watched as Marcelo appeared behind Sascha with his boring white clothes immediately recognisable in the compared darkness of the room. He stepped closer to Sascha, reaching out with his hand, then Sascha let the curtain drop and the scene was out of view. Phil and Dan shared a look. Skyping their families, huh?

Throughout the game they kept a close eye on Sascha’s balcony door, but the curtain didn’t move again - until their tainer stepped onto the balcony, making his way to Sascha’s room. When he knocked on the glass nothing happened for a while. Then the door opened and Sascha stepped out in his red shorts and white shirt -

“He’s in different clothes than before!” Phil pointed out, voice somewhere between excited and surprised, and Dan’s eyes widened as he realized that Phil was right. “So - They went in together, no one comes out for half an hour, and now he’s suddenly in a completely different outfit, even though he’d been freshly showered before?!” Phil summarized and Dan nodded, dumbfounded.

“Well, that’s not fishy,” he mumbled, “Not fishy at all.”

___

When Marcelo showed up to dinner with a red shirt Dan and Phil were set on investigating further. Something was going on there and they wanted to know what it was.

Dan and Sascha finished third in the tournament, which was half the qualification norm for the Olympics, so they were happy with the outcome. They had around a week at home before they were leaving for the next tournament, and they didn’t do much else than relax and a bit of strength training and jogging.

Dan particularly despised the last part.

They spent the day before their anew departure together as a group, playing Mario Kart, Fifa and pictionary, and they had so much fun Dan’s belly hurt from all the laughing. When Sascha beat Marcelo in Mario Kart, the brazilian reached over, tickling the youngster, and Phil gave Dan a look of oh my god they’re so adorable I can’t even that Dan had to agree with.

Two hours later both Sascha and Marcelo had left - “to do the rest of packing”, sure Jan , Dan thought - and only Phil had stayed, wanting to help with the cleanup. Everything had stayed completely innocent so far, and Dan mentally patted himself on the back for being so resistant - he hadn’t reacted to either Phil’s flirting nor to his continuous physical contact. He was strong.

Until he wasn’t.

They were just finishing up the dishes. Dan was at the sink, washing the rest of the glasses and plates when Phil reached up to the cupboard directly above Dan’s head, leaning so far over his body they were touching basically everywhere. Dan could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and somewhere lower, tightly gripping the edge of the sink - for support or to keep himself from moving, he wasn’t sure - and he stayed determined, he really did, but then -

Then Phil’s breath hit the skin on his neck and it was all over.

He turned around in a flash, exchanging a short, meaningful look with Phil, then he was kissing him and his world was turning upside down. Nothing was as it had seemed before. His self restraint vanished in a vortex of gold, his brain left his body and all that was left was lust and love.

Fuck it, he loved that guy, had had for a long time; and he’d always known all restraint would be lost as soon as his lips touched Phil’s.

His life was flashing in front of his closed eyelids as he passionately kissed Phil, showing him all the lost opportunities that they could’ve spent making out, showing him what he had missed out on. But he didn’t even have the mental capacity to process it - he didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything . He had lost all connection to his body, was nothing but a spiritual being flowing through time and space with Phil right by his side.

Within a single heartbeat he decided he didn’t care about his stupid rules and his stupid logic. If he wanted to be with Phil - and he did - then he should be, whether he was going for gold or not. It wouldn’t make him stronger, but it wouldn’t make him weaker, either; if anything, it would serve as a further incentive.

Between ragged breaths and erratic heartbeats he paused his frantic movements, keeping Phil’s face in his hands and looking him straight into the bright blue eyes. “I love you.” Opposed to the shaking of his body his voice was firm and sure, and for a second, the colour of Phil’s eyes seemed to flare brighter than ever before.

“I love you, too,” he said softly, a few tears swimming in his eyes and a smile on his lips so sweet it could give half the world population diabetes just from looking at it.

Dan stared into Phil’s eyes and somehow, the world around them vanished. Then, suddenly, he was falling, but not down, no; he was falling up, higher and higher, until he shot through a layer of clouds and all that existed was blue, blue, blue .

It took him quite some time to escape the pull of Phil’s eyes, but when he did, he sprung straight back into action - straight back to kissing and touching and… More .

The next morning, when he woke up to the colour of Phil’s eyes there was just one word on his mind. “Boyfriends?”

Phil’s eyes glinted stunningly in the rising sun, and Dan knew he’d remember this day forever. “Boyfriends.” ____

This time, the tournament was on another continent, so they went there by plane. Phil slept through almost the whole flight and Dan was busy trying to not gush about how cute he was.

They had decided to not tell Marcelo and Sascha in passing, waiting to do it over dinner when they had arrived at their destination instead. After Sascha had shown up at the airport wearing one of Marcelo’s shirts yet again they also wanted to confront them about their observations. Dan didn’t even care that they’d sound like crazy fanboys.

Well, at least not a lot.

Due to time zones it was early in the morning when they arrived, but they all decided to get some sleep anyway. When Dan woke up in time for dinner Phil was laying cuddled into his side, snoring sweetly, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Phil’s forehead before he got up. Thankfully, Phil was a heavy sleeper, so he just continued sleeping, giving Dan time to have a long, relaxing shower - or so he’d thought. In reality, Phil joined him halfway through, but it wasn’t like he minded. On the contrary.

When they went down for dinner both Marcelo and Sascha were already there, staring at each other over the table like they were the only people in existence. Phil sighed dreamily, giving Dan another They’re so cute look, and Dan had to stifle a giggle. His boyfriend was a major fanboy.

Boyfriend.

Dan’s heartrate picked up at the thought. Even thinking it made him happy.

When they had sat down and ordered Dan and Phil exchanged a look, quietly taking hold of each other’s hand under the table. “Phil and I -” Dan started but was unsure of how to continue, how to word what he wanted to say. He was nervous and excited and the previously picked out words jumbled together into a wild storm of letters that he had no idea how to decipher.

Thankfully, Phil was less concerned by the whole thing.

“We’re together now. And we’re really happy.”

It was quiet at the table as Sascha and Marcelo looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“We know,” Sascha said, slowly and clearly, like he wasn’t sure about Dan and Phil’s mental state.

