#Sitting at my little booth & tapping my silly fingers on the surface | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonegender · 3 years

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Nighthawks

This is for the @countdowntotwinpeaks WONDERFULXSTRANGE Secret Exchange! This fic specifically was made for @cerealninjakat who asked for Dale Cooper and Laura Palmer having coffee together. They have a feeling they met before, or maybe they haven't. If you would like to see the original fic in its original color block formatting, there is a link to the doc HERE

CONTENT WARNINGS: CSA mention, Underage Sex mention, Main Character Death Implied, Timeline Divergence, Body Horror, Psychological Horror

The smell of coffee was pungent, and stinging. That acidic aroma which rose from an industrial maker practically took over the entire diner. As he stood in the breezeway, Cooper relished in the scent so familiar, so calming and inviting. He allowed himself to get lost in the way it mingled with the undercurrent of a greasy spoon breakfast. The rich, sharp scent of roasted beans mellowed out with the introduction of butter, eggs, toast and bacon. Beyond that was the wispy trails of cigarettes gone by that clung to the nostrils. It was utterly invigorating. This was the thing he looked forward to the most when waking up; a nice hot meal and hopefully, a good cup of coffee.

Dale Cooper returned to himself after his momentary journey on the Smell Express, and realized that he had been standing in the entrance of the diner for a little bit longer than he anticipated. He excused himself, pressing further on into the establishment, eager to find a seat. His stomach whined, just as eager to be filled with the sensory journey he had gotten lost in just moments ago. He knew how good it would feel to have a stomach full of America’s Finest, especially after a long night of work. He deserved it, he told himself. All he had to do was just find himself a seat.

Judging by the morning rush, that was a job easier said than done. All of the booths had been taken up, understandably, by families and couples. There were a few like himself that simply wanted some time alone; to distance themselves from the rest of the patrons. There were times, however, that he couldn’t help but feel guilty for taking a whole booth as a single occupant, but Cooper always had an excuse at the ready. No one could say he wasn’t waiting for someone. No one could say whether or not that someone never arrived, and therefore left him to enjoy his meal all alone. Regardless, there would be no reason for such excuses that morning, it seemed. He would just have to see if there was a seat at the bar.

Miraculously, there was. Sitting all by her lonesome was a girl - no, a young woman - of at most eight-teen years of age. She sat, cross-legged, painted nails tapping the surface of the diner bar-top as she mulled over the colorful menu full of delicious pictures of food. Her golden blonde hair curled around her face and shoulders, almost creating a makeshift halo around her head. Lost in her thoughts, she twirled her index finger in her locks only to tuck some of her strands of hair behind her right ear. She knew she wanted a cup of coffee since it was in the morning just before school, but she was having a hard time deciding what, and if, she actually wanted something to eat. The buzz from last night still clung to her insides, and the burn in her nose could be felt all the way to the back of her throat.

It was then that she noticed someone approaching her. Laura turned her head, bringing her torso with it as she looked at the oncoming presence. The motion caused her hair to sway, knocking it loose from the ear she had just pinned it back with. Her blue eyes locked onto the man and in an instant what hackles she was about to raise softened. This man wasn’t too bad to look at, and his smile could beat the sun out in a competition for the brightest thing that morning. She adjusted her posture, leaning back a little and offering her own smile in return.

“Good morning.” She said, voice slightly raspy from just having woken up not too long ago.

“Good morning to you, miss.” He said in return, voice smooth and dark like a hot cup of coffee.

“Laura.” She insisted, tucking her hair back behind her ear from where it had fallen out, “My name is Laura.”

“Dale Cooper.” He said, placing his hand on the empty bar stool beside her, “Laura, is it alright if I sit next to you?”

“Sure thing Mr. Cooper.” And with that, Dale Cooper sat next to Laura Palmer at the diner bar. Something about it felt strange, yet familiar. It was almost dreamlike the way their exchange had went. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but there was something disquieting about their meeting. Perhaps it was the shift in her body language, or the way she fidgeted with the hemline of her tweed skirt.

“It’s Agent Cooper, actually.” He spoke up, pulling his eyes away from her kneecaps. He reached inside of his comically large trenchcoat to pull out his official badge, “Special Agent Dale Cooper, at your service.”

It took everything in Laura’s body to keep her from letting out a laugh. Special Agent? Was this guy really part of the FBI? A very real look of ‘oh shit’ graced her eyebrows as he actually produced a badge and identification. He offered it to her, and as she took it in her hands to feel it over and look at the picture, Dale took the opportunity to sit down and make himself comfortable. Laura studied the photo and sure enough the overgrown boy scout was set right there next to her. Despite her best efforts, she did let out something of a breath of laughter as she handed back his badge.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Special Agent.” Cooper laughed. What a nice laugh it was, thought Laura. A laugh that made you want to put your walls down. A laugh that felt like a childhood friend.

The two patrons settled in together at the diner bartop. Cooper took off his oversized overcoat and folded it gently so he could tuck it onto his lap for safe keeping. He looked far more professional with that silly thing off, Laura mused to herself. The way his suit was tailored perfectly to his shape almost made him look like a cartoon depiction of an FBI agent. A true Man In Black, with slicked back hair and serious brows. Well, mostly serious. Agent Cooper’s brow was a bit furrowed as he stared at the menu, but otherwise this man didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

That, or a very vulnerable teenage girl.

“What makes you so special, Special Agent?” Laura probed, placing her manicured hands flat on her menu.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Laura.” Cooper said rather matter-of-factly. He then flagged down a member of the waitstaff, ordering a coffee to buy himself more time with the menu, “But what I can tell you is that it’s very special.” A mischievous grin smoothed along his lips, and that alone was good enough for Laura. At least for now.

Beyond his smile however, the special agent felt that persistent air of uncertainty. Did he know her from somewhere? Was she a missing persons case? He tried to get a better look at her without pointedly staring, but that was a rather difficult feat when you were mere inches from another person. His dark brown eyes watched as Laura brought her gentle, delicate, and soft hands around the slightly yellowed ceramic coffee mug. He followed the movement from the bartop, watching almost in slow motion as the white touched the healthy pink of her lips, which was topped with a thin veneer of lip gloss.

The air is heavy with the must of ancient, blood-red curtains. It almost suffocates. Were it not for the grand expanse of zig-zag, black and white flooring, the room would for sure be practically inhabitable. He swallows. He grips the arms of a black velvet arm chair. He squints from the harsh, unyielding light that surrounds him. There is music in the air. A saxophone breaks out against the stifling aura in an attempt to rouse him. Where is he?

A woman sits across from him. Blonde. Beautiful. Bewildering. He knows her. She knows him. Like a ghost, she crosses the floor to embrace him. Her lips: red. Her touch: gentle and familiar. An old friend. She smells of a perfume older than her. He closes his eyes as their lips meet.

The two of them stared at each other, confused. Something had just happened that they had no control over. What was that just now? They asked each other the question with only their eyes. Was it real?

Whatever it was, Laura kind of liked it. Maybe they were just thinking the same thing? Maybe he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Her cheeks flushed with color as she remembered the touch from just moments ago. This wouldn’t be the first time she had made a bad decision with an older man, and at least this one seemed much nicer than the others.

Cooper on the other hand turned away. He closed his eyes as he focused on the smell of coffee and the din of restaurant chatter. He gripped the fabric of his trousers, trying to remember the heavy air from that place so strange. Was it a vision? Why had Laura been there? What made them act that way? At this point he knew she was much too young for him to be sharing such intimate touches with her. He knew that she was thinking about this all in an inappropriate light. He had been there, in her shoes, when he was younger. Hot, young, eager to make stupid decisions just to feel something. Eager to mess with others' lives to take back some sense of control.

They were never really in control, were they?

“Hey, it’s okay.” Laura spoke, thus breaking the tension between them ever so slightly. Her smile took the spot of the brightest thing in the room, her eyes soft and understanding, “I get stared at by tons of guys. I’m kind of used to it by now.” It was true. Laura knew she was beautiful. She got compliments all the time on her looks, her hair, her smile. It was not a wonder how she became prom queen. Everyone in the town seemed to love her, or at the very least envy her. She wasn’t quite sure why anyone would envy her, but then again no one really knew who she was. No one in the town, save for those she dealt with, really knew what kind of girl she was.

Please, she thought, please like me. You’re one of the few people I want to like me.

Cooper dared to look at her once again, the shame of images from moments past still lingering on his mind and on his lips. His dark brows furrowed, mouth drawing to a stern line as he gingerly shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” He started, looking her square in the eye. “I don’t know what came over me. My behavior was inappropriate for someone your age, and someone my age should know better.” The agent looked around the diner, hoping that maybe there was another place he could move to. He knew what just happened between them was a faux pas, and perhaps the only way to make up for that was to put some distance between them. It wasn’t her fault, none of this was, but there was something awfully wrong about this whole interaction. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of the lingering premonition. Was it a premonition?

Laura’s stomach practically lurched. Had she done something wrong? There was no shame in looking at someone beautiful, right? Whatever happened moments ago was okay so long as she liked it, right? So long as she actually wanted it? As Cooper looked away, she bit her bottom lip with anxiety. He was going to leave her. She desperately wanted him to stay. For whatever reason, her heart ached at the very thought of having to sit by herself again. Fueled by the sinking feeling of rejection, the young woman reached out to the Special Agent. Her slender hand wrapped neatly around the wrist of his left hand and in an instant the diner disappeared.

The roles are reversed. His hand is around her wrist. Beneath her fingernail lies an important clue. She’s lying down on a table, naked and cold. The light above them flickers and Sheriff Harry Truman sits to her right. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she breathe? She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

Suddenly, it’s very dark. She’s walking through the woods by herself, late at night. She’s crying, and alone. Was she crying from her vision before? Or was it something yet to come? All she knows is that she wants to go home. She wants to be in her bed, safe from the situation she found herself in. How was she supposed to know where anything was, let alone her home?

“We’re going home.” He says, his face full of determination. She doesn’t understand, but he must know. Cooper’s hand is outstretched, begging for her to take it. The tips of his fingers touch the inside of her palm.

Just as she is about to give up, she sees him. Special Agent Dale Cooper. What was he doing here? Why did he look so old? Why did she trust him?

She screams.

It took a few seconds for them to realize that they were both standing. Tears were streaming down Laura’s face as she finally came to her senses. Her hands instinctively flexed, curling and unfurling before taking her palms to wipe away the remaining tears from her cheeks. Her cheeks were now flushed with embarrassment as she knew they were making complete fools of themselves in front of so many people. What had gotten into her? Why was she acting like this? What were those visions? Tentatively, Laura dared to look around at the other people that shared the restaurant with them.

No one seemed to notice. Not a single other patron stopped to look, make a snide comment or step in to intervene. These people were a soulless audience, looking everywhere but at them. For a moment, she was awestruck. Surely they had heard her scream. Surely they were concerned for a pretty girl crying. Surely…

It was then that Laura began to understand.

Cooper had a sneaking suspicion that something was awry, but this for sure solidified it. He tried to remember some of the things Gordon and Jefferies had told him about situations like this. Shared visions weren’t unheard of, and perhaps that was what he had felt from her. Maybe she was a special case like he was? Did she dream like he did? The diner around him became nothing more than a backdrop as all of his attention shifted to making sure Laura stayed grounded.

“It’s okay Laura.” He spoke with certainty, “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, in this diner with me.” Cooper offered a reaffirming smile, but he was met with a look of soft incredulity. There were more tears budding in the corners of her uncertain blue eyes, and her brows furrowed in a way he couldn’t quite discern. He reached out for her, hoping to give her something solid to hold onto. Just as his hands made contact, a look of realization and acceptance flashed on Laura’s young face.

Once again they are in that room with the red curtains. Laura Palmer sits in the black velvet chair with Dale Cooper at her side. She understands. Everything has become illuminated as they stare into each other's eyes. Above them is an angel, dressed in white. Her face is serene.

Laughter fills the room. Tears fall onto a black dress.

“I have to go now.”

The words hit Dale like a bullet to the gut. He felt sadness, guilt, uncertainty, but most of all he felt panic. Something was ending. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was a bitter end to something far beyond just their brief meeting here. He tried to say something, anything, but before any of the words could come out he felt the warm caress of her arms around him. Laura tucked her head against his shoulder, squeezing him with love and fear. He could feel her arms shaking, trying to hold on to him. He folded, blanketing her in the smell of aftershave and dry cleaning.

They wept.

“Please,” Cooper begged, his voice fragile and afraid, “Please, don’t go.” He tried to hold on to her but despite his best effort she slipped from his grasp. Laura, once such a young looking girl pretending to be grown, was now someone with knowledge beyond her years, beyond comprehension. Once again, she smiled at Cooper and he could feel his heart shatter like a mug against the floor.

“I’m going to be late.” She told him.

The sounds of the diner started to fade away. The clinking of plates, subtle conversations and echoing songs from the jukebox became nothing more than faint memories as Dale could do nothing but watch her go. Her golden blonde hair flowed behind her almost as if she were floating instead of walking. It was as if raindrops were falling onto sidewalk chalk, washing away the bright colors and erasing what they had created. Dale realized far too late that he was at the end of a dream. What questions he had now were given answers. A dream. The faceless patrons of the diner smiled at him as they continued to melt into his subconscious.

Dale took a final look back at where he and Laura had been seated. As expected, he saw both of their mugs sitting abandoned. Just as Cooper felt himself slip completely from the dream, a featureless waitress set down a plate of food he never ordered. Viscous, yellow, pallid and abhorrent, the image mocked him as he fell from the scene.

Special Agent Dale Cooper woke, staring at his dark ceiling. He stayed that way for several minutes, holding onto the slurry of emotions stirring in his gut. Laura. He repeated her name in his mind, eager not to forget it. She had to be important.

Instinctively, he reached over to his bedside table, fishing around for something he knew was there. The plastic felt comfortable in his hand. With a heavy sigh, he brought the tape recorder close to his face so that he could drearily recall his journey through the realm of sleep. With a simple click of a button, the mechanical whir of the tape touched his ears in the early morning silence.

“Diane," He croaked, voice peeling open the door to his tired mind, "It's early in the morning, February the 24th. I just had the strangest dream.”

#wonderfulxstrange #cerealninjakat #twin peaks #dale cooper #laura palmer #i wanted to do fancy color blocking but #apparently interacting between mobile and PC obliterates my formatting and moves shit around #SO #you get this instead.#the original google doc has color blocking for certain parts but whatever aslkdjlkfj

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

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fuck, marry, kill

aos!leonard mccoy x female!reader, who’s a nurse on the starship enterprise.

word count: 5885

rating: explicit (workplace sex, at the end, for fun.)

part one of more than a game, you and me.

