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suttttton · 4 years

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Growing Pains

Febuwhump Day 1: Mind Control

***

“You knew what you would find here, didn’t you?” Annabelle asks, leaning back against her kitchen counter, looking over Jon with eyes far too predatory for his liking.

“To be honest, I expected more spiders,” Jon says. He’s seated at Annabelle Cane’s table, in Annabelle Cane’s flat. Annabelle Cane is making him tea. He came here of his own accord, and even though he can feel his heart in his throat, he refuses to regret this decision. Hadn’t he long ago decided that answers were worth the fear? Isn’t that how he’s made every decision, since Jane Prentiss attacked the Archives? Since he read the wrong book and narrowly escaped being devoured by a monster?

Annabelle smiles, crosses her arms. “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t here, Jon.”

Jon swallows. “Right.” His voice is faint.

“And yet you came anyway,” Annabelle says. “Do you know why?”

“I, uh… I thought I’d ask you—something. For a statement. Maybe.”

“And you thought I was likely to give you one?”

“Well, you invited me here, didn’t you?” Jon snaps, stiff politeness finally giving way to trembling anger.

“I did,” Annabelle says. She comes closer to Jon, and it’s all he can do not to flinch away from her. “Give me your hand,” she says, holding out her own to take it.

“Why?” Jon manages, even as he’s already extending his bandaged hand toward her.

She gives him a flat look, closes her eyes, takes a breath. His hand is trembling slightly, caged between her two hands. She opens her eyes. “Because our patron is worried about you,” she says. And then, her voice low with anger. “You will not compel me again.”

“Our patron?” Jon says.

Annabelle nods, her attention occupied examining the bandages on his hand. He tries to pull away, but he can’t. He can’t move his hand at all. She runs three fingers over the surface of his palm, and Jon holds back a squeak of pain at the gentle contact. “Jude did a wonderful job,” she murmurs, more to herself than to Jon. Then she looks at him, smiling. “And Martin did a wonderful job with the bandages.”

She releases him, and Jon jerks his hand back, cradling it to his chest. She steps even closer, and he’s frozen in place as one of her hands goes to his throat. Even over the bandages, she traces a line exactly where Daisy’s knife punctured his flesh. “Daisy’s is more impressive, though.”

The kettle screams, and she steps away to finish preparing the tea. Jon can suddenly move again, and he curls his arms around himself. This isn’t like meeting Jude Perry or Mike Crew. He wasn’t on even footing with them, either, but with Annabelle, it isn’t even close. He considers running, but he’s terrified that he’ll find himself unable to move if he tries to act on that thought.

“Why am I here?” he asks. He’d grown used to the small sliver of power his questions gave him. It’s terrifying to lose that.

Annabelle sets a mug of tea in front of him. He picks it up, takes a sip. He didn’t decide to do that, but it’s happening anyway. She sits down across from him, takes a sip from her own mug. “The Mother of Puppets is fond of you,” she says. Like that explains anything.

“You mean, the—spiders?” Jon asks, dread growing in his stomach.

“Knock, knock,” Annabelle says, smiling at him over her mug.

A jolt of fear rushes through Jon, and he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “But that isn’t—I belong to the Institute, the, the Eye.” Jon still has so many questions about the Entities, so many things that he doesn’t know, puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit together. But he knows that he doesn’t belong to the spiders. He escaped them.

“Sure,” Annabelle says. “But the Web claimed you first. You’ve been running around, collecting your marks like a good little Archivist, all inspired by your desperate curiosity, your gnawing fear that you won’t be able to put all the pieces together in time. It’s all very Beholding-flavored.” She wrinkles her nose, and looks at Jon, still with that sly smile. “Much better for you to strengthen your connection to the Web. Your fear will feed us. You’ll have our gifts.”

“So this is, what, an invitation?”

“Sure,” Annabelle says. “If you want to think of it that way.” She pauses. “Of course, invitations presume that you can deny them, and free will isn’t exactly the Web’s strong suit. The Mother of Puppets wants you to be ours, so you will be.”

Jon opens his mouth, to ask what the hell that means, but Annabelle cuts him off. “You should probably be going now.”

Jon stands up, not of his own accord, and starts toward the door. Annabelle follows. Before he leaves, she plants a hand on his shoulder, and he just barely manages to not flinch away. “Jon,” she says, and there’s something different in her eyes now, replacing the sly teasing tone she’d taken before. She looks… concerned. Sad, even. “There will be some growing pains,” she says. “Just do what the Mother wants. It’ll be alright.” She squeezes his wrist, and then shuts the door.

He doesn’t decide to go back to the Archives. The Web decides for him.

***

“Good morning,” Martin says, bringing in tea, as he does every morning.

Jon smiles at him. “Good morning, Martin.”

Martin looks at him for long enough that Jon starts to frown. “Martin? Did you need something?”

“What?” Martin blinks. “No, sorry, I—You just look… really good. Better than you have since—Well, since you got back from your… vacation, I guess.”

“I suppose there’s no snappy way to say, ‘time when you weren’t coming into work because your boss framed you for murder and the cops wanted to kill you,’” Jon quips. “But yes. I feel better.” He lifts the statement on his desk. “Feels like we’re finally making progress towards something.”

“And your hand, and—It’s all healing well?” Martin asks.

Jon nods, flexing his hand slightly beneath the bandages. “I think I’m starting to get a bit of feeling back? Which is probably a good sign.”

“Probably,” Martin agrees. “I still think you should’ve gone to A&E.”

Jon nods, a little embarrassed. “Yes, well… if it gets worse, I’ll take your advice.”

“Alright,” Martin says. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” And then he leaves, smiling because, for the first time in recent memory, Jon actually seems as fine as he claims to be.

Jon wants to scream. He wants to curl up beneath his desk, arms wrapped around himself in some semblance of comfort. He wants to be held—Martin or Georgie or Tim, or someone. He wants the release of it, warm arms grounding him as he shakes apart entirely. He wants to beg the others to please, please help him.

Instead, he smiles at them when he sees them in the break room, when he asks them to look into certain details for him. He sits in his office, calmly reading statement after statement, finding as much information about the Unknowing as possible. He goes home and watches movies with Georgie, and laughs at all the right parts. None of it is his choice, and he is so, so scared. Scared of what the Web is planning. Scared that he will be nothing but a puppet for the rest of his life.

It’s strange, being so constantly terrified, but showing no physical symptoms of fear. His heart rate is normal. His hands and voice are steady.

It doesn’t escape his notice that they all like him better, like this. Unburdened by the weight he carries with him. He desperately wishes for one of them to notice that it’s wrong, that he’s wrong, but he knows they won’t. Even if they did notice, he isn’t certain they would want him to go back to what he was before.

It’s almost a relief when Breekon and Hope grab him. He chooses to fight them, kick out his legs uselessly as they tie him up and toss him in the back of their van. His heart is hammering, adrenaline firing. It’s exhilarating, but there’s no room to rejoice in his newfound freedom. He has to find a way out of this, but—

There is no way out. Nikola delights in reminding him of this, whenever she comes to see him. They tie him up in a dimly lit room, surrounded by horrifying mannequins that sometimes move. His binds are tight, as is the gag in his mouth, and though he can struggle against them, it’s clear he’ll never manage to wriggle out of them.

For a while, he expects someone to come rescue him. Maybe Annabelle, although if he really thinks about it, it’s more likely that the Web would simply manipulate someone else into coming. Maybe his assistants would come, if they can find him. (If they decide he’s worth rescuing.) He’s wanted by the Eye and the Web, and clearly that counts for something. Surely they wouldn’t just abandon him to be skinned alive by the Stranger.

But no one comes. It’s hard to keep track of time, but Jon knows it’s been a few weeks, at least. Long enough by far for a rescue party to come, if they ever planned on coming. He wonders if the Web is enjoying this, if this fear is Web-flavored enough for it. Maybe it set him up for this. Maybe it’s actively preventing him from escaping.

He’s allowed to cry now. He can even scream, if he wanted to, although the gag makes it kind of pointless. Nikola enjoys when he cries.

Michael comes, and then Helen replaces him, and Jon can see the spidercracks of the Web behind it. Helen opens her door to him, and even if he wanted to take his chances with the Stranger, the webs in his mind give him no choice but to accept her offer.

At least Helen only toys with him a little bit before depositing him back in his office.

He lays on the floor for a long time, staring at the ceiling, expecting at any moment for the vise-like grip of the Web to take hold of him once more. It keeps not happening. His breath starts to come faster and faster, so he forces himself to take deep breaths, but that only makes his shaky breathing sound louder in his ears. It’s all so loud, his breathing, his heartbeat. Even the electricity humming in the walls, the soft rattle of the air conditioner.

He brings a hand to his face, and his eyes are filled with tears that immediately start tumbling over his cheeks. A sob hitches in his chest, and he almost smiles. He’s wanted to have a breakdown for so long, and now—it’s almost pleasant, losing control of his emotions in the safety of his office. No one around to jeer and laugh at him. No spiderwebs forcing him to keep smiling.

Another sob hitches, and he suddenly feels much too exposed. He pulls himself under his desk, relishing the darkness, the smallness. He brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. Lets himself cry, burying the sound as much as he can. He doesn’t want the others to hear.

The door opens, and he lets out a soft gasp, biting down on his sobs. He holds his breath, willing himself to be quiet, to not be heard, not be found. He’s petrified that being found will mean his break is over, will mean the Web comes back, invading his mind.

It’s Martin. He comes in, humming quietly, and sets something on Jon’s desk. He starts to leave, and then—

Jon suddenly takes a sharp inhale, unable to hold his breath any longer.

Martin’s footsteps pause, hesitantly.

Something in Jon’s brain—the spiderwebs, he knows—pulls at him to be quiet, to let Martin leave, to not bother him with this. But it’s been so long since Jon’s seen Martin, and he just—He just wants to see him. Even if it means he has to smile. Surely, surely Martin will see that something is wrong, won’t he? The thought brings fresh tears to his eyes, and he says, “Martin?” His voice is thick with tears and rough from disuse.

“Wha—Jon?” Martin says. His footsteps move quickly to the other side of the desk, and he crouches down. “Oh my god, Jon! What happened? Where have you been?”

“Circus got me,” Jon says with a watery smile. The Web hasn’t taken hold yet. And it’s so nice to see Martin, soft and warm and safe.

“This—this whole time, you’ve been with the Circus?” Martin says, sounding horrified.

Jon nods. “How long have I been gone?”

“A month,” Martin says. “Christ, are you alright?”

The spiderwebs tell Jon to send Martin away, to claim that he’s fine. But the compulsion isn’t as strong as it was before. It’s a request, not an order. And Jon is… He isn’t fine. He hasn’t been fine in a long time.

Besides, it’s not like Martin somehow missed the dirty tear tracks on his face.

“No,” he whispers, curling up tighter into himself. The shaking is back now. A month. A month of intruding hands rubbing lotion into his skin, constantly reminding him of their plans for him, telling him how much it would hurt, letting him hear the horrible screams of their other victims.

“Can I touch you?” Martin asks, and Jon nods.

Martin pulls Jon into his arms, both of them still partially under the desk. He’s warm, and his words are soft as he runs a soothing hand up and down Jon’s back. Jon buries his head in his chest, crying until he’s all wrung out, until nothing remains inside of him.

“Sorry,” Jon says, still sniffling slightly, his voice thick. There’s a damp patch on Martin’s shirt now, and Jon flushes a bit, looking at it.

“It’s alright, Jon,” Martin says, still holding on to him. He isn’t shifting impatiently, or acting like Jon should move away, so Jon doesn’t. He rests his head on Martin’s shoulder, exhausted, and Martin continues rubbing soothing circles into his back.

***

Jon wakes up on the cot in document storage, tucked in under several blankets. He spends a hazy moment wishing Martin were there with him, and then the spiderwebs re-exert themselves in full force and he is getting out of bed. Well. He hardly expected the break to last forever. He was lucky to get this much, really. The terror has lessened, and it feels like he can think in a straight line for once.

He heads out of document storage and towards the break room. It’s dark in the Archives. Everyone has left for the day, except for Martin, who didn’t want to leave Jon alone. He’s run out to fetch them both dinner, and will be back shortly.

The Web steers him to the utensil drawer, which is a disorganized mess, as always. He thinks about his feelings for Martin as he digs through it, the deep fondness he feels for him. He’s still holding on to a bit of hope that Martin will save him from this, he realizes.

He finds a knife, and pulls it from the drawer, and suddenly he is very focused on what the Web wants from him. He sets the knife on the counter, and then rolls up his left shirt sleeve. With horror sinking into his gut, he sets his arm on the edge of the sink, picks up the knife again in his right hand. He holds it firmly, tight enough that it makes his newly-healed scar ache.

He knows what’s about to happen. He tries to stop it, but it’s like trying to stop gravity. His hand doesn’t so much as tremble as he slices into the soft skin just below his elbow.

He lets out a cry of pain, or fear, but continues to carve into his arm with the tip of the knife. He’s cutting deep into his flesh, and he doesn’t want to look as blood pours out of him. But he can’t look away.

After an eternity, Jon is finally allowed to drop the knife. It clatters into the sink, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind it. He stares at the wound for a second. Even obscured as it is by blood, he can tell it’s a spiderweb. A message. A punishment.

He feels suddenly nauseous, salt flooding his mouth, and he sinks to the floor, breathing deeply, trying not to be sick. There is so much blood.

A soft pull at his mind, almost gentle. Don’t let Martin see.

He doesn’t want to know what the Web will do to him, if he refuses. There isn’t much time before Martin gets back, so he has to hurry.

He’s still dripping blood everywhere, so that’s the first step. Stop the bleeding. The first aid kit is nearby, well-stocked as always. He grabs it down from the shelf, and then wets a few napkins, which he uses to clean off as much of the blood as possible. It hurts, and he has to sit down before he finishes. It’s a bit tricky, wrapping his own arm in gauze, especially with his right hand injured as well, but he manages, adding layer after layer until he can no longer see the blood soaking through.

He rolls his sleeve down. The bulk of the gauze is visible through his shirt, but hopefully Martin won’t notice something he isn’t looking for.

Jon wipes down the table, the floor, the sink, until he can no longer see any blood anywhere. He washes the knife and drops it back in the drawer. And then he sits down, taking deep, even breaths. He should probably go lay down again, but he doesn’t think he can make it all the way back there. Not on his own.

He puts his head down, and a few minutes later, he hears the stairs creaking with Martin’s return. He hears his footsteps receding as he heads towards document storage, hears the soft creak of the door. And then the steps get louder, until Martin pokes his head into the break room.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, a relieved smile on his face. “Sorry for leaving you. I didn’t think you would wake up. I brought dinner,” he says, holding up the bag of takeout clutched in his hands.

Jon smiles in return. “The Eye told me,” he says.

