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achitka · 1 year

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Doors (Chapter 38) Súper Casa Arcoíris

Well, look at that, I managed to get everyone back to Casita. And they say miracles don't happen. Anyway, there will be some POV hopping in this chapter so heads up for that. You may or may not have noticed the end of the last chapter disappeared. It was unavoidable as it was an incomplete thought. A weirdly better question would be, what does Antonio actually know…he was talking to the forest rats - they tell the best stories.

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Súper Casa Arcoíris

When Agustín first noticed all the butterflies flitting around the tree, he felt unusually worried about Mirabel. While he knew his youngest was safe in Casita, he kept thinking, was she? Mirabel had been very put out that she would not be joining her sisters when they went out to fetch the women and kids. He understood her frustration, she believed she’d been left out again because she didn’t have a Gift. That may have been a part of it, but Santiago was the worst sort of human, and Mirabel was his baby girl. She was already being tasked with so many things that he did not want her exposed to this... Agustín marveled at how little pity he or any of them had for this wretched soul. He truly did not feel anything when Santiago screamed as Parce continued to lick his face.

He looked away and again noticed the butterflies, there were even more of them, and they were everywhere, settling on everyone and everything except Santiago. The smuggler, he noted, was no longer struggling or making any noise. Parce was still atop the man, with his head resting on his front paws and Camilo shifted back to himself and said, probably to Dolores, “Don’t know. Heart attack, maybe?”

Dolores conveyed what she knew, saying she wasn’t sure but thought Santiago might be dead since his light no longer appeared on the map. The man hadn’t stirred at all as they all moved closer. Parce also had not moved from his chosen position until Félix asked the jaguar to move aside. Parce did, and several yellow butterflies took flight when the jaguar got up. Félix checked for either breathing or a heartbeat. Having found neither, he got up and said, “He’s dead all right, too bad…”

“Too bad we didn’t bring a shovel,” Juan Pedro said with a grunt.

Camilo started when a butterfly landed gently on his nose, and he asked, “Where did all these butterflies come from?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” Agustín's father said as he knelt down and began checking Santiago’s pockets. “Mira’s still in Casita?”

“Yes, she was going to be helping Mamá and Esteffi with the children.”

“Ooof, this one smells terrible,” his father said. He came up with a knife, several coins, a rolled up wad of money and a notebook. He handed the items off to Agustín and searched the other side. He came up with a few more coins, various bits of mismatched jewelry and a thin gold chain.

Curious, Agustín flipped through the small book, and what he saw made him feel ill. The book was filled with names. Each had two dates attached and what appeared to be a city or village listed below it. Agustín was sure these were other children like Tuli because the last entry was her name. Almost ironic that the date was October seventeenth. He supposed it was good that the smuggler was dead, since the urge to throttle the man was almost overwhelming.

“So, do we bother burying him or just let the mountain have him?” Juan Pedro asked.

“My vote is, let the mountain have him,” Camilo said and added, “I don’t want to touch that.”

“We could just pile rocks on top of him,” Félix offered.

“Sounds like work,” Joseph said, “But I suppose we should.”

Parce chuffed and got up. The jaguar moved further away from the body, which weirdly still had not attracted a single butterfly. There was a rustle in the brush behind them, and everyone backed away from the dead man. A nine-meter butterfly covered anaconda moved into the clearing, and Camilo said, “Guess we don’t need to worry about a shovel.”

As the group headed back to the clearing, Agustín tried to count the butterflies that stayed with them as they moved through the forest. He eventually gave up as they passed through a thick fog, but he guessed at least a few hundred. Parce walked slowly in front of the group and would occasionally look back to make sure they were all still following him.

They reached the clearing where access to Casita was, and the butterflies that had remained with them flew onto the path and around the opening to the tower. Almost like they were holding the door open for them. Parce entered first and quickly disappeared. The men followed, and Agustín noticed that everyone had a number of butterflies still attached to them. Parce gave himself a shake, sending dozens of butterflies into the air, before heading down the stairs.

Children’s screams and a dog barking made everyone hurry to the spiral staircase. Camilo got there first and all but flew down the steps. Probably making sure Parce had not stopped, but that he had left the tower. The children quieted, but the dog still barked until the woman he assumed was Doris made the dog stop. As the rest of them came into the room, Esteffi and Pepa greeted their husbands and introduced them to the women. Pepa asked that Camilo stay for a few moments while she talked to his father. It was clear he wanted to be elsewhere, but he nodded and introduced himself to the kids.

As Félix gave them an extremely shortened and edited version of what had happened, several butterflies took flight and vanished. Agustín was now very sure that Mirabel was somehow responsible for them. His father waved him off, and Agustín slipped out of the tower and headed to Mirabel’s room. The door was open, and he saw that Julieta, Luisa, Bruno, Alma and his mother, sitting in front of and next to an unmoving Mirabel.

Bruno noticed him and met him at the door. He indicated they should step just outside, and Agustín did.

“Please tell me you know what’s happening Bruno.”

“I don’t, but…” Bruno added when Agustín growled, “I don’t think she’s in danger of staying that way. Remember when you told me Mira was dealing with something new, but you weren’t sure what that something was. I’ll be honest, with everything that’s been going on, I think we were asking the wrong question.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t new. She’s been dealing with this since the breaking.”

“Do you mean Casita?” Agustín asked.

Bruno nodded.

“Ay, I see it now. Juli said Mirabel seemed unnaturally happy while we were rebuilding. For the first few months, after we moved in with my parents, Mira would sleepwalk and turn up in my mother’s room very late at night. I don't know how we’re going to get her to talk about it though. She avoids that topic in the same way she used to pretend not having a Gift didn’t bother her.”

“Madrigal stubbornness is legendary, but I think it’s Luisa you need to talk to. Dolores and I both tried to talk to her, but she’s still in there thinking that she’s been a horrible older sister.”

Agustín sighed and nodded. “Alright, I’ll let Julieta handle Mirabel, and I’ll talk to Luisa,” Agustín turned to go, but then asked, “Do you know if Isa is in her room.”

“She’s in Antonio’s room with Bubo. Dolores asked her to keep Toni there until Mirabel wakes up.”

“Wait, isn’t that the man she was talking to earlier?”

“Yes,” Bruno said.

Agustín looked toward Antonio’s door and reminded himself that Isabela was an adult, and though she’d never given him a reason to be concerned. She’d also never shown any actual interest in any particular person. Nope, he thought, not gonna do this to myself right now and to Bruno he said, “Why do you always have to tell me things like this and wander off?”

“Relax, Tuli and Antonio are there to chaperone,” Bruno said with a chuckle, “Anyway, I’m headed back over there now. They do make an interesting pair if nothing else. I wonder what their kids would look like.”

“Just stop talking, Bruno.”

“It’s your own fault, you married my sister. See you later, hermano.” Bruno said and headed off to Antonio’s room.

Agustín took a few deep breaths. Once he was sure he was calm, he walked into Mira’s room and smiled as reassuringly as he could to his wife.

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Valentina Rojas and Esteffi Martínez were sorting through several sets of children’s clothing, chatting about their respective grandchildren. Esteffi was brimming with excitement, as her oldest daughter’s daughter was going to make her a bisabuela in less than a month. Dolores was getting married, Camilo was training to be a teacher, so much was happening. Previously there had never been a time that they were embraced so completely, and it was a welcome change. Neither had liked the limitations Alma had imposed previously. To have them living with them in their own houses as Casita was being rebuilt was something both sets of Abuelos appreciated. It gave them something they’d always wanted. A chance for their nietos to get to know them.

Valentina was a bit sad that Luisa would be going off to school, but she appreciated that Julieta was very determined that her daughters be given the chance to do what she never could. Alma had mentioned that she had asked Isabela to go with Luisa to Bogotá when they figured out how to get them there and how to pay for it. There was never a lot of money in the Encanto, since they had all fled their homes, so bringing what money they had was not the priority. An odd mixture of barter and money had been worked out so long ago that it had come as a bit of a shock to those who arrived after the breaking. The children who had grown up here were not as interested in the coins and would often times not accept ‘just money’ for goods or services.

Out of curiosity, earlier, when everyone was heading out, Valentina and Esteffi went up to the 2nd floor of the tower. Most of the doors up there were unfamiliar to them, but there was one that stood out for Valentina. The door that caught her attention was bright yellow with a small hinged and grated window cut into it with a moderately ornate latched handle.

“Esteffi?” Valentina called.

“Yes, Val,” she answered.

“Look at this door,” Valentina said, pointing at it. Esteffi had been wandering toward the darkness at the end of the dirt path. She came back, and both women looked carefully at the door. “Does this remind you of anything?” Valentina asked.

“Yes, it does… can’t think of what though,” Esteffi said as she turned back toward the pathway and asked, “How do you think it’s going out there?”

“I am trying not to think about that, Esteffi,” Valentina replied.

“Oh, come on now, Agustín hasn’t had anything major happen since the breaking.”

“True enough, but he was ever a worrisome child.”

“Valentina, he hasn’t been a child since 1921.”

“I know that, but they are on the mountain, chasing after someone terrible.”

“I’m sure it will all work out, Valentina, let’s get back downstairs. The more we think about that, the more we’ll worry, and we have work to do. We need to have the clothes ready.” Valentina nodded and they went back down the stairs. They folded and stacked, continuing their discourse about the kids until Esteffi cried, “I remember now!”

“What?” Valentina asked.

“That door you asked me about,” Esteffi said, coming around the table to her.

“Oh, so what do you remember?”

“It is just like the door to the Café Candelária in La Macarena.”

Valentina paused in her work and asked, “Dios Mio, I think you’re right. They always had the best buñuelos. But I wonder why that would be there?”

Esteffi shrugged and said, “Nothing about this house surprises me anymore.”

A commotion on the floor above them made both turn to look at the stairs. The first to come down was Luisa. She had three or four butterflies resting in her hair. She was looking for someone and asked, “Abuela, where’s Mira? I thought she would be with you. But she’s not here and Mamá asked Casita, but Casita's not answering and Abuela’s door wasn’t opening. All those butterflies…”

Valentina left her pile of clothing and stood in front of Luisa and took her hands and said, “Luisa, mi vida, look at me.” Luisa did, and Valentina said, “Tell me again what happened.”

Luisa did and as she finished Valentina looked again at the butterflies still on her. While she was talking, one by one, they took off and dissolved into nothing but colorful light.

“Luisa, go to your sister’s room and check on her. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Luisa nodded and left the tower as more people started coming down the stairs.

First was Pepa, who had a bit of her fog still clinging to her. She was greeted by Esteffi in her usual way, and the fog dissipated. She was followed by a taller woman Valentina assumed was Doris. Children’s giggles could be heard as butterflies flew off them and dissolved into colorful nothingness. After the children was another woman, probably Inez, she was holding the lead of a medium-sized dog. They did not appear frightened, but butterflies were drifting off them and the children jumped at them as they tried to catch them. They did remain together and as a group went closer to the table with the clothes. Then came Alma, Julieta and Isabela. Pepa was directing Doris and Inez to have the children sit and have something to eat from the basket Doris was still holding.

The butterflies continued to take flight and dissolve as they did. Alma and Julieta were watching this with concern when they came over to where she was and Julieta asked, “Where’s Mira? I thought she was going to be here with you.”

Isabela did not stop, but left the tower without a word to anyone.

“She remained with Tuli and Dolores in her room,” Valentina said, “Is something wrong? Luisa mentioned that Casita is not responding to you?”

Julieta and Alma exchanged worried looks as Esteffi came over then and said, “Go, me and Pepi can handle this.” Pepa nodded from near where the children were sitting. Her cloud was now somewhat dark, reflecting her worry, but there was no rain. “We’ll let the men know what’s happening when they get back.”

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Isabela jumped the last four stairs and came around the corner and skidded to a stop in front of Bubo, Tuli and Antonio. They just stared as several butterflies were dislodged from her hair and dissolved into colorful light.

Bubo was watching the butterflies with great interest and Antonio asked, “Isabela, Tío’s rats said we should go to Mirabel’s room. Is she okay?”

(… Isa, can you keep Antonio out of Mira’s room for a little bit? I’ll explain what’s happening shortly …)

Isabela did not want to scare her primo and said using all the voice control she’d taught herself while playing Señorita Perfecta, “Actually, Toni, Abuela wanted me to come and wait with you in your room. There are a lot of people in Mirabel’s room right now, and you know how dramatic Tío’s rats can be. Your sister will let us know if we should come sooner.”

Antonio frowned then said, “We should go check.” Fura, who was sitting on Tuli’s shoulder, squeaked very loudly and Antonio turned his frown at her.

“See, I told you,” Tuli said. “You worry too much.”

Antonio sighed, “Fine, I guess she’s okay if you’re coming with us.”

The kids turned around and had their heads together as they discussed what they would do when Parce came back. Isabela moved closer to Bubo, and he looked from the kids back to her as if to say, did she really say that?

Issa shook her head and looked over at Mirabel’s door. She wanted to go there, and her irritation at not being able to was now at war with her Gift. A vine sleeve grew and rapidly covered her left arm, and almost immediately sprouted thorns. Bubo was thankfully on the wrong side of her to see that. Isa put her sleeved arm behind her as Bubo lightly touched her other arm, drawing her attention to him.

There was genuine concern in his voice as he said, “Mirabel’s going to be all right, Isabela. I’m sure of it. She’s a remarkably resilient person.”

Isabela was startled when the thorns pulled back and the vine sleeve dissolved. She looked at Bubo and nodded as Señorita Perfecta fled her mind. She really did like his accent and something in his voice calmed her fear, just enough, that Isabela did not, as she would have in the past, even try to hide her worry as they headed for Antonio’s room.

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Julieta had her hands over her mouth to not just cover her frown, but also to keep herself from swearing in front of this many kids. Once again, the Encanto and Casita were overtaking her children’s lives. She needed to go and see Mira. Needed to find out what price the magic was extracting from her daughter, and her mother, seeing her distress, seemed to understand. She touched Julieta’s arm and said, “Valentina and I will catch up.”

Julieta dropped her hands and managed a grateful smile as she nodded and hurried down the stairs. Butterflies continued to fly off and dissolve as she ran to Mirabel’s room. She opened the door to find Dolores quietly speaking to Luisa, who was crying. They were sitting on Mira’s bed and Bruno was sitting on the floor in front of Mirabel with a look of concern that frightened her. He looked over to her when the door opened and Julieta asked, “Do you know what’s happening, Bruno?”

Bruno tilted his head, “Not for sure,” he said as he watched as the last of the butterflies let go of Julieta, fly up to the ceiling and vanish. “Look at the door, Juli.”

Julieta closed it and her eyes went wide as she took a step back. The smaller butterfly was now resting atop that smaller tree, wings outstretched, resting in place. The butterfly changed colors with each blink, and Bruno waved her over to him. She knelt next to him, and Bruno took her hand and rested it on Mirabel’s. Julieta was expecting her daughter to be cold, but Mirabel was anything but that. She felt the warm tingle she knew was magic, and her fear was replaced by anger, and she wanted nothing more than to shake her daughter and wake her up.

Bruno noticed her turn and said, “I don’t think what’s happening is doing her any physical harm,” Bruno waved back at the door and added, “It’s more like, she’s somehow become a part of Casita and Casita a part of her.”

The original Casita had been a physical manifestation of the miracle that La Candela had embodied. Julieta felt a tear slip down her face, this had been her greatest fear in all of this, was her baby being taken from her? “If she doesn’t wake, I couldn’t take it Bruno. It would be too much.”

Bruno put an arm around Julieta and said, “I’m pretty sure this is gonna end.”

“Pretty sure?” Julieta knew that her brother never said things like that unless he’d seen something, and she looked at Bruno and asked, “Did you have a sponty about this?”