A silly game from your academy days gets interrupted, leaving you to think over how you really feel about the great Dr. McCoy.

“Goddammit, bastard, son of a fucking bitch,” you hissed, shaking your hand after yanking it back from the control panel next to your shower. It had the gall to shock you, one that rippled down your arm and almost made your other hand drop the towel you clung to for decency. Somehow the same steady hands that could wield a pair of hypodermics and a tricorder without thinking about it managed to break every other piece of equipment on the Enterprise.

A year since you got transferred, a year since the last major headache, and you had managed to build up a routine. Waking up to beta shifts until the six-month mark when you transferred to alpha shifts that gave you more to do without the headaches of fighting artificial daylight. Crew physicals and routine exams for viruses carried onboard from earth until all the crew had been cleared. Lunches six hours in, dinner six hours after that, followed by a jog, some yoga, a shower, and then… repeat.

It was a good routine. One that made you friends with other nurses in blue and engineers in red and a few on the captain track who came in more often because of their proximity to the action. You could now say “hello” to Sulu and “good morning” to Chekov and other niceties to a couple other officers. And they’d smile back, and all in all nothing was disrupted. Your routine kept you going.

But now, that routine was stopped in its tracks.

With a little huff, you shook your head. Fortunately for you, your connections through routine hypos and the occasional healing after a scuffle gave you one particularly good friend. One who was very good at fixing up the Enterprise in any state she was in. And because of your clumsiness and tendency to get shocked, that friend was simply a comm unit away. Decency first, of course.

“Y/N to Scotty.”

“Aye, lass, Scotty here.”

A sigh of relief that he wasn’t on break, or worse, sleeping. That’d been a bear you wouldn’t want to disturb more than once. Your fingers tapped away, allowing his voice to fill the room rather than sound tinny coming from the communicator and your hands to hunt for a shirt.

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation. My shower isn’t working?”

“Is that right,” the chief engineer replied, and you could tell by his voice that under the amusement there was distraction. Your problem was not the only one on his plate, then. Or at the very least, not his main focus.

“Yeah, that’s right. Shocked me, as a matter of fact, when I tried to get it going.”

“Mmm.” Make that a lot of distraction.

“Scotty?”

“Yeah, lass?”

“Can you come fix it?”

“Fix what?”

With a soft sigh you pulled your shirt over your head, shaking out your hair before pulling it up into something passable for company.

“My shower, Scott. Y’know, again, the one that shocked me. That’s not turning on. That shower.”

“Shocked you? Well, this is the first I’m hearing about it,” he scoffed, indignant, and your eyes went wide with disbelief before you heard his chuckle.

“Oh, so I’m the entertainment for this evening, then,” you muttered with a scowl, scrounging around for the pants you just had on and the regulation zip-up you could walk around the halls in.

“Of course, Y/L/N,” he retorted. “I was wondering when the next time you’d call was. After all, it’s been, what, almost a week since our last incident with the replicator, hasn’t it been?”

“Two weeks, thank you,” you snapped, the pants snatched off the floor and shaken out with a vengeance. One foot began making its way inside the leg of the pants, the other hopping on the floor. “Monty, please, I just got off shift, I’m tired, and I’m sweaty, and there were three cases of Takarian bronchiolitis that we had to treat with airborne precautions. Never mind next week’s also Christine’s birthday, who I love with all of my heart but the party I got roped into planning for, of fucking – agh!”

“Y/N!”

Bouncing on one leg could only last for so long, of course. Your head thankfully did not contact anything with a hard surface. Your ass, however, got the brunt of the blow, specifically your tailbone.

“Y/N?”

When you groaned, you heard the relief, as well as the stifled laughter.

“Can you just please come fix my shower? I think there’s an analgesic hypo with my name on it back in the med bay.”

Of course, you weren’t one to completely bypass the rules. The Enterprise had enough of that in places other than the medical unit, and your chief medical officer, Dr. McCoy, was a stickler for right and wrong and lines that shouldn’t be crossed. So, your hypodermic needle was checked out by Christine, administered by her, and all logged and dated with a note about the situation. And, because your appointment didn’t technically end for another fifteen minutes, there was enough time for a little bit of gossip.

Your type of news always was the kind of shit that got the whole crew talking. The next adventure, who was sleeping with who, the drama that came out of confessions when the ship was falling apart. Anything to work through the monotony. But Christine’s favorite topic was almost always you, much to your chagrin.

“You know I don’t have a love life,” you said with a roll of your eyes, sitting up on the biobed and letting your feet dangle off of the edge. “That hasn’t changed in the three days since you asked me last.”

“I do know you’re at the very least no fun about it,” she responded with an eye roll, fingers tracing over your vitals the bed collected and reported. “There’s hundreds of people on this ship, and you’re telling me that none of them catch your eye? What about the chief engineer?”

Immediately your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the laugh that left you. “Scotty? No. No, no, we’re just friends, aggressively friends. He keeps me around because I’m the only one who gives him stuff to do during the night shifts. Without me breaking lightbulbs it’d be too dull.”

Of course, her eyebrow crept up in suspicion, but when your gaze held steady, she dropped her eyes, waving a hand like the idea was preposterous anyway.

“All right. So, no Scotty. Any ensigns?”

“No.”

“Lieutenants?”

“No.”

“Cadets?”

“Oh, my god, Christine,” you gasped out with a laugh, jumping off of the biobed, smacking her on the arm. “Stop it.” Your eyes glanced around the med bay, but just like every beta shift began, it was pretty damn quiet. Not a soul in sight besides the two of you. “There’s no one.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” she sighed, pushing off of the wall to meet you nose to nose. “But there’s gotta be someone who at least catches your eye, right?”

“Chris…”

“Someone on this ship you’d be willing to fuck – “

“No, we’re not – “

“- marry, maybe – “

“Christine, I swear to god – “

“- or kill?”

Again, your eyes darted around, but at that point the game had been called. A throwback to your time in the academy, when your classmates would find the local bars and a booth to heckle each other in. When passersby would be unknowingly subjected to a game based on nothing but good fun, and usually a whole lot of booze.

Simple premise. Three names called out. Each gets a label, and the rounds continue until the players decide they’ve had enough. Called anywhere, at any time, and Christine had thrown the gauntlet.

“You’re on duty,” you pointed out, but you leaned back on the biobed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And if there’s a patient I’ll tend to them. But you’ve got nowhere to be, and if I have a say we’re finding someone on this ship for you,” she pointed out, before swiping your scans away from the vicinity and joining you on the bed. “Three rounds. I bet you I can do it in three rounds.”

With an eye roll you proceeded to glare at her, but her grin did not budge once, and with a sigh you just nodded.

“Perfect. Why don’t we start with a throwback? Old classmates? Harrison, Twyla, and Betty.”

Your smile crept up on your face, and without a second thought you rattled it off. “Fuck Twyla, marry Harrison, kill Betty. Obviously.” Considering that two of the three weren’t even on the ship, you knew that it was more a warmup than anything. Lots of pretty people at the Starfleet Academy.

“All right. And then… oh, what about the bridge crew?”

“Christine,” you groaned, hand smacking over your face. “We’re in public.”

“There’s no one here, and you can’t chicken out of the second round! Look, we’ll do… Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov.”

Your jaw clenched. Forget about saying hi to Sulu ever again.

“I would… I would…”

“C’mon. You can say it, Y/N.”

“Fine, fine!” But you couldn’t help your laughter as you shoved Christine’s arm again. “I would… I would fuck Uhura, marry Sulu, and – “

“And kill Chekov? He’s got a baby face! You’re gonna kill him where he stands!”

“Christine, this is not real life,” you reminded her with a hiss, shaking your head before beginning to walk towards the door. “I’m leaving before I end up having to resign.”

“Oh, no! We’ve got one more go.”

“I’m walking. My tailbone doesn’t even hurt anymore. The miracle of modern medicine.”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Captain Kirk.”

“No, Christine.”

“Commander Spock.”

“Stop!”

“And Dr. Mccoy!”

“What about me?”

Your heart stopped.

“Nurse Y/L/N, is that right?” Dr. McCoy, the man himself, stated, raising a brow as he moved into the med bay, boxes stacked up in his hand. Christine did the smart thing, moving forward to help the doctor carry them inside, but your feet were cemented to the floor, mouth a little agape, color flooding your cheeks.

“Y-Yes! Hello, sir, I was just – uh, I was just –“ you stammered, turning to follow them both with your eyes as their load was dropped on one of the biobeds. “Well. I was just leaving, really.”

“She had an appointment,” Christine offered, her best and most polite smile on for your shared boss, who seemed too tired to do more than nod. “And we were just discussing… shifts?”

“Shifts.” Again, Dr. McCoy’s brow raised, and with skilled fingers he reached to slide them along the seam, a hiss sounding out as they opened up, bearing unloaded hypodermics, some bandaging supplies.

“Shifts.” Your voice was weak as you confirmed it, but while his eyes were down Christine gave you a subtle nod, winking even as you scowled at her. “You see, I was just – I was just wondering if I could take the beta shift next week, and… well. That’s a change I need you to sign off on. Dr. M’Benga and dr. Olson didn’t have a preference when I asked them.”

“Uh-huh,” was the gruff response, and as his fingers reached up to scratch at his chin, something like amusement seemed to play in his eyes. Although, thinking about it, you reasoned it was probably just the exhaustion and the lights in the med bay you saw instead. “So, you scheduled an appointment with Christine and my medbay, takin’ up one of the biobeds here, to talk about shift changes?”

“No. No, no, it wasn’t just about that,” you got out, more heat rising to your cheeks, and thankfully your feet were moving backwards, towards the door, as their hands slid into gloves and prepped the new cargo for treatment.

“She… took a spill in her quarters. Needed an analgesic. I did a scan to make sure it wasn’t anything more than a bruised tailbone and then gave her a dose of lidocaine for the area and acetaminophen for the pain.” Of course, Christine could chime in, sounding composed, while you had just managed to regain motor functioning.

“I see,” McCoy responded, and there was a brief moment where you were sure he was gonna call your bluff. You didn’t even remember right away that there was a hypo-stick in the first place, and the lidocaine definitely did not happen, right? But then, something, almost like a smirk washed over his features. They relaxed, and those eyes lit up again, deep and dark and warm. It was like taking a shot of whiskey, the sour leaving behind something that made your breath catch.

“You know you could just say you fell on your ass, Nurse Y/L/N.”

The stories about Dr. McCoy in a nutshell. No southern charm, just a sweet Georgian gut punch. Humor hiding in the comment, of course, but at that point your embarrassment made it taste pretty damn bitter.

Thankfully, though, the moment was gone. The smirk vanished, the exhaustion seemed to settle over him like a blanket, and his eyes glanced toward you once again before shrugging. “beta shift works for me. Just don’t let it screw with your head too much and find someone who’s willing to trade.”

“That’s… yes. Well - good night, sir,” you got out, biting your lower lip, bowing your head before shooting another glare at Christine. “Good night, Nurse Chapel, and I’ll see you both… when I see you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Christine called out, and the good doctor managed a hum of acknowledgement, his attention already pulled away from your retreating form. And if there was a second glance at you, it was nothing more than confirmation that the night was back to peace and quiet.

“I am never going to recover from this.”

“Mmm,” Scotty ground out, his arm elbow deep into the guts of the Enterprise.

“I mean it, Monty!” You cried out, back flat on your bed, arm thrown across your face but leaving your mouth wide open to complain. “Jesus Christ and now I’ve gotten myself roped into beta shifts, ready to be bored out of my skull for a whole damn week. He thinks I’m an idiot. An idiot and insane!”

“D’you think?” Was the reply, but the lack of attention didn’t bother you one bit. You were barely paying attention.

No, your head was running wild, with the fear that the greatest job you had, the job you were best at, was now at risk because of some dumb game you played with Christine. What if Dr. McCoy had heard all of it? What if he had just walked in because he had heard enough, and then you’d get called into his office, not a smirk in sight, and request your resignation? Could he do that? Off of a conversation?

“Y/N!” Scotty called out, and that’s what finally broke your spiral downward, your body shooting up to a sitting position, looking up to see Scotty staring out of the bathroom at you. Your water was running, you could hear it, and Scott was grinning from ear to ear, some kind of tool tucked behind his ear.

“All fixed,” he crowed with joy, brushing his hands off on his uniform. When he leaned on the doorway, his eyes were gazing around the rest of the place, as if it was just waiting to break on him, too. “computer, shut down the shower. Now, what were you saying, lassie? Somethin’ about our chief medical officer, yes?”

And as Scott smiled at you, no recognition of your crisis in him, you just smiled back, standing up to give him a hug. Even without saying anything, he had the best ideas.

“Nothing, Monty. Thanks for the fix.”

He was hustled out a few moments later, after a playful argument taking bets on what piece of machinery in this poor room would fall apart next (he was a fan of the faulty replicator, but you had a gut feeling it’d be the temperature control). But soon he was out of the room, and you knew that ignoring the whole thing would be the best option.

Except with Christine, ignorance was never an option for bliss. When your padd beeped, and then your communicator, you were forced to answer the message, looking to see a little smiley face emoticon with a message that left your heart falling to the floor.

“Your answer? :)”

Your answer? For the game? After all of that and Christine had the gall? But you could see her smile, even from this far, a smile that made you smirk.

But they were the rules, and so the question was left in your head. What was your answer? What were the options?

You thought about it as you started to get ready for bed, t-shirt set on the counter in the bathroom, hot shower started. Your hair was put up before you stripped, your face splashed with water and a towel as steam began to fill the room.

“Captain Kirk.” No personal experience with him, but you, like everyone on the ship, had seen him around. Had heard the legends. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t seem stricken by the love bug when it came to him, blond hair perfect, smile bright, blue eyes startlingly, well, blue. Friendly, quick, brave. He was the perfect man. But not everyone knew Christine. Christine, who’d had the lovely interaction with Cadet Kirk, at the time, who ended up kicking him out of your shared dorm room after a bad argument gone bad. The air was cleared enough that he managed to get polite smiles from her, but after that captain kirk never had the appeal. He was a playboy. His nature, his right, you supposed. But not for you.