Dan sputtered. “Wha - What?”

“How did you know?” Phil asked, more interested than surprised, and Dan blinked at him in shock. Why did it not shock him? Was everyone going insane?!

“It’s been obvious for weeks now,” Marcelo explained calmly and finally, Dan understood, relaxing immediately.

He let out a short laugh. “We’re together since last night. Or the night before, depending on the time zone we’re going with.”

Marcelo and Sascha blinked in complete unison, making Phil giggle. “But-”

“Is that why you didn’t tell us you are together as well? Because you were mad we didn’t tell you?” Dan asked, a lightbulb going off above his head. He paused for a moment before he added: “You guys are together, right?”

Both him and Phil started grinning like a fool when the others nodded. Oh, how he loved it when things finally made sense, and when things turned out the way he planned them too. He gave Phil a high five in celebration, then he turned to Sascha and Marcelo, still grinning. “You’re idiots.”

They at least had the decency to look shameful.

“We’re all idiots,” Phil corrected and the others couldn’t help agreeing. They clinked glasses with champagne a few minutes later, and Phil literally cooed as his inquire made Marcelo lean over the table and give Sascha a passionate kiss.

They shared a lot of laughter and fun that night, and Dan had a better time than ever before. He looked at his group of friends with happiness and pride, and he had never felt more content in life.

____

A few weeks later him and Phil finally had the time to go on their first official date. The days had been crazy, packed and busy, but they’d been the best of Dan’s life. The letter with his official invitation to the Olympics weighed heavily in his pocket when he entered the old, 50s themed diner. The place looked decisively vintage with its off-white walls decorated with vinyls, black and white checkered tiles on the ground and lamps hanging from the ceiling.

The jukebox up front was playing Cry Me A River as they slid into their booth, Phil on the other side of the table. They both grinned as they mouthed along to the song. The glowing red neon lights brought out the blue in Phil’s eyes so stunningly Dan once again was blinded by their beauty.

They shared a milkshake with two straws like they were in one of these cheesy romance novels Dan had always despised, but somehow he didn’t care anymore. He embraced the romantic cliches like they were old friends - simply because with Phil, it all seemed okay. Phil had step by step teared down all of his walls and rules, what was one more in this jumble of new experiences and feelings and happiness?

He let his fingers skim over the paper in his pocket as he looked into Phil’s eyes, only listening half-heartedly as Phil rambled on about one thing or the other, an utterly lovestruck look on his face. Maybe he didn’t have gold yet, but within the last few months he’d gained and accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed of. Still, it had only been the beginning, he knew it. He was happy with Phil, Sascha was happy with Marcelo, they were happy as a group, and in a few weeks, they’d have a shot at winning gold.

Their future was golden, one way or the other.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic au #my writing #this only took me forever #gosh I hope you guys like it

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iamvegorott · 5 years

Text

Protective Ch. 11

Heads up: this story only has 2 more chapters after this one And warnings have been put into the tags for what will be shown in this chapter

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The Truth

“What kind of friends do you have!? I thought you were better than this!?” Loki was screaming as he stood at the end of Tony’s bed, Thor was only able to pick at his fingers and scrunch up in one of the chairs. Peter was still crying against Tony but it was only silent tears as he held onto the man to keep him grounded.

“I am better than that,” Tony said, trying his best to keep his breathing even as his arms stayed around Peter, knowing that him staying calm would help Peter do the same. “Jacob wasn’t supposed to know about...that.” Tony wasn’t sure how to put it, there was no need to since they all knew what he meant. “All I told him was that Peter took medication, nothing else.”

“Medication?” Loki and Thor shared a look. Tony put a hand over Peter’s ear, telling him to not listen.

“Puberty blockers, they won’t let him on testosterone till he’s at least sixteen,” Tony said softly. “I’m guessing he’s been with you two the past week.”

“He’s been with Loki, I’ve visited,” Thor said.

“Loki’s been taking care of Peter?” Tony was having a hard time believing that.

“He’s been doing pretty good. Peter likes the library.”

“He came to my house, crying and begging to disappear.” Loki went to the other chair in the room and sat down. “He wouldn’t tell me what your friend was doing and now...I fear the worst.” Loki could feel anger bubbling up again. “Why would you leave him with someone like that!?”

“I didn’t know,” Tony said. “He was the only one without anything too busy in his life and was more than willing to help out.”

“Is he one of those friends from the club?” Loki asked.

“Yes,” Tony admitted. “And by the tone in your voice, I can tell you’ve been there.”

“Bunch of ass-grabbing shit-heads,” Loki growled.

“I’m past that part of my life,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s hair.

“Pepper leaving you probably helped that.” Loki scoffed. “Thor said that she left because you were hiding something from her.”

“It is not my say to tell people about Peter,” Tony stated. “And she wouldn’t believe me when I said I was being faithful.” Tony’s mood dropped. “‘Once a playboy, always a playboy’.” Tony sighed. “Peter told her himself but we agreed to stay apart, there’s no relationship when there’s no trust.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Peter said, voice hoarse.

“It’s not your fault.” All three adults spoke in unison.

“I-I didn’t know what to do. I was scared and I don’t get scared.” Peter curled up a little.

“What happened, Peter?” Loki asked.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not comfortable,” Tony added. “Or if you don’t want to say it to some of us.”

“He found my binder.” Peter stared out at nothing as he spoke as if running on autopilot. “He thought it was a crop top and confronted me about it, saying that a fifteen-year-old boy shouldn’t wear something like that and that it was much too small and that was when he pulled me in by my shirt. Stretching out my collar.” Peter swallowed thickly. “He saw that I was wearing my other binder and he threw me to the ground. He asked if it was a bra and I said no and he kept screaming and screaming and demanding to know what it was and he threatened to call you and I didn’t want to bother you over something like that so...I told the truth, all of it.” Peter could feel Tony hugging him a little tighter, his own eyes starting to form tears. “He...He got so angry. I don’t understand why he was so angry.”

“Cause he’s a bastard,” Loki grumbled very softly, rubbing at his head and fighting back his own tears.

“He asked why I was Spider-Man when I wasn’t a man.” Peter’s voice cracked at that. “I told him I was and he slapped me. He said that little girls shouldn’t talk back.”