“Not about this, but other things, so I am at least fairly certain this is not permanent. Believe me, I thought the same thing when I first came in here. Had a horrible thought that she was being codified into this place,” Bruno said, then took a deep breath and continued, “But then I had another thought. Before this, I believed this Casita was Mamá’s Casita, just reborn. But then I remembered that first night. I noticed when I opened that door, the way the magic took my measure. It had to do that because the builder did not know much about me. I am very sure this Casita was born of the old, but this house really is something completely of Mirabel’s construction. That’s the real reason the front door looks the way it does. Mirabel’s Gift has always been the love she has for us.”

Julieta nodded, and though she felt calmer, she knew she would not be at ease until Mirabel woke up from whatever this was. Julieta saw the rosary in Mirabel’s hand, and she reached up and pushed Mirabel’s hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. Mirabel quirked a half smile but did not wake up or otherwise move. Dolores was back at the map speaking quietly to someone, and Julieta turned her attention to Luisa. She held out her hand and Luisa came and sat beside her. “What do you think, mija?”

“I think Mira was trying to help us with those butterflies, but maybe she doesn’t know she’s helping.”

“Did everyone have butterflies on them?” Bruno asked.

Luisa nodded and said, “It made me wonder if Papá and the others have them as well.”

The door opened again, and her mother and Valentina came and stood behind her and Bruno, as they looked at Mirabel. Her mother’s face was particularly reminiscent of a time when she’d been struggling with how much she was requiring of them. Something between resignation and fear.

“How is she?” her mother asked, and Julieta replied, “Physically, she’s perfect. Bruno doesn’t think this will last much longer.” Julieta did not include their speculations on Mirabel’s door or the fact that this was not the same Casita. But perhaps she already knew that, since her mother only nodded.

“Bruno?”

Julieta noticed Bruno had replaced his concerned expression for a hopeful one as he said, “I was more worried earlier, but I get the feeling she’s in there trying to work something out.”

Her mother nodded again and asked, “May we sit with her, Julieta?”

Julieta was again astounded that her mother even asked that and that she’d included Valentina… and really, it couldn’t hurt, so Julieta just nodded. A short time later, Bruno noticed her husband at the door, and he did not look overly pleased at what was happening. Though he was a bit disheveled, he did not appear to be injured. Bruno went over to speak to him in the hallway, and she returned her attention to Mirabel.

Agustín was there again. He smiled reassuringly and moved with Luisa back over to the bed. Luisa was whispering what she thought was happening and Agustín listened as she included why she thought Mirabel was so stressed out. Camilo turned up next, he was leaning against the door frame with a frown on his face. Next minute he was gone, and she made a mental note to talk to Pepa and Félix.

Julieta was worried now that this was just taking too long.

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Isabela was standing on one of the swings in Antonio’s room while Bubo was off inspecting something Tuli said was very important. It had been a long time since she’d let herself really enjoy a good swing. After setting the swing in motion, she decided now was a good time to bug Dolores.

“Hey Doli, you promised to tell me what the hell is going on.”

There was a short delay, and then Dolores began to give her the details of what Tío Bruno said about Casita being wholly of Mira’s construction. That she agreed with that, and how Mira was somehow a part of the house and vice versa. She went quiet for a time, and then told her that Luisa was blaming herself for some reason. That her abuelas were there now and that she would tell her when Mirabel ‘woke up’, so Antonio could come.

Isabela had stopped the swing and was sitting down on it. She sighed, she wished she could leave and go to her sister’s room. Since she couldn’t do that, she decided she would listen to the sounds some of the plants were making. When she was younger, she would hum to the flowers she grew. Abuela didn’t appreciate the songs because they were not perfect sounding, so she only did it in her head when in town. It was easier to make the flowers, and they always looked prettier, she thought.

Antonio’s room was a wonder to her. It had so many plants she barely knew anything about, so even though this was something she usually only did in her room, she closed her eyes and hummed along with them. She could almost feel the leaves of the nearest plants getting just a little greener and the fruits, just a little plumper. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Bubo ask, “Are you doing that, Isabela?”

“Gah!” Isa shouted as she opened her eyes, only to realized she’d wrapped Bubo up in several layers of vines, and he was hanging upside down in front of her. While she was mortified by what she’d done, she was trying and somewhat failing to hide her smile.

Bubo, who was gently swaying, said, “So, that’s a yes?”

Isabela let out a nervous laugh and said quickly, “I’m so sorry, Bubo… wasn’t expecting…” she knew she was blushing as she righted him and made the vines disappear, “You startled me,” she continued and bent down to pick up his glasses that had fallen off when she flipped him upside down. “Sorry,” she said again as she tentatively handed them to him.

He took his glasses and Bubo blinked as he put them back on, then said, “Oh no, my fault, I should have made sure you knew I was here before speaking. I’m new to the magic thing and should have realized you were very focused on what you were doing.” He walked over then and sat on the swing. “Now, I am wondering, can you do that with any plant?”

Isabela was taken aback since she was expecting a more fearful reaction. Bubo just seemed curious. Isa smiled. No one except Mirabel had ever expressed an interest or any curiosity about how she made use of her Gift. As long as the flowers were perfect, no one cared.

“I think? I mean, I know it works with flowers really well,” Isa said as she sat next to him on the other swing, letting it glide. “Still working out how I can use it for other things.”

He nodded and said, “Fascinating effect, and it doesn’t seem to wear off once you stop humming.”

Isabela looked at the nearest plants and realized he was right and asked, “So, what did Tuli want you to see?”

“Oh, there’s a colony of bombus pauloensis up there. Probably bombus atratus. I didn’t really get a good look at them.”

It was like he was speaking another language and Isabela had to ask, “A bombus what?”

“Sorry, a neotropical bumblebee,” Bubo said.

“Oh, I thought bumblebees only nested underground.”

“That’s true, but this type will live above ground in trees, though that is rare. Apparently, Antonio wanted to know if he spoke to the queen, if they would leave… your father is Tío Agustín?” Isa nodded, “Right, anyway, he wanted to ask them to leave your father alone. I had to tell him it probably wouldn’t work out the way he thought. Only the queens can live more than a year, and that most workers will only live about a month in this climate.”

Isabela heard the leaves above them rustle unnaturally and said, “Hold on, Bubo.” She sighed and waved a hand toward the door. Voices cried out and shortly thereafter, Antonio and Tuli were in front of her looking none too happy.

“Really, Toni?”

Antonio looked at his prima and said, “You need to let me go see Mirabel.”

“As soon as Dolores says we can come, we’ll go.”

Everyone looked up when Tío Bruno said, “Wow, wish I had had this option when you were little, Isa.”

Isa shrugged and the vines disappeared.

“Tío, will you take us?” Antonio asked hopefully.

“No, and for the same reasons your prima already told you.”

Parce arrived then and laid down. Antonio ran over to him, but Parce did not get up. The big cat already appeared to be asleep. “That’s not fair,” Antonio said as he sat next to Parce. He nudged the jaguar, but Parce only opened one eye, chuffed, then closed it again. Tuli joined him with Fura, who also appeared to be sleeping.

“Life isn’t always fair, Toni. If it were, you probably wouldn’t have your Gift,” Tío Bruno said as he sat on the floor. “One other thing, Toni, Parce will likely do whatever you ask, but you need to consider if you should be asking. He was asleep by the door when I came in.”

“Guess running up the mountain was a lot,” Antonio said as he gently patted the jaguar’s head, “I’m sorry Parce, I didn’t think that through. I’ll do better next time.” Parce did not do more than swish his tail and Antonio hugged the jaguar and said to Tuli, “Guess we’re staying here till Isa says we can go. Come on Tuli, let's go see if we can catch any more fireflies.”

“Okay, Toni,” Tuli said as she too hugged the jaguar and whispered, “I’m sorry too, Parce, and thank you for helping me.” She then brought Fura over and gave her to Tío Bruno. He accepted the rat and put her in his shirt pocket.

The kids ran off and Isa said, “Thanks, Tío.”

“Not a problem,” her Tío said.

“Did Luisa tell you…” Isabela wasn’t sure how to ask this.

“That Santiago was dead?” Tío Bruno asked and nodded.

“He's dead? How?” Bubo asked.

“Yeah, seems he had a heart attack or something. Definitely dead though,” her Tío said.

Bubo had a sudden look of concern that made Isa ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to have to tell Tuli,” Bubo said and took off his glasses. He massaged his temples for a moment then put them back on and sighed.

“Why? I mean, does she really need to know that?”

“Yes, if only so that she understands that that part of her life is over, and she can move on. I can see she’s trying very hard to put on a brave face for all of us. Your sister was right to remind me that Tuli is terrified. You would never know it though; she’s always been a master at masking her emotions. She’s been doing it her whole life and I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now.” Bubo got off the swing, sighed again.

“You’re going to do that now?” Isa asked.

Bubo nodded and replied, “I’m learning it’s best not to put off such things, since the most I can do for her right now, is to help her feel safe again, at least I hope I can. Especially with our Tío’s expected arrival tomorrow. I am not looking forward to that at all.” He left then and headed up the path to where the kids were, and Isabela saw that she and Tuli had a lot more in common than she thought.

Isabela remembered that that was a part of what Casita was trying to tell her this morning. Mirabel’s anxiety never went away, she’d just gotten really good at hiding it. Now with the magic coming back and all sorts of things being thrown in her direction, Mirabel just wasn’t sure she was good enough. All of her nervous quirks were being amplified because now everyone was watching. Isabela knew what that was like. You end up being afraid to do anything. And for Mirabel, you could add in that she was afraid that if she did the wrong thing, Casita falling would happen all over again.

“Tío?” Isa said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Is Mira really going to be okay?”

“Are you asking me to look into the future?”

“No, I just… I just want to know what I can do to help her. Clearly I’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

Tío Bruno tilted his head and said, “You just need to remember one thing, Isa.”

“What’s that.”

“Isabee loves Humm.”

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Mirabel opened her eyes and looked around at all the trees. Even with the fog, she recognized this place. She used to come here when she’d had a particularly rough day with her Abuela. It was always so peaceful here. There was a small someone lying in the grass near the large oak. This was also something Mirabel remembered doing. It was a nice place to watch the clouds and forget about her lack of a Gift. Still, someone this small shouldn’t be out here alone, especially with Santiago prowling about, so Mirabel moved closer to them and asked, “Are you okay?”

The little one sat up and looked at her. Their features were somewhat indistinct and a bit translucent, and they said, “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you, Elegida.”

“Have you?” Mirabel asked and realized this was the voice she’d heard when she freaked out in her room a few days ago. She had been curious since then as to who that was. The little one’s voice was calm and soft, but pleasant to listen to. There was also a familiarity to them that was odd to her, and Mirabel said, “You called me Elegida, but my name is Mirabel.”

“Yes.” The little one nodded then laid back in the grass. That was not actually an answer, so Mirabel sat down beside them, and she looked up at the giant oak tree that was always a comfort to her. She laid back and stared up at the tree, tracing with her eyes the blackened scars of many a lightning strike. This tree, like her, had survived so much. It made her wonder if Isabela could heal some of that. She was glad her Abuela had never found out about this place when she was small. It would have been too horrible if her Abuela had made Luisa pull it down because of her.

“You are worried about this tree?” the little one asked.

Mirabel knew she had not spoken her thoughts but said, “Not so much worried about it, more I was wondering if my sister could use her Gift to strengthen those parts of it that were weakened by the damage it suffered.”

“The scars are quite old, and it appears the tree has healed itself and is doing well,” the little one said and sat up, “That seems an odd thing to worry about.”

“Does it?” Mirabel asked, “I don’t know, sometimes scars just hide the pain that’s underneath.” The little one looked up at it and then back at Mirabel, her expression was thoughtful and feeling a bit nervous, Mirabel said, “For me, it’s always been more than just a tree… It’s a wonderful friend. I really love all the things this tree has given me, and I’ve never given it anything in return.”

A breeze came down off the mountain, pushing away most of the fog. The oak tree’s leaves rustled above them, and Mirabel closed her eyes, remembering how that sound had always brought her relief. Casita had said the leaves were taking the sometimes hurtful words of others from her, scattering them into the forest, where they could do her no harm. As she got older, it didn’t completely make the pain go away, but it helped. Mirabel felt that familiar stab of guilt at not having been able to save her friend, and she frowned. When the wind ceased, Mirabel could smell dust and fought the urge to cough. She sighed at the ensuing silence, it was too much like when... Gotta stop thinking about that, she told herself for the millionth time. She sat up and looked at the little one and decided she needed a change of topic and asked, “So, what’s your name? I feel like I should know it…”

The little one reached out and Mirabel instinctively pulled them closer as she would any child. The smells of home filled her nostrils, replacing that painful dusty smell, and Mirabel hugged them tightly. A calming feeling of completeness settled over her, and Mirabel felt like she wanted to cry, but didn’t know why. She released the hug and noticed the little one’s appearance had changed to match her own when she was small, glasses and all. Mirabel stared at this little representation of herself and remembered then that she’d renamed Casita on her sixth birthday. A bold thing to do, but Casita had been very determined that she would not hate her own birthday. When she woke that day, Casita had made the walls of her room rainbow-colored for that day and for every birthday after that until Antonio moved in with her.

“You know it,” the little Mirabel said, “You gave it to my mother before I was created. She told me all about you while you built me. I am-”

“Súper Casa Arcoíris,” Mirabel finished for them.

Little Mirabel stood then, hands on her hips as she smiled and said, “Yes, my mother loved that name and said I should carry it proudly.”

Mirabel was very confused and asked, “Wait, then that means your mother was Casita? But I thought… and that means…” Her nervousness returned, and Mirabel closed her eyes in an attempt to clear her head. It didn’t work. Instead, she felt her hands clench as she pulled them into her chest. The sights and sounds of Casita dying filled her senses and she felt herself hunch inward as she whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

“Elegida,” Little Mirabel said, interrupting her.

Mirabel looked up but couldn’t focus on the little person in front of her as she said, “I couldn’t save her. I tried so hard, but I couldn't do it. I failed her. I keep thinking maybe there was something I didn’t do. Something I should have said,” Mirabel grabbed little Mirabel’s arms and said, “How are you not mad? Even now, I'm terrified that… I’m going to kill you too if I can’t do-”

“Mirabel,” Little Mirabel said a little louder, interrupting her a second time. Mirabel lowered her hands as the little one gently touched her face. She looked Mirabel in the eyes and said with a small frown, “You believe you are responsible for my mother’s passing, and are carrying a great weight because of it. Do you not feel the shadow it has cast upon your heart?” Little Mirabel stood and put small hands on Mirabel’s face and said, “You cannot heal if you will not let yourself see that you did not cause the death of my mother. I know that you loved her as well as any human member of our family because I could not be here otherwise. I am my mother's Gift to you, Elegida.”

Little Mirabel took her hand and Mirabel got up as little Mirabel guided her to the center of the clearing. With each step she aged, from little Mirabel to herself as she was now. It was weird seeing herself outside of herself. She never liked it when Camilo did that. Casita/Mirabel took her hands and asked, “You have forgiven many that have wronged you, Elegida. Cannot you allow yourself some of that Grace?”

Mirabel thought back to what her Abuela Valentina had said about her not allowing herself to grieve for Casita’s passing. Mirabel felt the tears she never let herself shed for her friend well up in her eyes. She thought at the time she needed to be strong and show how happy she was, so she could help her family pull itself back together. Always thinking she’d get to that painful part later. Always finding a reason to push it off. “I want to believe that I can,” Mirabel said, then added when the other tilted their head, “I do, but it’s so hard.”

Casita/Mirabel looked back at the tree and said, “Only you can free yourself from this burden, Elegida. You called me here for a reason. Perhaps I was wrong about the tree. It looks to be strong enough to help you release this guilt you carry in your heart. You just have to see it.”

Mirabel nodded and said as she too looked at the tree. She was going to need to come up here later and have a good look around. She also knew she was going to need to bring someone with her. She never shared this place with anyone beyond Casita the reasons she came here. "I think you're right, Casita. I'm gonna work on that once we get this other stuff out of the way. I'll be honest, I don’t know how this is happening, but I feel like you’re here to help our family, right?”