“Commander Spock.” Tall, handsome. But very Vulcan, and very taken. Now, you knew he had to have some kind of sweet side, and there was something, you guessed, about the confidence that his reliance on logic seemed to convey. After all, you’d heard him lecture a few times, and if you were honest that would’ve been when you were most attracted to him – using his knowledge and logic and proud spirit to lead others on the path toward serving the federation. But there was only so far that logic and a lack of emotion could go, and even though you’d heard of outbursts occurring where his emotion made their mark? No. Arguments aplenty.

And who did that leave?

“Dr. McCoy.”

At that point, you still hadn’t entered the shower, and the computer was telling you that the water was about to automatically turn off to preserve the function of the ship’s supply, but your head was no longer in your bedtime ritual, instead thinking about the mysterious Dr. Mccoy, the infamous Dr. McCoy.

The Dr. McCoy that made nurses cry every so often from his outbursts – never violent but fierce, always due to the protectiveness he had for his patients. The Dr. McCoy who was a doctor before he even became a cadet, with enough knowledge to fill a few books. The Dr. McCoy who had smirked at you with those dark and deep eyes, brown and full with some kind of life as he... Well, teased, southern accent lilting just a bit, maybe? That Dr. McCoy? The Dr. McCoy who saved lives and healed and always, always, always fought for more healthcare, for more hypos, for more protections for the nurses who somehow, even in the 24th century, managed to get pushed to the wayside?

When you stepped in the shower, it took a second for your fingers to bang at the control panel, your legs held together, and with a quick setting manipulation the steam quickly cleared, the water’s temperature dropping to ice cold. You were in, and you were out, but by the time you had dressed and brushed your teeth color had crept on your cheeks again.

All you could see were those eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Ah, Nurse Y/L/N,” the doctor said, eyes barely looking up from the singed hands of the red-shirt in front of him. “I need dermatological regen started here and a full body scan initiated on the biobed two over.”

Like nothing had even happened. Like your nightmare interaction two weeks ago hadn’t resulted in you unintentionally taking night shifts, resulting in a fucked up circadian rhythm and bags under your eyes, not to mention hours bored out of your skull.

Christine wasn’t here, and for once you were grateful. The last thing you needed was her eyes on you as you maneuvered around the doctor for a new shift while exhaustion lingered in the back of your mind. But it also meant that there was no one to offer a united front. Just you.

“Nurse Y/L/N?”

And you just spent the past minute mulling all of that in your mind. Making yourself look like a dumbass in front of the doc and his patient. The patient hadn’t noticed, staring at his own hands in horror, but Dr. McCoy seemed like he was regretting letting you back on to handle days.

Shit.

“You got it, doc,” you managed with a kind smile at the engineer, whose face you could now see as you walked past him toward the wall. Your hands expertly manipulated to storage system, and with the tricorder kept at your waist you gathered the necessities.

The great thing – you were damn good at what you did. Especially when you could focus on it. Your face was bright, uniform neat (until it wasn’t due to fluids of some kind), and your hands were steady. And no complicated patients came in that day, especially since no away missions were sent out and nothing malfunctioned horribly deep within the ship’s bowels.

And yet, no matter what you did, no matter how competent you showed you were, no matter how many laughs or smiles or even nods from the most stubborn of usual patients? Eyes were on you. Dark, deep eyes. The whole day, no matter where you went, a furrowed brow and focused tailed you, watching your interactions.

All in all, a good day. A great day, even, as you injected your last hypo and the padd reported a normal set of vitals, no reaction to the medication after fifteen minutes.

The shift was over, now. It was a good shift, one that required no personal defense. You gave report to the next nurse, said goodbye to the others on-duty. Your jacket put on, your hair pulled down and back up after the frizz of the day had ruined it. Nothing really to note.

So why did the doctor not let you out of his sight?

The rest of the week, the same routine. The flow you had gotten into on alpha shifts returned, and your week of off nights was left behind in favor of much better mornings. Back on track, the same old, same old. And yet with every shift there was a new weight, those eyes on you. It felt like if he wasn’t tending to a patient, and he wasn’t in his office in the back of the bay, he was watching you. Critical of every injection and admission. You were starting to go a little crazy with it, your mind going a million miles an hour, second guessing the simplest stuff just so you wouldn’t fuck up in front of the CMO.

But after a while, the fear of failure turned into anger.

What right did the doctor have to analyze like that? You were a great nurse! You treated your patients and coworkers fairly, with respect and compassion. What was there to complain about? You knew your shit, and here was McCoy, looking like the Enterprise regretted your assignment there in the first place. By the end of the week, that anger had built up, and once the weekend rolled around, and your two off days in a row loomed, you decided you were done.

“Is there something on my uniform, Dr. McCoy?” You asked, terse as you organized the vaccine cart, the new year meaning new yearly injections to follow up on.

His fingers had been steadily scrolling through files of crew members, but their nimble work paused at your question. His eyes had taken a break from tearing you apart, but now they were focused on you once again.

“Excuse me, Nurse Y/L/N?” He asked, his face looking almost pinched.

“I was just wondering if there was something on my uniform. Or in my teeth, perhaps. Something in my hair, maybe, too.” Your hands kept chugging along, automatically rearranging the colored liquids, but there was a tightness you couldn’t shake, a tension.

“Something in your hair?” The doctor repeated, and at his tone, somewhat amused, you finally turned to face him, your brow raised in a mimic of his.

“Well, there’s gotta be something, considering that you haven’t gone five minutes without staring at me like I’m your least favorite sight in the world. So, what is it? Uniform out of regs? Did I administer a medication wrong? Did a patient complain?”

At that point, the amusement had turned to indignation, maybe even anger. His jaw was clenched, and the padd in his hands had been abandoned on the desk in favor of crossed arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, nurse,” he ground out, eyes flicking around the med bay. But there was no one to look at. No one to distract or overhear.

You couldn’t help your laugh. “Oh, I think you do,” you snapped, and almost mocking him, your arms crossed as well, a hip cocked, your eyes like daggers. “Ever since I came back on alpha shift, you’ve been doing all you can to catch me in a fuck-up. Well, it’s not happening! I’m damn good at what I do, and no amount of posturing, even from the CMO, would ever change that!”

His scoff was hard, arms uncrossing so a hand could pull through his hair in disbelief. “darlin’,” he said, slowly, as if you were dense, “There’s no posturing going on. Your abilities aren’t being doubted. Hell, I don’t even know your first name. Whatever story you’ve got going on in your head? It’s a story!”

His frustration showed through his accent, a southern drawl that got thicker as his sentences rambled on. But that couldn’t distract you from calling him out on his bullshit, no matter his position.

“I’m not senile,” you huffed, eyes rolling hard, and your steps closer were unconscious, crowding him against the desk he was leaning on now. “And I’m definitely not blind. So, tell me what your problem is with me, so I can go back to focusing on my job, and you can go back to focusing on yours!”

“There’s no damn problem!” His voice was almost a yell now, but you had no fear, and you sure as hell weren’t backing down. “It’s nothing. Hell, there isn’t anything to be nothing.”

And then it clicked, it clicked, as you stared into brown eyes that wavered for a second, that scanned you top to bottom in a split second. A break, a tell, whatever it was, the pieces were put together, and you stood tall, not letting his height on you intimidate.

“You overheard me and Christine, didn’t you?” It was low. “Is that what it is?”

“Overheard.” The clench in his jaw hadn’t loosened, but you watched that brow tick upwards again, his arms uncrossing so his hands could rest on the desk.

“When you walked in on us, last week,” you clarified. “You overheard our game.”

The anger was gone now. Now that everything had slotted into place, you weren’t angry. A little bit embarrassed maybe, but not angry. Frustration felt like it was leaking out of you, but the tension wasn’t gone. The standoff wasn’t broken. And after all of what, you had just yelled at your superior officer.

“Dr. McCoy,” you started, uncrossing your arms, and holding them up to offer a truce. “I apologize. For yelling. That… well, it shouldn’t have been my first move. But. I can explain, if you want me to.”

There was no verbal reply, but his exasperation came through with a huff, and he simply lifted a hand, gesturing for you to go on.

“It’s just a game we’ve played since the academy. It was inappropriate to play while Christine was on shift. I apologize for that as well,” you told him pulling back to glance once more at the sliding doors, which mercifully stayed closed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Just a game,” he repeated, and at first you didn’t catch the shift in his tone. Didn’t connect it with the glance toward the doors, or the way he stood from the desk, so that you were almost close enough to brush against him. “Just a game… using the names of your captain, commander, and chief medical officer?”

“Yes,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry for that, as well, that definitely won’t be happening again.”

“A game talkin’ about who you’d rather have in your bed.”

Your eyes shot back to him, color flooding your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

“Well, that’s the game, isn’t it?” He said with a shrug, and as he leaned forward you could feel your breath catch in your throat, looking up into a face you imagined in your own quarters in the dead of night, as you let steaming water hit your skin. His jaw wasn’t clenched anymore, and his voice was a low rumble.

It wasn’t a threat. But it gave you goosebumps all the same, that the bass of his words, and you managed to nod, swallowing even as you kept your chin lifted.

“That’s the game. Is there a problem?”

And God, there was that smirk. Warm like whisky, it made your hands clench, your legs shift as that warmth rushed through you.

“No problem at all,” he hummed, and as he leaned close those lips brushed past your cheek. You could smell his cologne now, spice flooding your nose, the antiseptic of the day fading away. The chill in the air that always seemed to linger was gone, nothing but heat on your mind. Right in your ear you heard him, after a low chuckle that made you want to scream, beg him to get on with it. “I guess I’ve just been wondering what you would’ve answered, had I not… interrupted.”

Lunchtimes were surely coming to an end. Any second a patient could come in, could see the both of you crowded against the desk and know exactly why the whole place felt like an oven. But something possessed you, then, to bring one of your hands to his shoulder, the other to his hip, and lean just as close, almost pushing up on your toes to whisper right back.

“Give you one guess.”

Matches. That’s what that kiss felt like, a box of matches all lighting at once – the spark and the flash and explosion of heat as Dr. McCoy pulled back just enough to press his lips against yours. Nothing gentle, nothing kind, just a ferocity that made you moan against his mouth. His hands, broad and hot, began to roam on your back, settling just enough to pull you ever closer, so that your bodies were flush against each other. Your hand ended up twisted in his hair, the other fisted in his shirt. And just like matches, it was the start of a fire, one that had you both stumbling towards his office, the door sliding behind you with a quiet hiss.

“You were teasing me,” he ground out, directing you between kisses until the back of your thighs were against his desk. His hands gripped you then, around the waist, lifting you so you could sit. “And you didn’t even know it. Your voice over and over in my head, thinking about how it’d sound with my name.”

“So, you stare at my ass instead of asking me, hmm? What a southern gentleman,” you laughed, and for that you got teeth against your neck, a hand shoving your skirt up. The tips of his fingers seemed to skate over your skin, tickling your inner thigh. But those slow circles never quite got where you wanted, just left burning trails in their wake. “Talk about teasing.”

“At’s what you get for having a smart mouth,” he chuckled, face still against your neck. But soon he was back to kissing you, making your head spin.

“That I know how to use,” you shot back, once again between presses of lips and gasps of air. “I’m – I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Never said you were,” he purred, and this time both hands lifted your skirt high, reaching for the panties that did a poor job of hiding anything. “But why don’t you let me use my mouth first?”

“What an offer.” One you certainly wouldn’t refuse, especially since he looked hungry for it, for you.

There was a brief moment’s hesitation, his finger curled around the elastic and so close to ripping them off. But while his body was begging for it, his pants more than a little tight, his eyes met yours.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, his tongue running along his lips as he got to his knees.

Your gaze didn’t waver, a grin coming over you. “That’s a fucking yes, sir.”

His grin matched yours, sharp and wily as he rid you of your underwear, hands on your knees so he could pull them apart. You were bare to the cool air, and your teeth caught your lower lip as he leaned forward with a hot gasp on your inner thigh.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

The first thing you felt was the swipe of his tongue, a furious push against where you were wettest. A taste, almost, before he licked a line through your folds until his mouth enveloped your clit. You were swollen, desperate for it, and your gasp was thick as fingers once again tangled in his hair. If you said anything, it was a “please,” a “yes,” a “god, right there” as he worked.

He took you apart with his mouth, no hesitation as his tongue worked you over, swirling around your clit as a finger began to tease your entrance. It was with a gasp you came, his hand spreading you open with two fingers inside of you, and when you were able to see straight you saw that grin again, his chin wet, his lips red.

“Holy shit, Doc,” you huffed, your hand falling from his hair to his chin, thumb swiping across the mess and bringing it up to your mouth so you could get a taste of yourself. He did you one better, leaning forward to kiss you again, and the taste of him and you made you smile.

“Leonard.”

“Leonard,” you repeated, and when you pulled back his smile was softer. Almost… vulnerable. “Suits you.”

“Well, I hope so,” he laughed. “It is my name.”

“And it’s my turn,” you pointed out, reaching for his waistband. “I think you should move to the chair.”

#reader-insert #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy #christine chapel #montgomery scott #scotty #bones #fanfic #my fic #star trek: aos

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readyourimgaines · 5 years

Text

Enter: Griffin

Another oneshot from my Autistic!Freddie files. Still inspired by @disabled-queen-hc and once again beta read by Snafu and @iamnotbrianmay. -Freddie

Freddie always got restless when he was in the recording studio for too long. He didn’t like being in the same room for more than hour, so when they were bordering on three, the young man was all squeaks and head shakes.

John and Roger were too engaged in their debate to notice Freddie’s frantically bouncing leg or the pulsing clenching of the fist in his hair as he tried to ground himself.

Brian took the Red Special from his shoulder and placed it in the stand before walking to the piano bench where Freddie was sitting. Brian held out his hand and Freddie took it out a second thought, allowing himself to be led from the recording booth and into the main room.

“I have something for you,” Brian smiled as he walked to his backpack.

“Why?” Freddie wondered.

“Because you’ve been in the band for six months now. That deserves a celebration,” Brian smiled. “Do you trust me?”

“Mostly.”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Brian requested. Freddie squeaked lightly but did as he was asked. Once Brian knew that his eyes were closed, he very gently placed the soft item in Freddie’s awaiting palms. “Open your eyes Freddie.”

Freddie did so and squealed when he saw the stuffed badger toy. He bent his fingers slightly, feeling the soft fake fur between his fingers. When choosing the toy, Brian made sure it was the softest one that he could find.

“What do you think?”

“Who is it?” Freddie looked up at Brian, meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. Brian smiled. Kash had told him that with Freddie’s Autism stuffed animals weren’t toys- they were beings with proper names.