“Oh, that’s—creepy,” Martin says.

“Sorry,” Jon says, his eyes flicking back to the table.

“It’s fine,” Martin says, sitting down across from him. “How are you feeling?”

The Web isn’t controlling him, but it hardly matters. “I’m fine,” he says. “Feeling better.”

***

They finish eating, and Martin insists on staying the night with Jon in the Archives. He insists that Jon sleep on the cot, even though the break room couch is much too small for Martin to sleep on comfortably.

Jon wakes up, and the fresh wound on his forearm has bled through the gauze, staining not only his shirt sleeve, but also the rest of his shirt. He’s covered in blood, so much that he can’t possibly hide it.

And he can hear Martin, already awake and moving around in the Archive.

Jon stands up, trying to decide what to do. If Martin sees the blood, he will ask questions, and there is no good way to explain the design so intricately carved into Jon’s arm. He needs fresh gauze, and a fresh shirt, but his extra clothes are in his office, and the first aid kit is in the break room.

He decides to make a break for his office, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders to hide any blood Martin might spot. Before he can move, however, the door to document storage opens, and Jon freezes.

“Hey Jon, I wanted to ask—” Martin stops, and for a moment they’re just staring at each other. Martin opens his mouth again, panic writ large on his face. “Jon, is that blood? What happened?”

“I—um—”

“Was it the Circus?” Martin asks, stepping closer. Jon flinches away from him, and he stops. “Okay, just—Jon, that looks really bad.”

“Yeah,” Jon manages, his voice coming out in an almost-laugh. Martin’s look of concern only grows deeper.

There’s no way for Jon to salvage this, no explanation that Martin will accept. Martin can’t know about this, can’t know about any of this. The Web might hurt him, if he becomes a danger to it.

And then—

He suddenly can see the exact strings he needs to pull in Martin’s mind, to make him ignore this. It’ll be easy. Martin won’t even know he’s done anything.

It’s the only option.

For the first time, Jon uses the spiderwebs. Martin’s eyes go blank and glassy for a single horrifying moment. And then he blinks, and looks at Jon. Jon is still covered with his own blood, but Martin doesn’t notice it at all. He looks vaguely confused for a second, before he gathers himself. “Sorry, lost my train of thought,” he says with a small laugh. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go get something for breakfast. I know you usually just skip it, but there’s a nice cafe not to far from here, and I thought it would be… good.”

Jon wants to cry. He wants to tell Martin everything, ask for his help. But Martin can’t help him. Asking will do nothing but hurt both of them.

Instead, Jon smiles. “Sounds wonderful,” he says.

#tma #tma fanfiction #febuwhump #febuwhumpday1 #my fic #self harm cw #blood cw #kidnapping cw

75 notes · View notes

visionsofus · 3 years

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I love your writing! May I please request an angst/pining fic where Vision wonders how Wanda would feel about being with him since he isn't human? This would before they get together. I always thought that something like this must have crossed his mind.

wow anon I really took this prompt and ran with it so it’s a little longer than expected but I really hope you like it! thanks for requesting something so interesting - it really gave me the opportunity to be creative. I took the opportunity to mess around with some headcanons about Vision’s emotions so there is that too. I absolutely agree that his nature would be something of a concern for Vision, and I think it’s probably an insecurity that would continue for a while into their relationship. Nevertheless, this is set sometime before Civil War at the compound with the rest of the team. I hope you enjoy!

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape #19: Feel Something by Jaymes Young

synopsis: Movie night at the compound isn’t going well for Vision, and that’s even before he decides to try and be a bit more human and eat food. He manages to drunkenly confess his deepest insecurities about his own existence before the night is out. Ft. angsty Vision, jealous Vision, pining Vision and basically Vision feeling a whole array of emotions he doesn’t know how to deal with. I love this man I am so sorry to put him through this

It was supposed to be a nice Saturday, a celebration of the public holiday that blessed the team with four days off work, and yet Vision had been feeling strange all afternoon. It was difficult to place what was rubbing him the wrong way – it was even more challenging to process the feelings he had. Of course, he understood it logically, how his synthetic limbic system was able to replicate emotions based on feedback the outside world presented to his brain. But actually putting his feelings into words was far more difficult.

He had discussed this aspect of his development with Helen Cho two months earlier, as he so often did when he had challenges in adapting to a world that saw him as a simple robot. Her hypothesis, she had explained over lunch, was that Vision was bombarded with emotions in a way that any regular adult might be, except he had not had the years to develop ways to cope with them. Vision could feel all the feelings that he wanted, and he knew how they informed his decisions, but it didn’t make it much easier when it came to accepting those feelings. But Helen had explained there wasn’t a way to speed that process up without extensive surgery and the potential altering of his personality.

So, he read and read and read, consuming as much knowledge as he could to make up for all the years of emotional development that a being of his maturity was expected to have.

They were outside on the grassy lawn spanning out the front of the Avengers Compound. The immaculate lawns were at present occupied by two long couches that he had help carry outside, a barbeque and a long banquet table that was gradually filling up with food. Vision was surrounded by the teammates who had become his friends in the less than a year he had been living with them. It was a nice evening, so what was it that had him all hot and bothered?

“You all right there, buddy?” Clint said, slapping Vision on the back in a way he had seen the others do.

“I am well thank you, Clint,” Vision said managing a smile that satisfied the archer enough that he returned to his conversation with Thor and Natasha. The three of them were starting another round of beers as Vision awkwardly sat nearby.

“You want one, Vision?” Thor asked, holding one of the drinks out to him.

Vision opened his mouth in hesitation, wondering if he might be able to, just this once. “I can’t,” he said finally, knowing his systems wouldn’t be able to absorb the alcohol, or any liquid for that matter. The others didn’t question it, but Vision couldn’t help thinking that they still found him rather… odd.

As they returned to their conversation, sitting in an open enough group that Vision was included and welcomed into the conversation, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Everyone around him was engaging in the social act of consumption, and he couldn’t. It hadn’t really bothered him before, but now that he saw them all engaging in this normal practice together, Vision couldn’t help feeling a bit left out. What other countless things did he miss out on simply by not being a human?

Looking for a distraction Vision directed his gaze away from the conversation happening around him and instead looked to the rest of his companions. His eyes immediately found Wanda, he couldn’t help it. There was a pull between them that couldn’t but denied. The connection scared him, despite the synthetic nature of his amygdala. Even as he gazed at her from a distance now, there was a part of him that wanted to get up and go to her side. He’d grown used to the feeling and relished the time they shared together and all that she made him feel. The rush of dopamine when she smiled, the spike in serotonin when he was the source of that smile, the spark of adrenaline when her hand accidentally brushed his skin. None of these reactions scared him, not really. The attraction was too pleasant to truly fear. No, the scary part was that once he was at her side he never wanted to leave.

As he mulled this over Wanda felt his gaze and glanced over her shoulder, pausing her monitoring of the barbecue to give him a quick smirk. Vision, distracted as he was, panicked and quickly looked away in embarrassment. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her frown and turn back to Steve who was helping her with flipping the burger patties.

Frustrated at himself he returned his gaze to the pair at the barbecue. He watched as Wanda’s arm slipped trying to flip a particularly stubborn patty and Steve quickly grabbed her elbow lest it hit the hot surface of the grill. Even as Vision’s fear spiked a moment at the prospect of Wanda being injured, his irritation grew exponentially.

In reaction to Wanda’s near accident he had half risen from the couch and realised it would now look odd if he didn’t commit to standing up. Reluctantly he left the chattering trio he’d been beside and made his rounds to the other teammates. Tony was helping Pepper set out the cutlery down the long table and Vision decided this was a safe enough space to place himself until they sat down for food.

He absentmindedly made small talk with the pair and helped in gathering glasses from inside and bringing them out to be filled with beer and various other refreshments he couldn’t consume. As he did, he kept half an eye on Wanda and Steve, hating the irritation that grew as they laughed and joked. It was entirely irrational. Vision admired Steve a great deal and had only ever had respect for him in their training. He was proud to have established a good enough relationship with the Captain that he was able to be called a friend. But seeing the pair enjoying themselves made him upset, a little bit angry and…

And jealous.

Whether it was the shock or not he couldn’t be sure, but the feelings died immediately as he reprimanded himself for his own presumptuousness. What right did he have to feel jealousy of all things, watching Wanda getting along with the Captain. It was not his place to feel this way. They certainly weren’t at a point in their relationship where such a thing might be acceptable, or even desired by her. What are the chances that a human would fall for a synthezoid?

None. He replied to himself. Zero, nada, zilch. It was so impossible it didn’t deserve his attention and so he gloomily turned his mind to the table before him and continued setting out glasses.

The dinner itself was rather uneventful. Or as uneventful as things could get with the Avengers. Thor had challenged Steve to a drinking competition, a dangerous prospect given Thor’s immeasurable tolerance for alcohol and Steve’s high metabolism.

The rest of the team were content to behold the competition without intervening, instead chattering in small groups around the table.

As always, there was an ease to the conversation and Vision found it welcoming, occasionally joining in here and there. But he mostly listened, content to absorb that which was said around him without offering his input. If anyone noticed he was more quiet than normal, they said nothing. And if Wanda thought it was strange that he had placed himself at the opposite end of the table to her, she did not acknowledge it, save for a hesitant glance his way every few minutes.

Thor and Steve were well into their 15th drinks when the team wrapped up dinner.

“Can you give me a hand with the movie, Vision?” Tony asked, heading over to the large projector that had been set up on the lawn ready for the movie night that had been planned to end the evening. Vision tilted his head in surprise but followed anyway.

“What do you need me for?” Vision asked joining Tony at the projector.

“Oh no reason, actually.”

Vision frowned as Tony made a few quick touches on his tablet and the night’s selected movie appeared on the screen. Nat had chosen a comedy flic Vision didn’t recognise.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Tony said nonchalantly and handed Vision the end of a beanbag to drag over to the couches which were slowly becoming occupied as the rest of the team milled over. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“There is nothing wrong with being quiet.”

“No, there’s not,” Tony agreed, “but there is something wrong with feeling like you have to be quiet to satisfy others.”

Vision averted his gaze from Tony’s piercing eyes. He was uncomfortably perceptive when he wanted to be.

“I assure you, that’s not what is happening.”

There was silence but Vision refused to meet Tony’s intent look, afraid of what he might see reflected there. Tony gave a mighty sigh and then Vision was left alone once more.

Vision had perched himself on the end of the couch next to Clint, who had tried to insist on returning to his room on the grounds that he hated comedy films, but Nat had made him stay.

Beside Clint was Steve, still going strong on his drinking bet, with Thor beside him. The rest of his teammates were assembled on the other couch or occupying chairs and beanbags before the projector upon which the movie was just beginning.

Lounging on a blue beanbag in front of the couch sat Wanda. Her legs curled up underneath her and with her already short stature she was practically absorbed by the enormous beanbag.

“Hey, Wanda,” Steve called over the sound of the movie, “chuck me some popcorn, will you?”

Wanda did indeed chuck some popcorn, throwing three pieces over her shoulder, one of them landing in Steve’s cup.

“No what I meant,” Steve said, and Wanda laughed. The sound made Vision smile, as it so often did.

Wanda turned around in her chair and met Vision’s gaze, the popcorn bowl extended to him before she caught herself and turned to Clint instead. Vision’s smile fell.

“Would you like some, Clint?” She asked sweetly and Steve grumbled something under his breath.

“Shut up old man,” Clint joked and took the bowl she offered.

Wanda’s attention was back on the screen as Clint held the popcorn out to Vision absentmindedly.

“Oops sorry,” he said pulling away, “I forgot.”

“It’s ok,” Vision sighed. As Clint turned away, he made his decision. “Actually, you know I will have some.”

“Uh okay,” Clint said hesitantly, and Vision plucked a single piece of popped corn from the overflowing bowl before it was handed down to the rest of the couch.

Eating was a strange experience and even as he chewed his body sounded off warnings and Vision knew then and there that he had made a mistake. But he so desperately wanted to fit in that he ignored it all, swallowing finally and shuddering slightly at the unwelcome feeling of the food going down his throat.

Within half an hour Vision was feeling as light and airy as the popcorn had been. His movements a little sluggish, his eyes seeming to slow down as he watched the movie. Distracted, he found it harder to not think about Wanda. The popcorn had somehow made it more difficult to fend off the challenging thoughts he was often so good at pushing off. Now, however, the little voice in his head telling him she’d never want him, was back. It was followed up by a second voice that made him feel stupid for even feeling this way for her in the first place.

In an effort to escape the cycle his brain had worked itself up into Vision decided to take a walk. This was challenging apparently, as he managed to bump into several chairs and the table before he made his way away from the noise of the screen. The movie was too loud, and he needed to get some more air.

“More air,” Vision giggled to himself, despite the fact he had never giggled in his life, “I am surrounded by air why could I possibly need more of it?”

“Vision?” Tony called, evidently having seen the way the synthezoid had stumbled away from the screen and followed him.

“Yessir,” Vision said standing to attention and then dissolving into laughter.

Tony stopped in his tracks with his mouth open in disbelief.

“’Scuse the language, but what the fuck?”

“You are excused,” Vision bowed but that made him feel dizzy and so he staggered over to the wall of the compound so he could lean against something solid.

“Yep you’re not okay,” Tony said coming closer and peering into Vision’s eyes. “Look at me, buddy.” He reached out and tried to hold one of Vision’s eyes open.

“What’re you doin?” Vision said, now aware that he had started slurring for some reason.

“Are you drunk?” Tony asked indignantly at this and pulled his hands away from Vision’s face

“Don’t be absurd,” Vision said waving a hand, “I can’t drink.”

Tony looked sceptical.

“I can’t,” Vision insisted. “I can’t drink, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything!”

Tony looked more concerned at this, taking the synthezoid by the shoulders and leading him further away from the group at their back, all still very much preoccupied by the movie. Save for Wanda who had noticed Vision’s absence, as keenly aware of him as he was of her, and had followed at a concerned distance.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Tony said patting Vision’s shoulder, “but you need to fix it.”

“Oh yes I can fix it,” Vision rambled, “I can do anything and everything, I am a superhuman except I’m not human am I?”

Tony sighed sadly. “Is that what this is about? You know no one here cares what you are, Vision. Half of us aren’t full humans anyway.”

“Yes, but most of you are at least a little bit human,” Vision said raising a hand to correct him. He then pointed at himself. “I am not human enough to be human, but not artificial enough to be treated like a robot. I am something else, not quite enough of either.”

Tony didn’t know what to say to this and so Vision took a few steps away, turning his head skyward and sadly admiring the twilight sky above them. The sun had set enough now that the evening had turned chilly, not the Vision minded it, not that he even felt the cold.