“Together, we will help our family,” Casita/Mirabel corrected and nodded.

“Definitely together,” Mirabel replied.

Casita/Mirabel smiled and hugged Mirabel fiercely as they whispered, “Thank you, Elegida, for making me possible. I will always cherish this moment.” Then Casita dissolved into a thousand colorful butterflies that immediately flew off. Mirabel watched, and the butterflies disappeared as a new fog sprung up. She wondered if that was her Tía’s doing.

Mirabel remembered then the oak tree that sheltered the smaller tree on her bedroom door. She wondered then as she looked at all the damage on the tree’s surface if her Abuela did know about this place. Otherwise, why would it have been represented on that door? Mirabel looked around, being alone like this was again making her feel that nervousness that always led to those flashbacks and needing to hug something, hugged the tree.

Mirabel started when she felt arms wrap around her, and heard her Abuela Valentina say in one ear, “Open your eyes, Mirabel," and her Abuela Alma say, "You've done enough, mi vida, come back to us.”

Mirabel blinked but felt infinitely calmer than she had just a short while ago. She took a deep breath and realized she must have nodded off. Everything was fuzzy, and she noticed her glasses were in her hand. She didn’t remember feeling tired. A sharp pain in her other hand made her release the Rosary she was holding as she flexed her fingers and her palm hurt. Mirabel let the Rosary fall into her lap as she put on her glasses, and she struggled for a moment to remember the dream that still lingered in her head. Was that a dream, she wondered.

Mirabel smiled as her mother came into focus. She was kneeling in front of her and asked, “Are you feeling all right Mirabel?” Mirabel nodded, but was now rubbing her palm where the Rosary had been pushed into it. Her mother took her hand and turned it over. The impression of the butterfly medallion was still there, and Mirabel stared at it. Bits of that dream that maybe wasn’t a dream flitted through her mind as her mother said, “You were quite deeply asleep, Corazón. Even worried your Tío Bruno, and that is not an easy thing to do.”

Mirabel looked around but did not see her Tío, but she did notice all the people standing in her room. “What happened?”

“Everything and nothing.” Abuela Alma said, "But mi vida, I think after tonight, we are going to take the day off and do something fun.”

There was a gentle shuffle of the tiles near the window and Mirabel smiled and thought, thank you, Súper Casa Arcoíris.

Next Chapter:

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taranchula · 7 months

Text

overwhelming urge to throttle all new critics and nowhere to put it. man alive

#not that i expect anyone at this institution to be meaningfully materialist but it really does drive me up the wall #sure the author's dead but that doesn't mean the characters are Alive. surrounded on all sides by profound unseriousness #i know im insufferableposting this is my only outlet for the awful commie daria that lives in my brain deepest pologies

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heyhoneyybunn · 2 years

Text

No Promises

Relationship: Mafia!Kuroo Tetsuro x f!Reader

Synopsis: In which you steal from the wrong guy.

Warnings: fluff, profanity, lil more suggestive than usual, mention of a weapon, reader has a child

Word count: 2.6k

The plan had been executed many times before, it was simple; wear your best dress, adopt a flirty attitude, find your prey and then finally make your move. He, however was a slight deviation from the plan. The devilishly handsome man who sat alone at the bar, dressed in a fancy shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow, his messy hair falling over his face immediately captured the attention of many around the room. Your fingers itched to pull the strands back and admire his full beauty.

You knew his type – rich, powerful, dangerous. You also knew that it was better to stay away from them, you didn’t have the luxury of becoming messed up in any criminal business ever since you had your son Katsu. You had been placed on the back-burner as you tried to make enough money for your darling son to have a normal life. So, you sat at the other end of the bar – as far from him as possible – one leg crossed over the other to expose more skin, a drink in hand as you observed the room subtly.

There was a younger man who looked to be in his late twenties with eyes bigger than his stomach, eyeing up the rest of the room even though he had a beautiful woman on his arm – he had potential.

Then there was the old man from across the room that kept sending you creepy smiles between sips of his fifth drink – definitely not your type.

Sighing quietly into your drink, you couldn’t afford another unsuccessful night – that much was known. There had to be a way to make it work.

“What’s making a pretty girl like you so upset?”

Oh, if only you knew. You looked up to the owner of the deep voice, eyes resting on the mysteriously attractive stranger from before. It was beginning to look like he was your only option. To make tonight a success you would have to befriend him and then make your move. Little did you know you were a little mouse trying to pull the wool over the eyes of a cat.

“Just tired of being lonely,” you pouted before downing your drink in one go. The glass clattered to the table as you turned to give him your full attention.

“Maybe I can help with that.”

Without objection you allowed him to pull you up and lead you to the floor. He grabbed your waist and swayed you gently to the soft jazz playing throughout the shabby establishment.

“Do you dance with all of the girls you pursue?” You asked cheekily, bringing your arms up to lock around his neck – trapping him within your embrace.

“Only the special ones,” he winked before smoothly pushing you off and spinning you under his arm. He dipped you and leaned close, the tips of your noses just touching, his warm breath caressed your face as you planted a small kiss on his cheek, coaxing a name from him.

“Kuroo. What’s your name?” He asked, slightly breathless.

“Call me Sugar.”

With eyebrows raised he said nothing in regard to your alias. The swaying resumed as he paraded you around the whole dance floor.

“Come home with me Sugar.”

Usually this was an invitation you’d decline but there was something in his air that drew you to him, it made you want to rub up against him like a cat. You pretended to think it through, to be unsure of his invitation, “That’s a bad idea,” you said with faux innocence.

“I can keep you company tonight,” he whispered in your ear, salaciously sinful thoughts swayed your decision as you replied, “Okay.”

With hand in his, he led you away to a more private place as he made you his.

…

“Ten thousand? That’s it? I know this is worth at least 50 thousand!” You exclaimed to the pawnbroker who was trying to rip you off.

“Listen, I’ll give you fifteen thousand, take it or leave it, I don’t care.”

The overwhelming urge to throttle her to wipe the smug look off her face had to be stomped down. All of the broke customers of this pawn shop were trying to make instant cash and she knew exactly how to take advantage of them.

“Fine,” you relented, handing over the precious watch you had stolen from your last night fling. Swiping it from the dresser in your rush to leave, it was physically painful to pry yourself from his arms and not stay to admire his beauty as he snored away, hugging a pillow to his chest as if it were you.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

She handed you the money and you slipped it securely into your purse. Grabbing your son’s hand you led him to the milkshake place down the street, your previous anger melting away at his cheers of joy.

At the booth sipping on your chocolate milkshake, Katsu eagerly babbled on about his school as you nodded in interest.

“Mama, why do you always shout at the lady in there?” He asked curiously, looking up at you with his shining doe eyes.

“Because my darling…” you paused trying to think of something to say, “She always steals my money.”

He pouted into his glass, “Is that why we still don’t have a house yet?”

You could hear the cracking of your heart at his despondent tone, “Well, she’s a big setback I suppose.” Without her eating away at your profits, you would have at least half of the funds to start looking into buying a place for the both of you.

“But what brought this on?” You tucked him into your side, stroking his hair with fond ruffles.

“I just miss you,” he said burying his face into your arm as he held onto you tighter.

“Don’t worry okay? You only have to stay with grandma a little longer and then we can finally be together in our new house,” you assured him.

Katsu peaked up, “Can we stay near a play park?”

“Of course we can!”

With spirits lifted, he then rambled on about his ideas for your future. The colours he would paint the house, the number of TV’s that would be in each room. You smiled into his hair as you peered out the window and you could almost see it – a stable household for him with you to look after him.

When you broke out of your reverie you saw a head of messy black hair out in the streets, with one blink, he was gone.

…

Another day, another job. With Katsu back at his grandmothers it was time to go out again. There was no chance that you’d make the same type of money as your last job but whatever you made, no matter how little, contributed to the house fund. Sighing, your eyes flickered open, the flood of light making your face scrunch as you sat up, a disoriented mess.

With eyes fully adjusted and a burning face, you jumped, scrambling to the other side of the room, grabbing your dressing gown to hide the skimpy pyjamas you usually wore. Before you was a smirking Kuroo, the man you couldn’t stop thinking about from the other night.

“Nice sleep Y/n?”

Shit he knew your name, which was expected since he was also standing in your bedroom. Inching closer to the door you said nothing. Eyes assessing his every detail, you noticed the watch you had taken the other night sat prettily on his wrist, glinting under the daylight, his eyebrow rose as he caught your line of sight. You shuddered to think of what happened to the stubborn old hag at the pawn shop.

“Do you steal from all of the guys you sleep with?”

“Only the special ones.”

“I’m flattered,” he said as he toured your room, pausing at the frame on your dressing table, “Whose this?”

He held the picture of you and Katsu at the park, he was bundled in your arms as you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Just a nephew,” you said cautiously, carefully avoiding his probing stare.

He said nothing as he continued to sweep through your belongings, when he reached a drawer that you pleaded for him to leave alone. As his hand gripped the nob you couldn’t help but shout, “Not that drawer!”

You wanted to kick yourself. With piqued interest he gazed down at you, another smirk pulling at the corner of his lips – he was enjoying this.

“What are you hiding, something inappropriate I hope,” he opened it anyway, drowning your protests out as he tutted, “and I was right.”

The cabinet was filled with stolen items, some still valuable that had yet to be sold, others completely worthless and gathering dust as they sat there unused.

“Just how many people have you stolen from,” he inquired, stepping closer to you. Within touching distance, he pulled you by your chin to face him.

“A lot.”

His thumb stroked your bottom lip as he spoke, “Poor souls. Who could resist a vixen like you.”

“What do you want from me?” You demanded, yanking yourself out of his grip to hide your flustered expression.

“Do you know who I am yet?”

Confusion washed over as you tried to fit the pieces together. Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo Tetsuro? And suddenly it all clicked, the fancy suits, expensive apartment, powerful aura. He was the leader of Nekoma.

“You’ve figured it out,” he praised, “I want you to work for me.”

A laugh bubbled out your throat so powerful your head tipped back to let the sound out, “I don’t think so.”

He waited patiently for you to finish, “You owe me.”

You shrugged confidently as you tried to hide the nervous tremor in your leg, “I refuse to get swept up in that dangerous world of criminals.”

“You’re a criminal too,” he pointed out.

“I only steal from the sleazy, evil or the rich. Half the time they deserve it, the other times they don’t even notice cause they’re loaded.”

“I need your skills,” he tried again, buttering you up with words of flattery.

You put your foot down, preparing for a nasty fight, “Find someone else.”

To your surprise he backed down with pursed lips, “If you change your mind you can find me in the Nekoma Corporation building in Nerima City.”

With those final words he left, allowing you to let out a shaky breath. It was time for you to leave again.

…

It had been a month, a whole month of laying low and staying on the run. Stealing every night and selling the same day as you tried to stay afloat, paying for constant new clothes and cheap derelict motels. What hurt most was not being able to see your son, the only way you had been in contact was through a burner phone that you only used for a measly two minutes before getting rid of it.

Paranoia crawled up your skin consuming you slowly but surely, the constant looking over your shoulder made you fatigued, the startling jump of your heart every time you saw a head of messy dark hair with encapsulating hazel eyes set you even more on edge.

Picking up your new phone you lifted it to your ear as you impatiently waited for the call to go through.

“Mama?” You called out.

“Y/n?! Oh thank god! Katsu’s missing, he’s not come home from school since yesterday,” her frantic tone cause panic to burst in your chest.

Your heart raced as your grip tightened, the sound of cheap plastic crushing crackled through the receiver, “I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you, he’s with me.” You schooled your voice into one of calm firmness.

She breathed a sigh of relief as you flurried through a quick goodbye and chucked the phone at the ground, pieces shattered decorating the pavement in sharp fragments.

Your mind was filled with rage as you strode purposefully to a taxi, chucking a wad of cash that would be more than enough for the overall journey.

“Take me to Nekoma Corporations in Nerima City.”

…

Stalking to the elevator, the pleads of the receptionist behind you drowned out as you left them behind. Pressing the button for the top floor, the presidential office, your foot tapped against the ground as you checked your possession of the small blade hidden under your jacket, you held the bag filled with money in your hand tightly as the doors finally opened.

You walked up to the entrance of the suite casually, giving the guards a look, they said nothing as they stepped aside granting you full access to the office. Pushing through the doors, you were greeted by a desolate living room as you shouted into the empty air, “Kuroo Tetsuro where the fuck are you?”

Busting through all of the possible rooms, hope burst in your chest as you approached the last set of doors. To your utter surprise you found Katsu sitting in the boss’ chair, engaging happily as Kuroo explained something to him. He didn’t appear to be scared – he looked at ease, as if he were at home waiting for you to join him to watch a movie like you did every Sunday.

At your grand entrance, they both turned as you dropped the large duffel at your side. The other men in the room stood to attention, hands on their weapons as you burned holes into Kuroo’s new suit.

“I knew you’d show up, eventually,” he smirked as you tried to calm the seething expression that would surely scare Katsu.

“I’m not here for you,” you spat, “Give me Katsu.”

“Hold on,” he stopped you, “You still owe me.”

You threw the duffel at him which – to your disappointment – he caught with ease. Slowly he unzipped it and sighed, “I don’t want your money.”

“And I don’t want to work for you for the rest of my life,” you countered.

“Then, do one job for me.”

“And then you’ll disappear?”

“No promises.”

Your gaze narrowed on him as he looked unapologetically cocky.

Sighing you finally relented, “One job.”

He turned to your son, helping him off the chair as you held your breath – surprised at his gentle handling.

“Okay Katsu, you can go see mama now.”

“Mamaaaaaa,” The little boy shouted as he took off running, flinging himself into your arms as you caught him easily. You smothered kisses all over his face as he giggled into the affection.

“My darling, were you okay here? Did they hurt you at all?” You cupped his face, firing off question after question, not yet ready to let him go. From the edge of your vision you could see Kuroo step forwards but you pointedly ignored him.

He shook his head vehemently, “We got ice cream today! And then daddy watched Ponyo with me!”

Your eyes flickered to Kuroo’s sheepish smile as you managed to splutter out, “Is that so?”

He nodded his head, “Daddy also said that we don’t need to worry about buying a house anymore and that we can just stay here! Isn’t that great?”

You patted his head gently as you forced a smile on your face, “That’s great news. Katsu do you want to go and watch some TV? I have some words for your ‘daddy.’”

He zoomed off as you addressed all of the guards in the room, “Watch him.”

After the soft click of the door sounded, finally it was you and him alone. Kuroo gulped, his nervous laughter ringing out as he backed up into his desk, you hard on his tail. With nowhere to escape, you tugged on his tie bringing him down to your level, “You’re in big trouble.”

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bittermuire · 3 years

Text

a nightlight and a bottle of wine

recently I’ve really loved nezriel and wanted to write a lil thing for them. this will be two parts, this is the first. modern au

---

It’s not like Nesta really knew what she was doing when she moved out. All she knows is that there is a rift between her and Feyre; a scar splitting their shared skin, a wound opening and reopening, never to heal.

And so she’s away. They’ve made their mistakes and let them be. They’ve hurt each other and even tried to love, but sisters love each other too much for love—and so she’s away. The guilt is still there, but farther from her, now. Nesta stirs it into her morning coffee and drinks the sleep, wiping it from beneath her eyes and the lines around her mouth.

Every so often Cassian will text her, inviting her out to dinner or to a work party, and Nesta resists the urge to throttle him. He’s a very smart, thirty-five year old man. He should know what cutting off someone means.

(He knows, of course he knows. She guesses he just thinks it doesn’t apply to him.)

His roguish charm, his smirk, his low voice, all inviting her to one thing—sex—was beginning to exhaust her. It’s a surprising relief to be away from him. She feels like she can wear tank tops and let her hair down and go out without a bra, relieved he won’t be there to stare.

(Was she really so afraid of him?)