“This is Griffin. I got her for you.” Brian explained in short. “I noticed that you have a friend you only carry around at home, so I thought I should get you one you can have around with you not have to worry about them getting hurt.”

Freddie looked at Brian and it was the first time Brian had seen a real emotion other than pure fear and anxiety or happiness on Freddie’s face. He looked shocked, and it worried Brian a little. “You okay?”

“You...you don’t think—?” Freddie stopped and squeaked, shaking his head and Brian understood.

“I don’t think it’s childish,” Brian assured him. “I’ve got—” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic guitar pick. “I’ve got this. You know I only play with a coin, but I carry this around so I’ve got something to fiddle with when I get bored. See? It’s really smooth.” Brian rubbed his thumb over the surface and held it out to Freddie for him to feel. “Roger taps rhythm with a pencil when he’s nervous. John cracks his fingers. There’s nothing wrong with needing something, or someone, to play with.” Freddie squealed again and Brian chuckled.

Kash plopped down onto the couch next to Freddie who was sitting with Brian and watching some sitcom they’d found.

“Who’s this?” She asked Freddie, motioning towards the stuffed badger that was seated in Freddie’s lap as he gently squeezed it, weakened his hold, then squeezed it again.

“Griffin.” Freddie held up the toy for Kash to see better before lowering her back into his lap. “Brian got her for me.” He went back to slowly squeezing.

Kash smiled. “Griffin the Badger. I like that.” She giggled again when Freddie squealed.

“You aren’t bringing that thing with you, are you?” Boma asked Freddie. He was getting ready to go to Brian’s to a watch a movie with him, John, and Roger. Brian was walking to his house to pick him up on his way home from the store.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Freddie placed his notebook and sketchbook in his messenger bag before delicately placing Griffin on top of everything making sure that her nose was poking out a little before zipping it shut as much as he could without her fur getting caught in it.

“Because you’re 17, Farroukh. It’s beyond time you stop behaving like a child and start acting your age. You need to stop this silly play and behave like normal—”

“Kash, why don’t you wait outside with Freddie for Brian,” Jer interrupted her husband, gently guiding Freddie towards the door. Freddie’s eyes were scared and panicked though the rest of his face remained emotionless.

Kash took Freddie’s hand in her own and went outside with him. The second the door closed behind them, the two started yelling at each other in Parsi. Freddie looked over his shoulder as Kash tugged his across the yard so they could sit on the bench right before the curb.

“D-Did I do something?” Freddie whispered. “I don’t—”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kash promised, pulling Freddie against her and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re okay, Freddie.”

Kash reached over and took his bag, opening it and taking Griffin out before closing the bag again. She gently wrapped Freddie’s hands around the toy. Freddie leaned at the waist and nuzzled his nose against it’s soft underbelly before turning his head and using it as a pillow. Kash started rubbing his back and he closed his eyes.

Footsteps came closer and Kash looked up though Freddie didn’t. “Hey, Brian.” Kash greeted. Freddie turned his head see he could see his approaching friend.

“Everything okay?” Brian cocked his head to the side. Freddie squeaked and pressed his face back against Griffin’s belly.

“Our parents are fighting again.” Kash stated. Just as she said that, Boma’s voice reached their ears and Freddie flinched.

“You’re both coming over. C’mon,” Brian said. “Ready to go, Freddie?”

Kash stood and held out to Freddie who hesitantly took it. He kept Griffin held tightly to his chest as they walked. Kash could tell by his occasional sniffling that he was trying not to cry, still feeling off about the fight. She squeezed his hand tighter and he lowered his head, watching his feet move under him.

“Yeas!” Roger cheered as the three entered the house. “We have both Bulsaras. John! Start the popcorn!” A couple of beeping sounds came from the kitchen before John emerged.

“Hello.”

“Hey, John,” Kash greeted. Freddie silently waved, his arm still tightly around Griffin. He shifted unsteadily and squeezed Griffin with both arms. He walked out of the room and sat on the couch in the next room over.

“Freddie alright?” John asked in a hushed tone.

“Boma’s being an ass.” Kash said simply and they all understood.

The movie has been on for 30 minutes. Freddie had been fidgeting the whole time even with Kash holding his hand. Kash had gotten up and went to the kitchen to make them more popcorn and Freddie had bent at the waist, his face pressed into the belly of the stuffed badger just as the tears started falling from him eyes.

Brian kept an eye on Freddie the whole time Kash was gone. With Kash in the room, he knew she had her older brother handled. So the second Freddie pressed his face against Griffin’s belly he knew something was up. The taller boy stood and pull Freddie to stand up, tugging him towards his own room.

“Come here, Freddie.” Brian pulled Freddie to sit in his lap once he was seated on the bed and Brian tightly wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Freddie didn’t respond and kept on crying. With one hand, Brian grabbed the spare blanket from the foot of his bed and proceeded to wrap it around Freddie as best he could before pulling the boy to his chest again. Being wrapped in the blanket and in Brian’s arms seemed to help him calm down some as his tears slowed down. “You’re okay.”

“I did something wrong.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Freddie.”

“He was loud. Kash said he gets loud when he’s mad.” Freddie’s voice was a whisper more than anything else. “He only gets loud when someone does something bad… He doesn’t like Griffin.” Freddie squeezed the toy tighter.

Brian leaned down slightly and kissed Freddie’s hairline. “Maybe Griffin doesn’t like him either.” Freddie squealed quietly and Brian smiled to himself. “What do you think, Fred?”

“She doesn’t. He’s too mean.” Freddie decided.

“That sounds like Griffin,” Brian agreed with a nod. He stayed to gently run a hand through Freddie’s hair and he tilted his head into the touch. Brian pressed his forehead softly to Freddies and the older closed his eyes, relaxing more. “Griffin and Marcy make you happy, right?”

“Soft.”

“Then keep one of them, if not both, with you when you can or want to. Your father should want you to be happy. I want you to be happy. That’s why I got you Griffin.” Freddie opened his eyes and adjusted how he was positioned slightly so he could nuzzle his nose against Brian’s. Brian had learned from seeing Kash calm Freddie down enough times that this meant he was tired. He only nuzzled someone’s nose like this after an attack that drained him.

Brian moved to lay Freddie on the bed but paused when he squeaked in protest. “Trust me, I have an idea,” Brian chuckled.

He laid Freddie down and laid down next to him, wrapping his arm tightly around him. Freddie closed his eyes again and let himself focus on the pressure of Brian’s arm and the softness of Griffin. It didn’t take long for Freddie drift to sleep, and Brian fell asleep a few minutes after him.

Kash had been antsy with Freddie and Brian having been gone for so long— it had been at least 45 minutes. John had convinced her to wait, saying that if Brian couldn’t calm Freddie down that he would have called for her. An hour rolled around and Kash decided it was too much. She went to Brian’s room and peaked in.

She smiled when she was met with the site of Brian holding Freddie against him, who was wrapped rather snuggly like a burrito. The two were laying face to face, their noses almost touching. Stepping a little closer, Kash took a picture of them on her phone and wasted no time setting the picture as her lockscreen.

#snafu and freddie's imagine shoppe #read your imagines #freddie mercury imagines #autistic!Freddie #kash bulsara #queen band

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raspberry-river · 5 years

Text

Wait, it’s the 28th?

[read on ao3]

Surprise Reyna @swordlesbian-she-ra I was your @sherasecretsanta

you requested either Perfuma X Entrapta X Mermista or Catradora, and I felt more comfortable writing Catradora. I hope you like it 💖 💖

“Wait today was the 28th? She was certain it was at least a week away! No wonder Adora let her sleep in today. Facepalming, Catra grumbled in embarrassment. How could she forget her own birthday?”

Shifting her head a little, Catra sleepily opened her eyes, being careful not to blind herself in the mid-morning light streaming through her open curtains. Groaning in protest, she wriggled further into her bed, not wanting to get out of the warmth. She began to drift off to when her arm met cold empty space behind her.

Praying her eye open again, she turned her head. The space behind her was definitely empty. Rolling her eyes, she threw the bed cover off of her, hissing as the cold air met her bronze skin. Sitting up, she stretched her arms out needing her joints to crack. Sighing as she felt that familiar pop, she threw her legs off the side of the bed, her feet searched for the slippers that are always there. Somewhere.

Standing up, Catra adjusted her pajama top before shuffling over to the bedrooms’ ensuite to start her daily morning routine.

Finally feeling refreshed, Catra shuffled over to the bedrooms only desk, sitting underneath the window. Her burgundy slippers muffling her steps on the wooden floor. Popping her joints one more time, she pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down hunched over.

Running her manicured hand through her curls, her fingers catching on knots, wincing at the tug on her scalp. After a few run-throughs Catra deemed her hair as untangled enough, she started her makeup routine. A little concealer, a dusting of eye shadow, a fierce cat eyeliner and a swipe of lip balm. Giving herself the once over in the desk mirror, she reached for the small wooden box on the desk. Using one hand to open the box, Catra used her other to remove her nose stud. After quickly cleaning the stud, she places it in the box’s soft interior and reached for her favorite nose ring. Pushing the box back with her elbow, she focused her eyes on the mirror, carefully inserting the nose ring.

Clearing the desk, Catra stood up, using her foot to push the chair back under the desk. She strolled over to the wardrobe, grabbing the first thing she saw before changing.

Throwing her dirty clothes in the clothes hamper, Catra makes her way downstairs. Her golden brown curls bounced with every step. Hearing an upbeat tune, she furrowed her brow.

Reaching the kitchen, she froze, her hand stretching her navel fell limp at the site before her.

Standing at the kitchen counter, with her back to Catra was her best friend of 10 years and girlfriend of 2, shaking her hips to the beat of the music that was playing from the kitchens radio. She was quietly rapping the lyrics of the song.

As stealthy as she could, Catra sneaked up to the kitchens island, leaning her elbows on the cold marble surface, her head resting on her hand. A wide grin on her face as she spoke.

“Hey Adora”

Started, Adore let out a screech as she jumped, arms flailing. A wooden spoon, that seemed to be covered in a type of batter, slipped from Adora's grasp and clattered to the ground.

“Catra! W-what are doing here?” Adora stuttered, her voice rising in pitch. She shifted her body, hiding whatever she was doing, fiddling with her fingers.

Biting her lip, Catra eyed Adora's appearance. Her burgundy sweater was cover in what was most likely to be flour and cocoa powder, her left cheek had a smudge of batter.

Ignoring Adora's question Catra leaned over the counter, curious as to what Adora was hiding.

“Whatcha doing?” She asked, her nails tapping on the surface of the counter as she watched Adora.

“Nothing” Adora insisted, moving to lean opposite Catra. She took Catras hand in hers, lifting it to her lips. She places a gentle kiss to Catras knuckle, chuckling as a soft blush appeared on her girlfriend's cheeks.

Opening her mouth to complain, Catra was quickly interrupted by a sudden bang of what was most likely their front door and a loud yell of “We’re here!”

Feeling a headache forming, Catra groaned. It’s not like she didn’t like Bow or Glimmer, they’re okay just draining and loud and annoying. Well the majority of her friends were, she only got along with Entrapta and strangely enough, Mermista. At first, they both avoided each other like the plague, not really wanting to engage in any small talk but after they both committed (complained) about certain events and people.

“What is up party people!”

“Shut up Bow!”

With the interruption she lost her train of thought, Catra peered over her shoulder to see the rest of the so-called ‘Best Friend Squad’ walking into her kitchen carrying 2 shopping bags. Dropping both bags onto the off white tiled floor, Bow shuffled over to the fridge, grabbing a can in cola before facing the three girls.

Being nonchalant about it all, Glimmer placed her bags onto the counter next to the couple. She shot a genre smile at Catra before heaving both of Bows bags next to hers.

Letting her curiosity fuel her, Catra quickly glanced at the closest bag. From what she could see the bag was filled with chocolate fudge frosting and vanilla buttercream frosting. Strange, why would the dork duo need that much frosting? Maybe it has something to do with the batter Adora is making?

Noticing that Catra was starting to place the metaphorical pieces together, Adora was quick to kick Catra out of the kitchen, giving her a kiss on the lips before telling her that she was gonna be late meeting Scorpia and Entrapta for their weekly coffee, handing her a $20 for breakfast.

“Well that not suspicious at all.”

Entering the diner, stripped her coat off. The diner was always warm no matter the season. It was her favorite place to eat out, the atmosphere was always lively but friendly, plus the music they play over the radio was Catras favorite station. So she may be biased but the food is to die for. Waving to the staff behind the till Catra continued to her usual booth where she could see where her friends were.

Sliding into the empty side of the booth, Catra placed her coat beside her, taking her purse out of the pocket to place on the table. Before she could address both her friends, to colorful gift bags were shoved into her face. She blinks once, twice. Confused as to why they are giving her these.

“Don’t give me your rubbish, do I look like a garbage man?” She hissed, pushing the bags back to the other girls.

“Huh?”

It’s not rubbish silly! It’s your gift.”

Now that just confused her even more. Gifts? Christmas was two months away and her birthday was until a few more weeks.

“Gifts for what?” Her voice filled with confusion. Entrapta and Scorpia shared a look before facing Catra.

“It’s October 28th, your birthday, you dummy!” Scorpia teased, swaying side to side. Her ice tinted hair following her every move.

Wait today was the 28th? She was certain it was at least a week away! No wonder Adora let her sleep in today. Facepalming, Catra grumbled in embarrassment. How could she forget her own birthday?

Seeming to sense her distress, Entrapta spoke up, her eyes never leaving the tiny square robot in her hands.

“No need to feel embarrassed, we all forget things, for instance, I forgot the safety code for a robot and they ended up almost destroying my house.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Catra blinked while Scorpia looked at her in horror. Opening her mouth to respond, Entraptas head shot up, her ruby eyes glittering in the artificial lighting of the diner.

“Anyway,” Entrapta giggled, “Open your gifts! I wanna see if you like them.” Nodding her head in agreement, Scorpia slid the gift bags back to Catra.

Biting her lip, Catra reaches for the lilac bag. Using her nail to cut the tap closing the top, she peered into the bag, eyes widening at the content. Inside was a picture frame, dark in color, pulling it out she gasped. The picture was of the three of them plus Adora at the start of their first year of college. Both Catra and Adora had their arms around each other, Catras head was leaning on Adora's shoulder, her dark golden coils a contrast to Adoras tied up pale blonde locks. Both had giant grins on their faces and affection in their eyes. Scorpia was stood towering behind them her head tilted back, arms in the air. Entrapta was squatting in front, a large remote in her hands and a look of pure happiness on her faces. Catra gently placed the picture back into the bag, glancing up at Entrapta.