As the synthezoid stood gazing at the sky and the stars slowly coming to life, his brain supplied him with a piece of media to help process the strange feelings running through his mind. The movie Pinocchio.

“I wish I may, I wish I might.” Vision’s voice was barely audible as he quoted the story, certainly too quiet for Tony to hear. “Have this wish, I wish tonight.”

“I wish that I were more.”

Tony heard this last part. “Is that all this is about?” His voice was hesitant and both of them appeared apprehensive of the answer.

But Vision didn’t want to hide the truth, not anymore. “I wish that I could be more,” Vision said, “for her.”

Vision’s hand came to his mouth as the words left it, as though he could somehow capture the truth and hold it close once more. He didn’t need to specify that Wanda was the subject of his aching heart as he turned back to see Tony’s knowing gaze.

His gaze was a little hazy now, a little frayed at the edges as he tried to look at Tony properly. Instead, he found his eyes locking on the shadowed figure over his shoulder, Wanda.

“If you don’t mind,” Vision said, slurring his words again, “I will be seeing myself to bed now.”

He started forward, away from the concerned pair who both reached for him at the same time. Vision waved off their worry, “I am perfectly fine I assure you.”

He reached the back door of the compound and went to phase through the steel, startling himself when his forehead collided with cold metal. Vision tried again and shook his head painfully as it thudded against the door once more. He hesitated the third time, instead extending his hand and trying to phase. He managed to get his hand through but then lost control of his power and his fist became trapped. He sighed grumpily, yanking the door off its hinges and cracking it in half in order to free his hand. The discarded pieces of steel thudded to the ground at his back.

Vision stomped up the stairs, doing his best to hold onto the balustrade when the ground started to sway beneath his feet. He could hear the footsteps of someone hurrying after him.

“I assure you, Mr Stark,” Vision said shaking his head, “I am perfectly fine, I just need some rest.

“You’re not fine.”

Wanda’s voice made Vision stop in his tracks.

“Please don’t lie to me,” she said sounding slightly miffed. Vision hung his head shamefully as she took his arm, not even able to relish in the physical contact as she guided him down to his room at the end of the corridor.

Wordlessly, he let her sit him down upon the bed.

Perching next to him, she raised her hands. “May I?”

Vision nodded and Wanda’s hands glowed a soft red in the darkness of his room.

“Well that definitely shouldn’t be there,” she muttered, and Vision felt a repulsive feeling as what was left of the popcorn started to resurface.

“I’ll just be one tickety-boo—” He managed before running from the room. He thought he heard Wanda laugh as he left.

After getting rid of the single piece of popcorn that had managed to cause such damage in one evening Vision felt infinitely better. Or at least, much more himself. A little more in control, a little calmer and thankful that the room had stopped spinning for the time being. He swished water in his mouth and spat it into the bathroom sink – an activity he had only ever seen done on the television, never having reason to do so himself.

He was dismayed to find that Wanda was still in his room when he returned. Vision looked away from her even as she extended a hand that he reluctantly took.

She guided him to the bed and pulled the covers back, waiting for him to get in. He didn’t really feel like explaining that the bed was mostly an illusion and that he didn’t need it to sleep, that his sleep wasn’t the same kind of sleep she needed. Just a cheap rip off that his artificial brain demanded.

Sat against the headboard with the covers pulled up around his waist and Wanda sat on the edge of the bed next to him, Vision still refused to look at her. “Forgive me for my unseemly behaviour tonight,” he managed, hoping that she would take this as invitation to leave him to his humiliation.

“Now that I know there was nothing seriously wrong, it was actually kind of endearing.” Wanda shrugged. Vision felt a little better at this.

“Why did you try to eat popcorn?” She asked dipping her head so she could meet his downturned gaze. “I know you don’t eat.”

They sat in silence as he stoically refused to answer. He was quite sure that Wanda had heard at least part of his blabbering down on the lawn. There was no need to reiterate the deep dark secret he’d managed to keep hidden for the last year.

“You know I’d never ask you to change right, Vis?” Wanda said quietly.

“If I could be human though,” Vision murmured not sure where the sentence was going.

“It doesn’t matter, because you can’t.”

His brows drew together in consideration. But he knew she was right, no amount of wishing on stars would change that.

“And I wouldn’t want you to either,” she said quietly.

Vision met her eyes at this, and she smiled warmly.

“You’re perfect just as you are.” Wanda hesitated a moment but then leant forward quickly and gave him a hug. It only lasted a moment, but Vision felt as though every nerve lit up along his skin at the points she touched. Her hand lingered a little longer on his shoulder and he almost reached out to hold it there, to confess something much more serious than that which he had already admitted to. But there was no amount of malfunctioning he’d be able to blame that revelation on. Instead, Wanda took his hesitation as her cue to leave and rose before he could say anything more.

“Well, I’ll let you rest.”

Vision managed a small smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

“Don’t feel like you have to change for any of us,” she reminded him as she hesitated at the door. “You’d never need to change for me, Vis, I like you just as you are.”

He dipped his head once more, worried that the intensity of his affection would come across in his gaze. He remained that way until the last slither of light from the corridor disappeared and the door was shut softly at her back.

Vision sat up in bed for hours, turning over the events of the evening in his mind again and again. And every time he came back to her words, holding them close to his heart in reassurance. He didn’t need the stars or fairy tales to be there for her. He didn’t need to act like something else, to become someone else for her. And he was gradually realising that she’d never asked him to anyway, that anxiety was a product of his own overthinking. As he realised all of this, her words repeated again and again in his ears, a comforting mantra as the night passed on.

You’d never need to change for me. I like you just as you are.

#wandavision #wanda x vision #scarletvision #Wandavision fanfiction #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the vision #angsty wandavision #yearning #pining #poor Vision #Vision needs a hug #Vision has too many feelings #tasty angst #I loved writing this :)#drunk vision #visionsofusfics

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spookybreadstick · 4 years

Text

Body Types of the Pastas

I will not be including Sally on this list, she is a child!! She has the body of a child, and that’s all you need to know. I will also not be including Slender on this list because we all know what kind of body he has (he’s a skinny legend!!) it’s literally a part of his name. Also, I might add, these are my versions of the characters and their body types do not reflect on the body types of any actors who may have portrayed them. These are just how I imagine them.

TW TW TW: Body Image Issues

Please do not read if you are struggling and believe you will be triggered by mentions of weight and different body types. This is largely positive (in my opinion), but I don’t want to trigger anybody, since there is mentions of negative relationships with food and poor body image. This is not meant to be “body-checking” or harmful for readers. It’s just a little post (I think it may even help some to be kinder with their own bodies and self-image), but just read at your own discretion, I suppose.

IMPORTANT NOTE: We do not body shame on this blog!! This is written entirely with love and appreciation for all bodies!

Also, mild NSFW warning I guess? (Nothing major, just a little, if you can call it that). For future reference, this: 💛 is the emoji that marks anything a lil spicy, but not what I would call true NSFW.

💛🤎💛🤎💛🤎

Skinny Legends (I couldn’t think of an appropriate adjective to go with it lmao)

Bloody Painter

Perfectly Petite

BEN

Lusciously Lean

Toby

Liu

Majestically Mid-Sized

Nina

Puppeteer

Jane

Marvelously Muscular

Clockwork

Jeff

Beautifully Buff

Hoodie

Pleasantly Plus-Sized

Masky

🍬 LJ is just built like that. He’s long, lanky, and skinny. No matter how many sweets he eats, his stomach remains flat. Don’t make fun of him for it (since he was sort of modeled after a doll in Isaac’s mind, LJ sometimes thinks that he’s missing some stuffing and there is something wrong with him because of that).

🎨 Helen is naturally thin, but there’s also other factors to blame. When he was growing up, his parents pushed on him the idea that being ‘skinny’ was everything for a girl (remember, they raised him as a girl until he was a young teen). They also would withhold food as a punishment for any ‘misbehaving’ that they saw. Nowadays, Helen doesn’t have much of an appetite, probably as a result of not eating enough in childhood. Helen will also forget to eat since he is so wrapped up in his art. He doesn’t mind being called skinny, that’s his body type after all, but please don’t point out his eating habits. He’ll get annoyed very easily. A much better way to go about it would be, if you see he’s too busy to eat, fix him a sandwich or something and bring it to him. You have to phrase it carefully, like, “I was hungry and made some sandwiches, so here’s one for you, too. Fuel for the artist, right?” And he’ll be more likely to accept and eat it.

🎮 BEN is, as much as he denies it, petite. He’s short and he has a small frame. There’s a little bit of squish to his tummy (it’s absolutely adorable 🥰) but he hides it (it wasn’t there originally, and it’s an accumulation of him eating all sorts of junk food in his afterlife. It doesn’t really affect him usually, but after he’s been doing it for years...) Please don’t point it out, he tries to forget that it exists and it bothers him.

🪓 Toby is lean cuisine. He’s kind of short for a guy, and that adds to his leanness. He has trouble remembering to eat and has trouble taking proper care of his body, so he is malnourished. He gets insecure about his body, so don’t say anything about it. Toby would love it if somebody cared enough to make sure that he’s eating regularly and getting proper nutrition. He is just a boy in need of some nourishing food and good lovin’! 🥰

🧣 Liu is also lean. Whenever he’s nervous or stressed, he forgets to eat. Whenever he wants to “punish” himself for whatever reason, he withholds food. He’s been doing better with this, but it was a habit he’s had since he was young, so that contributed to his smaller build. He doesn’t mind at all if you say he’s lean (he’d actually take it as quite the compliment). What he needs though, is somebody who cares enough to help him break the negative habits.

💄 Nina’s body type is hard to place, since she’s on the slim side but also not quite lean? She’s honestly really in between the lean and mid-size categories. Nina’s had some body image issues in the past, but she tries hard to keep it wholesome and positive with her self image though. She’s really got a great figure though! She’s got a small waist, probably about B-cup breasts, nice hips, and a nearly flat stomach (but not quite! She has that lil pooch thing that’s supposed to be where your uterus is?) Nina’s so pretty, honestly 😍

🧵 Puppeteer’s body type is the epitome of “average.” It’s smack dab in the middle of body types. There’s nothing particular special about it, and he’s on the slimmer side but not skinny skinny. He’s got depth and he’s also the taller side.

🖤 Jane’s got an amazing figure! She goes through periods of time where she’s a bit insecure but she’s got no reason to be! She looks great! She’s curvy (doesn’t have a flat tummy!) and it looks amazing on her. She’s got a killer ass (we love a thicc queen) and her breasts are def C cup (maybe even D cup). Jane’s got those curves in all the right places, and she looks like a goth Aphrodite when she’s in her element 🤩

⏰ Clockwork is a baddie! She has a toned stomach and not much of a chest, to be honest. She is quite muscular-looking for a girl, and she’s proud of that. And, it looks great on her!

🔪 Jeff is pretty muscular. He’s got that height going for him, and he enjoys a good workout so there’s some good muscles as well. He has a toned stomach and a bit of visible biceps when he flexes. This body type is something he had to work for though, his natural body type is a slim mid-size.

❓Hoodie is a buff king! He’s tall as well, with a toned stomach and abs. His natural body type is actually just slightly muscular, but he built himself up to be B U F F.

🤍 EJ is a big, buff boi. Before the transformation, he was actually lean. But now? He’s part demon, of course he’s going to be large and strong. He has abs now, and visible muscles hiding underneath his clothes. He has a habit of shrinking into himself though. He’s never liked his body much, and he’s insecure in his new form. Help him see that he is handsome and great just the way he is!

🎭 Masky is, admittedly, a bit chunky. He’s hella strong though, and could def beat your ass easily in any kind of competition. He gets very defensive if anyone brings it up in a negative light, or when there’s lots of people around, due to the fact that he was very insecure as a teen. If it’s brought up when it’s a one-on-one convo or if it’s gently mentioned, he’ll probably say “yeah, I’ve got kind of a dad bod thing going on, I guess,” and try to quickly change the subject. Poor boy eats when he’s stressed and then is guilty about it afterwards. He needs somebody to tell him that his body is beautiful, and then help him take care of it. He could use some love, and some reassurance of his beauty (chubby boys are so cute and wonderful and just 🥵). Please be gentle with his heart and help him raise his self-esteem <3

I thought of the song S.L.U.T. by Bea Miller when I wrote this. You should listen to it, it’s good for self-esteem!! :)

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years

Text

Talk Chapter 19

AO3 LINK

It was over, but not done.

There were still so many things to do before John could drop everything and go home to Helen.

He starts by calling Nick.

“H-hello?” Jesus, the boy really was afraid of him.

Ironic, John thinks, considering he owes this kid more than he can ever hope to repay for allowing Helen to contact him during her imprisonment. And then looking out for her at the cost of his job, possibly his life if DeLuca had found out.

“It’s done.” He says, “DeLuca’s going to be picked up by Adjudication. Are you able to stay until someone gets there to pick up Isabella?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. The, uh, the bounty’s dropped then?”

He exhales and, fuck, it feels so good.

The bounty is dropped. The contract is closed. And while he doesn’t think either of them will ever be truly safe, no one is coming after her anymore.

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s, that’s good.” Nick sounds relieved, too. The younger man pauses for a moment and then tentatively asks, “Would you do me a favor, Mister Wick, sir? She told me if I ever wanted to talk… I just was wondering if you could ask her to call me. When she’s back and settled and shi—stuff. Stuff.”

And, god, Helen was just that good. And it had started as manipulation, he knew. A way to save herself when he wasn’t there to do the job but there was no doubt in John’s mind that Helen would meet with Nick every week, for as long as he needed.

“Yeah, kid. I’ll pass it along.”

“Thank you.”

John pauses, thoughtfully. “When Isabella’s been picked up, head over to the Continental. Ask for Winston. New York is always busy. I know they’re looking to hire another Sommelier. It’ll pay more than Syndicate; I can guarantee that. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He shakes his head, in disbelief of himself. He knew Helen was his reason, but John couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he had gone utterly and completely soft .

Maybe she’d have some insight to that, he thinks, smiling to himself.

And, because he doesn’t want the knowledge that he has gone soft to spread, he adds, “Don’t fuck it up” and ends the call.

After all, he isn’t done in the Underworld.

For starters, the contract had been dropped but that didn’t mean the memo had gotten out. And that needed to happen before he brought Helen back home. The last thing he wanted was to bring her back only to have some kid target her because they ignored the notice.

The hotel buzzes as John walks through the front door.

He ignores it, as he always does, approaching the front desk. There’s a small queue that has gathered in front of Charon, but the Concierge waves him up.

“The Manager is expecting you. He is in his office.”

John nods his thanks and turns towards the hall where he’ll find Winston, only to run into Verdugo.

The other assassin looks him over, regarding him with vague interest. He’s carrying a weapons bag, slung over a shoulder. A duffle bag resides in his other hand.

He’s leaving, John realizes. Verdugo was a drifter.