So Nesta lives her life and drinks her coffee, wears her tank tops and sleeps in her underwear, finally a woman in the way she’s always wanted to be; she feels discrete from the rest of the world but in a near comforting way. She has no one to disappoint, no one to miss. Her world is confined to very few people and her mind allows for one.

•

But there are things that trip her up. Remaining ties.

One such: the nightlight clipped to her bed. It’s cheap, a gaudy silver. She’s sure Azriel bought it for no more than two dollars.

But she uses it every night.

(This trips her up.)

It’s a routine she’s given to herself, written into the margins of her life; she climbs into bed, smooths the blankets over her legs, grabs her book, opens it on her lap, then twists and switches on the light. It illuminates the page with a pretty, golden sun. She uses it religiously. She thinks that if she lost it, some intrinsic part of her might be lost as well, and this frightens her.

Remaining ties should be snipped. These last threads should be spooled up, put away, hidden in the bottom drawer.

She switches it on anyway, watches the light trace the letters.

(Sometimes she thinks she is the black stamp of letters. The utter bleakness of them on the smooth page. Sometimes she thinks she is what ruins the paper. She is what ruined the paper. There’s a reason she is here and they are there.)

•

November 19th.

Happy birthday to me.

She buys a cake from the supermarket and blows out the candle.

There’s a knock at the door, late at night. Not thinking to check, she goes to open it, and there stands Azriel, still in the doorway, bottle of wine in hand.

“Happy birthday,” he says bluntly.

She lets him in for some reason she still doesn’t understand, and they end up drinking a glass together. It’s from Cassian, the wine—his favorite. Azriel tells her that Cassian didn’t think she’d take it from him.

“So he asked you,” she says.

He smiles. “Because you like me.”

1:00 AM, and they’re still drinking. They barely talk. They just sit; they sit on the kitchen stools, then the rickety chairs, then the floor, then the couch, then back to the floor. His cheeks are pink, his words slurred.

“Why’d you come?” she asks, peering down at where he lays, splayed out, on the carpet.

(He’s not the kind for favors, she knows that.)

Opening his eyes, he fixes his gaze on her. He smiles sleepily.

“Happy birthday, Nesta.”

•

She doesn’t really celebrate for the holidays. Her apartment is bare, save a pair of twinkling bells on the kitchen counter, tied with a red ribbon. Sometimes when she’s cooking she’ll give them a little ring.

The letter comes in the mail—from Feyre, clearly put there by her own hand. It’s an invitation to dinner, for the winter solstice. They’re celebrating early this year because they’re going out of town for a few weeks.

(Please don’t feel pressured to come. We were going to leave you be but Az, since he’s so considerate, thought you might appreciate an invite.)

Nesta picks up her phone and texts Feyre a simple no thanks.

•

The next morning, she opens her door to a bottle of wine. Its neck is tied with a cherry red ribbon, and there’s a note—“If you’re ever lonely, give me a call. It’s my favorite.”

She doesn’t need to see who it’s from to know.

She smiles and picks it up, taking it inside.

•

It bites, the loneliness.

She wasn’t prepared for the quiet.

She traded in insults and jabs and sweaty hands at dinner tables for nothing, nothing, nothing. Silence in the shower, silence over breakfast. Over time, it’s begun to grate on her skin, sift between the strands of her hair, and she feels like she’s swimming a meter below the surface, ears clogged, vision blurred.

And slowly, she’s started to cry; she cries when the silence is too loud, when her aloneness is real, when she realizes the ugly truth of it all. She’s alone, she has nobody, she’s alone.

She picks up her phone and dials his number. “Let’s drink your wine.”

A small quiet. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I know, Nesta,” he laughs. “I’ll be there.”

•

They don’t drink at all, actually. She starts crying again the minute she sees his face.

“Nesta?”

•

“I’m fine, really.”

They’re walking down the aisle of the grocery store, weeks later.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m doing better, I am.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. Pick a flavor. We’ll eat it, we’ll watch a movie.” He looks her up and down, brow creased. “You need two things—no, make that three things.”

She huffs a laugh, sticking her hand into the freezer and pulling out a carton. “What?”

“Sleep, ice cream, and company.” He grins. “And now you’ve got me.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.”

•

He’s seen her beautiful; he’s seen her ugly. He’s seen her in her rattiest apron with flour crusted into her fingernails. He’s seen her laugh so hard she cries, watched her slam her head into an open cupboard door, driven her to the hospital when she sliced her hand open with a knife. They’re together a lot, she realizes. They’re not halves; they’re one and one, and one and one make two, and they stand as two together on sidewalks, squinting at menus in the windows of restaurants, and they pet dogs in the park (Nesta always asks, because Az gets shy), and they take walks at midnight, and they live their lives contentedly next to each other’s. She starts to wonder if he splits his life into two—into Cassian and Rhys and Mor and Feyre, and into her, the girl who walked away. She’d like to know why he followed her.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself staring. Even before Cassian, she’d thought Azriel was the most beautiful of the three; all graceful, sloping shadows, soft and deep eyes, curling black hair. Her heart doesn’t know what to do anymore. It skips a beat when she sees him, but calms when she’s near him. It races when he leans close, falls to steadiness when he slings his arm over her shoulders. She can’t decide if she loves him like this or loves him like that. He means so much to her, means so many different things, that to give him a singular word wouldn’t fit.

She calls him Azriel, Az, Steve, Steven Shadow, Mr. Shadow, Ralph, Ron, He of the Candied Pecans, You. He responds to all of it. Recently he told her that it wasn’t because of the name, but because of the voice—(of course I don’t know who Ralph is, Nesta, but your voice, it’s your voice you use for me)—and she felt warm for reasons she couldn’t understand.

She shows up unannounced at his apartment when it’s a bad night. He does the same.

•

“Tell me the truth,” she begins, tipsy. “Did you like me before?”

“What?”

“Did you like me before?”

He frowns. “Elaborate.”

“Before you learned I’m a nice person. Back at the townhouse. When I hated everyone and was rude to you.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little. “I always liked you,” he says, and then his face settles into something like sadness. Nesta watches him closely. “I didn’t like… the way you made me feel, though. I’d see you down the hall, tired and everything, a stick of a person, and Rhys would make some joke, and I’d hate him.”

She blinks.

He looks down. “I’d never hated him before.”

There’s a tension between them. It’s common enough to be recognizable, but not enough to be familiar. She’s on edge, unsure.

The silence seeps in.

“And I hated myself, too,” he says. His eyes flick back up to hers.

Her breath catches in her chest. “I hated myself because I didn’t do anything. So I stayed away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, overwhelmed. Everything is building; everything is quiet. His eyes are deep and dark and swirling. He shakes his head slightly, leaning closer, slowly, slowly, and she sees it all happen—he takes her face in his hands. She can see the stray strand of hair on his forehead, the one eyelash resting by his nose, the mole right above his mouth.

“I watched you fade,” he breathes. “I watched them pull you around.”

She twines one finger into his hair, trying to bring him closer, trying to have him closer. Come here, Azriel. Come with me. Be with me, love me, because I love you.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, because it’s all she can say.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs, and kisses her.

•

“Wait,” he says, reaching up.

“What?”

He touches the nightlight. “You kept this?”

She laughs, curled into his side, and says, “Of course I did.” He drops a kiss to her hair. “They all bought me books. You made it easy to read them.”

—-

@acosfisfeysandpropaganda I finally wrote it!!

#nezriel #nesta x azriel #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

Note

hi new bestie! can you please write some stanley or bill x reader fluff :)

Bestie indeed I got you 😚😌✨ So this is a strange amalgamation of stuff from the book and stuff from the movie because I couldn't pick one and uh- I hope it isn't too confusing. If you have any questions at all just leave them as a reply and ill answer in no time at all :) Also, in AUs where Stan doesn't die I like to headcanon him as like,,,, some reincarnation of the Turtle or something. It's totally unrealistic but it's a lot of fun to think he keeps all his memories and is just a little bit omnipotent. Yay.

Stanley Uris x Reader Fluff

You sat bolt upright and uttered a sharp gasp, your eyes blown wide. Goosebumps rippled back and forth along your arms, pricking eerily as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end- you were certain you would be screaming right now if you weren't painfully out of breath, your lungs clamped tightly together as if trapped in the unrelenting jaws of some beast. With your heart thrumming too quick inside of your chest you felt as if you were dying, as if you'd run a thousand miles just like you had seemed to be moments earlier in the midst of your nightmare. The menace, the fear, it played back in your head like some sick home movie, terrifying you to your very core and drawing out something akin to a wail, like the sound of a wounded animal, quiet and choked and desperate.

The space around you was vast, eternal, stretching left and right and up forever yet being lit by a yellowish, alien glow. People were with you, seven people but you didn't know their names. Someone had your hand on one side, someone else on the other and your stomach was roiling with horror. Before you was a demon, something that could only have come from hell and even that seemed to be a stretch. Through the endlessness you could only see eyes, glowing and red and promising death, and muscle rippling under fur-covered spider legs.

Your arms clamped around you in a death grip, your eyes slamming shut and begging for the images to be out out out out out. These images, why the hell did you keep seeing these images? This scene from beyond was forced upon you night after night after restless, sleepless night and you didn't understand why. The reasoning was there, you knew it was, you knew that the cause of these dreams lie somewhere in your brain but you just couldn't grasp onto it and right now you weren’t sure if you even wanted to. You pull your knees to your stomach, tears brimming in your eyes, your hitching breaths becoming desperate sobs and no further helping the hurting in your chest. You wanted to scream, to get up and run towards anyone and anything that would keep you safe but everything was too much, too sudden, too frightening and it your chest hurt and your head was spinning and the images, oh god the memories-

The beast roared, deafening, your hair pressing backwards and blowing wildly in the wake of it. The smell overwhelmed your senses and dug up stray memories of the Canal Days Festival, of petting zoos and goats and pigs and the stench of an animal carcass. You felt as if you were going to throw up but the grip on your either hand grew tighter and you swallowed down the bile. The phrase, Turn Light Into Dark, it washed you with a sense of power that only made your head throb more. Blinding lights spun down, down, closer, and though you knew your eyes were shut you could still see Its true form even though you didn't know what It was.

A hand pressed over your mouth to stop another wail from escaping, louder this time now that you had spare breath in your lungs. Tears spilled over and swam down your cheeks like small rivers guided by a canal cut through stone, the Kenduskeag, Derry- You forced the thoughts of Derry away and swept them under a mental rug. When you thought of Derry you grew afraid that you would find out why you were having these nightmares. You couldn't stand that. You were shaking, oh how you were shaking, tremors rocking you back and forth as if a dog- no, a werewolf had sunk its teeth into your spine and was regarding you as nothing but a chew toy. You needed something, someone, you needed to get this to stop-

These lights, the Deadlights, they doused you back into that cold sea of terror that the still-new power had almost saved you from. Seeing them now, here, descending, physical, you did not think that you could kill them. These candle flames would not be snuffed, you thought, and yet you screamed your throat raw nonetheless. A chorus of voices you felt rather than heard chanted over and over Turn Light Into Dark Turn Light Into Dark Turn Light Into Dark and then the lights were gone, swallowed up by something magical, something that killed monsters if you believed it did until the circle broke as one of you went to lock It up in Its new cage. As the circle broke so did the flowing power and a red glow overtook the alien yellow as the lid was pushed up and away and the sleek scarlet surface of a blood-coloured balloon emerged from the magic prison. You felt your stomach sink, your blood run cold, the power drain from your veins for the briefest moment as your belief waned completely and oh no oh God this was it you thought you would have killed It would have extinguished Its flame but It was eternal It was the Eater of Worlds and it wouldn't-

The door whipped open and you let out a startled cry halfway through a choking sob, not having noticed that you had begun to cry aloud. At once you slapped a hand over your mouth yet again, scrubbing at your cheeks with the heel of your palm and slapping on a shaky little smile that entirely contradicted the wild look in your eyes. Your heart was thrumming again both from the memories and the jump as the door flung open. You had to tell yourself again and again and again that you knew this man, that he was familiar and his name was right there at the tip of your tongue, curly hair and brown doe eyes and a kind, concerned crease in his brows that only deepened at the sight of you- Stanley, it was just Stan and suddenly you felt safe enough to cry. Your arms both going to pull your knees into your chest you let the terror grip you and the sobs rip free from your throat.

"(Y/N) what- what happened? Are you okay?" For a moment Stan hesitated, looking instinctively down at the palm of his hand for a reason you did not know and then he went surging forwards and to your side, gathering you up in his arms. He didn't speak just yet, simply holding you close, quiet, something about him dripping with a sense of calm. Laced underneath that pressing security was the power you had felt ripped from you in your dream, the power you did not know the meaning of but were certain was important, had been important, in some vital way. You cried and cried in Stanley's arms as your group of eight, a lucky number, crazy eights, was split instead into twos and ones.

One with glasses, one with a patch on his cheek, one with hair lit aflame like January Embers, one in love and one who was too smart for his own good and one who would lead them to safety no matter what and no matter when- and then there was him, he who let out this forcefield of strength, the one thought to be the weakest now doused in some strength greater than It, than love, than the Turtle whoever that was and he had your hand in his and you were running and trying to get away. Trials, terror, doors and bathroom stalls and clubhouses and (how do you know this?) little brothers and the macroverse. The Deadlights and blood and broken hearts and fear and pain.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice was soft, safe, and his hands rest on either side of your face to guide your eyes to his own. They were dark like melted chocolate, solid, calm, steady and unmoving and nothing like the ruby red ones belonging to It, to the creature you didn't think possible to imagine. You didn't have to answer for Stan to know you would decline. He didn't scold, he didn't chastise- he would never do that. Instead, he leaned forwards and placed a kiss on the space between your eyebrows, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. He did nothing more than hold you, silent, waiting for the fear to run it's course.

Belief grew strong all over again, the Leader fanning the flame of hope and driving forth the metaphorical wooden stake at last. You had felt something like hellfire roar through you, a driving agony that nearly drove you into madness but then it faded to the back of your mind and It was flaking away. There was crying alongside the groaning of the earth, a lurching sound like wood moments from snapping in two. Urgency, warm and throttling, tied each of you eight together and forced you onwards despite the exhaustion tethered like weights to your limbs. A hand in yours, you raced into darkness, leaving behind webs to collapse and bodies to fall and be buried. The gargantuan remainders of what was Its nest would lie dormant in the ground for millennia to follow, undiscovered. Eight of you, one two three four five six seven eight, retraced steps with the help of a dying man and grew closer and closer to light and life and safety. You climbed rough rock, something or someone (Turtle? Other?) lending you all the collective determination to move quick and careful and leave no man behind. The earth sang a song of despair as it clung to itself with all of it's force, urging you forwards, cheering you on, hoping you would all make it out before it could cling on no longer and collapsed atop your sorry heads.

"Focus on your breathing, my dear. You're all right. I have you," Stanley let his hand rest on your hair, stroking, smoothing, calming, "You're going to be alright." For a moment the floodgates in your head flung open and you knew everything but then they slammed shut once more and you were left hopelessly, blissfully clueless. You curled tightly into yourself, coiling like a frightened snake, letting the golden power coming off of Stanley in waves lay over you like soft, light silk. Something about this strength, glowing brighter than the sun in a manner much more pleasant than the Deadlights(?) felt ancient as well as young and fresh. You are certain Stanley has had this aura forever, and yet you have never ever felt it this strongly. It was almost as if you could see him lit from the inside out.