“‘Trapta, thank you so much for this! I love it, can’t wait to show Adora.”

Flushed, Entrapta just smiled before going back to her robot.

Grasping the last bag, a deep red, Catra once again cut the tap with her nail, looking in she felt her eye twitch. Reaching in, Catra removed the bags content and placed it all in the table. A variety of cat toys now littered the diners' table, ranging from a simple ball of yarn to a small soft toy sashimi. A few cat treats also lay on the table as well as one purple cat collar.

“If you brought this because my name is Catra then I will kill you.” Catra glowered, irritation visible in her mismatched eyes.

Putting her hands up Scorpia stuttered, “No that’s not the reason,” She took a sip of her drink before continuing, “Its a joint gift with Adora, I swear.”

Huffing, Catra hummed, not really believing it as Adora would have told her something. Yet again Adora didn’t even wish her a happy birthday. Excusing herself, Catra stood to go and order her late breakfast early lunch.

After they all finished their food and leaving a tip, the three girls left the diner, strolling down the street back to Catra’s.

As the trio reached their destination, Catra whipped her phone out, sending a quick text to Adora, letting her know that she back. Taking notice of the cars outside, Catra had a feeling she knew what was gonna happen and cursed under her breath. It all made sense, Adora baking, the dork duo with their carrier bags, Catra being kicked out of her own house. Adora was planning a surprise party. How could she have been so clueless?

"Foda-se" Catra mumbled.

Opening the door, Catra was greeted with a cheer of “Happy Birthday” from many familiar faces, all of them Adora's friends, who then become hers, in a way. Glancing around the room she spotted a few faces that she hasn’t spoken to in a while. She really needed to catch up with Spinerella and Netossa. Though they hardly spoke, they were the few that Catra actually liked and made an effort to be nice too. To her surprise, Perfuma was also here. The two could never see eye to eye as Catra couldn’t give a crap about plants and flowers while Perfuma, who owns her own florist, loved them. Either way, Catra was happy to see everyone.

Scorpia and Entrapta captured Catra in a hug, chanting ‘Happy Birthday’ softly as the familiar sting of tears came. How did she ever get this lucky?

Her best friends let her go as Adora tugged her into the living room. As they entered the room, Catra gasped, in the center of the living room was a pure white kitten being held by Bow, their tiny meows filling the room. So Scorpia was telling the truth.

Turning to face Adora, Catra placed her hands on Adoras cheeks before dragging her down, capturing their lips in a soft but passionate kiss. She could feel Adora's arms wrap around her waist. Tears of happiness finally cascaded down her bronze cheeks.

A cough interrupted their moment, wide-eyed they both turn to Mermista. The girl was picking dirt from her nails as she spoke.

“Like it’s great that you like, love each other but we all wanna try the cake so can you finish this later?” Her eyes finally meet both of theirs, amusement flashed in them. Grinning Adora nodded, dragging Catra behind.

Catra really had the best partner and friends ever. She couldn’t imagine her life without these people.

#sherasecretsanta #catradora #catra #adora #bow #glimmer #entrapta #scorpia #mermista #spinerella #netossa #perfuma #spop #She-Ra #she ra #she-ra: princesses of power #spop fic #my fic #meggy writes

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vennilavee · 6 years

Text

golden hour - part III

golden hour masterlist

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: a series of moments when everything sparkles, shines and glitters, just like it’s gold.

Warnings: alcohol

Word Count: 1766

A/N: enjoy, leave a comment! thinking about making a playlist for this but idk.

Bucky groaned and almost threw a tantrum when Sam declared that they were going out. What did going out even mean? Going out to get food? Get ice cream? Get groceries? Get gas for the car?

Apparently going out meant going to a club, or in this case, a bar.

He’s grateful that at least it’s not a club, with the pounding music, flashing lights and tight spaces. Him, Steve, and Sam aren’t too fond of the concept of a club, much preferring the intimacy of a bar. Sam likes the bars that play music that you can dance to, but at a volume that isn’t ear-splitting.

So that’s why they are at the Black Flamingo. The entire dance floor, DJ booth and expansive bar are bathed in a pale golden light, reflecting on all the surfaces. Bucky is still a little sour, even as he nurses his drink. He misses when whiskey would actually do something to him. Bucky vaguely remembers a time when him and Steve would go dancing, and he’d be floating off of the whiskey. He used to think it tasted terrible, but now he likes it.

He’s older now. With age, comes a refined palette after all. Or, that’s what you've told him.

The music pleasantly bumps in his veins, dancing along with the alcohol in his system. Bucky observes his surroundings out of habit. The dance floor is slowly filling up with moving bodies, twisting and swirling and crashing together like the waves of a calm sea.

Steve is speaking to Natasha in hushed tones. About what, Bucky doesn’t know. Sam is standing next to him, tapping his foot impatiently with furrowed brows and scanning the room about five times in two seconds.

“You lookin’ for someone? That girl you went on a coffee date with on Tuesday?” Bucky says lowly over the music.

“What? Nah,” Sam says sheepishly, “Thought I saw-”

And as if you were an angel who descended from the heavens, you’re suddenly in Bucky’s line of vision. If Bucky was paying attention, he would’ve noticed Sam’s wide smirk. But all he can see is you- you in your button up shirt the color of melted gold that’s tucked into your tight, black jeans. Your grey hat sitting on top of your hair. Your heels that make your legs look endless.

It’s casual. But it suits you.

You’re speaking to your friend, grinning widely, hands moving animatedly. You both make a beeline for the bar.

Where he is. Where Sam is.

Bucky’s heart floats out of his chest momentarily. When it returns, you’re smiling at him widely. Maybe a little drunkenly. You’ve retrieved drinks for you and your friends. You’ve even gotten something for him and Sam.

“Hi, Bucky,” You chirp happily, thrusting the drink into his free hand, “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Bucky says quickly, “Good, I’m good. Thank you. I mean thanks for the drink- and for asking how I am-”

He curses himself for his lack of eloquence. You laugh, the sound a sweet song in his ears.

“How are you?” Bucky sighs, trying to get himself to shut up.

“Little drunk,” You shrug, your smile is infectious, “I’m here with my friend- let me introduce you-

“Alina, this is James,” You gesture to the woman standing next to you, “James, Alina.”

“Oh, this is James?” Alina grins like a Cheshire cat circling her prey, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

You glare at her pointedly. You’ve told her- told her who Bucky was and to be mindful of who he was. She seems to get the hint, though, and drops the smile almost instantly.

You are grateful for her tact.

Alina excuses herself to join your other friends, realizing that Bucky was really only comfortable with you.

“You gonna introduce me to Natasha? You been holding out on me. She’s even more intimidating in person,” You comment, nudging him slightly.

He can barely form words.

A crush. How silly.

“Buck? You alright?” Your voice is soft, your smile slowly fragmenting into a frown.

He’s suddenly breathless because he’s the reason you’ve stopped smiling, the reason honey has stopped dripping from your irises, if only for a moment.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Bucky says in a rush, “Here, I’ll introduce you.”

You want to link arms with him and feel his warmth seep into you. But you resist, not wanting to frighten him.

Bucky interrupts what seems to be a heated conversation with her and Steve. You’re about to call his name and tell him that you don’t want to interrupt, but Natasha spots you before you can. Her green eyes remind you suddenly of the Irish countrysides that you visited once in college.

You are temped to mention it, but the heat in her eyes steals your voice for a moment.

“Uh, hello,” You introduce yourself, “Natasha, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha says slowly. She surveys you, eyes tracking you from head to toe and self-consciousness tugs at you. You miss her eyes flicker to Bucky’s eyes and you miss Bucky’s subtle nod.

A confirmation that you’re the one he’s been crushing on.

Natasha’s arms are crossed across her chest, mouth in a thin line and eyebrow raised. Steve looks amused, and shoots Bucky a look that you have no way of deciphering. You’ve met Steve a few times before.

You can’t help but mentally berate Sam for leaving you alone with his friends. After all, you were better friends with him than with Bucky or Steve, and certainly Natasha.

“Can I buy you a drink?” You ask meekly, “You look like a girl who enjoys a good tequila based drink.”

You sincerely hope your deduction is accurate. You don’t want to be on this woman’s bad side. To your pleasant surprise, she nods and offers you a smirk.

You’ll take it.

Bucky watches with Steve as you try to break down Natasha’s tough exterior at the bar. They are both surprised when they see Natasha laughing along with whatever you are saying. Your eyes shine with triumph. Bucky’s eyes lock with yours and you give him a wide smile before Natasha pulls your attention away.

Sam joins you and Natasha at the bar, wrapping his arms around both pairs of shoulders.

“My favorite ladies,” Sam says, “You’ve finally met?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” You retort, rolling your eyes. Natasha laughs and you cheers with her, much to Sam’s chagrin.

Bucky is itching to be near you, the buzz that swirls around him is so warm and welcoming, and he wants that buzz to grow. He knows the pleasant buzz will swell in his blood when he is near you, within arms reach, fingers brushing delicately against yours-

But then before he can make his way back to you, you’re gone, gripping Sam’s arm with freshly manicured black nails on the dance floor. A slow Spanish song is bursting on the speakers. Bucky’s shoulders slump dejectedly. He doesn’t even notice Natasha come to stand by him and Steve.

He only watches you. You twirling in Sam’s arms as you mold to his movements, you pressed into Sam’s chest, your hand intertwined with his, his other hand gripping your waist. Even with the distance and bodies between you, Bucky can see your wide eyes, your delighted smile and the inexplicable trust you have in Sam. The music seems to flow within your veins, gliding with you as Sam twirls you.

Sam dips you elegantly and you shriek in surprise before laughing with him.

Bucky didn’t know you could dance. But your hips are speaking a different language, and all he wants to do is learn it. The song is muffled in his ears, and really, all he can feel is the warm buzzing inside of him. He wonders how you would feel in his arms- would you smile the way Sam makes you smile? Would you even let him touch you?

The pleasant buzzing vanishes and it’s replaced with a gnawing hole. It feels similar to the indigestion he felt before, but somehow worse. It gnaws at him, twisting his insides and making his head hurt irritatingly. It’s dark and heavy, swirling within him at a quick pace. He turns his head away from you, not wanting to curse you with the dark hurricane or the thunderclouds hanging over his head.

Because you were the opposite. A ray of sunshine that pierces through grey skies.

When he finally turns his head to where you were previously on the dance floor, you’re not there. Bucky’s eyes frantically survey the dance floor, looking for your hat or a sign of your shirt.

But you’re right next to him, grinning right up at him. Your grin is playful and mischief is dotted in the contours of his face.

Sunbeams unsurprisingly pierce through his thunderclouds. You elbow his side while taking a swig of a new drink.

“Hey, pal,” You murmur, “Heard you used to dance with all the ladies back in the day. Want to dance with me?”

And how can he say no to you? When your voice is tinted with hope, and he is so pleasantly surprised by it?

He barely registers his eager nod. Your hand slides into his metal and gingerly and you squeeze gently, as if his hand would break because of yours.

The music is slow again, a song he doesn’t quite recognize. But you seem to, because your eyes soften, your shoulders relax and your smile is lazy. Bucky doesn’t even think about Sam smiling at him proudly, or Natasha and Steve watching you carefully.

They have always been protective of him.

Bucky dares himself to chance a glance to your face, to see if you’re happy. He is blindsided by the way the light bounces off your skin, the adoration evident in your irises.

“Can I hold you?” You ask, fingers itching to intertwine with his.

And he would like nothing more.

Your hand links with his and Bucky pulls you closer to his chest. The rest of the bar, the people, the noise, even the song, seems to fade away with you in his arms. It’s a slow dance, just swaying with a spin once in a while. He can hear your quick heartbeat faintly, and he has to wonder if he affects you the way you affect him.

“You know, this song was my prom song in high school,” You say, tilting your head to the side, “I think I like dancing with you better than my prom date, though.”

And he melts at your words. As if he’s golden, too.

tags:

@coal000 @hottrashformarvel @hootyhoobuckaroo @buckyforbreakfast @lesqui

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #tw: alcohol #tw alcohol

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @toreadthestars!

So I hope this bit of Malec silliness hits the spot...or my version of a coffee shop AU - as I’m a sucker for drunk Alec there’s a teensy weany bit of that too....

Read on AO3

*****

Sometimes Coffee Is The Only Solution

The first thing Alec noticed when he woke up was that, somehow, he’d managed to not draw his curtains properly before crashing out last night and the bright morning light shining into his eyes was borderline painful.

With a grunt of discomfort he rolled on his side, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the way his stomach seemed to be doing somersaults. Blearily he looked around the room and noticed the glass of water and painkillers and thanked the angel that ‘drunk him’ seemed to have at least some common sense.

Carefully sitting up, he grabbed the glass and swallowed the pills before gingerly stepping out of bed to pull the curtains shut before crawling back under the sheets.

Ordinarily Alec wasn't much of a drinker, and lying in bed waiting for the painkillers to work their magic, he was starting to remember exactly why. The worst part was he really should've known better, but after weeks of excuses, he’d finally given in and accepted his siblings invite to come out with them.

Beyond that, things got a little fuzzy. He remembered arriving at the bar and meeting up with Clary and Simon and everything was pretty much ok until, about an hour in, Jace had suggested shots. In his defence, he may well have over indulged, as evenings spent with Izzy and Simon and Clary and Jace, two couples that were sickeningly loved up, really only served to remind him of the one thing he really wanted to forget, the nonexistent state of his own love life. He’d only gone because Izzy had promised that her hot friend, a guy called Magnus, was coming along too, but as far as he could remember he’d been a no show, so really, the only solution was to drown his sorrows.

All in all the night had been a complete disaster and, quite frankly, Alec was glad he didn’t remember much of it.

……..

Having forced himself into the shower, Alec began to feel somewhat more human, although he was desperately in need of coffee. Throwing on some clothes he trudged out to the kitchen hoping that it was still too early for his siblings to be awake, knowing full well the pleasure they’d take in tormenting him for his drunken antics.

“Shit..” Alec searched through the cupboards frantically only to find an empty pack of coffee and nothing else. Typically, Jace had forgotten to restock.

“Oh my god, it lives..” Spinning round Alec saw Izzy perched at the breakfast bar looking remarkably chipper, considering last night. “Didn’t think you’d surface for hours. No offence mi hermano, but you were wasted last night.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Alec grumbled, contemplating making himself a tea but deciding that the crusty old container didn't exactly fill him with confidence.