The only thing that had kept him in New York was the possibility of a substantial bounty that has since been removed.

Verdugo breaks the silence first, “I’ll admit, when I heard you were trying to get the bounty removed, I didn’t think you could do it.”

John raises a brow.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

Oh, no worries. Totally get it. You wouldn’t have wasted both our time if you had only realized sooner that you couldn’t kill my love?

“It was just business.”

Now that, John thinks, is something he’s grown very tired of hearing.

The Underworld, for better or worse—and right now, John Wick was very much leaning towards worse , was all about money and advancement. Status.

The values he has been exposed to, he realizes, had been very self-serving. No wonder so many narcissists and hedonists thrived in the Underworld.

And John had survived because he was so self-reliant. He had thrived in a world where favors are currency by being willing to help others and avoiding asking for any help in return. It made him rich, in more than just money. The pile of markers in his collection is unparalleled.

But he still went home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life, where escapism had been his only fulfillment.

Drifting.

In control but, somehow, still empty.

Until Helen had forced her way into his head, laying claim to his heart.

And suddenly everything that had once seemed so complicated and out of reach was within his grasp.

In that moment, he pities Verdugo.

A man, so much like him in so many ways. A drifter. Free of roots and obligation. Making a name for himself by virtue of skill and competency. But hollow like a tin soldier.

Verdugo will move on to the next contract. The name Helen Kingston will be replaced with another unfortunate soul, who John is certain will not be as lucky.

And he’ll make his money and build his legacy.

And he’ll go home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life.

John wants to kill him along with anyone else who had hurt or threatened Helen’s life, but it occurs to him that might be a mercy. And maybe Verdugo doesn’t deserve mercy but John didn’t deserve mercy, either. But it had found him.

Still, he feels the need to say, “If I ever see you anywhere near her…”

“You won’t.” Verdugo assures him, “Be seeing you.”

“No.” John says, “You won’t.”

He leaves Verdugo standing in the hall as he makes his way to Winston’s office.

The old man doesn’t even look up as John walks in. “It would appear that you had a busy day.” He says as he practically collapses into one of the leather chairs.

“Busy week.” John amends, “I think I finally understand the phrase thank god it’s Friday .”

Winston smirks, rising to his feet, “Drink?”

He shakes his head, “No, thank you. I’ve had enough today, while playing politics. Did you happen to hear from Sofia?”

“Yes,” Winston says, pouring himself brandy, “I already sent someone to collect Mateo. And Isabella. She said you got a confession from the former.”

“Lorenzo plans to force the counsel to convene on Monday, here in the city.”

“He wants justice meted out swiftly.”

“That makes two of us.” John agrees with a nod. “I want this done and in the past.”

“Understandably. You managed the impossible this week.”

“Didn’t think I could do it?” John asks, thinking of his conversation with Verdugo and the time that had been wasted pursuing Helen Kingston.

“On the contrary,” Winston says, taking the seat next to him, “You made me a great deal of money.”

John arches a brow.

“You successfully removing the bounty was the long odds over at Dex’s. Fifty to one.”

And, fuck, but that makes him laugh. He didn’t realize how much he needed that after the stress of the day, “How much did you put down?”

“Five grand.” Winston looks at him strangely and it occurs to John that he’s probably never laughed in front of Winston before.

“Well-played.” He says, shaking his head in amusement. While he never intends to tell Helen of the betting odds placed on when she would die and by whose hand, he can’t help but think that she’d get a kick out of it. Either that, or she’d be pissed she never got a chance to get in on the action.

Yeah. That sounds right.

“I know the rumor mill will have heard that the contract was dropped,” John says, “but is it possible to get Administration to send out a mass message? To confirm it, and make sure anybody working solo is notified?”

“I’ll see to it myself.”

John nods gratefully. That would make him feel much better about taking her back to the city. Although he’s already mentally preparing himself for the wave of anxiety that will surely hit the moment, he leaves her alone to go back to work. He tables that particular worry for now.

“I have another favor to ask.”

Winston rolls his eyes, “Indeed?”

“Nick Russo. Ex-Syndicate. He burnt some bridges today to help keep Helen safe. I’d appreciate it if you considered him for the second Sommelier position you were considering opening up.”

The old man hums, “I’ll meet with him.”

“Thank you.”

And just like that, two things are checked off his list.

Winston was good like that. As Manager, it was his job to be accommodating and helpful and ensure everyone was getting the best services that could be offered to those serving the High Table. But it was also more than that.

For decades, Winston had been a mentor to him.

After being introduced by Charon, Winston had immediately taken to the young, reckless assassin. He’d seen something that others had brushed to the side.

And John had been skeptical. Untrusting.

But Winston had been relentless. He offered sound advice that John found hard to ignore. Slowly, John had found himself utilizing the Manager. After moving back to New York, it became clear that Winston knew the city and its inhabitants better than anyone.

Somewhere along the line, John had begun to trust him.

Winston had tried to line John up for Management but had accepted his decision when John, respectfully, denied interest in such a path. While Winston mourned John’s lack of ambition, he continued to serve as a mentor.

Arguably, the closest thing John had ever had to a father-figure.

John doesn’t doubt, for a moment, his decision to retire. He will miss very little about the Underworld. But Winston would be counted amongst them.

And while John doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation, he owes it to Winston to be the one to tell him.

“I’ve decided to retire.”

Winston’s head turns sharply, “Pardon?”

John sits up straighter in the chair, “I’m retiring. As soon as everything has been taken care of, I’m leaving the Underworld.”

“Jonathan, you have obligations.” Winston says, shaking his head, “You can’t just retire .”

“Lorenzo is freeing me of my contractual obligations. I intend to reach out to Viggo to make arrangements as well.”

“Lorenzo D’Antonio is letting you walk away?” The surprise is evident in his voice.

John nods.

“Miraculous in itself, but you cannot expect Viggo to do the same.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” John says softly, “One way or another, I’m getting out. And I’ve made up my mind about this. It won’t be changed.”

He leaves no room for argument. Bittersweet as it may be, there is nothing that can change his mind anymore. Even if Helen didn’t want him, he would have left to keep her safe. His enemies wouldn’t have used her against him if he was no longer a problem.

But Helen did want him. She loved him, beyond all reason.

“Whatever will you do?”

John feels his lips twitch. Aside from keeping house and devoting the majority of his time to ensuring Helen’s happiness—that she never regrets choosing him, he really isn’t sure. He knew he didn’t have it in him, nor did he have the credentials or the qualifications, to work in the real world. At least, for most occupations.

And, truthfully, he was tired of the constant work.

Hating his life and coming home to an empty house, John had filled his life with work. Work until the point of distraction. Which meant extra jobs, far beyond working for money. He worked to kill people and time, respectively.

Decades of working seven days a week, every day of the year.

He’s looking forward to the break.

Maybe he’d pick up a hobby. He’d continue to bind books through the coldness of the winter. Maybe he’d even start to sell them or volunteer with a library to fix old tomes.

Maybe, come springtime, he’d actually open the pool in his backyard which had been closed and unused since he first moved in.

He planned to cook for her. Maybe he’d get into that. Learn to make things from scratch. To bake.

The possibilities were endless.

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly and he’s… surprisingly okay with that. The uncertainty would usually throw him for a loop, but John finds himself completely and unexpectedly happy not knowing. It was freeing.

“Are you—”

“Yes.” John interrupts before Winston can say sure . “More sure, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”

Winston nods, slowly. He doesn’t understand, John knows. The old man probably won’t ever understand why John was giving up the wealth, the prestige, the permanent get-out-of-jail-free card that existed for the members of the Underworld.

“When?” He asks.

“As soon as possible. I plan on testifying Monday. I’ll meet with Viggo after and inform him of my intentions.”

“It will not be easy.”

“I don’t expect it to be. But it won’t matter. Whatever Viggo demands, I’ll do it.”

And he would. Nothing would stop him.

They sit in silence as Winston seems to digest it all. It’s odd, he thinks. He knows Winston disapproves, just as he had when John had first told him about Helen. But Winston knows that John doesn’t give a fuck about approval. No one’s opinion influenced him, save Helen’s.

He missed her.

It had only been hours since he had last held her in his arms, and he missed her.

Was this what it was to be in love? To crave the presence of another in any and every form? To hold them in your mind’s eye even when you are away?

How did people stand it, living like this?

And yet, John acknowledges, he would not give it up for the world.

“I find myself at a loss for words.” Winston says after minutes of silence. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were ready to burn New York to the ground to find her. Ready to declare war on the High Table to get her back.” The old man shakes his head, “And you seem certain. I know your mind will not be changed. But I feel the need to ask you, once more, Jonathan: is she really worth it?”

John thinks of her smile.

The kindness in her eyes.

The warmth of her touch.

Her quick wit. Her inquisitive nature. The way she just accepted things as they were. The way she shut him down when he was starting to bullshit himself. The books he had mentioned in passing on her bedside table as she made the effort no one else had to understand him.

John nods, “She really is.”

……….

He parks the car and John feels another wave of relief wash over him. The fact that it’s over, that Helen is safe keeps hitting him again and again. And now, he’s within feet of her.

John slips out of the car, admiring for the first time since they moved to the Vermont safehouse how bright the stars were when there were no lights around.

The front door opens and Marcus steps out, his bag in his hand.

“I take it everything went well?”

John nods. “You leaving?”

Marcus nods back, closing the door behind him. “After everything, I figured you two could probably use some time alone.”

He’s grateful for Marcus’ reasoning. While John had no intention of kicking Marcus out, he’s right. The only thing John wants to do is wrap Helen up in his arms and never let her go.

“Thank you.” He says, “For everything. I’ll never be able to re—”

“Don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was happy to do it. More for her sake than for yours. You’re still kind of a dick but… she makes you almost tolerable.”

John huffs out a laugh, “Who would have thought.”

“That the only person capable of taking you down was a therapist who can barely form a sentence fragment without coffee?” Marcus exhales in disbelief. “Mind-boggling. Call me when you two get back to the city.”

“Will do.” John promises as Marcus throws his duffle into the trunk of his car as he makes his way up the short stairs and into the cottage.

John slips off his suit jacket, hanging it by the door. He undoes the buttons on his vest, one by one, as he walks down the hall towards the living room. He tugs that off, too, draping it over the couch.

She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. He continues down the hall towards their bedroom. The door is open and, sure enough, Helen is in bed. Her back leans against the headboard, a book is open in her hand.

John leans against the door, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

Before him is a sight he could spend an eternity gazing in wonder at. Her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose as she reads. He watches as she reaches for her bookmark without looking up, turning the page as she inserts it.

Without a glance, she smiles, “Hi honey, how was your day?” She asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves her for it. For making him feel some semblance of normality amidst the bullshit and the chaos.

John swallows even as his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, you know. Bitch of a commute. Faked a powerful man’s death. Tried my hand at politics. Not a fan. Then I took down a mafia boss.”

She sets her book aside before removing her glasses. Helen scans him up and down, assessing for injuries.

His heart swells with love and adoration. It consumes him and makes it almost difficult to breathe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with all these emotions flowing through him.

And, like she can sense he’s overwhelmed, Helen stands up. She crosses the room, her dark eyes gazing into him.

He wonders if she can see his soul. And if she can, will she change her mind about him? Will she realize how truly terrible, how awful he is?

But as he looks into those brown eyes, all he sees reflected back is love.

She loves him, he thinks, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He was a despicable human being. One who had dragged her into the depths of Hell. Even still, she never wavered.

Helen was stronger than he ever hoped to be.

And she loved him. Despite everything.

It staggers him.

Helen reaches him and he cannot help but fall to his knees before her. His arms wrap around her middle, seemingly of their own accord, and he buries his face against her stomach. John’s breath escapes him in a shudder as her arms come up around him, holding him.

She strokes his hair and he can barely hold back a sob.

“I love you, John.”

And, fuck it all, the dam breaks.

He’d lost her, this week.

Someone had taken her, stolen her from her bed. Had hurt her to get to him. Had put a bounty on her head for the sole purpose of manipulating him, simultaneously activating agents to find her and kill his beloved.

Verdugo, who promised to make it quick.

Kate, who would have obliterated Helen until there was nothing left.

The kids in the alley, looking to make a name for themselves, would have killed her.

Along with the hundreds of others who had searched for her, even idly.

He had spent a week feeling out of control, out of his depth. Unsure of how to save her, hating himself for putting her into that position. Terrified that one wrong move could lead to her death.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, aware that his tears are soaking into her shirt.

She steps back, only to drop to her knees, too. Her arms wrap around him in a tight hug as he rests his head at the crook of her neck. A hand comes up to cradle his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She assures him.

He swallows, heavily. He’s not sure when he last cried but it had to have been decades.

“It’s my fault…”

The arm around his back tightens and she turns her face to his head.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t… didn’t protect you better… and---”

“Hey,” the hand on his head moves to his cheek and she leans back to look at him. Her thumb strokes a tear, “You didn’t know. You had no reason to suspect that I would be targeted. But you know what?” Her fingers massage his neck, “I’m glad I was.”

He tilts his head in disbelief.

“If DeLuca hadn’t have taken me,” she says softly, “I would have seen you for an hour this week. And an hour next. And the week after that. And that would be it. I would have loved you from afar because that’s all I could do.

“But now,” she runs her fingers down his face, “I can hold you. And kiss you. And love you. And that is more than worth the price of spending a couple uncomfortable days locked in a basement and a couple more hidden away from the world.”

John shakes his head, because she is unreal sometimes. “You deserve so much be—”

“ We don’t get to decide what we deserve, John. That’s never been up to us.” She echoes what she had told him that day in her office. Hours before she had been taken. “But we do get some say in how we’re going to live.”

John finds himself swallowing, his breath hitching as he tries to breathe in. “And how are we going to live?”

“Well,” Helen says with a soft smile, “We’re going to start by hiding away for the rest of the weekend. And you’re going to make good on your promise to fuck me on your tongue until I can’t scream anymore.”

He can’t help but chuckle at how serious she sounds but fuck . Yeah, he’s definitely doing that.

“And then, we’re going to go home. And instead of picking my lock to sneak inside and watch me sleep, you’re going to fall asleep next to me. And instead of leaving before daylight, you’re going to wake up with me. Every day.

“We’ll take weekend trips to Vermont, every now and then. I’ll make you go antiquing with me.” He laughs at that. Helen smiles back, continuing, “And I’ll make you take me to that other house you’ve got in Maine.”

“It’s on a lake.” He tells her, thinking she might like that. He’ll buy a boat. Or a few, unsure if she’d prefer a motorboat or something like a kayak. Whatever she decides, she’ll have. She’ll never want for anything so long as he is breathing.

Helen moves so that she is high on her knees. Her hands reach to cup either side of his face and she leans in to press her lips to his forehead.