“But you’re not-” Thor stopped when Loki held a hand up towards him.

“He took my medicine, looked it up and threw them away.”

“How long ago?” Tony asked.

“I haven’t had them for a few months, about a week after you got sick,” Peter answered and Tony had to bit his tongue, the anger clear on his face. “I didn’t know how to get them back and I just wanted you to get better. I was told that bothering you would make you worse.”

“Loki said the same when you first showed up,” Thor added.

“I thought we could handle it,” Loki said. “Now I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“I’m going to kick his ass, I swear to God,” Tony grunted.

“He would...he hit me at any chance he got. I can take a hit but it starts to get worse after the same spot it hit over and over again, day after day in that suit. It gets exhausting to heal so much.”

“He used the suit against you?” Tony looked like he wanted to be sick.

“He just wanted me to behave and I don’t even know what I was doing wrong. I was just trying to be Spider-Man and that made him angry.” Peter started to cry again. “He kept punching and screaming and calling me that name over and over and over and-” Peter was now sobbing. “I hate him. I hate him.”

“I’m here, Peter. I’m here.” Tony said as a tear fell down his cheeks.

“I was scared, I was so scared.” Peter hugged Tony tightly. “I didn’t know what to do and it was getting worse as the days went by and I-I didn’t want to make you worse, I didn’t want to hurt you and I was told to live with him but I couldn’t, I couldn’t...so I just-I just ran.” Loki had tears rolling down his face as well and Thor was trying his best not to cry but failing.

“I’m killing him. I’m going to kill him.” Loki got up.

“You can’t go on your own, Loki, we already know you can’t do that,” Thor said.

“I have to so something!” Loki shouted. “Everyone thinks he’s a hero when he’s a child-abusing monster!”

“They’re not going to think he’s a hero for long.” Tony gestured towards his muted tv, the news on and showing that Seather’s public opinion had gone down.

“They’d cheer when I take off his head,” Loki said in a dark tone, the back of his hands going blue.

“Loki, you’re better than that,” Thor stated as he got up.

“I’m not.” Loki went to leave but Thor cut him off.

“I want to bash his head in too, I want to hear him scream under my boot, but we can’t.” Thor looked at Peter. “We need to do this how the mortals do, it’s the only way to give Peter peace.”

“Him being six feet under would be very peaceful,” Loki said. “What happened to you agreeing to let me stab him before? You were ready to grab your hammer and join.”

“We need to do what’s best for Peter. We can’t fight his battles.” Thor looked at Peter. “No matter how much we want to.”

“Thor, can you give me my phone? It fell to the floor when Peter jumped on me.” Tony asked, Peter quietly sniffing into his chest now.

“I can’t stay here and do nothing,” Loki said as Thor got the phone and handed it to Tony.

“We’re not,” Tony stated, dialing a number. “Hey Steve, I need a favor.”

——————– ——————– ——————–

Tag List: @mirrored-calamity @wolfbear135 @thesinginggal @hopelovesreader @annunziatina @phanimapala67 @chickeninatophat @burningpeachdelusionofchaos

Let me know if you want to be tagged! ^_^

#marvel #spider-man #loki #thor #tw:#mentions of abuse #physical abuse #emotional abuse #transphobia

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alastar-wyatt · 5 years

Text

Training Yard

written with @kaelenar

Staring at his sore and red knuckles, Alastar absently stroked one hand, cautiously and carefully. His whole body ached, as it did with any after fight, but this time it was mixed with lingering transformation itches, as he called them. Little pinpricks of fire jolting randomly somewhere along his body, as if wondering if he was still a giant wolf-man. He was not, of course, but it was frustrating to say the least.Ontop of that, his nose was swollen, bruised, and incredible itchy and yet too sensitive to touch. He was uncomfortable. The other parts of him that ached were familiar pains that bothered him little, especially as he down the mug before him.

He ordered another refill.

As he waited, his mind wandered back to the fight. Wandered back to the beginning of it when a man had approached him with a smile and grin and asked if he was interested in earning a bit more money.

He was. His job as a mercenary was reaching dead ends, especially since his last job showed how unpredictable he could be. It wasn’t my fault, he told himself, I did my job. They just couldn’t listen.

His eyes closed, swung the newly filled mug and felt the alcohol sting along his throat and burn in his belly.

When he reopened his eyes, finding that he was absently stroking his red knuckles again, he could help but reflect on the man he had fought earlier in the day.

With the training yard so close to the Stormwind Stables, the smell of dung permeated the air, which was arguably better than the canal districts. Training dummies lined the perimeter of the largest portion of the yard for individual combatants, while smaller rings were roped off for two or more. Restriction or reserved areas seemed absent, though most of the melee fighters seemed to be practicing as far away from the ranged area as much as possible to avoid, with good reason.

Alastar gave a rough glance back towards the entryway. ‘what exactly am I doing?' He sighed to himself as he caught a whiff of a long black trench coat behind one of the outside pillars. He spun his gaze around taking in a single roped off ring with a crowd gathered around.

Alastar made his way closer. Not finding it too easy to slide through the many bodies that were bunched up, he proceeded to head towards the stable hands whos hill was just high enough he could see over the heads of people.

A shirtless half elf and a small, dark haired woman were pacing around each other within the ring. The stable hands beside Alastar, who were young and looking pretty dirty and unkempt, much like Alastar himself but in different ways, were awing at the specula.

As the fist began flying, parries, dodges, and strikes following, Alastar caught wind of a few of the stable hands speaking; some were a mixture of awe, “Did you see what happened?” one would ask, while whispers passed on betting silvers and coppers. Eventually, he heard the name of the half-elf. Ghost. Apparently the woman hadn’t worked much of an following yet.

In the arena, the woman lunged forward with a jab, forcing the half elf's guard up before following through with a swift kick to his stomach. The half elf threw his hips back, trying to get out of range, but it wasn't enough to avoid the kick. The half elf doubled over, seeming hurt.

Alastar’s eyes narrowed at the display by the half-elf. He was bruised and bloody, clearly not his first fight of the day. A suscipion blossomed just as the woman took advantage of the fallen half-elf.