More darkness, sewers, the dead things smell fading slowly yet steadily. You passed places that were achingly familiar and yet felt worlds away, not having even the chance to stop and say farewell (did you say farewell to nightmare places?) since the roof was dropping flakes of grit and the rumbling had grown near a roar. Another well, a rope, heaving and pulling, up up up out of the dark and into the light, the homestretch. The feelings you felt were smothering, a sickening concoction of relief and one last choking bout of terror. It was not over yet. Eight of you, all eight, running through the house on (Nelson? Neibolt.) street towards safety, towards the end, towards-

You had never seen this far before. Your nightmares always cut off abruptly before you could even start to flee. They always cut off right before you defeat It, whatever It was, right before you snuffed Its light from this realm. Now, however, as if coaxed forth or caught on the end of a fishing line, you were seeing the ending, the ending of everything. Stan was still petting your hair, rocking gently back and forth as your trembling began to ease and your crying, ever-slowly, began to subside. The memories were still frightening, coming to you in rapid flashes, reminding you of an old black and white film spinning on a reel.

Towards the door. Floorboards creaked and groaned and split, sinking down, breaking underneath your feet. Glass shattered as walls sank towards collapse, as the dirt began to part, opening into a grave. Somewhere behind you the roof collapsed and spilt old dust-soaked furniture, a coffin, a collection of porcelain clowns down towards their resting place. With one final shriek of snapping wood all eight burst out into the Summer sun and the house gave in behind them. They didn't stop; the cement path was cracking, the weeds being reclaimed by the soil. The Earth opened up at last, providing just enough time- maybe held together by some greater strength- for the eight to reach safety. You all spun, watching, awestruck and horrified and solemn as the Earth opened up it's unrelenting jaws and swallowed whole the home of death that It had claimed as it's own.

Your shaking had stopped. Your sobbing had halted. Your heart had slowed to a regulated beat like that of a drum. Slowly, Stan's grip around you had begun to ease and you wrapped your own arms around him in turn. Your eyes, which had been screwed tightly shut, fluttered open and then fell closed once more, soft, not afraid.

"There you are, baby-love," Stan whispered the words into the top of your head and bumped his nose gently against it, "All better, right? You're going to be okay." With a swell of love that almost made you want to cry once more, you believed it. He was going to keep you safe just as he has done forever. With a concrete certainty you knew that Stanley would fight of Heaven and Hell if it meant saving you. With a concrete certainty you knew that, at some point, he basically had. You shift, slow, leaning away from him to gaze into those dark caramel eyes yet again. That's where the power came from, you were certain; from those eyes of his. They were so calm, so collected, so firm and confident and adoring. They shone with nothing but utter love.

"Stan..." Your voice was weak and shaky but Stan nodded his head, patient, waiting for you to find your words again, "Do... do you ever get nightmares?" At this, Stan cracked a radiant smile that was brighter than starshine and glowed in a way entirely different from the burning of the Deadlights. This smile was otherworldly, like the beams of the sun in the form of man. He nodded.

"Of course, dear," he hummed, and let his head fall forwards, forehead against your own, "We're only human." The last sob shook your body, and then you grew still as Stanley bumped his nose gently against yours. Your goosebumps sank away. The tightness of your lungs eased. A honey-toned warmth seeped from a newfound crack in your memory floodgates, letting through scraps of your childhood you had long since forgotten. The Summer of '88 had been pushed from your brain; as far as you had been concerned it had never even happened, it had just been Spring and then Autumn but now, with the door cracked open just a sliver, the memories spilled through and they were brilliant. You remembered the Barrens, playing guns and tag and Parcheesi and jungle hunters, winding through bamboo and splashing in the river and building a dam and an underground clubhouse. You remembered buying ice cream and movie tickets and picking through the dump with the seven greatest friends you had ever known. You remembered Stan the first time you'd seen him, haloed by the setting sun as you fell upon him and his friends on the cliff above the quarry. You remember Beverly's kind smile, Bill's welcoming eyes, Mike's handshake, Ben's timid wave. You remembered Richie's ill-timed joke and the way Eddie had so lovingly punched him so hard in the shoulder he had almost tumbled right off the rock he was seated on. You remember feel- hearing a click like pieces of a puzzle slotting together and you remember thinking these are my people.

Underneath these warm memories were dark ones begging to push through, to smother the good things, but for some odd reason you could imagine Stan fending them off, keeping them at bay for your sake. You can imagine him keeping the door held shut enough that the big ugly thoughts about hurt and fear on the other side of the gates. And you were grateful.

"You know," Stan said, and placed one hand on your cheek, his thumb skimming lightly over your cheekbone, "Those things in your nightmares can't hurt you. Monsters can always be killed," And, as if he had spoken directly to your brain, you feel-heard him saying if you believe they can. You met his sunbeam smile with your own, smaller but just as listlessly beautiful. Yet again you felt the aura around him, around your man, your husband, the only person you ever needed in your life.

"I know," You replied, and kissed him soft, "and I believe they can so long as you’re here with me.”

—————

Okay i actually,,,,, adore this I think? Stan doesn’t get enough love and I would die for him. So, just to kind of explain this in case I failed to do that through the text itself, Stan was gifted a few nifty little powers by either The Turtle or The Other depending on what makes more sense to you. He can (with a little struggling- that’s why the ‘floodgates’ opened and shut suddenly before finally only letting the good stuff through) staunch and release the memories of It and Derry in all of his friends heads, meaning he can choose what they do and don’t remember. He can also, just a little bit, project his thoughts onto other people. I’m not exactly sure why I went with this idea but I thought it was nice and fun and after playing a lovely It based game called ‘Use You Outside Voice Richie Tozier’ I fell in love with God-Stan. Thanks for reading :)

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a-dorin · 4 years

Text

sweetheart

pairing: cad bane x reader

word count: 1.205k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos, age gap, angst (like a little bit if you read between the lines), mentions of war, mentions of violence, some divergence from canon, references to death, use of weapons

a/n: so this is my first time ever writing for cad bane, so please be gentle ! this is a slight au set in the time of the clone wars, where cad bane is at his peak in his career as a bounty hunter. honestly i’m not sure what this is, i kinda formulated an idea n went with it, so we’ll see if there’s a sequel ! i hope you guys enjoy :))

(i don’t own this gif)

“well, well, well,” his voice is low, throttled by a thick, heavy, accent, “it appears that we have some privacy at last, darlin’.”

“please refrain from calling me that,” you snort, crossing over to your vanity, “i expect nothing but silence from you. you’re only here for my protection. i do not care how much my father is paying you nor do i wish to know.”

the duro let out a hoarse chuckle, “i can assure you that it was an offer i couldn’t refuse.”

inhaling a sharp breath, your gaze flickers over to the duro. cad bane, the scourge of the galaxy, famed bounty hunter, is in your quarters, casually leaning against a bedpost, a thin piece of wood hanging loosely from his wrinkled lips.

“you don’t have to stand, you know.”

“where would the princess like for me to sit, hmmm?” a shit-eating smirk creeps onto his lips, scarlet depths taunting, daring you to retaliate, “i’m sure she doesn’t want me to dirty her covers on the bed. or any single object in her quarters.”

“i hate you.”

“like i wasn’t aware of that,” cad scoffs, picking away at a nail, “i don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. if i had it my way, i would be far from here. far from you.”

your features fall, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears, “o-oh.”

the duro exhales, sauntering over to a stool, “don’t start cryin’. i don’t wanna pity ya.”

swiftly, you pluck a brush off your vanity, combing it through your hair, “my apologies to you, cad bane.”

“for what?”

“for my behavior,” the words were barely audible, barely a whisper, “my actions have been nothing but disrespectful. especially these past few days. my father reminded me earlier this morning that i should treat you with respect. after all, you are the one protecting me.”

cad cackles, the sound a chortle, distorted and warped, “oh princess.”

“what?” your brow furrows, arching with confusion, “was it something i said?”

“it was everything you said,” cad remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “you don’t have to apologize for shit. like you said princess, i’m just doing my job. if i’m getting paid by the minute to listen to you run your trap, so be it.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“you’ll find that i’m a lot of things,” cad waves a hand, raising his arms above his head to stretch his back.

“an asshole is one of them,” you grumble, “i should have never let my father hire you.”

“if i’m recall, you had no say in the matter. after the death of your mother, and with your daddy being the esteemed senator of alderaan, he’s nervous that someone might be out to get you. he’s the one who sent me the itinerary, not you, sweetheart,” cad flicks his hat, eyes focused on you, glowing in the dim light.

at the mention of your mother, an icy sensation crept down your back, goosebumps littering your arms, “y-you know about that?”

cad brings his hand to his mouth, deflecting a yawn, “i know everything there is to know about you sweetheart. your daddy told me every minute detail. your schedule, your whereabouts, likes n dislikes. all that. in order to do my job, i gotta know a little bit about you, princess organa.”

“i didn’t know that.”

“well you do now,” cad quips, fiddling with his holster.

“i should be getting to bed. my father wants me to report how things are going before his departure to coruscant.”

“you do that,” cad springs from the stool, milling about the space, “i’ll be here, patrolling the designated areas.”

“if anything happens to--”

“sweetheart,” cad coos, “not a single soul is going to touch a single strand of hair on that little head of yours.”

muttering under your breath, you pad over to your luxurious bed, crawling underneath the plush covers. cad lingered, clearing his throat, “do you need me to get the light for you princess?”

this time, his tone was light, not a single tone of banter buried within the inquisition, his voice hushed, laced with gentle notes.

did cad bane crack for just a moment?

“if you could, please,” you murmur, lashes fluttering as the warmth of the comforter overwhelmed your body, the heat oh so cozy, “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.”

the response was dry, a stark contrast from his kindness only seconds before, leaving your mind spiraling. the aura exuded from cad bane was nearly impossible to read, it was always ever-changing, always shifting. one minute he could be the driven hunter, fed with that primal urge to kill. to carry out the job.

yet, the next he could show a single notion of kindness, offering to hold open a door or turn off a light. leaving his hand on your lower back as he escorted you to your father, senator bail organa, reassuring you that no harm would ever come to you.

however, it was only a matter of time before you unearthed cad’s true intentions. although he was reserved, he was calculated. thirteen days had passed since his arrival to alderaan, and you had learned far more about the duro that you originally intended. after all, it was not a difficult feat. the two of you were coerced into spending every waking moment together, whether you wanted to or not.

there was not much of a choice in the matter either. your father did not budge when it came to your safety, especially after the death of your mother only months ago. with the increased pressure of the war, along with the conflicts in the senate, your father expressed that you needed a bodyguard. someone who could protect you at all costs, no matter what.

and it just so happened that cad bane was that protector. hired by your father, cad may have expressed his disinterest in the position, but you were well aware that he was in it for the pay. after all, he was reputable for being greedy, always moving from one quarry to the next, whatever would keep his ship running and his belly full.

why cad bane took the position? you had a premonition.

to get close to the senator, to gain as much information as he possibly could about alderaan, and to get rich.

but, there was something else. an ulterior motive.

no matter how much he complained. how much he resented the lavish life of the princess of alderaan. no matter how much he bickered and spat, he stayed by your side.

why he stayed?

you had no idea. and maker, were you aching to unearth that truth.

“hey cad?” you call out, not anticipating a response.

“hmm?” he hums, the sound echoing from near the doors.

“thank you for protecting me.”

there was a beat of silence, the only noise the silent whisper of wind as it rolled through the streets, the occasional chatter and chirps of droids in the corridors.

“you’re welcome sweetheart. get some sleep. sleep dreams or whatever. i’ll be here in the morning.”

as you drifted off, one thing lingered in your mind.

perhaps cad bane was not the man you perceived him to be.

#cad bane #star wars #the clone wars #cad bane x reader #star wars x reader #bodyguard au #au #star wars au

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cxffexngel · 3 years

Text

[ @aaetherius ] || [ dFSÑDSFDf thanks for reminding me to open the submit page, so now you have free real estate with length of asks!!! ]

Kiss day was something the Singularity had mentioned to him before, and something he was already familiar with due to Sandalphon once citing it as a reason for suddenly stealing a kiss from him a day that felt like less than a breath ago. But when it had come up again in conversation with the airship's stalwart leader, whom Lucifer, unfortunately, happened to get far too much information from when it came to the customs Skydwellers held, he had learned just how scared a holiday it was. Now he was utterly determined to return the favor to the archangel. But Sandalphon had slipped from his grasp early, and in his sleep-touched daze he hadn't truly registered the other's missing warmth against him until he had groggily sat up on a collection of tangled sheets as his palm lazily patted the mattress in search for the other only to find the area beside him empty. A few blinks and he woke to a room devoid of the Supreme Primarch, losing his chance to gently wake him with a kiss.

Swiftly following his first failed attempt to ensure he celebrated the day properly - as the Singularity had ensured him not doing so would have dire consequences, and he would not wish for anything ill to befall Sandalphon - he quietly made his way over to the cafe where he expected the other to be. The smell of coffee had been fresh in the air when he had slowly poked his head in, but, alas, by the time he had gotten there Sandalphon had already left. With his wings sagging against his back, he carefully followed after any trace of the archangel, the Singularity even popping in from time to time to help him locate the other. But every time he came close to, he could sense Sandalphon's presence begin to fade. By the time sunset had become to trickle in through the windows of the Grandcypher, his core is heavy with worry. He's scarcely seen the other all day, and he fears Sandalphon is working himself too hard once again. It morphs his excitement into dread until, finally, he spots the other beneath the orangey-pink hue of the dwindling light, and allows a breath of relief to flutter past his lips. His core, the fragile thing that it is, simply can't wait to embrace the other, and instead of following the advice the Singularity had given him (urging him to surprise Sandalphon), he simply rushes over to the archangel.

His strong arms come to wrap so tightly, yet still somehow gently, about the other's waist that he nearly, unintentionally, lifts Sandalphon off of his feet. Burying his face into the crux of the other's neck, he allows the scent of coffee to almost overwhelm as he nuzzles softly into the other's skin, and the fabric of his shirt. "Sandalphon," he whispers faintly as he slowly lifts his head after a few moment, gingerly holding the other as close to him as he can manage. "Forgive me, I pray you have not been working too hard, but I have missed you." Slowly, he leans forward to give the other the gentlest kiss upon the tip of his nose. "The Singularity has informed me it is Kiss Day, and I wish to celebrate it, together, with you, if you will allow me to."

All the day spent with the other’s footsteps trailing his heels, and Sandalphon wasn't doing it for any ill intention at al - no. It was just fond fear, Lucifer now most prepared than ever with newfound knowledge he really has to someday question it’s sources had the former Supreme primarch much more giddy and all the more determined to properly 'celebrate' days such as these. The itch to go and throttle the life out the captain bubbling like a gentle fire fueled by petty alone, but the chance for retribution never once dawning for his hands hold that little trouble seeker. No, instead the danger loomed dangerously close, always sensing the other's presence no matter where Sandalphon manages to excuse himself to. From somehow making it out the bed without waking the former, to at least opening the cafe until time had called and he left someone else to serve for the time being. Manage to hang some laundry without much trouble and then unceremoniously scramble from the other's field of vision. And again, it wasn't for naught nor because he did not wish for Lucifer's love at all. It's just that he knew that once the other's strong hold embraced him, that's all for the supreme primarch; it's mark his penance and be showered upon kisses and kisses until left a complete breathless mess laughing like an idiot, feathers sticking everywhere and his hair a worse mess than it somehow manages to look certain mornings, as if a strong storm had hit the airship while taken by slumber.

Yet sundown is already before the Grancypher's periphery, strong orange rays painting sepia the grand vast of skies and dots of what could be lone islands within the distance to be seen - And worry paints Sandalphon's core now that it's been a while, the chase having drawn enough to at least spare the other and left Lucifer find him, finally. So he stops, the handrails that make the best part of the airship's edges so no one would fall a good leverage to let his palms rest atop them, leaning a bit so his armor less frame meets the edge and take in a gasp pf air that his lungs had begged for a while now - unable to shake the fluster that weights his core and the slight guilt that also hangs from that branch, which he knows wouldn't last. Fate sealed when those footsteps once more meet his ears and muscles reflexively tense a bit, but then relax with silent relief; praying the skies to be prepared and let all that contained love the other bleeds with overwhelm his soul, whisper an apology for purposely hiding from the other in some sort of childish play the younger crew members often entertained themselves with considering the grand amount of rooms, corridors and places to hide they could choose and test their abilities. Yet it all proves for even more naught, no matter how much he braces himself or trains his mind and body to somehow meet the other's presence and simply melt with it - his strength rips the air from his lung, that bold hold striking the deepest parts of his core and cold blod rush through his entire body as blinding lightings and leave trails of scalding heat in their stead. Unceremonious noise, akin to a gasp and squawk unfiltered past lips that part with the surprise clearly painted across sharp visage and that's how he knows that not even today Sandalphon was going to survive this man's shamelessness. yet, as always, there will never a better way for Lucifer to express his emotions like this, it is something he'd never change or wish for it to cease in any way. Just prays his own core can somehow build enough stamina to not painfully throb at each and endless ways Lucifer finds to express himself outrageously.