“We’re going to have a really good life.” She promises and fuck, he believes her. “And we’re going to be so fucking happy.”

She kisses her way down his face, slowly. Tenderly.

Her lips reach his. How, he thinks, can a kiss be so gentle? So different than anything he’s ever experienced.

It was glorious when she kissed him passionately. It drove him wild when her teeth nipped at his lips or her tongue greedily sucked at his own.

But she’s being so soft that it might very well break him again.

She didn’t look at him and see the Boogeyman. Even knowing who he was, she didn’t let it influence her opinion of him.

He felt human in her arms, in her eyes.

He loves her for it. Among the plethora of reasons that he loved and adored her.

John wraps his arms under her thighs, rising to his feet, and pulling her up with ease.

She kisses the corner of his mouth as he carries her over to the bed. “I love you,” she whispers as he lays her down.

They both undress, taking their time.

The initial desperation has faded and while John is certain it will come back again, he is more than content to take it slow.

When they are both naked, John revels in the warmth of her skin. He kisses his way around her body, allowing his hands the time to memorize every curve, dip, and swell of her body. And she lets him, like she knows how badly he needs this.

And she probably does, he thinks. She’s always been in his head.

Helen’s hand reaches the top of his head, stroking back his hair as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach from his place atop of her.

His open-mouth grazes across her collarbone and John soaks in the way her hand tightens in his hair, her sharp intake of breath as his teeth scrape against her skin. He wonders what other sounds he can coax from her body… He’ll spend forever finding out.

John kisses her lips again. How addictive that feeling, that taste has become.

One hand tilts her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss while his other stretches down her perfect body, dipping between her thighs. He cups her core, feeling the warmth radiating from within her. He dips a finger between her folds. She’s soaking and it’s all for him .

He kisses her harder, feeling his lips bruise as he gently circles his clit with his finger.

She moans into his mouth and he swallows it down.

I love you , he thinks, and has to remind himself that he can say that now. He doesn’t have to keep it bottled in. He wonders how long it will take until he can say it without hesitation. Until it spills as easily from his lips as it comes to echo in his mind.

“I love you, Hels.” He tells her, kissing down her jaw.

“John!” She cries out as he continues to toy with her sensitive clit. He reaches down, coating his fingers in her slick heat before pressing them into her opening. His thumb takes over rolling over the sensitive bundles of nerves.

Helen whimpers, her nails digging into his back. He nips at her throat with his teeth. She’s marked him well enough. Now it’s his turn.

He wants to claim her. To leave his mark all over her so that anyone who sees her will have no doubt that she is taken. One day, he swears to himself that he’ll put a ring on her finger, but until then, he’ll be content with this.

More than content.

He sucks at her neck and plays with her clit until she is a moaning, writhing mess. Before she can reach her release, however, he removes his fingers from her pussy and brings them to his lips.

Helen shudders as she watches him suck her essence from his fingers.

His own cock twitches at the taste.

When he is done, she grabs his hair and yanks him back for a kiss. She sucks on his tongue, tasting herself and he’s never been harder in his life.

John takes his heavy cock in hand and brings it to her entrance. He pushes inside slowly, inch by inch. Letting himself focus on every sensation. The way her pussy yields to him, clenching around him. The way her stomach tightens and her breath stutters. Her grip around him.

He closes his eyes as he finds himself completely buried inside of her. His hips cannot go any further.

The hitch in her breath delights him. John draws back out, reveling in the soft changes in her breath, before he drives back in. Helen cries out and he kisses her neck. Her pussy tightens around him at the sensation.

He’s never needed anyone the way he needs her.

He knows he never will again.

This woman is everything to him. She is it for him. And he’ll love her with every fiber, every atom of his being until he dies. And then beyond.

“Fuck, baby!” She cranes her neck, giving him more access.

He makes a mental note of how much she loves the attention he’s paying to her throat. He nips and she arches her back, crying out yet again. Clenching around him, again.

John rolls his hips, careful to ensure steady pressure to her clit.

Because it’s about her. It’s always been about her.

He lifts his head, turning her head back to him so he can kiss her yet again. Languidly drowning in her as he takes his time fucking her, bringing her to the edge yet again.

Helen swears, her nails biting into him. Her hips meet his, grinding against him as she moans. His thrusts increase in speed and John feels Helen’s entire body seem to tighten.

And all at once, she breaks around him, crying out as a wave of pleasure slams into her. The way her pussy throbs around him is enough to make him lose his resolve and he soon finds himself spilling inside of her with a loud groan.

His eyes lose their focus as his head drops down to the pillow, nestling in the crook of her neck as he breathes heavily. The rush of immediate pleasure leaves him but he is left feeling glorious as he lies on top of her body, still buried inside of her, still feeling the aftershocks of her own orgasm milking him.

With an exhale, he raises his head to look back at her. Her beautiful eyes gazing at him.

Helen reaches up. She pushes back the hair which had fallen into his face before wrapping her hand around to the back of his head, guiding his forehead to rest on hers.

“I love you, John.”

“I love you, too.” He says, swallowing back the emotions that overwhelm him.

And he’s never going to let her forget it. She will never have the opportunity to forget or doubt that he loves her. That she is his everything.

What she said earlier was true: they were going to be so fucking happy.

And he was going to do this right.

John kisses her cheek, “How about I buy you dinner?”

Helen smiles back, “After all this, you better.”

......

One more chapter of this installment to come

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee for reviewing and editing <3

#john wick talk #john wick #john wick fanfiction #john x helen wick #helen wick #john wick prequel #overheard at the continental #the Matrix has queue #john wick fanfic #john wiction

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docholligay · 4 years

Note

What's the hardest novel you've read this year?

The Time Traveler’s Wife was one of the most difficult books I read in a way, because I couldn’t hardly fucking believe what was happening with it while it was happening. I staggered to believe that a book could be that popular and that poorly done, with characters so unlikeable. That’s a hard book to read that I would never in a million years recommend to anyone, because there’s no value in having gotten through it in the way there sometimes is with other books. My full review of it, TINGED WITH RAGE, is here.

But as far as a novel that really challenged me but was worth it, I try always to read things that really challenge me, and last year this question would have been easy, it would have been House of Leaves, but this year it’s a little harder than that.

Looking at my list of books for the year, I would say The Weight of Ink. It’s a thick and dense book, it intertwines the complications of history and culture and what it takes and means to survive. Sometimes it was hard to get through, sometimes it was like a forest, or even like studying Talmud, where I know each moment must have its purpose, but I cannot see it in that exact moment. But I think, not in spite of that, but BECAUSE of that, it was one of the loveliest books I read this year. It asked much of me, but much was given to me in return. It’s ended up being one of my favorite Jewish novels.

There’s not really a lot of novels about Sefardi Jews in England. It was not a topic I had ever really thought about before reading this book, and it must be said that the historical notes on this were wonderful, and I can’t imagine how much work Kadish must have had to do to get this all to fall into place.

It’s also, I think, Kadish’s most Jewish novel, though in all of her novels there is generally a Jewish main character, but this one is shot through with what I think of as Jewish philosophy, and Jewish anger, and Jewish complication. I don’t think you could untangle the Jewishness from the story if you wanted to.

Helen Watt, imperious expert on Jewish history--a woman with Masada framed on her wall, as though to prove she loved the Jews and their suffering. How sick he was of English people who loved martyred Jews.

‘American Jews are naive. The don’t want memory, or history that might make them uncomfortable. They just want to be liked. Being liked is their...sugar rush.”

A man could deform himself into the most miserable of creatures, and no holy hand would come down from the clouds and cry halt. And if there was no auditor, then one must audit one’s own soul, tenaciously and without mercy.*

Even when Ester could find in herself no belief in the the God of the psalms or the prayers, she believed in the holiness of Rabbi HaCoen Mendes’ spirit.

And then something that spoke to me on a terribly personal level:

Two characters are going somewhere, to do something totally against their belief system, their own personal willingness, and their backs are against the wall. It’s a series of terrible moments and choices that has led them here, where they will have to deny themselves. One character whispers to the other, that there’s something you can say, that means everything I’m about to say is null and void, and:

“No,” Rivka whispered. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the spot near the front of the church where they were being led. With her free arm she clutched her chest, as though cradling a baby. “God sees. I accept His judgment.”

#Eight Days 2020 #Doc Reads #Anonymous

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bronzeflower · 5 years

Text

The Opposite of a Fake Relationship

Also on ao3

Chapter 1: The “Introduction”

-----

“The Flying Pigs commissioned me for a few major renovations to their headquarters. Looks like I’m gonna be seeing a lot more of you at work,” Victor informed. “Which means you’re gonna be all serious and authority-like.”

“I have a reputation to keep,” Arlo insisted, and Victor giggled and squished Arlo’s cheeks.

“Yeah, but the moment you look at me, you go all soft and adorable,” Victor’s point was proven immediately by Arlo looking at him with utter adoration. “Everyone’s gonna know we’re married the moment they see us together in any capacity.”

“They have more important things to worry about than my marital status.”

“Sure they do.” Victor gave Arlo a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later today if everything goes well. Make sure the kids get to school safe and on time.”

“Like they’d allow for us to be late by even a minute,” Arlo joked. “Remi has started to a big stickler about what time they actually arrive at school. She said, and I quote, ‘They have to be there at 7:40 at the latest otherwise they’ll die.’”

“She’s always been dramatic.”

“Dad! We’re going to be late!” Remi yelled. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“I’m coming!” Arlo responded. “Bye, darling.”

“Bye, bye,” Victor kissed Arlo again, and he smiled as he heard Sam complain about how school started at 8:00, so there was no way they were going to be late, with Remi reminding him that death would imminent if they were, so it was always best to be early to avoid even the possibility.

Victor didn’t know where Remi got the idea that she and her brother would die if they were even a minute late to school, but it got them out of bed in the morning, so he supposed it was an improvement on Remi and Sam refusing to even acknowledge the world when it was early.

After waving off his husband and kids, it was time for Victor to get to work. This was a big commission, and there were a lot of materials to gather.

Of course, the Flying Pigs would never dumb down on defense, so Victor ended up feeling like he was gathering materials for making reinforcements rather than an entire expansion to the building.

It took about a week for Victor to gather and craft all the materials he needed, even with the materials he already had, but he had finally done it, and, for that, he was glad.

Now, all that was left was bringing the materials over to the Flying Pigs to get started on the expansion.

Victor was giddy, excited to build and excited to see his husband at his workplace.

But, of course, Victor had to get through security first, which was stringent for good reason. Regardless, Victor managed to get in, and someone showed up to bring him to where he was building the expansion.

His name was Barin, and he was weirdly nervous, but he was generally friendly and pointed out things and people they came across.

“Th-that over there is Arlo,” Barin pointed towards where Arlo was training with other Flying Pigs members. “You’ve probably he-heard of him. He’s one of the strongest folks over, over here.”

“So are you going to introduce me?” Victor asked kind of as a joke, but Barin frantically nodded and awkwardly tried to get Arlo’s attention.

“Arlo, e-excuse me,” Barin had his arms out slightly, as if warding off anything that would try and hurt him.

A girl with long black hair that was set in a ponytail looked up from her stretches to glare towards Barin before turning her head towards Arlo.

“Arlo!” She barked. “There’s some new kid in here!”

Arlo looked over, and Victor grinned at him, waving hello.

“Y-yes, this is the builder who’s g-going to be working on the new expansion,” Barin explained. “So-sorry, I forgot your name. What was it again?”

“Victor! Victor of the Victory Workshop. It’s good to meet you,” Victor threw Arlo a wink, and he didn’t miss the way Arlo’s mouth turned up slightly.

“Arlo, member of the Flying Pigs.”

Victor and Arlo shook hands, and Victor gave Arlo a challenging grin.

“Barin over here was telling me how you were one of the strongest folks in this joint. Care to demonstrate?”

Barin looked absolutely mortified while the girl with the long ponytail let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid! Name’s Aureall. Good to meet you.”

“I’ve got a least a decade on you, Aureall,” Victor pointed out, but Aureall didn’t really seem to care, so he focused his attention back on Arlo. “So, what do you say? How’s a sparring match between men?”

“Don’t you have an expansion to build?” Arlo said in what probably sounded like his usual serious voice to others, but Victor could detect the hint of amusement in there.

“Just one sparring match. One minute. No weapons,” Victor laid out their typical sparring rules. “I’ve got the time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t hold back, and I wouldn’t want to leave you incapable of doing your job,” Arlo teased, and Victor found himself laughing.

“Lucky for you, I don’t hold back either,” Victor got into a subtle fighting stance. “I’d be offended if you did.”

“A-Arlo! Pl-please don’t spar him!” Barin begged. “He’s just a builder-I-I doubt he can go up against you without getting hurt!”

“If you’re worried, I can spar you first,” Victor suggested. “I think you’re a lot stronger than you let on.”

“No sparring!” Barin demanded, and Aureall protested.

“I wanna see Arlo kick some nobody’s butt.”

“Don’t assume someone’s strength before you fight them,” Arlo advised. “That’s a good way to lose.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept?”

“Don’t hold back,” Arlo got into a fighting stance, and Victor’s grin turned manic.

“Like I’d ever.”

Victor was very familiar with Arlo’s moveset, and he wondered if it was obvious from watching them spar that he knew exactly when to move to avoid getting hit and where exactly to aim for to do the most damage.

Of course, the same could be said for Arlo, and it was a hard battle full of blocking and dodging and landing hits. Victor was pretty sure Arlo was trying even harder than usual in an attempt to look good in front of his coworkers.

However, in the end, Victor was merciless and managed to be victorious.

“Thanks for the sparring match!” Victor declared. “Maybe we could do a rematch sometime, but I’ve got work to do now. Hey, Barin, show me the rest of the way.”

Victor left, and Arlo couldn’t help but watch him as he left the area. It felt a little weird to say goodbye without exchanging at least one kiss, if not more, but, then again, this place wasn’t exactly the most appropriate area for PDA.

“Wow, in love already?” Aureall teased. “Didn’t strike you as a man who believed in love at first sight.”

“I don’t,” Arlo shook his head.

“That was an impressive battle,” Helene spoke up. “I kind of want to spar him myself now…”

“Me too!” Aureall agreed. “Next time he rears his head around here, I’m gonna beat him up so hard!”

“You sound like a school bully,” Helene said. “And besides, what makes you think that you can beat him? Even Arlo lost against him.”

“He only sparred Arlo!” Aureall claimed. “And weren’t you considering sparring him too? Why get into a fight that you’re so sure you’ll lose?”

“He had an interesting fighting style. I want to see it up close.”

“Why don’t you stop talking about him and get back to training?” Arlo interrupted, back to being serious.

“What, jealous?” Aureall joked, but she and Helene got back to work after a glare from Arlo.

Arlo and Victor talked about what happened that day when Arlo got back from work.