Lightning fast, the half elf's palm struck out, his feet in line with his arm as he connected with her sternum. This time, it was the woman's turn to reel back, but she didn't go quietly. With another jab, she landed squarely on the half elf's jaw. Blood and spit flew as his head got whipped to the side.

He staggered back. Heaving out each breath, the half elf straightened and had only time to wipe at his bloody mouth before the woman was on top of him aiming for another strike. Except, the half elf's fist darted in, splattering the woman's nose.

She crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Several of the spectators hopped over the ropes and went to her aid while the half elf retreated to the opposite corner.

Nothing had passed Alastar observation, and with a second of admiration of how quick and deadly this half-elf was, he was frowning; the stable hands beside him were grinning and cheering. Passing remarks of how the elf's ended the fight seemed to be a common move used by the fighter. 'It’s dirty' Alastar thought, despite that a day or so ago he had punched a man in the nose. 'but he clearly was doing more than just ending the fight on good terms'.

As the woman in the arena was being healed and then later helped out of the ring, the half-elf was crouched on the balls of his feet near one of the posts connecting the ropes and drinks. He watched the others around the outside of the ring as he brought the waterskin to his lips, swished the water around and then spit it back out. Eventually, his searching, emerald gaze traveled up to the hill were Alastar and the stable-hands stood.

Ghost, as his name was, brought the water skin up again, still staring in Alastar direction - swished some water and spit it out again. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the half-elf said, "Who's next?"

Though many seemed to whisper and tag the others around them, no one necessarily stood up or stepped forward straight away. 'Fear?' Alastar wondered dryly before stroking back his neck long hair; only a few fine edges returned to where they had been as he walked down the little hill.

He stepped into the arena, though with barely a smile or grin, he eyed the half-elf. "First time," Alastar said, "I'll match you." And with that began to discard his sword, his jacket, the leather enforced bracers upon his wrist, before finally taking off his shirt.

He patted the back edge of belt, and tossed a dagger case over with his stuff just outside the ring. His eyes laid heavily on those around them, daring them to take anything while the fight progressed.

Alastar wasn't built like most humans of Stormwind. He was leaner, held a more agile tone to his body, yet, his shoulders were thicker as if to contradict the first glance. Muscles were refined, but not bulking. Scars littered his body, focused primarily on his right arm where it seemed more tribal in appearance with straight, cut lines ranging from patterns of ones, too fours, depending, all from his shoulder down to his elbow. The rest of the scars were small and silver, short cuts perhaps from recent fights that had healed. Only two prominent scars stood out, one above his left hip, a clear sword cut that was thick and aged with years; second were the numerous lash scars that covered his back leaving very little soft skin to be shown. The tattoos on the other hand covered his entire palm, and back of his hand, depicting a scene, leaving only white skin on his fingers.

With a short flex and stretch of his arms and shoulders, Alastar took in this Ghost character. Ghost's build was that of a swordsman, his shoulders broad and strong but not overly muscular, drawing his strength from his core. The half elf himself bore a host of scars on his skin, the more recent - an 'x' across his chest and his back reaching as far as each shoulder and hip - were still pink, and a yellowish bruise discolored his forehead. The other scars were pale and difficult to see on his fair skin and the worst of them were covered by the sleeve tattoo across his right pectoral down his right arm and over the upper half his back. The ink was made to look like his skin had been ripped away to reveal mechanical parts instead of flesh.

In return, Ghost eyed him with a condescending smirk on his lips. He made no taunting or belittling remarks though; it was spelled clearly on the half-elf’s face that he thought the lad a fool.

Gracefully, the half elf rose to his feet and gave a little stretch as he looked over the many scars and Alastar's general build, trying to pick out any weak points. Motioning to Alastar's sword and having noted the way the lad disarmed himself, Ghost asked, "Are you sure about hand to hand?"

Alastar let himself have a small smile, -so you can disarm me and use my weapon against me- he mused to himself, saying out loud, "I don't want anyone accidentally getting hurt.”

Ghost arched an eyebrow - an expression he made frequently if the fine wrinkle on his forehead above that ebony eyebrow were any indication. "You mean you don't want to 'accidentally' get hurt." Ghost corrected, but didn't bother pointing out that if Alaster took too many hits, he would end up hurt anyway.

“So, who’s striking first?" Alastar returned, relaxing his position a tad, leaving most of his body open for attack. -I'll have to play smart. He'll use cunning and boasting. He doesn't fight fair. He's a street brawler, probably worse,- he thought as he looked Ghost over. Then with a small grin once more finished the thought, -but so am I, I suppose.-

The half elf rolled his eyes at the question and fell into a ready stance. "Who strikes first is whoever is fastest - even if you strike first that does not guarantee you'll actually hit me." Ghost explained as he started his slow, predatory circling of the lad.

Alastar held himself in check at the taunt and the insults. He heard a few of the men outside of the ring laugh at Ghost’s probing. Alastar snorted watching the traditional predatory circling; a thing Alastar wasn't keen on following. So instead, he kept his back at the edge of the arena, his guard appearing loose, his feet shifted apart. Only his eyes moved.

Ghost paused when the lad just....stood there. Not moving, not attacking. Nothing. "If you're not going to fight, then go home kid." The half elf growled, using the demeaning term even though he wasn't much older - if at all - than Alastar. Shadow magic collected in Ghost's palm, thinking he'd have to get vicious if this one was going to move his feet.

It would seem Alaster's initial speculation that this one did not fight fair was accurate, for in a matter of seconds, the half elf held a small shadowy dagger in his hand that he promptly flipped, caught, and then threw.

The shadow magic sent a shimmering warning within Alastar, a warning as most people would say it, but there was a lust, a need, an excitement at the feeling. For a brief second as the magic was flipped and caught, Alastar eyes glowed a faint amber hue. Then his arm began to emanate a soft blue, and as the dagger came hurling towards him, his arm reached up to meet it only to watch the dagger 'disappear' and sparkle into black dust just an inch from his palm. Alastar gave into his grin. "I thought this was a brawl," He said as he rushed towards the half-elf, a faint buzz of blue energy filling him faster than he should and went for a quick jab towards the man's wounded jaw

Ghost didn't miss the change in eye color, despite his mild frustration with the lad. He absolutely hated it when someone came to spar and then just stood there instead of engaging. The frustration faded, replaced by something else and again that eyebrow came up when Alastar dismissed the magic of the shadowblade - now this was interesting.