" L-Lucif— " Strained voice barely manages out, a higher pitch as hands had somehow found where Lucifer's circle his waist, relishing on his the tip of his heels seem unable to meet the familiar worn wood of the deg's surface as the other holds his smaller frame as if his life depended on it - and probably it does, because now that he finally has a look, from over his shoulder, to Lucifer's messy strands as they veil from sight how his visage might be. Yet even without looking Sandalphon already can feel the relief dawning upon the other, how that intake of air simply nourished his core with everything that is right and bright. It doesn’t fail to dust his cheeks a faint rosy color, and it doesn't help too the bashful chuckle bubbling from the depths of his chest as it heaves out within their silence. " I... Missed you too. I apologize for my absence. " But he doesn't have the heart yet to say the truth, not when it had somehow burdened the other now that he thinks of it; did Lucifer think something worse? But nearly tangent thoughts banish the second he processes the kiss laid upon his nose, blinking his own worries away in a miraculous spell as he slowly shifts to face the other better, and rest his hips upon the handrail as it lazily creaks with the newfound weight added to it. Sound that gets carried away by the gentle breeze along the downy pale skirt that flutters slowly under the belts that keep them upright, laying his palms at the edge where those long gloves end, and skin peek from Lucifer's biceps. " If to celebrate it with you somehow fills for the time we spent apart, then I would never say no. " It was impossible to deny further the other, his core also yearns for it even as they have exchanged more touches and kisses than the two thousand of years worth of silence could dare and even recall. Oh how Lucifer's soft tone was all in the world to undo his own stubbornness, the only thing along; stronger than Lyria's beady eyes or Gran's unbearably kind soul, that could sway his core into caving and forget about responsibilities for once in a while, even if his war torn body aches to do things, to meet battles or go around the airship doing things. So one of his hands, the one even now adorned with the shining golden ring carefully traces where that pale skin radiates warmth, touches with featherlight gentleness against the other's broader neck where fabric edges with golden rims, and then cups the taller primarch's jaw with an unspoken apology all written on his eyes as they soften when he meets his gaze with one of it's own. Thumb tracing aimless circles where the a rosy hue paints the edge of the other's lashes with life and admiring how the sunset's light never cease to frame his visage almost as if he had been descended from the stars themselves. " I hope this counts as an apology, too, dearest Lucifer. " He tries to sound a bit timid, but it's impossible to not let his adoration drip from his tongue, head tilting as eyes relishes on Lucifer's clear senseless and unconditional worry even now having a strong hold to Sandalphon's own guilt, one he will make up no with endless spoken apologies, but with actions that would tear the remaining hours this day was left with, and simply let himself be engulfed by the cocoon of feathers the other may subject him with, if his own didn't manifest first and steal Lucifer for himself in a selfish streak.

#Nostalgic Flavor; [ 1 ]#and our fleeting paradise collapses into a new garden; Lucifer || [ aaetherius ]#aaetherius #[ and this is how sandy dies he cannot escape love #[ he couldnt escape gran's love nor he will be ever be free from lucifer's grand affection!!!#[ omg now all i can picture is a ultra sleepy Lucifer slowly patting the empty space where sandy was with him #[ and lucifer going the sleepy version of math lady meme just to realize that nope he's alone in bed. this is a crime!!!!#[ Gran ur in for an ultra knuckle rubbing into ur head and arm wrestle if sandy ever spots u #[ lucifer taking it so seriously my heart..... he's trying his best!! he has to protect sandalphon!!!!

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fairfaxleasee · 3 years

Note

[Slow] dancing + Fenris/Cass? someone needs to take this boy out on the town!!

For @dadrunkwriting (Thanks to @xqueen0fhellx for letting me use her Damien Amell in this and my AU!)

CW: Anxiety, panic attacks, autism spectrum, Modern (University) AU

Cassia Hawke couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing in her hallway. Not only did she have no idea how her cousin Damien had found her apartment (although her younger sister Bethany was at the top of the suspect list), but she had even less of an idea what he was doing with his arms full of stained papers and a single sneaker.

“Cousin Cass! I did what you asked me!” Damien didn’t wait to be invited and strode into her apartment.

“Uhhhh... no you didn’t.” Cass was positive she hadn’t told her cousin to do anything, let alone something that would involve him showing up at her apartment with... whatever it was he was holding.

“I did though! Don’t you remember? At the Dumar’s party last month you said we were going to spy on Danarius.”

“Uh, no, at the Dumar’s party I said I was going to look into Danarius’ business dealings.”

“Well... yeah, and while you did that, I did this!” he lifted his arms slightly to offer her whatever it was he was holding.

“Damien, I have no idea what that is.”

“I went through his trash! And it was annoying because I had to climb over this really high fence to do it.”

Cass pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on her forehead. “Okay, well we’re going to just pretend you didn’t confess to trespassing and theft...”

“See, these are a bunch of receipts for... well, I don’t know what they’re all for. Oh, wait, and this looks like a coffee filter. But I think the rest of these are receipts-”

“Damien...”

“I know he’s getting extra income from somewhere-”

“Damien!”

“So I brought them here because you’re good at all this thinking stuff!”

“DAMIEN! When I said I was going to look into him I meant I was going to search through public records for his corporate filings and do a bit of catfishing. The corporate stuff is public information and the catfishing is things he’s willingly telling me. Or, well, willingly telling Cecelia. But still.”

“Ohhh...” Damien sounded like he was finally listening to what Cass was actually telling him instead of the voice-over in his personal action movie. “That sounds like a better plan now that you say it.”

“Yes. And it’s also doesn’t involve trespassing or petty larceny.”

“Can I help with that?”

“No!”

“Do you need me to hack into anything?”

“NO! That’s still illegal, Damien! And I need whatever I’m going to use to be clean.”

“Well, what about catfishing? Can I do that?”

Cass barely resisted the urge to throttle her overly-enthusiastic cousin, “I- yes, fine if that will get you out of here. But no hacking!”

“So, what kind of profile do you think I should make up? Can I see the one you’re using? Can we hang out while I make it?”

“Damien, I am going to give you three seconds to get out the door before I push you out a window! Fenris is coming over-”

“Can I meet him this time?”

“NO!” if Cass had her way about things Fenris would never be subjected to any of her relatives. It was bad enough he’d already met Carver and Bethany (albeit briefly), Cass wasn’t about to impose another Amell on him. She started shooing her cousin towards the door.

“Well, I guess I should leave to let you get ready. You probably want to put something nice on. Where are you going with him? You should take him dancing! Ooh! Have you ever heard of the Hanged Man? It’s this club-”

“Damien, just go back to your house and throw all that stuff out somewhere. And don’t do anything else illegal!”

“Bye, Cousin Cass! Let me know how your date goes! I’ll call you when I have something-”

Cass gave her cousin one last shove and closed the door behind him. She looked down at the clothes she was wearing and frowned. They were clean, but that was all that could be said about them. They were her usual combination of a tunic and leggings, and she liked them and was comfortable in them, they were far from nice. Or pretty. She’d never worn anything nice or pretty on any of their dates.

Although maybe it was unfair of her to consider what they did together ‘dating.’ He just came over to her apartment and they’d order carry out and watch movies. She liked watching movies and eating carry out in her apartment, and she loved doing it with Fenris, but... She was probably boring him. He’d been in a band; they’d met in the Hanged Man (even if Cass hadn’t wanted to go to the fucking club in the first place).

She bit her lower lip and tried to force herself not to cry. She hadn’t managed to fuck anything up yet. Maybe she had time. She opened her phone and called Fenris.

“Cass?”

“Mm-hum.” Great, of all the times for her throat to decide not to work.

“Cass, is everything alright?”

“Mm-hum.” She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to force herself to talk. “I... um... I’ve got to do this quick thing. I... I should be done before you get here, but I’m going to leave the door unlocked just in case. So you can come in. And I’ll have Dante and Squall with me so you don’t need to worry about that. But it’s fine, okay? I- I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Cass...”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

She was slightly afraid he would try to call her again once she hung up, but didn’t have time to be relived he hadn’t as she tore to her bedroom in search of something that wouldn’t make her look like, in the endearing words of her brother, a ‘crazy bag-lady.’

It took a while to find. Most of her regular clothes were similar to what she was wearing already and she had a few suits for competitions that she wore. She’d tried on one of the dresses her mother had bought for her to wear to the parties she was supposed to go to, but it made her skin burn and crawl so she’d yanked it off before she’d even zipped it up. She eventually found a knee-length black skirt (she had a fleeting thought that it might have been from her high school uniform, but as long as it didn’t look like it was from a high school uniform she wasn’t going to be picky) and a scoop-neck split sleeve blouse. She glanced at her phone and cursed that it had taken her all but five minutes of the time she’d had between her cousin running his mouth (he obviously hadn’t meant anything by it, and while she wasn’t mad at him for causing it she was still furious it had happened) and Fenris’ arrival. She rushed to the bathroom in a desperate search for make up. She owned some basic stuff for her competitions, but it was to make her look professional. She flung open cabinets and drawers in search of something as she tried not to focus on the sting of shame at what was in her medicine cabinet.

She heard the door to her apartment open and shook her head as she tried to apply what she’d found in a way that wouldn’t end up with her looking like a toddler who’d gotten into its mother’s purse. She couldn’t enjoy the fact that she’d managed it because when she looked at the reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. Actually, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly who was staring back at her. ‘Cassia Amell Hawke’ was staring back at her. The daughter her parents wanted was staring back at her. Someone normal was staring back at her. Someone Fenris deserved was staring back at her. The woman she could never be was staring back at her. She felt tears begin to prick the edges of her eyes before a voice from the living room distracted her.

“Cass?”

She wiped her eyes quickly as she answered, “Yes! Sorry, Fenris, I’ll be right out!” She grabbed the only pair of heels she owned as she tore from the bedroom.

“Cass!” She watched Fenris’ expression change as he took in her appearance. She bit her lip as she admonished herself silently for not being able to understand what any of it meant. “Cass, why are you wearing that?”

“I... um... do you not like it?” She hadn’t even considered Fenris may not like what she was wearing.

“I - no! You look... stunning but, it’s not what you usually wear.”

“I... well... I thought... I thought maybe we could do something different tonight.”

“Like what, Cass?”

“I... like we could go... out to dinner?”

“Hmmm... we could do that.” He was smiling. She didn’t think anything was off about the smile so she smiled back.

“And then we could go somewhere nice after? Like a club or a bar or something?”

Something was wrong with his smile as she finished. “Are you sure, Cass?”

“Mm-hum.” She nodded. She was sure, she just couldn’t bring herself to actually claim she was sure.

“Let’s see how you feel after dinner.”

“I... okay.” She hung her head as she tried to keep smiling. She’d obviously done something wrong. Maybe if she could figure out what it was she’d be able to fix it.

They had a fairly nice time at dinner. Fenris mentioned he knew a Seheron restaurant he liked that didn’t do carry-out so they went there. It was definitely noisier than Cass’ apartment, but it wasn’t overwhelming. As they left, Fenris reached a hand around her waist to press her gently to him and whisper, “Should we head back, Cass?”

She turned to him, “I - No! I said we could go dancing. So let’s go to a club.”

“Cass...”

“Do you not want to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Mm-hum.” She wanted to want to. That was close enough. He turned away. She reached out and grabbed his collar as she felt her breathing get heavier. She pulled him towards her as her eyes drifted away.

“Cass...” she felt him sigh above her. “If you’re sure, Cass.”

She nodded and pulled him closer.

“Alright, I know a place that’s not far.”

Cass had no idea what club Fenris had taken her to, but she knew she hated it. It was just as bad as the Hanged Man (although for all she knew, it was the Hanged Man again, she’d blocked most of the specifics of the place out): flashing lights, crowds of people, loud music, somehow louder voices, the stench of cigarettes, alcohol, and cologne. It was as though the entire place were determined to make her as miserable as possible as quickly as possible. She thought Fenris was trying to talk to her. She couldn’t hear him. She tried to focus on looking happy; pretending to belong. Keeping up her desperate façade of normalcy for as long as possible as the fire the overstimulation set off in every nerve in her body overwhelmed and consumed her.

The next thing she was fully aware of she was outside with her head pressed against a concrete wall as she gulped lungfuls of cold night air.

“Feeling better, Cass?”

She turned her head slightly to look at Fenris. His whole expression was funny - he wasn’t trying to smile, and he didn’t look angry, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand his slightly furrowed eyebrows. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. She didn’t want to make him wait any longer so she bit her tongue to try to force it to start working. “Yeah... um, just give me a second and we can go back in.”

“We’re not going back in, Cass.”

Her eyes flew open and she turned to Fenris in a panic, “I can do it better, Fenris! Just tell me what I did wrong and I can make it right!”

“Cass, you were miserable in there.”

“I’m sorry! I know I’m not supposed to be. I can- I can get better at pretending it’s fun!”

“Cassia, listen to me,” he reached out and hovered a hand over her cheek. She knew she shouldn’t - she didn’t deserve it - but she leaned into his touch. He rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t want you to pretend with me. I want to be with you, not anyone else.”

“I don’t understand, Fenris...”

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” She reached up to grab his wrist.

“That’s enough, Cassia.”

“But... but I want to do more, Fenris. You deserve more.”

“Hmm...” he slid his hand off her cheek and around her back to press her to his chest. “Is there anything you think we didn’t get to do tonight?”

“I... we didn’t get to dance. That’s what people go to clubs for, right?”

“We don’t need a club to dance, Cass. Here, give me your phone.”

She slid it out of her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over. She saw his eyes narrow at the screen. “Fenris?”

“It’s nothing, Cass. I’m just going to have to have a long talk with this Cousin Damien of yours at some point.”

“Fenris, nothing good ever comes from talking to my Cousin Damien at any length.”

“Well, I agree with that, but I don’t intend to let him off the hook. But let’s leave that for now.”

Cass watched the light of the screen reflect on Fenris’ face for a few seconds before music began to play. ‘I see trees of green; Red roses too.’ She leaned into him and wound her arms behind his head. He reached down with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone to reach around her waist as they swayed to the music. She wasn’t sure it counted as ‘dancing,’ but she was sure she wasn’t able to do anything more just then. She leaned away from slightly so she could press her forehead to his, “I think this is the first time I’ve liked this song.”

She felt him laugh, “My thoughts exactly, Cassia.”

#da drunk writing circle #fenhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #da2 #dragon age #fenris #that was way longer than i thought it would be

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lapzoli · 3 years

Note

For the fic title game, how about "Of glitter and Sunday mornings"? :3c

fandom: DC Batfamily

characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Joey Wilson (mentioned)

ship: Dick/Joey

first of all. late to this because I genuinely forgot about it until ten minutes ago....second: if I say this conversation took place on a Sunday, would it still count towards the title and isn’t just a stupid impulsive write I scrambled together because....? yeah. my bad, sorry :|

“Let me get this straight-“

“Something I am not, but okay.”

Jason closed his mouth, pressed his fingertips together, gave Dick a Look™️, and seemingly counted to ten in his head before he continued.

“Okay, let me get this hopelessly idiotic bisexual then,” he offered, and the other man nodded his head in approval. The urge to smack him into next week was near overwhelming. “Joey, your long time best friend and teammate.”