“So...do you remember anything from last night?” Izzy teased, as Alec continued to desperately scramble through the cupboards in the vain hope that it was just his killer hangover that was stopping him finding some coffee.

“Don’t, just don’t.” Alec glared over his shoulder, getting increasingly frustrated with the situation.

“Oh come on Alec, it was funny..I mean, you were on top form.” Izzy laughed and the sound went through him like a knife.

“I literally couldn't care less right now. All I want is a drink and Jace forgot to get any goddamn coffee, as per usual..” Alec snapped.

“Suit yourself, but let me tell you, it’s a great story.” Izzy seemed totally nonplussed by Alec’s mood.

“Whatever. I’m going out..” Alec pushed past her, marching to the hallway to grab his coat and boots. Feeling a little guilty for taking his mood out on his sister, he paused for a second and turned to look at her. “You want anything..?”

“You going to Java Jones?”

Alec grunted in reply.

“Then get me a mocha and double choc muffin.” Izzy grinned, reaching for her phone and beginning to tap away.

With a final huff of indignation, Alec stalked to the front door and let himself out.

……..

Alec wasn't sure if it was the painkillers or the fresh air on the walk to Java Jones but as he entered the doorway, he almost felt human.

The coffee shop was fairly empty this time on a Sunday morning so he decided that enjpying his drink there was a much more preferable option than going home just yet. Especially as home, he was pretty sure, meant a morning of inevitable teasing by his sister.

Reaching the front of the queue, Alec was relieved to see his friend Maia on duty.

“Hey Alec, wow, you look like shit. Bad night or a really, really good one?” Maia teased.

“Bad, really bad… and no, I don’t want to talk about it..” Alec held his finger up, shaking his head slightly in defeat. Thankfully it didn't hurt as much as it did this morning or he’d have seriously regretted the gesture.

“Ah c’mon, I’m stuck here all morning, I need gossip to keep me going.” Maia pouted briefly before starting on Alec’s coffee, knowing without asking what he’d want.

“All I’m gonna say is I’m never ever letting Izzy talk me into a night out again..” Alec grabbed his drink from the counter as soon as Maia put in down, warming his hands on the cup.

“That bad..” Maia raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, apparently some friend from yoga class was supposed to turn up but I apparently even get stood up by blind dates.” Alec grumbled before cautiously sipping at his coffee which was still really hot.

“Oh Alec..”

“Yeah, and trust me, an evening spent watching the four of them swooning over each other is not as much as fun as you’d think.” Maia began to laugh again as he spoke and Alec couldn't help but smile. “Seriously, alcohol was the only option..”

“Damn, I wish I’d been there..”

“No you don't.”

“No, I don't..”

Behind him the door chimed signalling another customer arriving and making his excuses, Alec grabbed his coffee and shuffled off to a corner booth.

………...

Alec drained the rest of his coffee and sat staring at the empty cup for far longer than was really appropriate, tossing up whether to go for a refill or return home and face the music. He had the distinct feeling Izzy knew something he didn’t and he dreaded what that could be.

“You look like you could do with this.” The man’s voice sounded strangely familiar and yet Alec was sure he’d never heard it before, but what really grabbed his attention was the ring-clad hand that slid the cup towards him. Suddenly his mind flashed back to the previous night.

“Wow, you’re hands are so pretty.” Alec gasped, grabbing the man’s hand and holding it up to look at it more closely. “Look Izzy, they’re all twinkly..”

Alec fought down the feeling of nausea in his stomach.

“I take it you’re suffering a bit this morning.” The man laughed and instantly another memory resurfaced.

“By the angel, your laugh, it’s like music.” Alec gazed with adoration into the face of possibly the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. “How are you sooooo beautiful? Are you even real, ‘cos if this is a dream, best dream ever!!!’

“You mind if I join you? If you’d rather be alone I’ll understand of course.” Alec nodded his head, not daring to look up just yet because the sound of that silky smooth voice was bringing back a wealth of memories each of which were excruciatingly embarrassing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he took a deep breath and using every ounce of courage he had, forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Magnus…” The name came back to him instantly as soon as he saw the man’s face, flawless tawny skin and the deepest brown eyes accentuated by dark kohl.

“Oh, you do remember me then? That’s good to know.” Magnus’ eyes danced with mischief and Alec groaned, his head in his hands as another memory came flashing back.

Alec reached forward and touched the man’s bicep, holding on a little more firmly than was appropriate as he swayed from side to side.

“You’re really, really real. Are you sure you’re not an angel because those arms, that face… I mean, wow, no human could look that good….” Alec slurred, not letting go of Magnus's arm as he turned to his sister and leant on her heavily. “Izzy someone sent me a literal angel…”

Izzy chuckled before turning to speak to Magnus.

“Magnus, I’m sorry about my brother. I promise he’s not normally like this ….”

“Magnus …. your name’s Magnus…. even your name is pretty….” Alec blabbered on obliviously.

“I promise you, it’s fine. I’ve doubtless been in worse states myself and I was ridiculously late so…” Magnus laughed.

“Oh god…” Alec muttered into his hands before peeking out between his fingers to see Magnus trying to hold back his laughter. “Please tell me this is all some horrible nightmare and I didn’t make a total fool of myself last night. I’m so embarrassed .”

“Oh Alexander, there’s honestly nothing to be embarrassed about. I actually think you’re a rather adorable drunk..” Magnus winked and Alec felt himself flush. “Anyway, shall we start again? Hello, I’m Magnus, Izzy’s friend from yoga class.”

Magnus smiled as he extended a hand.

“Hi.” Alec smiled shyly before shaking his hand, trying desperately to ignore the tingles that ran up his arm from Magnus touch. “Alec. Thanks for the coffee by the way, I’m not normally much of a drinker so…”

“So I take it you don’t remember a great deal…” Magnus smiled.

“Um yeah..” Alec shifted uncomfortably in his seat as another memory resurfaced.

“C’mon you. Let's get you in a cab.” Izzy grabbed his arm and began manhandling him towards the exit with remarkable strength for someone so little.

Alec tried his best to resist reaching back to Magnus imploringly.

“No…..don't make me leave the angel man...please let me worship him…”

Izzy was having none of it and dragged him away, his last glimpse of a smiling Magnus shaking his head in amusement before being bundled outside.

Magnus looked at him carefully, eyes slightly narrowed and the corners of his mouth quirking as if he was trying to suppress a smile.

“Alexander Lightwood, why do I get the feeling you’re possibly being a little economical with the truth here?” Magnus waved a finger in admonishment. “I think you remember more than you’d like to admit.”

Alec blushed bright crimson as he had to fight the urge to facepalm.

“Okay, okay..I do remember bits and pieces, but honestly I don't know what got into me and I didn't mean..” Alec stopped speaking when he saw Magnus pout a little. “What?”

“Well I have to say Alexander, I’m a little disappointed.” Alec looked at Magnus warily only relaxing a little when he saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Does that mean you don't want to worship me and climb me like a tree…?”

“Oh god… I said that, didn't I?” Alec groaned as Magnus nodded.

“Because I would definitely not be adverse to that.” Magnus winked and Alec damn near fainted on the spot.

“You would…?” Alec asked hesitantly, biting his lip anxiously as he awaited the answer.

Magnus looked him up and down pointedly and Alec had to suppress a shiver.

“Well, you’d need to buy me dinner first.” Magnus tilted his head to the side coquettishly.

“I can do that..” Alec said with a bashful smile.

“And, actually, I think a movie too..” Magnus teased.

“Yeah?” Alec felt himself leaning forward, elbows on the table, mesmerised by Magnus’ smile.

“Most definitely..In any case, think of the fabulous story we’ll be able to tell our grandkids about how we met..”

Alec burst into laughter, a mix of happiness and relief.

“Well then, I guess we better do that...you know, for our future grandkids..”

“It’d be rude not too.” Magnus agreed in mock seriousness.

“Exactly.”

“A toast then, to dinners and future grandkids..” Magnus held up his cup.

“Sound good to me.” Alec smiled before doing the same, already anticipating the best date EVER.

#toreadthestars #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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olympiansrpg1-blog · 7 years

Photo

BASICS

Name: Vera Petre Age: 25 Affiliation: New Olympus Occupation: Dancer at Club Nyra Faceclaim: Adrianne Ho Status: TAKEN by Roni

THE STORY

They call you Aphrodite, beauty incarnate. All they see is the perfection on the outside, never the broken home, the cold heart, the person living with the burden of every terrible thing you’ve done just to survive. You entice them with your smile and leave them wanting more - you suppose that’s why Hades have kept you around this long, because everyone knows people come to the club to see you under those lights, long fingers wrapped around the pole and luring them in, one by one. You pretend you do not know of what goes on under the surface of the club, but you’ve learned to be perceptive; funny thing is, you know you could worm your way into the center of the mob if you really wanted, and though you rarely express it, you do believe in what New Olympus is trying to do. But you’ve seen how things end for those who fight, and you’re still not sure if you’re willing to take that risk.

CONNECTIONS

ARES - You never realized how much you loved Ares until they were gone. Zeus might have appointed a new Ares, some rookie who will never live up to the Ares you had to bury, but that doesn’t mean that you have to hide your resentment. Because it’s impossible not to flinch every time you hear someone call out for Ares; the Ares you see now is not the one you want.

PSYCHE - Most dancers at the club don’t last too long, but Psyche is different - you see the strength in their eyes, the way Psyche comes in early and takes care of everyone first. In your own, strange way, you try to look out for them - you tell them what not to wear, how not to act. Maybe you’re a little too critical, but it’s out of concern, not jealousy. You think, anyway.

HEPHAESTUS - Becoming involved with the gang naturally meant that you’d have to protect yourself, and getting yourself a gun was just common sense. What you didn’t expect to find was a kind face behind the counters of the weaponry, someone who didn’t judge you or expect anything from you, and that means more to you than they’ll ever realize.

SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS

Lupita Nyong’o, Janel Parrish, Nazanin Boniadi, Logan Browning, Marlon Teixeira, Samuel Larsen

a collection of scenes

———–

Maybe, it you dare to ever look back, you would recognize the first domino fell because of you. Ironic, really, how you whisper of control to those who don’t understand, that if you want to improve, if you want to feel satisfied, then it is within your power to do so, and yet, you never understood that power until regret climbs up your throat if you dare. look. back.

( when clients long past or patrons of a club ever present ask you about family, you spin lies to convince them life is a fairy tale, and they believe you with how they froth at the mouth, for they only stare at the beautiful surface. and that’s okay, really, because you’re convincing yourself that your life was better than it was and is and —– )

Look over your shoulder. There, your mother, staring out the window. You, at the table, quiet as you pick at dinner. She has not spoken a word to you since the week prior; has not acknowledged your work at school, has not addressed your cries, has not actually registered your presence. She looks, but she does not see, and you believe a curse has been placed on her ( you silly, silly child ).

Blink, readjust. Again, there you are at the table, and your mother is smiling, speaking to you as if it wasn’t the fortieth time in three years she allowed weeks to pass without coming home, without ever uttering your name. “Vera,” she says, eyes blown out and a drop of dried blood still not wiped from her arm, “Vera, men are awful, men are scheming bastards, and the consequences of their actions are so much worse.” You are older now, still a child in a sense, but your changing body informs you adulthood is closer day by day. And distantly, you wondered if your mother ever hated your father to leave him; or if your father hated your mother that he left the two of you. And then, you think, I’m the consequence, aren’t I?

Turn your body fully to the past, stare at the scene unfolding. That damn table places distance between you and your mother; you finally recognize it was a valley, a canyon, a fucking blackhole of chaotic space from you to her. “What did you say?” you whisper, and the rage of a of hundreds of months, of thousand of weeks, of million of days bubble at the tip of your tongue.

You mother raises a brow, as if —- as if she has said something perfectly understandable. “I said I never wanted you. And that, you know, there are still days I don’t want you at all.”

The rage billows, burns your throat and is a thrashing fire billowing from your mouth as you part your lips. “And there are days I want you to die? So here, let me disappear, and you fucking die.”

And you are a forest fire as you leave, door slamming and drawers shaking as you gather your items and fly out of the apartment. It is the last time you the two of you speak.

( you return, though, weeks later, thinking she is gone and you can fetch items. you find her slack in the chair at the table, eyes listless, and you know. that sinking, horrifying realization, oh, you know. and you make a choice, then, to turn your back. the first domino falls. )

Now see, isn’t it dangerous if you look back? You’ve never truly moved on from that moment, have you? Don’t you have the control, the power to muffle the regret?

Don’t you understand?

———–

“You know, I learned something today,” Ares sats as they rest against the booth.

“You have?” you ask, smile plastered across your face. You have said this so many times in so many inflections, they all blur together. “What is it you’ve learned?”

Ares withdraws their phone, waving it as if they’re trying to reach a quota. “I googled your name and it means either ‘true’ or ‘faith.’

You raise a brow. You’ve heard this a thousand times, but there is an inkling of wonder as to why they care enough to check the meaning of your name. “That’s correct.”

“You know which one your parents gave you? Or that you gave yourself?”

You tap your finger against your red-tinted lips. “You know, I never asked my parents about that. I do like to believe, though, that my father wanted me to be true to myself and my mother desired to have faith in what I do.”

Ares’ smile lifts a fraction, but that change induces that sliver of caution to emerge. You must be wary; you must be careful.

“Can you actually say you live up to their wishes?” they ask. Before you are able to part your lips and suck a breath, they raise a finger. “Ah, let me rephrase: have you ever been true to and had faith in yourself Have you — ”

Spoken any truth? Had faith in anything?

For a moment, the world tilts, and you are at a crossroads. You’d rather turn around and walk back; you’d rather sit on the dirt, remain unmoving. And yet, a choice.

A hand darts forward, and you grip Ares’ chin, thumb brushing along their lower lip. Inch closer, lashes fluttering. “What would you say,” you begin, and your voice lowers, a secret being shared, “if i said no at all? Would you even believe me?”

Ares’ meets your gaze, holds it. “Maybe. And I would hope that, one day, you can find those things for yourself.”

You chuckle, dig your thumbnail into their lip until it bleeds, and remove yourself from the space. You cannot be there. You cannot see the dominos falling. You cannot hope.

And yet —– and yet.