“We should probably tell them that we’re married,” Arlo suggested.

“But, consider this, it’s hilarious to make them think we’ve never met before,” Victor countered with a grin. “And it’s not like it’s interfering with anything.”

“I won’t deny that it’s amusing, but it is a little on the unethical side.”

“We can always just say that we wanted to stay professional in the workplace,” Victor pointed out. “You know, for when people do find out. But I wanna see how long it takes people to do so in the first place.”

“I guess it would be a good lesson in observation,” Arlo reasoned. “Alright. So what’s the plan?”

“We interact with each other relatively normally, with the exception that we will be keeping everything workplace appropriate.”

“Sparring me wasn’t exactly workplace appropriate.”

“Of course it is! It’s the Flying Pigs!”

“Aureall and Helene really want to spar you now,” Arlo mentioned, and Victor smiled.

“Tell them I’ll spar with them next time I see them. It’ll be on sight.”

“You should give them more warning than that.”

“Maybe, especially if we wanna keep up the idea that we don’t know each other outside of work.”

“Aureall already thinks that it was love at first sight.”

“Oh my god, that’s so funny,” Victor laughed. “But not that too far off. We pretty much got married as soon as we had the downtime. And now we’ve been married for, what? Almost ten years?”

“I think I lost count after the fifth year.”

“Honestly, me too,” Victor nodded. “But I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I fell for you.”

“Yeah, and how did you fall for me?” Arlo asked even though he almost certainly knew.

“When you asked me to join you in training for the Flying Pigs and had me run all around Portia for a week,” Victor started. “And you told me about your dream of joining the Flying Pigs, and that’s when I fell for you.”

“Liar,” Arlo poked Victor, and he laughed.

“You’re right, I fell for you when we were eating at the Round Table, and I made you laugh so hard that milk came out of your nose.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing we’re keeping our relationship from the Flying Pigs. You have to avoid telling that story to everyone you meet.”

“Oh my god, you’re right. Now I can’t decide what’s better - fooling everyone into thinking we’ve never met before or embarrassing the hell out of you with terrible stories. Whatever shall I do?”

“You can wait until people figure out we’re married.”

“You’re a genius, and I love you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

“Dad! I’m hungry!” Sam came clamoring in just as Arlo was leaning down for a kiss. “Ew. You’re being gross.”

Sam stuck his tongue out, and Victor let out a soft laugh as he pulled away from Arlo.

“Well, my dear and beloved child, what would you like for dinner?” Victor asked. “We’ve got the ingredients for seafood noodles or for bamboo papaya and seafood with rice.”

“Hmm,” Sam thought very seriously. “Noodles. Oh! And can we have some stewed mushrooms?”

“Of course!” Victor responded. “Would you like to help me prepare our meal? And ask your sister if she’d like to help as well.”

Sam nodded and left to go inform Remi of how it was time to start making dinner.

“Alright, babe, the children demand sacrifice, so I’ve got to go.”

“When are you gonna stop calling dinner sacrifice?”

“Never.”

Victor swept at Arlo’s leg to knock him slightly off balance and kissed him once Arlo was low enough.

“I regret you becoming friends with Sam and Remington,” Arlo stated when the kiss was over.

“They’re your friends too,” Victor responded. “But, anyway, the children are hungry, and they’ve got to eat, and so do we.”

“I’ll join you in cooking this time,” Arlo offered, and Victor smiled.

“Sure, we’ll have the whole family cooking together. Make sure Remi uses the knife safely. I’m gonna put Sam on stewing duty.”

Cooking dinner was generally chaotic, with Sam getting impatient often with waiting for the food to cook, Remi generally not have a great idea of knife safety, and Arlo simply not being all that great of a cook, but, in the end, they made something delicious, and they had a lovely dinner together.

#mtap #my time at portia #mtap arlo #mtap builder #builder victor #ocs #original character #the flying pigs #mtap flying pigs

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{Collection} A Haunted Haus : Day Two & Three

That is a mask...right?

Day Three, Start.

The past 48 hours haven’t exactly been “business as usual” for the Stone Spider Family.

Atamu hadn’t figured life would be all sunshine and roses every day since the Merger almost three years ago, but the Patriarch hadn’t ever anticipated anything quite like this. His displeasure in the recent, strange goings-on under his roof was clear on his dark, weathered face as he sat with his massive arms folded across his broad barrel of a chest. His long dreads were secured back in a thick braid that reached his waist, an impressive feat for a man over eight feet tall--it was a task he’d asked His little to perform, something Monica was quite skilled at by this point and had done so without hesitation. Atamu wanted his hair out of his face so he wouldn’t have to think about it or push at the long, thick twists of soft hair as the day’s events continued on around him. And while he normally reveled in the time Monica spent playing in his dreads, enjoying the way her small fingers felt beneath the lovingly secured strands, today it had been more for business than pleasure. There were events going on at the Haus that required the old Chieftain’s full attention and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

Helen’s office was currently holding several select, key members of the immediate Family--the Reaver herself was behind her desk, with Thomas standing in front of it. Atamu was seated in a high-backed chair facing the desk, with Monica safely in his lap--she wasn’t allowed down, much less out of the Patriarch’s sight.

Not after what had happened yesterday.

And while normally Monica might chafe under strict restraints on being told what to do...after what happened she wasn’t too keen on being out of Atamu’s embrace at all, much less where he couldn’t see her.

Luvon Dreadful was the newest addition to the room, the Alpha standing beside his Father and lifemate. The werewolf had his arms folded much like his Father, his large, heavily muscled body blocking Monica from the door and providing a second wall of protection for the young vampire. If Atamu hadn’t been overprotective enough to keep Monica at his side, Luvon would have done it. The overprotective Alpha did not play around when it came to Monica’s safety and well-being and anyone who looked at him now would only notice his tightly locked square jaw and the way his orange eyes glowed almost ferally. There was a dormant volcano of rage smoldering dangerously close to Luvon’s surface. All he needed was a target to unleash it on--but that was part of the problem. No one was quite sure what happened yesterday, and that was the cause of the current meeting.

“Would you like some tea, sweetheart?” Thomas straightened up from leaning against Helen’s desk, his gentlemanly smile aimed at Monica. “I would be happy to make you some, or perhaps a snack?”

“You need to be here for the recording, Thomas, you cannot be off making her tea. That’s why we have staff,” Helen’s sharp tone was back in full force, sounding like a whip of censure, though Thomas was used to her by now and didn’t react as if scolded. His smile didn’t even falter.

“I’d happily do it if she’d like me to.”

Helen didn’t doubt that for a split second.

“That’s okay, Thom.” Monica offered the Detective a small but genuine smile, showing she meant the gratitude.

“How about a blanket?”

Monica shook her head, leaning a little closer to Atamu, who reacted immediately by tightening his arm around her. “Poppy’s really warm!”

“Oh, of course he is,” Thomas’s smile deepened, before he tried again. “Perhaps a stuffed animal?”

“Thomas for god’s sake would you stop fussing over her? She’s fine.” Helen gave the man a look of heavy disapproval, and this time he had to sense to clear his throat and fold his hands against his trim middle, his earth-toned vest-coat a perfect compliment to the paleness of his skin and hair.

“Right, of course, so sorry.” His apology sounded even more sincere in his British accent. “I’m afraid I’m a little...out of sorts.”

“Why?” Luvon bit out gruffly. “Nothing happened to you.”

Monica looked up at Luvon in surprise at the line that might have been misinterpreted as hostility, but Thomas either was so used to Helen’s way of speaking he didn’t rise to the challenge...or he was simply too non-confrontational and understood Luvon was reacting as a lifemate should. Thomas simply answered honestly, as he was one of the more emotional members of the Family and was unafraid to show it.. His chin lifted, with the truth lightening his blue eyes and his accented tenor.

“Something could have happened to Monica. I’m as upset as you are about that.”

Luvon didn’t speak, unsurprisingly, but his defensive posture relaxed. It was an acceptable answer by the Alpha’s standards.

Monica reached up for Luvon’s hand and he met her halfway, lacing his fingers through hers with a grip like iron. In a movement that brought both of her men together, she turned her smile back to Thomas, one that he readily returned, pleased that she seemed to understand how deeply he cared for her. Feeling emboldened by her smile, Thomas moved to press a kiss to her forehead, and a little of the tension seeped out of the office.

“Are we all ready to review the recording?” Helen glanced first at Monica, then Atamu, then lastly at Luvon as Thomas returned to leaning against her desk.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer; Monica didn’t necessarily want to relive yesterday’s experience, Atamu didn’t want to put her through it again, and Luvon was still grappling with a lifemate’s raging need to protect his mate and being unable to do so. But all three knew there would be no moving forward without reviewing what happened, and when Luvon squeezed her hand reassuringly and Atamu’s lips found her temple, Monica felt strong enough to nod from her safe place between them.

“Yes! Let’s do it,” Monica nodded, and was rewarded by one of Helen’s rare, proud smiles. Monica seemed to be the only one to ever receive them, though that wouldn’t surprise a single member of the Haus to learn.

“Rollback the recording, JARVIS.”

Day Two, Recording Start

It was a fair assumption on Wade Wilson’s part (for once in his insane life) that Usopp had never been to a Halloween store, before. And that was why it was his duty, as Usopp’s newest bestest friend in the whole wide world, to take the sniper captain shopping for more costumes than there are days in a calendar year!

It was also a fair assumption that Wade Wilson often lost the rights to his Family credit card for doing things like buying 500+ Halloween costumes.

“Is this...how we’re supposed to celebrate?” Usopp asked, watching Staff member after Staff member bring in armfuls of shopping bags. The Staff had tried to arrange the bags in some semblance of order but Wade had quickly upended the entire system, because as soon as a servant set a bag down he was rifling through it like a kid on his birthday, flinging costumes over his shoulder with wild abandon. “All these costumes?”

“One for every day of the year!” Wade cheered incorrectly, arms lifted over his head.

Usopp was left staring and wondering how Wade had managed to pull a long blond wig on over his masked face in the split second it took him to straighten up.

The recreation room of the Haus (one of many, actually) was quickly covered in fabrics and masks, novelty weapons and other assortment of accessories for the many, many costumes that lay strewn about. It was no coincidence that the majority of the costumes were couples’ costumes, or “Bestie Suits” as Wade kept referring to them to Usopp in the store. There was no denying the Merc with the ever-running Mouth was thrilled to have a friendship with Usopp and true to his clingy nature, wanted to do everything with his new friend. In his twisted, often incorrect mind, somehow he was going to figure out a way to do a couple’s costume with Monica, Usopp, Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Nathan Summers, Logan Howlett, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Banner (just to piss Hulk off) and Oliver Queen (to piss off Clint Barton because the hawk-eyed assassin ate his leftovers). He didn’t know how he was going to do this, just that he was, and like everything in Wade’s life, somehow this would work out.

Or it wouldn’t.

He didn’t know.

“Soooo...” Usopp watched with his hands on his waist as Wade upended another bag onto the floor. “How do we decide what to dress up as?”

“Well~” Wade’s strangely pitched voice was all aflutter with excitement. “Tomorrow is one of the costume parties being held this month and I’m pretty sure there’s no contest because we’re all supposed to love one another and just have fun, but if I insult enough people’s costumes by saying ours is better then we can get one started and win!”

Usopp didn’t think that sounded right but was quickly learning arguing with Wade was a dangerous game--because you either got sucked into an argument that lasted six hours because Wade liked to talk, or he’d kiss you to shut you up. Usopp was still deciding which of those was the lesser of two evils.

“So we just need to dress up as something really fuckin’ kick-ass so we can win!”

Usopp’s brow pulled together in the center. “...Win the contest that isn’t happening?”

“Oh it’s happening, good buddy.” Wade straightened up, holding up an incredibly stereotypical pirate captain costume, complete with a hat emblazened with a cheap skull and bones across the front. “Would Luffy be mad at me if you were captain for a day?”

“At you?” Usopp asked, confusion clear on his tanned face. He was still learning everything circled back to Wade eventually...even if it shouldn’t.

“Yeah! I mean, he can be mad at you but I’m a sensitive boy. I have all these emotions. Feelings. Mostly in my junk but that’s where they come from.”

Usopp’s face was blank and Wade didn’t even miss a beat.

“See because my thought is, if you’re the pirate captain, then I can be the parrot...sitting on your shoulder for the whole night. And I can just say really raunchy things and no one can be mad at us because I’m just a bird, the fuck do I know?”

That cracked Usopp’s resolve, imagining Wade in a giant bird suit. He was tempted to say yes just for that.

“Oooo!” Wade’s squeal indicated his wandering eye had caught something else and he tossed the first costume to the side, picking up two costumes to hold up side by side, peering around them to grin at Usopp. “How about Peanut Butter and Jelly!”

Given the years he’s now lived at the Haus, Usopp recognized the food items and the oversized jar costumes Wade was holding up were definitely...something. The hands were connected, sewn together actually, so whoever was wearing the costume would have to hold hands the entire night.

“That’s...uh, if you want!” Usopp was too kind to shoot Wade down, which was partially why they’d been gone the entire afternoon and also why they’d run up a bill with more zeros than Usopp wanted to remember. It more resembled a bounty than a price to be paid.

Wade dropped the costumes before making a heart with his hands and sending it in Usopp’s direction. “This is why you’re one of my besties. You just get it, Usopp.”

“Get what?”

“Everything.” Wade stated, dramatic and somewhat breathlessly. “You get everything.”

If Usopp thought shopping with Wade was an ordeal, that turned out to be only half-truth--now that they were home, they had the monumental task of sorting through the haul to find what they wanted to wear.

“Gorilla and his really big banana?”

A pause before Usopp ventured, “that sounds kinda...lewd.”

“Oh! So Franky would do it.”

Usopp didn’t know if Wade wanted Franky to be the gorilla or the banana and he wasn’t going to ask.

“Okay so we’re not getting anywhere and since you won’t let me take your pants off--”

“You never told me why you needed to take my pants off?!”

“I need a reason to take your pants off?” Wade asked, blinking beneath his lifted mask. Usopp could easily read the confusion in the scarred half of Wade’s face he could clearly see.

“I’m starting to see why Nami hits Brook so much.”

“I thought Nami was going to hit me once but it turned out Sanji kicked me in my face before she could, which was just as good.” Wade quipped, but his attention was on one of his many pouches on his belt that he was rifling through.

“Why did Sanji kick you?”

“I think it’s because I was saying something about Monica sitting on my face--”

“HAHA WOW, YES, MHM, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN YOUR SUIT?!”

Wade paused in his search, slowly looking up at Usopp’s panicked expression. His visible grin was nothing short of wicked.