“Uh huh.”

“Had a self destructive panic attack because his mom had been kidnapped, and needed to be comforted?”

“Yup.”

“And you helped him through said panic attack?”

“Of course!” Dick placed a hand to his chest, looking as offended as he sounded. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Right, great, okay. Anyways, after you helped him, you wanted to help lighten the mood.”

“Mhm.”

“So you ‘playfully’ offered him your bed and flirted with him.”

“.....yeah?”

Jason sometimes wondered who was the oldest around here because one of them acted like a stupid hormonal teenager and it wasn’t Tim.

“And you didn’t expect him to take you on it but you guys had hooked up anyways.”

“Does it count as just one hook up if it was multiple rounds or-“

“I’m going to kill you, shut up,” warned Jason, and really, Dick should consider himself lucky he got a warning at all. “You guys hooked up, he stayed the night, you had lazy morning sex, and then went to go get McDonald’s for breakfast and came back and basically had a lazy date all day.”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes...?”

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering if 10am was too early for vodka. Probably. He didn’t care.

“And you came over here because you guys did this for like a week straight and you still haven’t talked about it?”

“Well yeah.” Dick made himself comfortable on Jason’s ratty old couch. Hope he had his shots because that shit was contaminated as all fuck. “I mean, should we? It’s basically just what we do as friends but like, we sleep together too. Not every day! I mean we sleep every other day but also, like, literally sleep together in the same bed nightly.”

“It sounds like you’re dating,” said Jason bluntly, because he did not understand what his predecessor was trying to get to.

Dick turned pink, laughing as he shook his head.

“No, we’re not! We just both need a good lay and a shoulder to cry on, and we’re already friends and we trust each other so it makes sense, you know?”

“So friends with benefits.” Jason wondered if the whiskey in the top cabinet would be good still. Pretty sure Roy left it here last time he was over, or maybe it was Rose. One of them kept breaking into his apartment. “Got it.”

“No, come on, man.” Dick sighed as if Jason was the dumb one here. “Joey deserves better than some cheap fuck and no one to talk to. He deserves someone who will give back all the love and generosity he so kindly hands out, who will laugh and bump his hips at the kitchen island as they make dinner together; someone who understands even half of his trauma and will help him through the worst of it, and who won’t love him any less for how he is and who his family is. Someone who picks out the almonds in his trail mix because he hates them, and someone who remembers to pick up his favorite record from the store, or all the toppings from that funny little hot dog shop he always goes to.”

Dick let that sit in the air for a moment before he flopped backwards over the couch with another heavy sigh.

“But no one’s good enough for him, you know? I mean who would do all that and appreciate Joey even as half as much as he deserves?”

Maybe he should text Kory and ask for that weird Tamaran alcohol she brought last time instead, the one that made him black out for three days straight because nothing on earth would be strong enough to deal with Dick Grayson.

“I’m actually going to kill you,” announced Jason, reaching for his crumpled jacket and throwing it at the older man, who dodged. Lucky he didn’t go for his gun honestly. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“If you don’t go out and ask Joey on a proper date right now, I’m going over to his place and asking him out myself and make him forget all about his stupid crush on you,” threatened Jason. Could it even count as a threat, or was it more of a promise?

Dick had the nerve to look confused.

“What do you mean Joey has a crush on me? What makes you think I want to ask him out? I mean I wouldn’t mind a guy like Joey, but we’re just friends?”

Jason stared at him for a solid five seconds, and then reached for his gun.

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

Dick yelped and scrambled for the fire escape, amidst the other man’s curses and gunfire.

( Somewhere across town, Rose Wilson was throttling her brother over a very similar conversation. )

#ask #njamil21 #dc verse #dick grayson #jason todd #joey wilson #my fanfiction #DHOSHDOWHDJSKDJ sorry for this idk what this is

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Shackled - Ch 2

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

Warning: Implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, Demon!Dean, Sam’s tendency to leave out vital details for folks helping him to save Dean (read: Sam’s tendency to be a Winchester), threats of violence, emotional manipulation, mind fuckery (expect LOTS of that in upcoming chapters)

Word count: 1597

Author’s Note: This story would not be possible without @thoughtslikeaminefield , who convinced me to write and finish this story, cheered me on every step of the way, and convinced me that even after over a year of not finishing a single thing, I hadn’t lost my writing after all. MJ, thank you for poking the story til it squeaked. And for the banner. And lots and lots of other things. Thanks also to @cracksinthewalls for checking my work. You make everything you touch better.

If you’re reading this, hi! Have a seat and strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (in the best way!).

In case you missed it:

Ch 1

Chapter 2

The wave of sheer malevolence that rolled over Miriam nearly knocked her from her feet, and she only just kept from throwing her arms up in defense.

Nothing was coming at her, no weapons, no attacks or enemies. But the sense that something in this room was absolutely wrong couldn’t be denied any more than she could deny the mental and physical effort she had to exert just to stay by Sam’s side.

Torn, she thought, eyes darting around the enclosure. She wanted to bolt from the room, from the whole bunker, find the furthest cave, and bury herself in it.

And yet...

Moment by moment, she had to fight the urge to walk straight over to the man bound to the chair not fifteen feet away, a chair she couldn't help but notice was bolted to the floor.

What the hell did she think she’d do when she got there, exactly? Where was this coming from?

Her stomach twisted as she forced herself to breathe normally, to ignore the flush rising through her skin, and really look around the newly revealed room.

Dungeon, her scattered mind projected. The Winchesters have a dungeon.

A massive devil's trap, much larger than any of the few she’d seen, was painted on the floor. The sigils were painted in black against the grayish white of the floor; detailed, huge, and precise, the mystical symbols couldn’t help but draw her gaze. She examined the lines for a long moment, studiously ignoring the one thing in the room she suddenly needed to look at.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

Dean Winchester had aged a little better than his brother, but he’d obviously weathered some tough times, as well. That his arms were both cuffed and tied to the chair in which he was sitting, his eyes blacked out in true demonic presence, did nothing to ease every instinct within Miriam that screamed for her to run.

Sure, Sam had said his brother was a demon, but…still. Dean Winchester, the Dean Winchester, an actual demon? That wasn’t a fact that could be conveyed through simple words.

“Gretel, it’s been too long. Where’s Hansel? Did a mean old witch toss him in an oven yet?”

The demon smirked at his wit, and Miriam felt her lips drawing back in an involuntary snarl, but Sam’s earlier words echoed in her head, and she throttled down the instinct to find a very swift end to this abomination. Nostrils flaring, she cracked her neck slowly to one side, then the other, closing her eyes for a two-count before opening them again.

Dean watched her, head cocked inquisitively, showing the first signs of real interest since she and Sam had walked in. His obsidian eyes narrowed as he gave her a thorough once over. His gaze lingered on her neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took in the ruined skin, the pulse beating along the column of her throat. When he spoke again, his velvet tone throbbed in her veins, even as his words sent her stomach spiraling.

“Nah, I think the big bad wolf found you both. Ate up baby brother and started in on you for dessert. Bet he thought you were real sweet. Wouldn’t mind sinkin’ my teeth into that neck, either.”

Sam’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to herself, out of the rushing void. She blinked, cleared her throat, tasted blood.

When did I bite my cheek? she thought.

She shook her head like a dog shedding water, and suddenly she was back with herself. She glanced at Sam, looking for guidance on what to do next. Every hunter instinct she had screamed at her to drown Dean in a vat of holy water, or behead him at the very least. Anything to not look into those eyes again.

Those empty, black eyes that pulled when they should repel, that called to her to jump into the abyss rather than backing away from the precipice like any sane person should.

But Sam, the same man who didn’t hesitate to tackle the witch about to finish Aaron off as Dean set fire to the hex bag all those years ago, was frozen in place, his mouth a thin, painful line as his red eyes shone wetly under the harsh lighting. Then he cleared his throat and looked away from his brother as he arranged some flasks on the metal table nearby.

“Dean, I’ve gotta get some supplies for the ritual. It’ll take me a couple of days. Miriam is going to watch you, keep you...company. Then we’re gonna fix this.”

The harsh, gritty laugh that rumbled up from Dean’s chest was as amused as it was mocking.

“Are you still on that crusade, Sam? I don’t need a babysitter. Let me go, and we’ll just forget this whole brainless little scheme of yours. I don’t need fixing.” Dean grinned wider as his brother visibly flinched. “Ain’t broken, Sammy. Just improved.”

Sam’s lips pinched together hard, his eyebrows drawing down sharply, but he didn’t reply, instead turning his attention to Miriam.

“I know it sounds crazy, but we’ve figured out a way to cure demons. I can get my brother back, but it’s not gonna be easy. I have to go get the materials, some kind of specialized stuff, and it may take me a few days. I need your help; our other...friend is dealing with something and can’t get back here, and somebody has to watch Dean while I’m gone, just in case.”

Miriam glanced disbelievingly between the two brothers, one very obviously at the breaking point, if not well past it, and the other seemingly bored despite being chained down.

She took an unconscious step towards Dean before she could stop herself, then planted her feet hard. What the hell was that? she thought.

Dean eyed her speculatively for a moment, taking in her odd internal struggle. His nostrils flared briefly as he inhaled, and a smirk began to curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I think we need to talk in the hallway for a sec, Sam,” Miriam said, her lips pressed into a thin, tense line.

Sam huffed out a breath, and Miriam could see he was relieved she wasn’t outright refusing. As he led the way back to the hall, she glanced at Dean. He’d reverted to his natural appearance; warm, clear green eyes sparkled across the room as he winked at her.

“See ya soon, sweetheart.”

She shuddered and hurried after Sam.

The air in the hallway was by no means the fresh air she’d prefer, but it was bracing and clear after the tense, conflicting atmosphere she’d left behind. She took a moment to gather herself, to get her overwhelmed thoughts into some sort of order. Before she could find her words, though, Sam broke the silence with the last thing she expected or wanted to hear right now.

“I heard about Aaron. I’m so sorry, Miriam. I know it’s a rough time for you right now, but-”

“That's not the point, Sam,” she interrupted before he could finish, irritation and pain flaring hot in her chest. “You said you needed my help. That implies there’s something I can even do here. You want me to watch Dean, but what the hell do you think I can do if he gets out? I can’t hold back a demon by myself! You could’ve warned me, saved me the trip!”

“He won’t get out,” Sam said, his fingers clenching reflexively on the edge of his sling, and he grimaced. “The cuffs are inscribed with runes, and he’s inside a devil’s trap; you know those will hold demons as long as the lines are intact. Those flasks on the table back there are loaded up with holy water. Anything happens, you run like hell, call me, and I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

He stepped into her space suddenly, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. He grasped her shoulder with his good hand, leaning down to hold her gaze. His desperation was etched into every line of his face, and she felt a sudden, unexpected affinity to Sam Winchester.

“I had no one else I could trust. I knew if I told you the whole situation over the phone, you might not come. But I never forgot you and your brother, and I never forgot your promise. I knew, out of the few people I could turn to, that you were the only one who’d understand that I’m going to do everything I can to save Dean.”

Sam’s fingers dug into Miriam’s shoulder blade, but she didn’t flinch, holding his gaze for a long, weighted moment. Then she nodded. He was right. Of everything that had happened since she answered the phone seven hours ago, this was perhaps the one thing she really, truly understood.

“You’re gonna have to load me up with holy water, though. Maybe a water gun to hold it. You got a Super Soaker lyin’ around somewhere?”

Sam coughed out a sudden laugh and released her.

“I can do you one better,” he said.

He reached behind his back to pull out a knife from a hidden sheath. He held it out to her handle-first, and her eyebrows shot up as she took in the inscribed, serrated blade. She’d heard stories about that knife, but she never thought she’d actually see it, much less hold it.

“Shit, Sam, I knew you respected me, but I didn’t know you actually cared.”

...

Chapter 3

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justjessame · 3 years

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Babysitting Butcher Chapter 3

Somehow, by some amazing miracle, Billy Butcher and I did not implode and take out the building we used as headquarters during the two months we’d coexisted. Did he still bristle anytime I tried to offer a less extreme tact for one of his plans? Yes. Did he look like he was considering tossing my short ass out the fucking window as often? No.

I was on the phone with the still acting deputy director when he walked into my office’s open door. I hated having to jump up every fucking time someone came to speak to me, so I kept it propped open with a door jam most of the day. He looked like thunder, but I was in the middle of learning another fucking assignment that the higher ups felt fell under my new position’s heading.

“Are you sending the files over digitally or am I going to have to-” she told me that she was sending them via courier and I told her I’d be waiting. I hung up and looked up at the storm that was waiting to be unleashed. “Yes, Mr. Butcher?”

He started to pace and rant, and the jist of it was his irritation that he was running into walls when it came to dealing with one of the administrative shills that we were stuck with for reports or updates to reports. “How am I supposed to plan any fucking thing if Kevin in-” and on he went. I let him vent, waiting the rush of words out, until he finally seemed to hit the end of his stride. “What are you gonna do to fix it?” His eyes locked on mine where he was hovering in front of my desk.

“Me?” Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m confused about why you came into my office thundering instead of thundering to Kevin?” His lips quirked into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “Is this THE Billy Butcher showing maturity in how he deals with an irritating situation?” My tone coupled with the mock surprise did it. He laughed and it changed his entire bearing.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to calm my tits?” I snorted at the imagery of his uptight tits. “Here I am, calming my-”

“Tits, yes, I got the picture firmly in my head.” I shook my head. “Of course I want you to not fly off the handle and blow up anyone who is causing you frustration, but I assure you, unless you planned to throw Kevin off the roof of the building for his lack of skills, I’m fine with you giving him hell. Just hold back on the urge to light him on actual fire, ok?” I could swear the twinkle in his eyes was back. I’d seen it flash here and there over the course of two months, but it made me grin almost every single time. I say almost, because I tended to get heartburn when it came after me forcing a promise from him to NOT go to extreme measures.

“Toss him off the roof?” He shook his head and the smirk turned to a grin. “Thought you knew me better than that, Doc.” And then he was gone again. Shit. I REALLY hoped I wouldn’t have to write an incident report on Kevin, wait, did we even have a Kevin on staff here?

We didn’t have a Kevin on staff. His name was Joseph, and he was in my doorway not an hour later looking like he’d seen a ghost. Smiling in what I hoped was a reassuring way, I invited him into my office. He looked like a scared mouse, his eyes glancing at my open door.

“You can close it, if that would make you feel more comfortable?” I offered, and he nodded and nudged the door jam out from under the door and let it click shut. “Now, Joseph, what has you in such a flutter?”

He haltingly told me about his run in with Billy Butcher, swallowing often and eyes darting around my office like he expected the man to hop out from behind a bookshelf and throttle him. I sighed as he painted a picture of the man, the myth, the pain in my ass scaring this poor report jockey shitless. Once he was finished, eyes still flickering around the room, Adam’s apple bobbing with every hard swallow, I sat back in my chair.

“Did he put his hands on you?” He shook his head, but looked confused by the question. “I need to know when I reprimand him, you see, if he was physical with you that would have to be addressed, Joseph.” A nod to show he understood. “He verbally threatened you?”

“He said,” a gulp and more eye darting, “that he’d ‘toss my sorry ass off the roof’ if I didn’t make things simpler during his requests, but-”

I had to swallow my laughter. The asshole had used my words against me. Fucker. “But?” I managed to choke out.

“There are procedures that we have to go through, you know that Dr. Taylor.” He was pleading, begging almost for me to understand his hands were tied. And I had a flash that if we didn’t fix the situation, his hands WOULD be tied, and his ass might end up in the ocean.