Unfortunately, that also meant his guard was down and despite how fast he was, the half elf couldn't get his guard up in time to properly defend against the incoming jab. The already compromised jaw creaked - and possibly cracked - the burst of pain sending spots of bright white and deep black before his vision.

Ghost shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times then swung right back at the lad, stepping in as he angled his fist from down below in an attempt to land a solid blow in Alastar's belly.

Alastar held little back in that blow and he felt the give of the man's jaw, saw the waver in his stance. Eyes grew narrow with uncertainty, a little thought making its way through the adrenaline rushing through him and the taste of magic. Instinct was what propelled him backwards from the moving arm. In response, Alastar gripped the half-elf's wrist stopping the monument of the attack going through air, drew the man in with much more strength than should have been for this young man, and brought the half elf into his own fist that was heading toward the half-elves belly in a swift counter

Ghost let out a grunt and flashed a bloody grimace as he was punched in the gut. Clearly, there was more to the lad than what appeared on the surface, if his sheer strength was any indication. This close though left Ghost with few options as he wrenched his wrist free of Alastar's grip. The force of any punches would be diminished and so he grabbed Alastar by the shoulders and head butted the lad - right in the nose.

An image flickered in Alastar head as the world grew dizzy before him. An image of a long time ago, dark shadows casting everywhere, a female worgen standing before him, hackling him with the same grin and coy remarks as the half-elf he had just meet.

As the images flickered away, Alastar felt the air escape from him entirely. Blood oozing from his nose, and the air squeezed out of him, he fell limply to the ground unaware that Ghost had kneed him in the stomach.

Except, he didn’t hit the ground. His arm stayed steady; his knee strong against his weight. Then he felt the prickle of strength begging. Alastar closed his eyes, and let that strength blossom into white, hot heat.

In a second, his transformation took place replacing skin with black, grey-tipped fur, fingers for claws, and a long snout with teeth barred. His blue eyes flickered upwards, and he lept back hoping that the half-elf was surprised enough to give him the space.

Ghost was.

The transformation made Ghost pause briefly, but he quickly picked up where he left off. The half-elf’s expression was one of disgust. As Alastar pressed an paw against his own torso, the half elf went into motion, weight placed on an anchoring leg while he spun a circle kick, aiming his foot for the side of Alaster's muzzle.

Alastar caught the blow with his arm, a low grumbling coming from his throat as he then struck out towards the elf’s hip joint with a quick strike

Ghost grunted again as he felt the sudden jolt of impact as Alasatar struck out at his hip. The half elf went stumbling forward in the direction that Alastar pushed him, but recovered his footing more quickly than the lad anticipated for when Alastar came charging head first, Ghost pivoted to the side positioning himself in a way to put himself slightly behind and to the side. The half elf came back in then, slamming his elbow down into Alastar's back.

The shock rumbled through his body, but the pain was no longer an obstacle. Alastar swiveled with a snarl and though he attempted to snap at the elf’s head with his jaws, he went for another jab towards the upper torso.

At least one, if not more of his ribs cracked, giving way under Alastar's knuckles - an injury that, unlike his jaw, he couldn't keep fighting with unless he wanted to risk having a lung punctured by a broken rib. With a broken jaw, his stomach muscles spasming from taking too many hits in his gut, knuckles bleeding and his head swimming from that headbutt he'd delivered, Ghost knew he had to yield.

The half elf made the symbol of 'yield' rather than call it out - he could hardly breathe, - and, keeping an eye on Alastar to make sure he didn't continue to attack - grumpily made his way back over to his corner.

Several disappointed groans came from around the ring from those who'd lost their bets.

Alastar didn’t move for a short time, until, the half-elf rose and began walking away.

The message had been delivered. Dirty tactics had no place if one fought honorable. Alastar backed a few steps before letting the fever of the magic burn away.

Back as a human, he clicked his tongue, rolled his shoulders, as he massaged his neck. “Good fight,” he called out of habit, dull and toneless, as he turned his back.

In return he heard, “Beginnger’s luck”, from the broken half-elf.

Happily seeing his stuff still were he tossed them, Alastar redress himself. Those that had clearly bet against him were far more than those that had, he viewed. With a glance back to the beaten combat, he frowned. -perhaps I made an enemy today, I’ll see him again most likely- he thought and pushed his way through the crowd.

While in Alastar's mind he'd made a point, it was lost on Ghost. To the half elf, it'd just been a spar and whether his opponent fought honorably or not made no difference to him. It wasn't the first time he'd been defeated and wouldn't be the last - it meant nothing.

#rp #story #kaelenar #blood #fighting

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xmagicxshopx · 6 years

Text

The Magicians - Chapter 3

BTS Fanfic Series

Genre: Fantasy Adventure, Romance (possible smut later), Comedy Rating: PG-13 Warnings: near death experience with water Pairing: OT7 x reader, Jungkook x reader Notes: magicians!bts au. Not idol!bts Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: I take zero credit for any of the photos used in these chapters. They are just for visual enhancement for the both of us.

Tagging: @justbangtanandjams @och-ako @trcvias

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jungkook was usually pretty good about waking up before everyone else; being the youngest and all. However, this morning proved to be an odd exception. The events of last night’s dinner must have worn him out more than he originally thought. Speaking of last night, his eyes shot open and he immediately looked over to the other side of the bed only to find that you were no longer there. But his panic didn’t last long as he shot up in bed only to notice you were simply sitting on the sofa that was positioned right in front of the fireplace.

You looked so small all curled up in on yourself as you sat there. Knees to your chest hugging yourself. The male couldn’t help but sigh as he noticed how miserable you looked. Of course, he couldn’t really blame you. He went through the same thing once upon a time. But how to approach you? Surly you were still upset over everything from last night. Clearing his throat, he watched you jump a bit as he spoke sheepishly,

“I can light the fire if you’re cold.”

“I’m good. Thanks, though.”