———–

( a journal can be found in vera’s apartment tucked in the back left corner of the third shelf down on her nightstand. the papers crinkle, indicating it is old, but no tears to show signs of constant usage. it is forgotten most nights; or rather, it is ignored. a few pages, though, are marked, no dates. )

sometimes, i stare at the mirror and see a darkness that is all encompassing, and i step back, melting into it, and there i see my world as it is, so fucking empty. and then i wake up, and realize reality and dreamland are all the same

it’s almost like i’m tripping on acid, but sober.

had a snapping match with psyche and i won. not like it should be a game. not what a mentor is supposed to do. but she had to listen to me. and it felt good to know i came out on top. it’s like something went right.

hades is weird, dionysus is weird, the entire club is goddamn weird, but maybe i’m weird too and that fits.

ares and i, we drift below the surface, meeting at the space of understanding. it’s odd. i don’t know if i like it.

if i hear one more person tell me i’m validated in my grief i’m going to scream who the fuck cares if i am validated it wrecks me their death is a hole in my chest i cannot fill there isn’t an emptiness but an absence and they are two solely different things and i cannot comprehend why everyone wants to be united in what they have lost because they’re all fucking validated when it does nothing except tear us to shreds, tears me to shreds i

i can’t breathe sometimes and i think the whole world is collapsing because they all killed them we all did this entire spectrum of hate and vitriol and revenge and i don’t want this taint so why is it FUCKING VALIDATED

i loved them. i love them.

i heard their moniker and the breath was sucked from my chest, but when i turned it was a different face that spoke depths of their own evil, and this is a never ending cycle isn’t it

sometimes, i wonder what it would be like to sliver my way through the mob and whisper all the lies they have been told. sometimes, i dream of what it would be like for them to whisper in my ear and share information old olympus would never

sometimes, i wonder what my life would be like if i was a different me. fuck that ‘i would still be me’ nonsense. i wouldn’t. where would i be? what could i have achieved?

do i need a new story? should i rewrite my own? where do i go from here?

———–

( a prologue then. a new chapter. a new story )

One step, two step. A kick and then a swivel on your heels. There is applause as you lift yourself onto the pole, body dangling midair as only your thighs keep you from falling, falling, falling. You stare at the floor for one beat, two beats, and suddenly, an abyss. You are dangling on the cliff’s edge, sweat dripping from your face into the darkness, never landing, and you wonder if it would be the same for you if you were to let go.

A breath, then another. You pull yourself upwards, blood rushing from your head back to the right places, and you are back under dazzling lights. As you lower yourself, your feet gently touch the floor beneath you.

The abyss will not swallow you whole. The abyss will not swallow you whole. The abyss will not swallow you whole.

( you will not let yourself become the abyss )

#aphrodite #lsrp #lsrpg #gang rp #greek mythology rp #all #new #taken

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

Text

First Valentine’s Day

Alternately titled Beets.

(This can be read as a standalone, but is part of my Schuyler Series. we’re a few months away from this in current timeline, obviously I had to post it today.)

Alexander and Eliza have been seeing each other for almost five months now. He’s not quite sure what the standard celebration of the holiday would be for a couple of their status (and he greatly fears going overboard and facing rejection) so he decides it would be okay to discuss what they should do. They come to a mutual agreement to do something small, just the two of them.

After the month they’ve had, it only seems right. And then there’s the fact that she knows, she just knows that every self-respecting paparazzi will be out. And really, there’s nothing more she’d hate than having a night ruined by the anxiety and pressure put on by the mere thought of those jerks.

“We can go out, we can do whatever.”

“But that wouldn’t make you happy.”

“Honestly? No.” She’s treading lightly over the conversation, tapping her fingers along the table of their Starbucks booth. He lets her linger on the thought for a moment, sipping his coffee and looking back at her with comfort. Security. It makes her smile, the way he’s waiting-the way he’s found continual patience with her lately.

“You know what we should do?” It’s Alexander who speaks again, suddenly alight with an idea. It’s another thing she admires, the way he’s turned from hushed and reserved to sitting with lifted posture, licking his lips and re-tying his hair in a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. Her enlightened Alexander-she teases him often about his sudden shifts in persona.

“What should we do?”

“We should cook.” She can’t help but hold in her laughter at this point-only a slight chuckle surfaces, but it’s enough to make his eyebrows raise in question and feigned offense.

“It’s not that I don’t think that’s a good idea but since when do you cook?”

“Since now,” He’s put on an air of confidence, and once Eliza sees his shining, hopeful eyes she knows she can’t say no, even if she’d wanted to. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“Okay, it’s a deal. As long as you pick the recipe.”

“Deal.”

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

It takes him a considerable amount of sifting through websites to find it-John’s directed him to some DIY-inspired website he barely understands, but he manages to get a hang of it with all of the researching he does. And then he finally settles on one-the photograph looks fancy, yet fairly easy enough. There’s the small fact that he knows next to nothing about vegetarian cooking, but it’s pasta-he figures it can’t be that hard to mess up, especially with Eliza in the kitchen

….

“I think this one’s the winner.” He holds a piece of paper up to her, a proud smile crossing his features as he looks it over once more. “I found it on Pon-Pin….”

“Pinterest?”

“Yeah, that one. It looks pretty good.” When she finally gets a hold of the printed recipe she stifles her laughter-it’s not just one page, it’s three, with a photograph between every paragraph and a detailed and very wordy page of instructions.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you but my god, you really think we can pull that off?”

“Sure we can, it’ll be easy. Honestly, look at that picture and tell me it looks ridiculously hard. Plus, it’s vegetarian fancy, not vegetarian cardboard.” She shakes her head and cracks a smile at his joking, holding the printed recipe in her hands. Eliza’s warmed by the effort. And the thought. Which leads her to nodding her head, tucking the printed recipe in her backpack.

“Alright, pasta it is. This should be fun.”

…

“Are you a thief? Because you stole my heart.”

“Seriously, Alexander?” From her place at the stove she rolls her eyes, a thick and consuming blush decorating her unfiltered grin. She chuckles, stirring the sauce and taking in the night; he’s chosen a particularly difficult Italian recipe-we can do this, Eliza, easy-and she can’t help but stare as he struggles in chopping the vegetables they’ve set out to add to it. He’s still smiling, though, cracking jokes as they come to him.

Who in the world decided that beets were something humans could eat? I can’t even cut this the right way. And why does it smell like I literally just pulled it from the soil?

She laughs at him before moving to help, a hand over his as they work through the pile of taxing vegetables together. He tells her it’s only a ruse to get her closer to him. She kisses him in spite of it.

It’s a nice addition to the soundtrack of the moment; he’s put on Ella Fitzgerald. (He just wants her to sing-he hangs on every note of her dulcet voice, pausing in his chopping and prepping to watch her dance around the kitchen. And when she notices, somewhere between a bout of scatting and another verse, she keeps hold of the spoon in hand and grabs his arms, leading him to the middle of her tiny kitchenette to dance.

Alex isn’t much of a dancer.

He dances his heart out for her.

And, much to his utter bliss, she continues to sing. It’s a bit more reserved now that she knows his full attention is on her, quiet and careful, but he doesn’t mind. He spins her, getting into the silly mood of the music and the red wine, trying his best to replicate Ella Fitzgerald’s powerful vibrato. Eliza laughs, the unfiltered sound erupting from her belly, and holds his shoulders so she won’t fall. His hands move to her hips, drawing her closer. As her laughter subsides they sway gently, her head falling light on his shoulder. Her heart is full, her entire being relaxed. It’s as if the entire world has become background noise to this moment, her mind settling into a happy daze, where it’s only the two of them in her tiny kitchenette. She can keep her head on his shoulder; she can kiss him whenever she feels like it. In their little bubble she’s allowed the world, and she’s taken this rare moment of uninterrupted privacy with the greatest care.

She tips her head slightly to kiss him then, moving her hands to the back of his neck. Gently, she’s pulling him in, and Alexander’s gladly accepting her request. And then she’s consumed, drinking in his familiar comforting scent; old books and dark coffee, and then…

She pulls herself away from him, abrupt and shocking, and at first he’s left looking on extremely guiltily, wondering what he’s done to illicit such a strong reaction. But then he smells it too-like coals on a campfire-and his own heart is racing in a completely different direction than it had been just a moment before.

Eliza’s standing at the oven, pulling a tray of darkened wedges from it before setting it on the counter, turning on the fan.

“Eliza,” He moves to comfort her, to apologize, but then she turns around. Her eyes are laced with tears and she’s rested one hand on the counter for support. It takes her a drawn out moment to catch her breath, and when she does she’s suddenly erupted with laughter, tears spilling as the hearty sounds come in waves from her bent over frame.

“Who-who even eats these damn things anyway? They do smell like dirt!”

The gift she has-this complete, unintentional ability to create a living artwork from the simple sound of her laughter-he’s enamored by it. It’s bright yellows and minty blues, sunshine and lemonade and freshly grown flowers emitting their scent into an empty, sky-enveloped field. It’s an artwork, he decides, that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life in.

And although he’d known it before-felt lingering hints of it in the back of his mind-the realization hits him so suddenly that he’s laughing along with her, unhinged and completely consumed in bliss. I love her, this is it. She’s it. And later, as they’re sprawled on her living room floor surrounded by layers of takeout, he knows that it’s true. He wants to spend the rest of his life making her laugh like that-even if it means living eternally with the lingering, earthy smell of burnt beets. For her, that’d be worth it.

#Hamliza #alexander x eliza #mine: swts #in which Alex is a good bean #and Eliza is always precious #kthanks

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dinas-y-cerrig · 4 years

Text

Chapter I (rough draft, 1846 timeline) ~7 pages

After nearly a month of perfect service, the trains were running late once more. Today, of all days. Margot was half-convinced that those idyllic three weeks of flawless service had simply been to lull her into a false sense of security, just so that life in its unceasing cruelty might extend a leg to bring her future crashing down. Not content only with its vicious jape with the trains, but at her transfer station she had forgotten her coinpurse behind at the coffee stand when her connecting train had arrived earlier than expected. She had been forced to make a mad dash through the commuter crowd, both purse and tepid station coffee left on the booth's sill.

Now, pressed up against a fogged window and squeezed tight between a man who reeked of sick and sweat and another who smelled arguably worse of oversaturated cologne, Margot lamented. Her bleary, frazzled mind could not decide which she regretted abandoning more, the purse or the coffee. As the man to her left let out a noise somewhere in between a belch and wet vomit, Margot firmly decided that at least the coffee might have given her the mental clarity to have wedged herself elsewhere.

(etc etc trains suck, margot's thoughts wander along the lines of “didn't they just finish two months' worth of renovations holy fucking shit fuck!!!” eventually gets off at her stop and wanders around slushy icy gross as shit winter and winding streets of city central aka what is fondly & accurately referred to as “tangled sheep's entrails” until she finally arrives at the address given. Front of the building is a great façade of veined marble in a state of obvious neglect, goes in, sits and waits to be seen)

When the second hour had come and gone, Margot despaired again at the thought of her lost coffee and purse. Certainly, Captain Eirwel must be a busy man, but could he not have notified her of the delay, or at least have an aide sent out to let her know how much longer she might be waiting? She put her watch away and stared gloomily at her boots.

"It's been a while, May."

The chipper voice shook Margot out of her reverie. She looked up to see a tall man with a clipboard and shining hazel eyes. He wore the black uniform of the brigade with its owl insignia. His hair was brown, yet despite his young age there was a considerable amount of grey peppered in. While his long face had a comely cast to it, his nose had a noticeable kink in it, turning slightly to the right. Margot stood and reached out to shake his hand, but stopped short as she noticed it was occupied by a mug. The man laughed and lifted it slightly towards her.

"Actually, this is for you. It's coffee, although if you'd prefer I can get you tea instead."

"No, please--I mean, thank you. Coffee would be lovely," Margot said. She accepted the mug with eager hands and took a sip of the still-hot brew. "Thank you, Mr., ah..."

The man blinked a few times, and then a strangely familiar, lopsided smile came over his face. All at once Margot put the pieces together. She had been so out of it that the nickname he had called her by had gone in one ear and out the other, but as he gave a self deprecating chuckle it clicked in her head. The embarrassment of it all turned her face red to her ears.

"Fritz!?"

"That is indeed me."

Margot took another look. It had been so many years since she had seen her cousin, and despite the letters they exchanged she had been taken by surprise. The last she had seen him, she had been twelve and her cousin had been about sixteen, short for his age and still padded by baby fat. Now he had to be easily over six foot, slim and fit. The greying hair had not helped.

"Though, er, most everyone just uses my middle name these days. I have the captain to thank for thank," he added with a sheepish grin. "Ah, and speaking of the captain, as much as I'd love to catch up, he's expecting us. If you'll just follow me, and do feel free to bring the coffee with you."

Margot nodded appreciatively, although her face still burned. While Fritz--Lucian, she made a mental correction--did not seem terribly bothered, it had to be an incredible oversight to not even recognize one's own family, no matter how long it had been. His transformation was quite something. She wondered at the late bloomer.

As they walked down the narrow hall with its creaking floorboards, Margot glanced about at the sparse furnishings. There were a number of branching hallways off of the main one; obviously the spacious interior of the church had been converted into some ramshackle interior. They passed outdated portraits of the late Emperor Friedrich III, as well as of the imperial twins Rudolf and Claudia--albeit as toddlers. Other than that, the hallway was quite bare. Even the carpet was faded and well-worn, mimicking the look of decrepit grandeur that hung over the ancient church. However, she did not have long to dwell over what she saw, and her attention was drawn back to Lucian as he spoke up.

"I'm really quite sorry about the delay. The captain had some, er, sudden visitors he had to attend to."

"Oh, it was no bother at all," Margot lied. "The trains were delayed this morning, so I arrived a bit late anyway. Honestly peaking, I was worried that perhaps I'd missed my chance and he'd decided not to see me."

"Ah yes, the good old city rail, eh? You'd think that after all of the money that's been put into renovating it they would at least be able to run on time." Lucian sighed, obviously another victim of the horrors of public transportation. "Well do I remember those thankless morning commutes!"

Margot nodded in agreement. A question that she had pondered when first her cousin had sent her notice of this job popped into her head.

"So what exactly do they have you doing here? You weren't very clear in the letters. I get that this is some kind of specialized police force, but..."

"Well, I am supposed to be a lieutenant, however the captain seems to think that means 'secretary'. We've been trying to fill the position, but every new hire seems to leave after no time at all. Not that I blame them..." Lucian caught himself, putting a hand over his mouth. "Ah, please disregard what I just said. Just a silly joke."