I sighed again. “I’m well aware of the procedures, Joseph.” Rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck, I considered how to make everyone happy and safe. Or at least happier and not dealing with a chance of ending up fish food. “I suppose that Mr. Butcher can start running his needs and requirements past me, and then I can run them up the flagpole.” Joseph looked relieved and I felt a burning in my chest starting to grow. I was going to end up with a fucking medical condition from all the extra fucking stress and shit I was putting my ass through. Damn it. “Go, Joseph. I’ll let Mr. Butcher know that I’ll be his-” another sigh. “I’ll take care of it.” Dismissed, he started for the door. “Don’t replace the jam, please.” I needed quiet and fuck it if I had to get up and answer the damn knocks for awhile.

I called Billy in for another meeting later that day. I swore I could hear his fucking grin over the phone and nearly growled when he told me he’d see me soon. Fucker. I was up to my elbows in boxes and boxes of files that the couriers had delivered soon after Joseph had left when a knock sounded on my still closed door.

Groaning, I made my way barefoot to the door and opened it. There he stood, the smug bastard, and as I turned to go back to the desk, ignoring the dozen boxes that I’d been sitting with on the floor.

“Cute toes,” he mentioned, and I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t take you for a red polish kind of-”

“Cut the shit, Billy.” I gestured to the empty chairs in front of my desk and he took one. “You’ll be happy, I’m sure, to know that I will be handling ALL of your op requests personally now.” His smile grew and I had to fight picking up a stapler and tossing it at his head. “Thought you weren’t thinking about tossing his ass off the roof,” I raised an eyebrow and he had the fucking nerve to laugh.

“I wasn’t, that was YOUR idea, Doc.” His smile held. “Worked, didn’t it?” Shaking my head I watched as he took in my new additions. “What’s all this?”

Giving a truly forced smile of my own, I let out another sigh. “This,” I offered, standing and walking back to the spot I’d been sitting in when he knocked, “is the rest of my new assignment.” Leaning down, I pulled a file from the first box I came to. “Matthew Alexander Rogers, born May 3, 1998. Given his first dose of Compound V days after his premature birth, after Vought convinced his parents that it would not only aid in his health issues, but make him stronger. Died July 6, 1998 when his heart gave out from the strain of his newfound strength.” I put it carefully back in the box it came from and pulled a file from the box next to it. “Joann Sylvia Constantine. Born September 3, 1978. Codename Angel. Current whereabouts unknown. Powers of flight, strength, and-” I tossed the file back into the box I pulled it from. “Seems that I’ll be dealing with the supes that AREN’T part of the Seven and ones that didn’t survive the dosage.”

“There are at least a-”

“Dozen,” I nodded and moved back to my desk. Ignoring my chair, I perched on the surface closest to Billy. “There are a round dozen boxes, I had to sign for them.” I knew my shoulders were slumped, but it was overwhelming how many babies and children had died from Vought’s bullshit. “They aren’t sorted by any discernible means. Birth, death, names. None of those are used to put them in order. I could have just as easily pulled three files from three different boxes that all told of dying children or babies. They fucking experiemented on babies, Billy, with no proof that the outcome would be successful.” I shook my head and felt the weight of it all.

“And I just added to your fucking load with-” I rolled my eyes. Now he considers my load. “Doc, if I have to, I’ll go back to dealing with Kevin.”

“Joseph.” I corrected him and he looked confused. “His name isn’t Kevin, it’s Joseph.” Hopping off the desk, I went back to my chair. “It’s fine, Billy, I can handle it, I just hate reading those fucking files and seeing people die so Vought could create a new fucking species.”

“Makes you wanna burn the entire fucking operation down, don’t it?” I shook my head. “Come on, Doc, you know the more you read them files, the more likely you’re gonna come down on my side of the fucking debate.” Shit, I knew he was right, but I couldn’t go rogue. Not my fucking job.

“Acting on wants isn’t necessarily the best course of action, Billy.” I pulled a legal pad from one of my drawers and uncapped my pen. “Now, tell me what you were willing to threaten Joseph over so I can work magic to make some of it happen.”

Once I finished the list, handing it to him so he could confirm it, I stood to walk him to the door. Still barefoot, and he took notice. “Your toes are still pretty damn adorable, Doc,” looking up at him, I caught him licking his lips. Ew, don’t be a weird foot fetish guy, I thought, but shot it down. What did it matter what William Butcher’s kinks might be? His eyes met mine and for once I didn’t feel irritation, I felt an entirely new twist in my gut and nearly groaned. Nope, not happening, Veronica. Not him. Any fucking one but him. “Gonna have to visit more often to see what else you toss off to get comfy in here.” Shit.

“Just the shoes, Mr. Butcher,” I opened the door and nearly sighed in relief as he started to leave. I could feel the heat from him as he walked past me, but then his hand touched my arm and my eyes shot back to his face.

“You only call me ‘Mr. Butcher’ when you’re trying to knock back your irritation with me, Doc.” his fingers were still on my arm, and I was trying to focus past the feel of it to listen to what he was saying. “It’s Billy, just Billy.” I swallowed and nodded with what I hoped was a smile on my lips.

“Veronica, then,” I offered back. “‘Doc’ reminds me of Bugs Bunny.” He smiled, but his fingers didn’t leave my skin. I felt like his touch was burning me. “I have a lot of work to do,” leave, please, so I can freak out in private.

“So do I, Ronnie.” And then his hand and he was gone. I closed the door behind him, and leaned against it to try to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

No flirting with him, Ronnie, I thought. Then growled when I realized that I just used the nickname he’d given me to address myself and then really growled when I noticed that I was having an entire internal debate with myself. Fuck. I was going to end up committed by the end of this assignment.

#Billy Butcher x ofc #the boys #eventual smut #alternate universe

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Just because your roommates are horrible doesn't mean you all can't have a good time now and again... just don't tell Venable.

Hey guys. this scene is pretty short in comparison with my other chapters thus far. It didn't blend well with the other things I have planned, but I thought it was important to show the good times at Outpost 3 as well as the bad. Consider it a palette cleanser for what is to come. Michael will be here by Chapter 4...

The excitement over the idea of salvation by the cooperative was a short-lived joy. After months of listening to “The Morning After” by McGovern over and over and over was enough to make the residents of Outpost 3 question their sanity as well as their conviction.

Em walked into the salon, her hands wrapped around a collection of pens she had been able to scavenge from her room. She pulled at the obnoxiously high collar of her white shirt. Whenever evening wear wasn’t an obligation, she liked to dress in as few layers as she could — Victorian underwear and a dress that made her look like some governess of orphaned children in a period drama.

Swinging the door open, she stopped in her tracks. The room was usually devoid of life except for the 6 o’clock “cocktails.” Andre sat there on the couch, his back to her as he stared into the fire.

The brunette debated turning on her heels, but by the time she took a step back, it was too late. Andre’s head turned, hair raising on the back of his neck as he sensed her green eyes boring into his back. He wondered if she would go away if he ignored her long enough, but curiosity got the better of him His head turned ever slightly and Em pretended like she had meant to be seen by the man.

Heels clicked against the wood flooring, only a few steps before pausing at the edge of the large black coffee table between the two large dark sofas.

Two months after Stu’s death and his cheeks were still damp with tears. His red eyes burned her, anger unyielding. She was deserving of his hate... even more so than the others. Just as she couldn’t reassure him of Stu’s safety she could not tell him of her guilt. At least the others showed remorse and disgust at their own actions.

Em tried to speak with Andre on multiple occasions, but her words came out hollow. Anything she said was just to chase off her own guilt. At one point she had mistakenly reminded Andre that he had also eaten from the stew... it didn’t end well.

Needless to say, these days, the only person he spoke to was Dinah.

There was so much anger and grief twisting inside him. He wanted to scream and throttle Venable damn the consequences. At least then he’d be reunited with the man he loves... loved. One meal and the bonds made in good faith and mutual tragedy were fractured with the crack of a whip.

Em wished he would just verbally eviscerate her like he did Evie. His silence was suffocating. Instead, they stood in awkward silence. She really wasn’t good at this.

“So…” Em trailed, leaning back on her heels and biting her lips as she thought of what to say. Another apology would sound insincere and they both knew it would end them right back where they began.

“So,” Andre mocked, scoffing as he turned back to the fire.

Em rose a hand as if to reach out to him, mouth opened before closing it once more. Her hand reached out to him before drawing back, hand running through her hair then returning to her side.

“What’s it like having Dinah Stevens as a mother?”

Another scoff, followed by his gaze flickering up and down her with disdain.

She finally settled on the couch opposite him, “Sore subject… fair.”

“Also literally asked by every person I’ve ever met.”

Mc nodded, “basic.”

“Yup,” Andre said, popping the “p.”

Fiddling with the pens in her hand, Em racked her brain for something to say. It was a curse, anxiety. It made everything seem much worse than it was and was often accompanied by an overwhelming desire to be liked by everyone… well… almost everyone. Involuntary cannibalism would have been considered some of the worst, but it pales in comparison to nuclear winter.

Her leg bounced up and down and her eyes flickered from the fire to the ceiling to Andre and back again. Usually, in these moments she’d take out her phone, pens could only distract one for so long.

“God, I wish we had alcohol,” She sighed.

“Amen to that.”

The door creaked open. Em jumped to her feet, holding back the urge to run towards Emily as she quietly closed the door behind her. It felt like an eternity before she turned around. A smile lit up Emily’s face and she waved a collection of paper she had been able to find.

“Ready?”

Relief rolled off Em, tension leaving her shoulders as they can to settle around the coffee table. There was plenty of room, but Em still found it more comfortable to sit on the floor, skirt billowing around her like a puddle of purple. She took a pen and piece of paper and leaned over the table.

“You start. Give me a band.”

Emily’s lips twisted and her nose scrunched as she thought, “… The Beatles.”

Em scribbled down the name and tore it from the rest of the paper, placing it in a small wooden box Emily had brought with her. She grabbed a paper and pen of her own and turned to Em. “Now you.”

“Panic at the Disco.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

Em couldn’t help the laugh that left her, “shut up. You said The Beetles.”

“What? It’s a classic.”

Andre’s attention turned from the fire to the pair sitting across from him. He would have left, but after months and months of doing nothing but waking up and waiting to sleep again he was dying for something different.

“Lady Gaga,” Em said.

“Madonna.” Emily countered.

“Justin Bieber.”

“Justin Timberlake.”

“What are you doing?” He finally asked after a few more rounds of them shooting random words back and forth.

“Pictionary,” Emily answered him with a smile, cheeks flushed from laughing, “Em had the idea.”

“Pictionary?” Andre asked, slowly scooting closer, “Is that a game?”

“Yeah!” Em answered, “My siblings and I used to play it all the time. Right now we’re coming up with random things to go in a hat.”

She motioned to the box slowly gathering more and more strips of paper, “The game is to pick one of these and try to draw it while your teammates guess what it is.”

“So like art charades?”

“Pretty much!”

A small smile flickered to Andre’s lips as he stood up and came to sit beside Emily.

“Okay. I have one: Dinah Stevens.”

“Oooh,” Em awed, pointing a pen at Emily and Andre, “that’s a good one. Should we do one for each resident?”

Emily shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

“How angry do you think Coco would be if we put her in there?” Andre asked, grabbing a pen and paper of his own.

Em looked like the Cheshire Cat, smiling ear to ear, “Furious,”

“Let’s do it.”

As the hours passed, more and more residents joined. A few Greys even whispered ideas into Em’s ear as they passed and she would scribble them in and throw them in the box. Em finally took a seat on one of the couches, Timothy and Emily on her right and Coco to her left.

“Okay!Okay!” Em exclaimed as people yelled things at her all at once, “One at a time! Give me stuff. Movies, books, albums, famous people, sayings. Coco! Go!”

“Michel Jackson!”

Em scribbled down the name and tossed it into the pile of paper that threatened to spill from the small box, “Alright! Now… Emily!”

“To Kill a Mocking Bird!”

She nodded as she scribbled it down, “… and since I’m Emily squared I get to go next.”

Gallant groaned, “oh, c’mon!”

“Hey!” Em snipped, smiling as she swung a pen at the man who could only smile and laugh at her antics, “I’m the one with the pen. My pen, my rules!”

Coco leaned over Em, “What are you writing?”

“Stevie Nicks!”

Leaning back in his seat, Gallant draped an arm across the back of his chair, perplexed, “Isn’t that the woman that sings Jolene?”

“NO!” At least five people yelled in unison, quickly falling into a collection of giggles.

Em feigned insult, “how can you mistake Dolly Parton with Stevie Nicks.”

Gallant waved a dismissive hand, “We aren’t all from the countryside of Georgia.”

“I was raised near Atlanta, thank you very much,” Em jested, “I’m only a quarter country girl.”

“Do you have those shirts that say: ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my sweet tea?’” Coco asked, hands spreading out like she was hanging up a banner.

Em couldn’t keep her smile down, “That was one time!”

“Uh-huh,” Gallant laughed, “Suuure it was.”

The brunette grabbed an extra pen and chucked it at the man. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed like this. God knows none of them had even been in a room together without mandatory attendance.

Timothy sat at the edge of the group. He shuffled through the cards they had made, sorting them so they’d fit in the box. “I think we’ve filled out the last one.”

Coco looked around at everyone, “So… we get to play now?”

“Not today,” Emily declared, smiling at Timothy as he held out the box for her to place the top on it. Coco, Andre, and Gallant booed them.

“Look,” Em defended Emily, hands wringing at her wrists “I know y’all were just spitting out words, but I had to write them all down. My poor wrist needs a break.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Coco said.

“Half the fun is not knowing what’s coming,” Timothy reminded, his eyes not leaving Emily. Em could tell he was smitten with her. Poor boy didn’t know how to hide anything.

“Well I don't know about y’all,” Andre spoke, mocking Em’s slight accent as he rose from the couch, “But I’m going to take a nap.”

“I agree, y’all,” Gallant jumped on, dodging another pen Em threw in his direction.

“Words are an illusion created by humanity,” She jested, earning a dismissive wave from the hairdresser as he walked out the door, “It’s conventional!!”

Coco sighed and laid back on the couch, closing her eyes as she began to whine “I wouldn’t mind the constant hunger if it didn’t come with the constant tiredness.”

Em looked to Timothy and Emily. The latter rolled her eyes.

“I feel like I’m back in college,” Em said, leaning back on Emily, “Eating sleep for dinner.”

She could feel Emily’s shoulders shake as she laughed. Timothy took a seat on the other side of the coffee table, resting on the arm of the chair, “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“I spent finals week eating only spoonfuls of peanut butter. Then the next year I bought a Costco-sized thing of ramen noodles.”

Emily leaned back her head and groaned, “Don’t talk about food. Even ramen noodles make my mouth water.”

Somehow, Em had made her way from leaning on Emily’s shoulder to having her head in the other girl’s lap. Emily’s hands absentmindedly ran through the brunette’s short bob which was growing longer by the day.

“Oh!” A memory struck Em like a lightning bolt, “my friend took me to an authentic ramen place before the bombs.”

She hummed at the mere thought of the food, “Best. Thing. Ever. They had special ramen eggs and topped it off with a slab of pork that just fell apart—”

Coco jumped from her seat with a huff, “You’re all sadistic!”

The three of them watched as the blonde stormed across the room, door slamming behind her with a loud bang which made their bones shake. Then they looked to each other, biting their lips but ultimately falling into laughter.

“If I knew it was that easy I would have done it months ago,” Emily laughed.

“C’mon,” Timothy tried to be the voice of reason, trying to keep a straight face but ultimately failing, “That’s just mean.”

“So is Coco,” Em scoffed, reaching for a glass of water, “it’s not like we threatened to kill her.”

“You did,” Emily reminded.

The other girl paused in her movement and pointed up at her, “Mead said ‘murder’, not me. I said I’d come for her… I didn’t specify how.”

Timothy sighed and shook his head while Emily only looked at him with a smile.

“At least we have each other,” Emily noted.

Em smiled at that, finally sitting up, “The Three Musketeers!”

“All for one and one for all,” Timothy said.

Emily sighed, “God knows Venable won’t do it.”

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon #ahs x reader #ahs x oc #ahs apocolypse #ahs #fanfiction #american horror story fanfiction

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