Well at least you didn’t bite his head off. That much alone was a plus for him. However, you did keep your response pretty short. Mentally sighing in....well....defeat? Annoyance? Sadness? He didn’t know, but all the same, Jungkook felt heavy as he climbed out of bed and padded into the bathroom to freshen up a bit. He felt gross for some odd reason. Perhaps a good, hot shower would help wash everything away.

Meanwhile, you remained sat there on the circular sofa in front of the cold fireplace. Brooding, stewing, and dare we say even pouting. This sucked. This sucked majorly. Here you were, stuck in a haunted house with a bunch of loonies who believe they’re magicians. Like actual magicians. Magic didn’t exist. It just didn’t. But you couldn’t explain the events from last night. If Jungkook didn’t use wires, electronics, or trick mirrors.....and magic wasn’t real......then how did he make all that stuff happen last night? It just made no sense.

But magic wasn’t real and that was that.

Soon after, Jungkook came out of the bathroom looking squeaky clean and feeling much better. Now dressed in what you would have personally called rags, he looked so......different. More boyish than when he was dressed all nice and sparkly and flashy for dinner last night. His hair wasn’t styled up either. It was quite flat and you noticed his bangs were parted straight down the middle, almost showcasing his forehead. Those sculpted eyebrows of his had you staring a bit.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Do you want.....something to eat?”

“Nah I’m good. Not really hungry. But thank you though.”

Boy---Looks like your walls were incredibly as well as exceptionally strong and sturdy this morning. Should he have expected anything different? Probably not. But it still saddened him to see you so closed off. Even more now than before. Biting back the sigh of frustration and defeat, he tried speaking up one more time.

“Well the bathroom is all yours. I’m going to head down and grab a bite and then I’ll be back up.”

“Okay. Thanks. Have fun.”

Now he could finally pinpoint what was making his heart ten times more heavier. The lack of emotion in your voice and your responses. It was like you had just.....given up. As if you had accepted your fate of being stuck here with seven strangers who you probably thought were delusional and certifiably insane; claiming to be magicians and all. He had to admit, if the roles were switched, Jungkook would probably think he was crazy too.

“If you need anything, just come find me, okay?”

“Will do.”

Still not feeling right about leaving you in this room all by yourself, the young male reluctantly left and closed the door behind him. Just when he thought he might have been making some progress, you had to go and build those wall twice as high and twice as thick. Hardheaded feline, you were.

“Finally. Never thought he’d leave.”

When you were one hundred percent certain Jungkook was down the hall and out of earshot, you sprung into action. Not bothering to shower, you simply threw off the pajamas and changed into the outfit you had worn for dinner last night since it was the only thing you really had to choose from right now. The haunted house didn’t seem to be providing you with clothing like it did the guys but that was because there was no such things as real haunted houses.

Exiting the room carefully, you made sure Jungkook was truly nowhere to be found and gently closed the door behind you. This was it. This was your golden opportunity to get the hell out of here. You weren’t delusional and insane yet. Best to try and find the exit before you started to believe that you were a magician too. Magicians, what a bunch of nonsense.

Walking down the hall that you knew was the opposite direction of the kitchen and dining hall, you started to inspect as much of your surroundings as you could. Taking every small detail. Part of you wanted to just smash one of the windows but this weird, nagging feeling told you that wouldn’t be a very smart idea. Because surly these nut jobs of seven males would have tried that already......right?

It wasn’t that you had forgotten all of Jungkook’s own futile attempts that he had so kindly and selflessly shared with you two nights ago. It was just......there had to be a route he wasn’t taking. Wasn’t thinking of. There had to be a way out of here. And now the poor boy was so delusional that there was no way he was going to find it. So now it was up to her. The only sane person in this god forsaken building.

This place could certainly pull off for a haunted house. You were just waiting for some cheesy and corny looking ghost to come flying out from a corner or something. After walking down three more hallways and not finding a single exit sign or even a door for that matter, you were starting to get really really frustrated. Huffing in said frustration, you were finally given some kind of reward for all your walking when you finally, finally, came up on a door.

Shocked that you were actually able to open the door, you were a bit hesitant to walk in. However, pushing that fear of the unknown down where it couldn’t stop you, you pushed forward and entered the room. It was quite the sight, honestly. A sight that you didn’t quite know how to describe.

The first thing you noticed was that it was empty. However, you also noticed it was meant to be a bedroom of some kind. But it hadn’t always been used as a bedroom. No way. The room looked like an abandoned classroom for dancers. It really was quite creepy looking, in fact. Closing the door behind you, sounds of water dripping could be heard but you had no idea where it was coming from.

If it hadn’t been for all the furniture, it would have definitely looked more like what the room had originally been intended for. There was of course a bed, some dressers, what looked like a closet, but what you couldn’t tear your eyes away from was the umbrella resting in some kind of holster that was part of an elegant coat rack. That weird mechanical umbrella. Or at least that’s what you still firmly believed it was. Magic umbrella, pfft. Please. As if.

“Is my bedroom to your liking, cutie?”

A small scream had involuntarily fell past your lips as you quickly spung around only to lay eyes on the male known as Jimin. The guy with the creepy weird umbrella. So this was his room? The male could have been upset. Heck, he would have had every right to be. But instead, he was standing there smiling with a head full of damp hair; having just gotten out of the shower. Thankfully for your sake, he had already dressed before coming out of the bathroom. It would seem all their rooms had an en suite bathroom of some sort.

“Um.....I um.....thought this might have been an exit to the building. Sorry for intruding.”

The blonde male smiled warmly and gently shook his head while waving a hand in the same fashion as if to literally wave off your apology. You couldn’t help but noticed how.....nice he looked today. He looked dressy yet comfortable all at the same time. And that face. His eyes and lips, even his nose. Everything about him was really.....mesmerizing.

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. It’s only natural to be curious about the place. Especially having not been given a proper tour.”

Jimin then added with a sad and apologetic smile, “But I am sad to say, there are no exits that we know of yet. Otherwise, we would have been long gone by now.”

You refused to believe that. You would continue to refuse. Everything from the magic to the haunted house with no exits. It was all crazy and unrealistic. It was stuff that you only heard or seen in movies and this was not a movie. It was real life. Reality. The only state you lived in. But you wouldn’t tell him that.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll just be going.”