He coughed slightly and continued.

"As for what we do, well, it's not something I can exactly discuss with you just yet. I'll let the captain explain, as we've arrived."

They had stopped in front of a pair of ornate wooden doors framed on either side by tapestries of the von Rosenbaum family crest and the Arthasian flag. As Lucian knocked thrice upon the carved mahogany, a wave of anxiety pricked at the back of Margot's head. She took a deep breath as Lucian opened the doors, giving herself one last pat down and hoping that she did not look too haggard.

She couldn't help but gasp as she stepped in.

The room was, to put it gently, a wreck. Papers littered the floor and were piled up among hazardous towers of books and folders. Margot was so mesmerized by the utter chaos that it took her a second to notice the man seated behind the desk in the center of the room. He was framed on either side by more haphazard constructions of books and paper, and his appearance reflected the disorder that plagued the office. His black hair was a mess of tangles and loose strands, and it looked as though it had not seen a comb in months. He had his head bent over a sheaf of paper and one finger tapped out a staccato rhythm against the cover of a thick tome beside him.

It was Lucian's voice that broke through Margot's baffled yet rapt concentration.

"Sir, your appointment is here," he said with a salute. Margot waited next to him in silence, but the captain showed no sign that he had heard, instead jotting something down as he ran his other hand through the rat's nest disguised as hair. Lucian cleared his throat and repeated himself, albeit, Margot noticed, considerably louder and with a slight edge.

"Your interview, sir?"

Captain Eirwel's eyes flashed up and fixed first Lucian, then Margot, with an icy stare. Margot couldn't help but notice, even in the dim light, just how intensely blue those eyes were. His mouth curled downward, and he waved his hand.

"Yes, yes of course," he said with something of a huff. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Sir."

Lucian saluted and stepped back, closing the doors behind him. Margot was left in this stuffy warzone with the man who was supposed to be the captain of this police force. She marveled at just how little Captain Eirwel fit the idea she had had in her head. Her cousin had mentioned that his childhood friend turned captain did not quite fit into the noble society around him, his letters had obviously diminished the extremity of Eirwel's image. There had been a time many years ago that her parents had gone to Brynwal when a young Kain Eirwel had had a particularly bad fever and a snowstorm had trapped them there. She wracked her brain, trying to remember what he had been like at the time, but it had been so long ago that she could not picture it. She was certain, however, that he had grown into quite the unique adult. As he was the bastard child of the previous emperor, an honor student of Lindenburg, and the captain of a specialized police force, she had imagined someone with regal bearing and an intimidating air. However, the only thing intimidating her just then was how someone could manage to make such a complete mess of a room. Indeed, it must take a spectacular talent, she concluded.

As she was taking in the scene around her, the captain narrowed his eyes and gestured to a chair near the desk. It was, like every other surface in the room, stacked with so many books and boxes that Margot wondered at the ability this man had for keeping them from toppling over.

"You can just set those wherever," Eirwel said with a dry voice, not budging from his own seat. Suppressing a sigh, Margot carefully removed the clutter and set it aside; the floor was almost completely hidden, so she settled for simply adding the objects to other towers. After a minute of rearranging, she brought the chair forward and sat. She was about to speak, but Eirwel had disappeared behind the mountains of papers on his desk. Margot waited awkwardly until he straightened back up, a torn and crumpled sheet in his hand.

"Quite the impressive resume you have here. It says you graduated the Royal Medical School with honors, and a year early on top of that," Eirwel said in a disinterested voice. "All of your references check out, and your experience is laudable for someone so young."

When she had realized that what he held in his hand was her letter of introduction, Margot had been unable to stop herself from flinching. She supposed she should count herself lucky that the captain had it at all, but never had she seen someone so totally disregard basic etiquette. As well, despite his apparent praise, Eirwel's voice seemed bored and condescending. He was only a few years older than her, yet it was as though he were speaking to a child. Margot grit her teeth and bit back the many things on the tip of her tongue. Eirwel did not seem to notice her tension and continued.

"Well, it's good enough for me. When can you start?"

His comment caught Margot completely off guard. She had been practicing possible interview questions and responses for the last few weeks with her cat, Pisica, and even had her friend Rufus help her prepare. For her references she had even gone out of her way to visit them personally to receive documentation of her work experience, going so far as Bridgetown at the outskirts of Mercia. She sat speechless; she knew she should be overjoyed, yet she felt like the rug had been swept out from under her feet. Eirwel leaned his cheek against one hand and looked at her expectantly.

"Your answer?"

"Sir, I am flattered, but... is there nothing you wish to ask of me? Or check, or..." Margot fumbled for words.

"To be completely honest, I don't really care. Everything here looks fine, so why not?" Eirwel said, slapping at the ratty missive. "So are you going to accept the job, or have you come here just to waste my time?"

Despite his scathing and hypocritical comment, Margot could not work up the energy to get mad. Well, it pays well, and it's quite the position, she thought in resignation. She nodded curtly.

"My apologies sir. I would be honored to accept. I can begin immediately."

The captain leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"Welcome to the Strigoi, Miss Merryweather."

After everything that had happened, Margot did not even have the energy to correct the captain on her name.

Captain Eirwel had taken Margot's offer of immediate work quite literally. He sent her out to fetch him some documents from the storeroom, where she met a tall, spindly woman named Cosmina Belu. From the few things Lucian had told her about the Strigoi, she knew that their ranks were a bit unusual in comparison to the City Watch. Indeed, she had seen a number of women around, and more than a few people of different nationalities and backgrounds. Belu was evidently the manager of the archives, and her image fit exactly what one might expect of someone in that position. She had horn rimmed glasses and her black hair was pulled tight in a bun. Her outfit was black as well and cut much like the robes of a librarian. She gave off every impression of severity, however when she spoke her voice was surprisingly warm and friendly.

Unlike the captain's room, the archives were notably clean and well organized. Catching Margot's surprise, Belu smirked.

"We make it a rule to ban the captain from so much as setting foot in here. I'm sure you can see why."

Although Margot could agree wholeheartedly with that decision, she was a bit shocked at the casual comment berating Eirwel. As her surname suggested, Belu was of a common background, and to hear her openly chide a noble--even a noble such as Captain Eirwel--was something Margot did not expect.

Margot left the storeroom with the materials requested and returned to the captain's office, where Eirwel just shuffled her off once more, this time to deliver the folders to a certain Corporal Tahoma Niyaani. With Lucian's help, she found him in the large, open room full of desks where most of the force were.

Corporal Niyaani was a large, muscular man with short cropped hair and a large tattoo down one side of his face. His brow was furrowed and his dark brown eyes focused intensely on a set of blueprints before him. However, despite his imposing appearance, when Margot cleared her throat and presented the materials Eirwel had sent with her, Niyaani's face broke into a friendly smile.

"Just what I am waiting for," he said with a heavy SaaLyni accent. "You are the new one? I am Corporal Niyaani, the masochist."

Margot stared at him, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

"It's machinist, Niyaani. How many times do I have to tell you," a man at the desk across from Niyaani said with a wide grin. Niyaani's eyebrows knit together.

"This is what I said, Maddox."

The other man, a tan and wiry man with curly black hair, just gave an exaggerated sigh and dramatic shrug.

"Please do forgive our good man. He's only been in the Empire for five damn years now."

Niyaani frowned and waved Maddox away.

"It is not being five years here, only one, before I am in Lidia. You are knowing this, Maddox."

Maddox stood up and slapped Niyaani on the back. They seemed to be good friends, despite the verbal sparring.

"It's good to meet ya," Maddox said as he turned to Margot. "I'm Corporal Parsifal Maddox, and this big lug, despite his appearance, is our very talented machinist and tinkerer. You wouldn't think it to look at those bear paws he calls hands, but he's got the dexterity of a fox."

"Pleased to meet you as well," Margot said, accepting Maddox's outstretched hand. "I'm Margot Mayweather."

"The captain sure is a slave driver, huh? I'd heard there was a new interview for secretary today, but to think he'd have you running hither thither already."

"Ah, no, I think you're mistaken. I'm here as a division medic," Margot corrected him with a gentle smile, but something about his comment sent a needle of doubt through her head. Maddox and Niyaani looked at each other, then to Margot, and that needle became a sharp blade.

"No, really, the captain was just saying that our new hire was the secretary. He even let Gartner do his actual damn job."

The smile on Margot's face stiffened, and a vein stood out at her neck as she clenched her jaw hard.

"If you will please excuse me."

She left the two bewildered men and walked with brisk purpose back out into the hallway. As she increased her pace she nearly bowled over Lucian as he passed her, but she did not so much as slow down. Reaching the large doors to the captain's office, she slammed them open without warning and stormed up to his desk. Before Eirwel could utter a single complaint, Margot slammed her hands as hard as she could against the mahogany, sending a small hurricane of papers flying. The captain opened his mouth with a scowl but Margot cut him off.

"Your fucking secretary? Are you kidding me? What in the nine hells is this? I waited for over two hours this morning, I spent weeks gathering references, I have bent over backwards for this damned job, and you have me as a secretary?" she shouted, unable to stop herself. "Is this some kind of joke? Is this your idea of humor? Because let me tell you, it is in very fucking poor taste. Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to get here? And you're just treating me as some errand girl?"

Her loud voice had brought Lucian into the room, his face concerned. As Margot took a deep breath to continue, however, Lucian placed a hand on her shoulder.

"May, please, what is--"

"Don't you dare talk to me like some kind of child!" she snapped at him, swiping his hand away. "I may be a woman, but I am not here to just run around playing secretary."

When she saw Lucian's confusion, she finally relented. Her cousin suddenly shot a look at Captain Eirwel, and his face turned stern.

"Captain, is what she's saying true?" he said in a low voice. "Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, but this is just cruel, deceiving someone this way..."

Margot was surprised by the disappointment in Lucian's voice. She turned her gaze toward the captain. Once again he had a bored look on his face, and she felt the rage bubbling up again when he finally spoke.

"Just what exactly is the issue here?"

That was the last straw.

"I answered a call for a doctor, sir, not a secretary. As you yourself said, I graduated with honors, I have field work, I have worked through blood, sweat, and fucking tears to get to where I am today, and you expect me to accept a job with the salary of a simple clerk?"

"Well, yes, a simple clerk wouldn't receive the same pay of a skilled worker. That stands to reason. But why does that bother you? You're to be paid half again as much."

"Why does that bother me?" Margot's voice lowered but the poison in it grew only more toxic. "Great, so I can get paid what is still a fraction of what I'd get just working at a bloody medical outpost? Oh, how very gracious of you. But I am a doctor, and I plan to work as such."

Captain Eirwel's eyes clouded over, and he furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean? Of course you're working as such. When did I ever say you weren't?"

Both Lucian and Margot stared at the captain, mouths open. When the silence stretched on, Eirwel ran one hand through his unruly hair and leaned back.

"Then what was all this about a secretary?" Margot finally managed.

"Well, it's not as though you're going to be setting bones or stitching wounds or whatever all the time. Wouldn't you rather get some extra pay to assist with clerical duties in the downtime?" Eirwel's voice was exasperated. "You'll get half again what your salary would be otherwise. It's a considerable amount just for some light clerical work. I'd say that's a pretty damn good deal."

The wind went out of Margot's sails with such rapidity that she felt herself deflate. This man who sat before her was, quite possibly, one of the most frustrating people she had ever met, or indeed ever would meet. There were a number of choice words that came to mind, but all of today's mental gymnastics left her drained and finished. She was sure that she had managed now to lose the job she had started that very day, yet she felt no remorse over her actions. This all could have been avoided had this dense man just spoken directly. Ah, four hours. That must be a world record for getting let go from a job, she thought bitterly.

"If that'll be all," Captain Eirwel said, returning to his papers. "Then you may return to work."

Margot's head snapped up. Just when she thought this day could get no more convoluted, another twist had been tacked on. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and this time did not smack it away. Lucian gave her a smile that spoke of heartfelt apology and led her back out.

"Ah... I'm really sorry about him. He's, uhm, how should I put it." Lucian stared at the ceiling as he searched for the proper words. "Well, let's just say that our captain may be very capable at his job, but when it comes to speaking to people he sometimes doesn't quite get his point across."

"You don't say," Margot replied wearily. She had no more energy to spare for Captain Eirwel.

"Head on home for today, May," Lucian suggested kindly. "I promise you he really isn't always quite so difficult."

Something in Lucian's voice made Margot suspect that he was not being entirely truthful, but she decided to take him up on his suggestion and head home. She needed to give some serious thought to what she had just gotten involved in.

And Pisica was probably hungry, anyway.

After seeing May off, Lucian turned and headed back to the captain's office. He knocked and entered without waiting for a response, careful to shut the door completely behind him. Behind the desk, Kain Eirwel shrunk back ever so slightly, glowering warily at his lieutenant.

"Look, it's not my fault that she didn't--"

"Don't even try to excuse yourself here, Kain," Lucian said. "You can't take out your anger from this morning on everyone around you. I understand that the Minister's hound threw you off today, but we desperately need trained medical staff. After what happened last week... Petrescu would still be alive if you hadn't put this off. And now you want to drive away the one doctor willing to work here despite the reputation we have? She may be my cousin, but I will not force her to stay if she decides she's had enough of your childishness."

It was rare indeed for Lucian to speak so harshly toward the captain. They had known each other since childhood, but it still took Kain off guard when his mild friend lost his temper, and the mention of poor Officer Petrescu sent a sharp twist of shame through Kain's chest. The boy, barely even twenty, had joined only weeks earlier, but he had been stabbed while out on patrol, and in the time it took them to locate him and then find a clinic with any staff around at that late hour he had died of his injuries. The nature of their jobs meant late nights, and it had become obvious that they needed proper medical staff on call. Due to the negative reputation of the Strigoi, though, they had had a difficult time finding anyone. Even one person was better than none, and someone with the qualifications that Margot had was rare to come by.

Kain looked away, his face flushed as he realized that he had indeed crossed a line. However, his pride did not let him simply apologize and move forward.

"Well, you were the one complaining about being treated like a secretary," Kain said peevishly. "It was giving me a headache. In fact, you should be thanking me for being so resourceful!"

The deadpan stare Lucian directed at Kain shut him up. He sighed heavily and threw up his arms.

"Fine. Fine. I promise to apologize to her tomorrow."

"For your own sake, I pray that you do."

#aelmidean #kain #margot #lucian #strigoi #kain u fuckn idiot trashfire bad man #writing #wip #SUPER ROUGH LOL #i never write

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