“Does Monica sit on your face, Usopp? I bet that nose is her favorite part--”

Shutting Wade Wilson up was a monumentally difficult feat to accomplish, something Usopp had learned recently, but had been told that food helps. Wade’ll still talk with his mouth full, but it might help distract him from his train of though--so Usopp started carrying around an extra stash of candy in his own pouches and pockets, aside from the stash Monica kept on him. Acting quickly, face red with the ideas Wade was putting in his head, Usopp plucked up a piece of candy and expertly tossed it into the Merc’s running mouth.

“S-So what are y-you looking for?” Usopp took control of the conversation in the split second Wade closed his mouth around the candy, nearly exhaling with relief when Wade’s multi-tracked mind switched lanes.

“My phone, I wanna text Monica.”

Trying to ignore the way his heart skipped at the mention of her name, especially so soon after the recent topic of conversation, Usopp cleared his throat.

“Why?”

“Oh, well she’s the smartest person I know--I mean Tony Stark likes to say he is, and he’s not the only one who says it either, but even he doesn’t argue when I say it’s Monica, so I think that’s the consensus.” Wade switched pouches for the fourth time. “Fucking thing’s gotta be here somewhere...anyway I wanna text Monica and have her come help us pick a costume!”

Usopp couldn’t argue with that, Monica was the smartest person he knew, too--well, she was a lot of things. Smartest, funniest, prettiest...even now, he was smiling wide enough to show teeth at the thought of Monica coming by, even if there wasn’t a reason for it. For as long as he’s known her (and he was very proud of the years!) he’s been head over heels in love with her and to feel it only grow as time passed wasn’t something he’d been prepared for. So much of his young life had been about action and adventure, a lot of the emotional journeys he’d taken had somewhat been overshadowed--but Monica brought them to the surface. He’s loved and lost--not always necessarily people, either--and that taught him that holding onto love so you don’t lose it is very, very important. Usopp was considered a lot of things by a lot of people, but the only opinion that really mattered to him was Monica’s. Yes, his captain and crew, but it was different when Monica talked to him, about him, told him things that no one else ever had before. Love becomes as necessary to one as air when they’ve had it for a while and now Usopp couldn’t imagine loving anyone more. It was a sentiment echoed by his entire crew and she became the central, uniting force behind the Straw Hats. Nothing and no one else would ever be more beloved or important to them.

Wade could definitely relate to his new bestie’s feelings; Monica was the love of his life and had been since the first moment he saw her. He’d fallen and fallen hard, not even bothering to get back up. He didn’t want to. She was smart, beautiful, funny as hell, sexy enough to make his suit uncomfortable 24-fucking-7, witty enough to put anyone to shame--she was a knock-out in every sense of the word. The Merc knew he wasn’t anything to look at and he knew Monica liked pretty things, pretty people; he didn’t know how he’d managed to slip under her radar but now that he was here, he wasn’t going to leave. Much like the fact that he couldn’t die, Wade couldn’t live with Monica. Plain and simple, end of story. That fierce love and his tendency to hyper-fixate made for one needy combination that Monica had to deal with--the fact that he was in near constant contact with her was one result but she was always so sweet to respond to his many, many text messages, to send him pictures when he asks for them, and to even pick up when he calls needing to hear her voice. Wade wasn’t dumb or oblivious enough to think he deserved her, he knew he didn’t but had decided, fuck the universe. He’d been dealt a real shit sandwich for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for years and years, so now that he had something good, someone who loved him and took care of him, why shouldn’t he get to have her?

Monica was never really ready for the love every member of the Haus had for her, but that didn’t stop her from being bombarded with it at any given hour of the day. The matching, exuberant expressions on Wade and Usopp’s faces should have scared her--just how much time had they been spending together?--but she could hardly find one single thing to focus on amidst the insanity she’d walked into. From what she could tell, Wade and Usopp had bought an entire costume outlet and then thrown every single costume onto the floor and were now standing in the aftermath, waiting for her.

“Monica~ Sweet angel girl. You came for us!”

Monica laughed at Wade’s loving coo, missing the way Usopp’s smile widened at the sound. “You make it sound like you got kidnapped. What is all this?”

“Costumes! Usopp and I went shopping.”

“Yeah you definitely went shopping,” Monica’s eyes lingered on a giant grape costume whose grapes were at least the size of human heads. “Are these for the whole Haus?”

“Noooo, the whole Haus can suck it.” Wade slung one heavily muscled arm around Usopp’s shoulders. “These are just for Usopp and me. But don’t worry!” Wade held out his other arm, giving his eyebrows an enticing wiggle in the hopes Monica would move beneath the hollow of his shoulder. “I bought you and me a whole room to go through later~”

“...A whole...room?” Monica couldn’t resist the offer for affection, slowly side-stepping costumes as best she could to move into Wade’s embrace.

“Yep! They’re mostly lingerie, mostly for you but I did buy myself a few things I thought you might like to see me in. My juicily scarred ass looks pretty good in lace, I’ve been told...by myself.”

Monica immediately turned to Usopp, avoiding that topic of conversation. “S-So, you and Wade are going to dress-up together?”

Usopp’s smile was boyish and loving as he nodded down at her. “We need your help, though! We don’t know which ones to wear for the party tomorrow.”

Wade was nuzzling into Monica’s hair, sniffing with keening little noises. “And since you’re so smart...and pretty...and smell like fucking heaven...”

Usopp gave Wade a look when Wade didn’t even bother finishing his sentence, far too wrapped up in being affectionate with Monica, who was grateful for her inability to blush at this particular moment.

“...We thought you’d be perfect to help.” Usopp finished for Wade, his smile returning full-force when Monica met his gaze.

“I’d love to help!” Monica nodded, smiling just because Usopp was. He looked so happy!

And so, the hunt for the perfect bestie costume began, re-energized by Monica’s presence. The trio sifted through the insane costume pile side by side by side; neither man moved too far away from her, wanting to be near and enjoy her presence. Wade’s openly affectionate ways were rubbing off on Usopp, who, on more than one occasion, was brave enough to give Monica’s hand a squeeze or even lean down to kiss her cheek or forehead, when he was so overcome with happiness at her participating that he couldn’t help himself! It felt good, doing this with her; it was good for both of them, Wade now so relaxed his mask was entirely off his face and Usopp feeling confident enough to express himself to the woman he loved.

The banter between the three was natural and flowed as if they’d always been, just like this.

“AAAA?!” Usopp reeled back with a surprised peal of laughter. “Wade! Take off that mask! ...That is a mask, right?”

Monica was nearly doubled over at the giant baby mask Wade had on, because it looked so ridiculous on his normal, man-sized body.

Wade did not help matters by beginning to talk and gesture with the mask still over his head, so his scratchy voice was coming from the baby’s pudgy face and gap-toothed cartoon smile. “I know it’s hard to tell when I have a mask on, okay, because my face looks like a melted candle in the shape of what I think Freddy Kruger’s balls probably look like--”

Usopp’s laughter was so loud it cut off Wade’s sentence and Monica all but threw herself on the Merc, because she couldn’t take his words coming out of that stupid looking mask!

Wade caught Monica effortlessly, strong arms like steel bands around her back as he took full advantage of the hug, and as soon as she pushed the mask off his face he was nuzzling against her soft skin, cooing and murmuring like one might imagine a baby would actually do.

“Mommy’s skin is so soft~”

“W-Wade you’re being silly,” Monica’s giggling turned shy, but she held onto him all the same. His words had come out like a self-deprecating joke but she knew the Merc and she knew his self-esteem was likely the worst in the Haus. So when Usopp laughed, and Monica took the mask off, it helped Wade feel a little better--because Usopp was paying him attention, and Monica wanted to see his face.

Time flies when you’re with the ones you love. Monica could hardly believe that an hour and a half had gone by and they hadn’t even made a dent in the pile of costumes the two had brought home. It left her a little concerned about how much time it would take to go through the room Wade had set up for the two of them...not to mention the tummy flip at the thought of what all would likely take place in said room supposedly filled with costumed lingerie for two. Smiling to herself, Monica picked up and then immediately tossed aside a naval sailor suit that Wade probably wanted to try and stuff Cora into. It was safer not to ask what his plans were for half of these things--

A prickle of unease had Monica’s attention snapping up, and her green eyes fell on...well she didn’t know if it was Wade or Usopp since the mask on the face made it impossible to tell. Her face broke into a smile, the unease chalked up to that feeling one gets when they’re being watched and it dissipated as quickly as it came. She hadn’t heard them approach, so it made sense she’d be a little startled. The mask itself didn’t exactly help; it was modeled after an old timey ventriloquist dummy, with the finely painted wooden features, including the slits down the side of the mouth where the dummy would “talk”. It’s eyes were brilliantly blue and inhumanly realistic looking, like doll’s eyes, and apparently came with a costume to match because the wearer was decked out in a full suit and tie. She must have been really involved in her searching to not notice Wade or Usopp pulling on a suit, but she had to commend the boys. A dummy and a ventriloquist was a pretty damn creepy costume combination--especially with the way this one looked. As she continued to stare at the mask, the mouth slowly opened but given it was a mask, couldn’t smile. They were just standing there with the mask mouth unsettlingly wide, as if frozen in a silent scream.

The prickle of unease returned.

Monica knew Wade and Usopp would never scare her on purpose, but she couldn’t make sense of what was happening, why they were just standing there. Were they expecting a different reaction? Maybe just wanting something more than her smile? ...It still wouldn’t make sense, Wade was never this quiet and to be honest now that she thought about it a bit more, Usopp would probably have to be coaxed into something this creepy, and she definitely would have heard Wade trying.

It was then that she saw Usopp pass by her peripheral, his spine bent as he traced a lengthy costume to it’s source.

That only left Wade--

“If I get my head stuck in a bag again I’m gonna be really pissed off.”

Wade was directly behind her, apparently head first in a bag.

So who...was in front of her...?

The mask’s eyes continued to bore into hers, it’s mouth open as if silently challenging her to scream, to say something, do something, but every instinct Monica had was fighting against that urge. She felt fear wrap around her silent heart like ice, and fight or flight was kicking in and fast--

And that was when it moved.

Slowly, the head inclined to one side, the arms of the suit coming up, up, then twisting, as if the elbow joints were being wrenched to the side. There were no hands coming out of the sleeves but there was definite sound like bone breaking as the arms twisted--which caught Usopp’s attention first, and he let out a bellow of surprise, all but leaping the distance between himself and Monica to push her behind him.

Some might consider Usopp a coward, but he never, ever hesitated when it came to Monica.

“What, is my ass hanging out agai--WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Wade’s surprised bellow was accusatory, angry that someone was scaring his babygirl and bestie. His bulky body came into Monica’s line of sight but she caught the back of his suit, keeping him from fully approaching the mask--it had fallen still again, it’s face still staring straight at the group but it’s arms were still horribly twisted.

“W-Wade, don’t,” Monica managed, her instincts screaming at her not to let him get any closer. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know what they were looking at, dealing with, but she wasn’t going to let Wade get hurt--whether he would come back from it or not.

“Look, Dummy McDumbass, you better hope like hell you’re not anyone I know because you’re going to get spanked with the sharp end of my katana for scaring my wife and bestie like this,” Wade shot out, only held in place by Monica’s hand clutching the back of his suit. He was standing directly in front of her and she was grateful for that, but she couldn’t resist leaning around him just to keep an eye on their silent “companion”.

It just stared back at her with that same screaming expression.

Usopp kept Monica in his hold, just a little bit behind him, but when the mask didn’t speak, when one of their Family members didn’t yank the mask off with a laugh, he felt the first shivers of true fear race down his spine.

This wasn’t someone they knew and loved. This was something else.

Wade just got angrier, slipping his gun from his thigh holster. He didn’t like the way he could feel Monica’s fingers trembling. He didn’t like that at all.

“All right, even better. You’re a literal dumbass who broke into this Haus to die. Congrats.” Wade cocked his gun, sights perfectly positioned right at the forehead of the silent, staring mask. “Gonna say, I don’t know, fucking anything before I shut you up forever?”

The mask still didn’t speak, but it did move.

Slowly, just like with it’s arms...the head began to spin around. The trio watched as the doll’s head slowly, creaking as if made of wooden bone, turned toward the right and then kept turning. As the neck started to break, the eyes remained locked to the trio, and it wasn’t until it snapped that the mask and suit fell to the floor in an empty, crumpled heap.

There was no one there.

Monica turned away from the reality of what they’d just seen, burying her face against Usopp’s chest and was relieved when his arms closed around her, his own face buried in her hair.

“I-It’s okay, it’s okay,” Usopp comforted, his voice quiet but trying to be strong for Monica. “I’m here, W-Wade’s here, we’re okay.”

Angry and with nothing to do about it, Wade unloaded an entire clip down into the mask that had somehow fallen face up, those blue eyes staring at the trio until Wade shot them out.

But a full clip shot into the floor couldn’t erase the truth--there had never been anyone there, at all.

Day Two, Recording End.

The silence of the office was deafening.

Monica was resting her head against Atamu’s chest, absolutely dwarfed by the Patriarch and grateful for it; he was surrounding her, physically and emotionally, his strongly beating heart an anchor for her relieving the fear she’d felt in that room. A full day had passed since the incident but she still didn’t know how to feel about it except scared, but Atamu was doing his best to keep her from feeling that way. His large hand was rubbing her back, his other arm draped across her body and his bicep alone was wider than her middle; she felt safe here, knew that he wouldn’t ever let anything happen to her and she basked in that feeling, letting it wash over her to drown out the prickling uneasiness and fear. Luvon was still standing guard over her, his orange eyes hard enough to break glass, but that oppressive anger was a comfort to Monica, too. She knew her Big Brother would never let anything happen to her, either, and she knew that was why he was in here. As an Alpha and a Soldier, Luvon took a heavy hand in the security of the Haus. He trained the wolves that stalked and protected the grounds and he was one of the direct reports that any of the Staff came to with any security issues. He actively reviewed security footage from the Haus and all it’s properties, especially any that concerned Monica, and that was why he was front and center, now. He wanted to know what was being done to ensure this never happened to Monica again.

“You were so very brave, sweetheart,” Thomas finally broke the silence, his tone reflective of the sunshine title he’d carried for a long time--warm. He was offering Monica a soft, proud smile. “It wanted your fear, your screams, and you didn’t give in to it.”

Helen didn’t say anything, that wasn’t her way, but the gaze she affixed to Monica let the younger woman know she felt exactly the same way.

“Thank you,” Monica offered quietly, before laughing a little. “I-I was scared, though.”

“Anyone would be,” Atamu met her attempt to deflect the praise in stride. “But you were very brave, little one.”

As Monica turned to nuzzle closer to Atamu, Helen looked up at Luvon. “Have any of your security teams found anything? How about the wolves?”

Luvon slowly shook his head. “So far, nothing.”

It was not the answer anyone wanted to hear.