“Ani. Please stay. I’d like to talk and get to know you better. Jungkookie has hogged you all to himself for too long. If it’s not too bold to say.”

You didn’t know why, but your cheeks tried to warm up in a blush. Were you seriously blushing right now? No one was hogging you. That’s for sure. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself. You were just.....you. That’s it. Not some toy that these boys were trying to hog all to themselves or some nonsense like that.

“Um.....I mean.....I guess I could.”

“Great! I’m just going to go grab a bite to eat and then I’ll be back. Make yourself comfortable, cutie! Would you like anything brought back?”

You were a bit taken by surprise at how he seemed to almost literally light up. A smile that was wide and even a little gummy, you watched as he literally skipped towards the door but still waited for a response from you. Snapping out of your surprised state, you shook your head and said softly, almost timidly,

“No thank you.”

“Alright. I shall return shortly!”

And then you were left alone. Alone again. And what was your first instinct? To get the heck out of here. As usual. However, upon looking around, you couldn’t help but find yourself curious about what all was in Jimin’s room. Was there a reason his room was an abandoned dance classroom? Subconsciously humming in thought, you found yourself heading further into the room and further away from the door.

Jimin’s room definitely wasn’t as cozy and homey like Jungkook’s was. But then again, you had recalled RM commenting on how the house liked Jungkook better. But were you actually going to believe that crap? Nope. Not one bit. Refocusing, your eyes landed on that cursed umbrella. Now was your chance. This was your golden opportunity to prove them all wrong and how you were right. It had to be mechanical. Just had to be.

Walking over with renewed determination and solidifying your resolve, you reached out straight for the handle of the umbrella only to get the shock of your life; quite literally. Feeling like you had just put your whole hand in a light socket and gotten electrocuted, you almost choked on your cry of pain and stumbled backwards only to fall on your bum with a soft “Oof!”

Okay. You’d rationalize that in a minute. Right now, you had to try and get your whole arm to stop tingling from the shock. But seriously, what the hell was that? You eyed the umbrella suspiciously with narrowed orbs. That wasn’t just your imagination. But yet you couldn’t explain what would have caused the electric shock. Unfortunately, you didn’t have a whole lot more time to think about it because you suddenly had bigger problems to deal with.

Water. You could hear it earlier but now it was getting increasingly louder. No longer a drip but more of a trickle. Heaving yourself off the floor and looking around, you realized it was coming from vents way up on walls. Did Jimin know he had a leak in his room? Walking slowly and approaching the leaking vents, you got another shock of your life when suddenly the same exact vents started gushing water; nearly tearing one of the hanging ceiling lights and it’s shade from it’s cord.

“Whoa!”

The word was shouted out into the room before you could stop yourself. Well this was a drastic turn of events, wasn’t it? Okay. You had to pull yourself together. The shock of everything could wait later. Right now you had to find a way out of here before you drowned. Looking around frantically and trying not to let the roaring of the waters derail you, you noticed the door and immediately bolted for it.

And wouldn’t it be your luck that it was locked? Okay. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were in complete control of the situation. Or at least that’s what you were trying to tell yourself. The water was filling the room fast, as one could imagine. Try as you might, you just couldn’t get the door to budge. Looking around, you tired to find something heavy and or sharp that you might be able to break the door either down or apart or both. You were certain Jimin would understand about the damage to the door later.

However, it seemed like not matter what object you threw at the door (quite literally) it didn’t phase the entryway one bit. You tried the smaller pieces of furniture and everything but not even a dent was put in that stupid door. The water by now was rising to your waist and you were starting to genuinely panic. If fighting your way out wasn’t going to work, then you did the next best thing you could think of....

“Help! Jimin! Jungkook! Someone! Anyone! Help! I’m trapped! There’s water!”

You tried pounding on the door but your fists were just too small and your body was too frail from poor nutrition over a long span of time. Curse your poor financial status and your ability to barely put food in your belly. Letting out a rough grown of frustration, you just kept trying. You shouted and yelled and hit the door as hard as you could; hoping and praying with every fiber of your being that either someone heard you or Jimin was on his way back.

After grabbing some lunch, Jungkook decided to head back to his room and see if he could convince you to eat something. It was more than obvious that you didn’t get good meals. Like ever. Now it wasn’t his business but if Namjoon was going to put Jungkook in charge of taking care of you and watching over you, then the youngest felt the need to know why you weren’t eating. Whatever the reason may be.

Upon entering his cozy room, he couldn’t help but notice you were nowhere to be found. Trying not to panic on impact, he briskly walked to the bathroom but you weren’t there either. Perhaps you had gotten curious and walked into the spare bedroom? Nope. Not there either. Okay. So you weren’t here, and you hadn’t crossed paths with him on the way back from the kitchens......so that meant......

“Curious feline.”

Heaving another heavy sigh, Jungkook closed his door and even locked it before going on in search of you. This place was like a sick twisted maze and it was hard to tell where you were by now. How the hell was he supposed to find you? What would be the quickest and easiest way? Racking his brain, he decided to just keep pushing forward. Maybe he’d think of something along the way.

Meanwhile, you had long given up on trying to break down the door. In fact, you didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hades of getting to the door now. Why? Because you were floating above it. This room, this makeshift bedroom was still filling with water and you had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. You were going to drown here. This was where you would die.

“Help! Somebody! Anybody! Help!”

Occasionally the water would rock and wave and catch in your open mouth as you called for help. Choking, you sputtered and tried to keep your head above water; literally. This was quite the situation to say the least. You supposed now was the best time than any other time to say your prayers and hope your next life would be more enjoyable than this one.

Crawling through one of the large ducts that he often used to watch over his older brothers, Jungkook froze when he suddenly heard rushing water. Briefly panicking thinking the water was coming straight for him, he realized the water was gushing through other ducts and not his. And then that’s when he heard it. Or rather, her. You.

“Help! Please! Jimin! Jungkook! Help me!”

Bloody hell. The sight before his eyes was surreal. There you were, trying to keep your head above the crashing waves as an entire room filled with water. What the hell happened? This was Jimin’s room so where was he??? And that was when Jungkook started trying to shout your name, hoping you’d hear him and know that he was here to try and help you. But he could tell the roaring of the waters were too loud and you couldn’t hear a thing.

You could have sworn you heard someone shouting your name but with the water rushing and splashing all around you, it could have easily been your imagination. The water was getting closer and closer to the ceiling as you were. It was only going to be a matter of time before you ran out of breathing room. This was it. It was all over. At least there would be no one to miss you. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe this was meant to be.

Meanwhile, Jimin had a bounce in his step as he was coming back from the kitchen with some food for you. He himself was munching on an apple. Sure you had claimed you didn’t want anything, but Jimin was no fool. Sweet and kind, but no fool. It was obvious you didn’t get enough nutrition in your diet. So he was going to make sure you did. It had been so long since he had interaction with a female so naturally he was just a little bit excited.

But as he grew closer to his room, he could see.....water? Water was running all over the floor and it was coming from.......under his door!?! Your name fell softly from his lips and suddenly the food in his hands didn’t matter. The basket of food and the half eaten apple now abandoned and scattered all over the soaked floor, Jimin started shouting your name as loud as he could while he raced for his bedroom door.

“What the hell?!?! Open up! Let me in! It’s my room!”

He wasn’t shouting at you. No. He knew better than that. He was shouting at the house itself. This was all the house’s fault. But why it was acting this way, he couldn’t quite explain just yet. That would be a mystery for another time. Right now he had to make sure you weren’t in there. Because if you were.......god he didn’t want to think about it. What if he was too late? Despite those dark thoughts, he didn’t give up.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was running all throughout the building shouting for the other’s help. His magic was good but he knew being the youngest, he wasn’t going to be able to handle this situation alone.

“Namjoon! Jin! Tae! Everyone! To Jimin’s room!”

Thankfully most of the boys had been either close by or were already heading in that general direction for most of them were able to hear their youngest magician. Namjoon used his special unique ability to teleport from one spot to another and was beside Jungkook in an instant. They were like a little herd or a pack of wolves as they rushed for the blonde’s bedroom.

During all this time, it was too late for you. All of your breathing room had ran out and you were trying to hold your breath for as long as you could. But why were you fighting it? Since when did you care if you died or not? What exactly did you have to live for? And that was when the boys’ smiles all flashed in front of closed eyes. Sure you had no idea who they really were but......they were the first souls to show you any kindness.

And then there was Jungkook. That stupid brat who thought he was so clever and smart. You had yet to prove him wrong. Perhaps that’s why you weren’t ready to die? But either way, your already weakened state and your crappy lungs just couldn’t hold up to the challenge. Not able to hold your breath any longer, your lips parted and your body soon began to fill up with water.

This was it. This was the end for you.

“Namjoon! Break it down!”

“If I do that, we’re all going to drown.”

“Someone do something! She’s dying in there! I can sense her aura fading!”

No one liked hearing the youngest’s statement. It was his natural gift to be able to sense auras and how strong or colorful they were. Jungkook’s heart was pounding in his ears as he could feel your unique aura fading more and more with every passing second. It was like watching a ticking time bomb about to reach zero. Where in this case you’d flat line and he may never get to see you again. Or hear your doubts. Or the way you’d call him ridiculous. Your cheeks would never be rosy in a blush anymore. All of these little things he’d noticed in these last two days upon meeting you. They’d all go away.

Time seemed to slow down as Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi all stood in front of the door. Being the oldest three in the group, they had been working with magic the longest and knew the most about it. It was like they knew exactly what to do as they all gave each other a knowing nod and with a force Jungkook had no idea existed within his hyungs, he watched along with the other youngsters as the water was quickly gushing out from under the water instead of just trickling.

As if the house really was taunting them, the door suddenly flew open off its hinges and the rest of the water came roaring out of the bedroom. Now officially soaked to the bone, the boys picked themselves off the floor and scrambled to get inside the blonde’s room. Their blood ran could and some grew pale as they saw your small, frail frame laying spread out on the floor.

Jungkook was the first one to shoot forward but was grabbed on either side by two of his hyungs. Tears were unknowingly pouring down his face as he could no longer see or feel your aura. You were gone. And it was all his fault. If he had just forced you to come to the kitchen with him like he had wanted to, then you’d still be alive. You’d still be here. This was all his fault. He could feel one of the males holding him as he just couldn’t support his own weight right now. It hurt too much.

You looked so blue and cold. You looked.....well.....dead. But that wasn’t going to stop Jimin from rushing forward. He was the only one out of all seven of them who knew CPR. Now one would think magic could surely bring you back to life. But the panic and fear and all other negative emotions were blocking most of their common sense and so Jimin just reacted on instincts and that was to give you CPR like a normal human would. Dang. He just got first dibs on kissing you and you weren’t even alive to enjoy it. How bittersweet.

While Namjoon and Taehyung held a sobbing Jungkook, the others stood there frozen with held breath as they watched the young blonde try to bring your little frail self back to life. Jimin knew the risks to giving CPR. There was always the possibility of breaking a rib. But he could only hope you wouldn’t mind that compared to living once again. He briefly noticed how chapped your lips were. You definitely needed to be put on a more nutritional diet. Once this was all over, he’d make sure you got the right foods and ate properly. Because he wasn’t about to let you slip away so easily.

And it was like the pause button had been released and everything was playing and picking up once more. Your small chest heaved and water nearly gushed out of your mouth as you coughed and sputtered. Your aura was weak but Jungkook could feel it once again and that was enough for him right now. For the moment. He’d make sure your aura was nurtured and cared for from here on out. He would make it his own personal mission. Finally breaking free from his hyungs, he rushed forward and fell onto his knees on your other side that Jimin wasn’t occupying.

“You stupid girl. Why didn’t you just come with me to the kitchens like I wanted you to?”

“Jungkookie.”

“What?!”

The youngest looked up from your form to stare at the blonde in annoyance only to see a small, shy smile on his face. After giving a small chuckle, possibly from immense relief, Jimin said softly and yet simply,

“I don’t think she can hear you.”

Suddenly looking down, the youngest realized his hyung was right. There you laid, with your small chest rising and falling; taking deep and even breaths as you rested. You looked so peaceful compared to how deathly you looked only moments ago.

Well this day didn’t go according to plan at all. For anyone involved.

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