“And it isn’t a poltergeist or demonic entity?” Thomas had already asked this and truthfully, he’d know if it was. But he was nothing if not the ever hopeful optimist.

“No. I’ve been reading the Haus for the past three days and have not detected anything demonic or spiritual at all. It isn’t a ghost and it isn’t a demon.” Helen’s sharply accented voice was matter-of-fact. “What Monica and the others encountered was a smokescreen. Something else projected that at them, for the purpose of inciting terror, but that wasn’t truly it.”

There was quite a gaping hole left on the table of options when one removes a ghost or demonic entity and it was felt by all in the room.

Thomas’s blond brows knotted in thought. “What else could possibly be doing this?”

“I’m afraid it might be too early to tell.” Helen’s long fingers folded in her lap. “Some hauntings, possessions, disturbances, can take days, weeks, or even months before the source is identified. Vigilance is still our strongest defense.”

“And in the meantime?” Atamu asked, fingers massaging lightly against the roots of Monica’s hair.

“In the meantime I will continue to consult with the others knowledgeable in such matters here in the Haus, monitor incidents as they happen--we had other minor disturbances yesterday but Monica’s far out-weighed any others--and Luvon will keep me informed on anything the security teams find.”

Luvon nodded, once.

“And what about the Halloween celebrations?” Thomas turned to face Helen more fully from his perch at the edge of her desk. “The costume party tonight, should we cancel it?”

That was a fair question. Helen glanced at Monica, wondering if she even felt like celebrating--not to mention, an entire Haus with people in costume was like a breeding ground for whatever this thing was, to pull another stunt like it had with the dummy mask. But...wasn’t that letting it win? It may not be a demon, but it clearly enjoyed fear and manipulation through terror.

If the Family bows out, gives in to fear, whatever this thing is could win.

Before Helen could voice any of this, the office door swung wide open and something far more disturbing than any dummy mask came sauntering in.

“Look, Pops, I dressed up as you for the party tonight!”

It was Cavon Dreadful, dressed head to toe like his Patriarchal Father. He had on a dreaded wig full of ringing dread charms, one of Atamu’s outfits, but the true genius of Cavon’s costume? The tribal patterned apron that Atamu was known to wear; it was quite obviously too big even for the Alpha, the bottom of the apron nearly touching Cavon’s boots, but the Wolf looked absurdly pleased with himself, a wide grin on his face as he spun around in the doorway. The apron had it’s pockets full of spatulas and tongs, even one of Atamu’s cleavers and the utensils all clanked together noisily as the Alpha spun around.

Everyone was left staring, but Monica was the first to truly react, erupting in a fit of adorable little giggles that widened Cavon’s grin. Atamu was next to crack, his thunderous laughter something of a notorious sound throughout the Haus, now.

Luvon shook his head but couldn’t help his grin--but if anyone asked, it was solely because Monica found it so funny. “You look fucking ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, Fam, I make this look good,” Cavon leaned back, doing a shoulder shimmy.

Thomas had his hands over his face, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, and Helen had her eyes closed, just shaking her head.

“Unbelievable. To answer your question, Thomas, yes I believe we should cancel tonight’s event but solely because Cavon’s costume is so terrible.”

“Y’all a bunch’a haters. Gramps loved my costume.”

Luvon snorted. “Well of course he did.”

Cavon gestured. “And babygirl obviously loves it!”

“Of course she does, too, idiot. Gramps and babygirl both love Dad.” Luvon shot back.

“HATERS.” Cavon pointed at everyone except Monica before looking smug. “I’mma win the contest tonight.”

“Contest?” Helen arched a brow. “I was unaware there was a costume contest.”

“Yeah, Wilson sent out a mass text ‘bout there bein’ some sorta contest.”

Helen took a sip from her wine glass in lieu of replying, but Cavon picked up what she didn’t say.

“You still got his number blocked?”

“There’s a chain of communication that can reach me if Mr. Wilson truly needs my assistance for something.”

Monica found herself laughing. “Does he really text you?”

“Sweet girl, that man will talk to an empty room. He was sending me so many text messages, that i was not responding to by the way, that it was either block him or send him to a different dimension where he cannot harass anyone anymore.”

“I once got stuck listening to him for three hours uninterrupted because I was too polite to tell him I had work to do.” Thomas chimed in, staring far-off into the distance as if reliving the nightmare.

Cavon threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, that fuckin’ sounds right comin’ from you.”

“Yeah, they’re in here, c’mon!”

Heads turned toward the voice from the hallway, and Helen was beginning to think she might need to move her office to another dimension to get any real work accomplished.

“Y’all, guess who dressed up as the Von Triplets for the costume party tonight!”

It was Jax and Lucca, side by side, both clearly dressed in Cavon and Luvon’s clothes. Jax was decked out in Cavon’s biker gear and Lucca was wearing Luvon’s camo, with Jax having shaved his blond hair into Cavon’s trademarked mowhawked ponytail and Lucca wearing bright orange contacts. The younger pups were surprisingly spitting images of their Alpha Big Brothers...but hilariously different at the same time; Jax had Cavon’s grin and Lucca had Luvon’s deadpanned, almost bored expression.

And it definitely incited a fresh round of laughter, leaving Cavon staring slack-jawed and Luvon actually looking impressed.

“Wait, wait,” Atamu managed, holding up one large hand. “Who one of you is Savon, then?”

Jax turned as if just noticing their third was missing, and he was scowling out of the room.

“C’mon man, you gotta come in too or it don’t work an’ we won’t win the costume contest tonight!”

Three seconds later and in came Tod, dressed up just like Savon--right down to the fake horns and tail and the long, styled black wig. The Omega looked a little more sheepish than his younger brothers and it became very obvious, very fast, that he’d been roped into this idea.

Fresh rounds of laughter shake the very room, and it was as if yesterday’s events hadn’t even happened. The fear and unease were gone, replaced by Family love and laughter, as the Haus was known to be bursting with.

Atamu turned his head down, catching Monica’s attention with a proud smile. “What do you think, little one, do you think Wade and Usopp will be making use of the Peanut Butter and Jelly costumes? Because if not, Poppy wants to wear it with you.”

Monica didn’t even care if they didn’t win the costume contest; all that mattered to her was that she was going to spend the whole night dressed up with her Daddy!

Day Three, End.

#{collection} : spooktober 2019 #{theme} : for monica #{ i went with a james wan approach }#{ SCARY VERY BAD THINGS and then yay happy things ♥ }

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

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someone asked me for a GoT fic but i had to write a lil smth and make sure i got the tone/dialogue/prose exactly right before i tackled it. i think this is what i might be sticking w/ in the end~ a little prequel to the main story

The Departure of the Raven

Levi Ackerman. ASOIAF AU.

3577 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

The heel of Levi’s boot clicks against the gold and marble floor as the knight makes his way to the throne room. The knight does not turn his head to admire the tapestry that decorates the wall nor the crystal chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings. He has lived in this castle for far longer than he’s ever cared to, and he’s memorized every inch of it. Even when he had first arrived to be accepted as a knight on the Kingsguard, he had not been enchanted by the glamour of the castle, and he has come even less interested in its fanciful decorations now. Rather than spend even a second more than he needs to in this overly lavish hall, the knight quickens his pace as he nears the glossy wooden door with its gilded carvings. When he arrives, he is already reaching for the handle, pushing the heavy doors open without waiting for the guards to announce his arrival.

“Ser Levi.” It is not the king that greets the knight, but Queen Helene, a regal woman dressed in garments just as extravagant as the decorations that adorned the hall outside the throne room. Her hair was done up in plaits and wound closely around her head, which was covered in a woven net of gold set with pearls. On her brow sits a golden circlet, a treasured heirloom passed down for nearly a century in the Tybur family. Although it had been made for the first Tybur queen that had been crowned nearly a century ago, the circlet shines as if it had been fashioned just yesterday. The queen wears it proudly, her head held high, showing off the crystal choker on her neck. Despite the many jewels that cover her hair and neck, it seems that the precious gems are not enough for her, for the bodice of her gown is sewn with even more crystals and pearls, sparkling as she walks towards the knight to greet him. Even her skirts are embellished with intricate designs of golden thread, but she walks as if the weight of these jewels is nothing to her. The queen smiles at him, and it is this smile of hers – not her lavish palace, her precious jewels, or her extravagant gowns, but her smile – that this knight trusts the least about her.

Levi bends his knee and closes his right hand in a fist over his heart as he kneels in front of the throne. He casts his eyes downward, staring at the scarlet carpet beneath his feet. “My king. My queen,” he says. He only looks up when the skirts of the queen, a swirl of violet fabric embroidered with feathers of golden thread, appear in front of him. When the knight looks up, he sees the queen smiling down at him. “I trust that you have read my letter.” The queen gestures for the knight to rise, and so he does.

“Indeed, we did, but we thought it a poor joke when we first read it. It is not every day that a knight requests to be dismissed from the Kingsguard.” King William does not rise from his throne, instead speaking to Levi from where he sits. He wears robes in the same shade of violet as his queen, fastening the fabric together with a thick leather belt. On top of his head sits a golden crown that shines just as brightly as the queen’s circlet. His headdress, however, is decorated with sparkling crystals and glistening topazes. Unlike the queen, he never feels the need to overdress himself in jewels and precious metals, believing that it was far more effective to use his charisma and charm than his wealth to influence his people to follow him. It is a far more reliable method, perhaps, but Levi trusts the king's smile even less than he trusts the queen's – not at all. “Perhaps you can lend us more insight. I believe not everything was told in your letter.”

“There is not much to tell, my king. I believe that my time on the Kingsguard has come to an end,” Levi replies, his eyes still cast respectfully downward. “It seems that I have been called to journey down another path.”

The king nods, thinking deeply. His brows are knitted slightly, and Levi can tell that the king disagrees with him, but is pondering what words to use to prevent the knight from leaving. After a moment, the king asks, “And tell me how you came about this decision to leave, Ser Levi? It feels rather sudden to us after you have served our family for years.”

Levi raises his head, glancing at the queen from the corner of his eye. “I saw it in a dream,” he responds, watching as the queen’s eyes widen. He clears his throat and speaks louder, confident now that he has the queen’s attention. “A white crow appeared at my window and as I reached for it, it flew off. When I had looked to see where it had gone, I found that it had disappeared towards the north – towards the Wall.” He glances back at the king, and it is apparent that he does not believe in the knight’s word nor does he believe in the power of prophetic dreams. All of that is no matter to Levi. All he needs is the queen’s interest, and he has her completely enraptured. “I believe it was a sign for me to join the Night’s Watch.”

“Surely, a dream can just be a dream,” the king laughs, but his wife silences him with a wave of her hand.

She clutches one of Levi’s hand in hers, holding it close to her breast. The queen gazes down at the knight, eyes shining brightly. “The raven is the sigil of House Ackerman, is it not?” she asks. She grasps his hand so tightly that her knuckles turn white. “This cannot be a coincidence then.”

“But how often do dreams come true?” the king scoffs. He tries to convince his wife, but even Levi knows that any attempts will be futile. The knight’s freedom from this castle is imminent. “My love, you must admit that to release one of our most trusted knights because of a dream is unwise.”

The queen looks back to scowl at her husband. “It is because of your refusal to believe in prophecies and dreams that our kingdom is nowhere near the good fortune that Kiyomi believes we can achieve,” the queen declares, holding her head high. She refers to the priestess from Hizuru that has slowly managed to enchant her ever since the Little Rebellion. “You see the resignation of Ser Levi as a loss, but his departure may be a benefit to us. With Ser Levi’s presence in the Night’s Watch, our kingdom would have closer relations with an additional military branch should an outside first dare to attack us.”

“The Night’s Watch can hardly protect the kingdom, let alone themselves. What is there even to protect up north beside a frozen wasteland?” the king mutters.

“I believe in your vision, Ser Levi,” the queen says loudly. Her skirts sweep the floor as she glides across the room, her arms raised. She clutches her hands over her chest, and her eyes are cast downward. “You are blessed to have dreamt up such a prophecy. For us to deny you your destiny would be cruel. Not only would it hinder your growth, but the growth of the kingdom as well. Surely, my husband can see that.”

Both Levi and the queen turn to observe the king’s reaction. King William’s hands grip the arms of his throne tightly, and he shakes in silent fury. Although it is true that Ser Levi has proven himself a loyal and talented knight, the Kingsguard has no shortage of loyalty and talent. Even if he were to deny the request, the king knows that his wife would continue to wear him down until he finally gave in and dismissed the knight.

“Very well then,” the king said grudgingly, a tight smile on his face. “I will give you my blessing, and we shall wish you all the best at your new calling. But never forget where your true loyalty lies, Ser Levi.”

“Of course, my king,” the knight said with another bow, but he’s lying. His loyalty was never to the Tyburs, and it never would be. “I will be eternally grateful for the kindness you have shown me during my time on the Kingsguard.”

“Oh, the Kingsguard will not be the same without you. Your loss will be felt sorely throughout the castle,” the queen sighs. She then turns to her husband, an expectant expression on her face. “Well, we must make preparations.”

“Preparations for what?” the king mumbles, still disgruntled over the resignation of his best knight. “Is there something we have to celebrate?”

“Would you have Ser Levi leave without any ceremony?” his wife asks, incredulous. “We should at least throw him a small feast after he has served our family so dutifully.”

Levi raises his head, trying not to appear startled. “I assure you that that won’t be necessary, Your Majesty. A quick and quiet departure would be best, I believe.”

“Are you quite sure, Ser Levi?” Queen Helene asks. She’s torn between accepting his request and throwing an extravagant ceremony. “It would be no trouble at all. Of course, I could have planned something far more suitable for your going away. With such short notice, I’m afraid I can only prepare a small dinner for you and the other knights on the Kingsguard.”

“That is more than I deserve, Your Highness,” the knight says. He looks towards the king. “All I ask is that you allow me a horse so that I may journey to the Wall. I pray that whatever history is written of me on the Kingsguard’s record is kind, just, and true.”

“Ah, yes, we shall ensure that your services and accomplishments are properly documented, Ser Levi,” the queen says. “But do you not require anything more of us? No money, no feast, no gifts at all? Whatever it is you request, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Levi shakes his head. He wonders why the queen is so insistent on leaving him with a parting gift. When he had served on the Kingsguard, he was certain that she held no affection of him. It was only his loyalty that she desired of him, but she pays him far more attention now that he is leaving. Perhaps it is because she really believes that she will be able to use him as a connection to the Night’s Watch, but he doesn’t see how that’s possible. After all, the Night’s Watch pledges its allegiance solely to Paradis, not the king or any single house. And yet, the queen seems confident that she will be able to keep Levi’s devotion even after his departure from the Kingsguard. There was also that strange thing that the king had said…

“Very well,” the king says, interrupting the knight’s thoughts. He claps, a signal for his servants to attend to him. As his servants approach him, the king points at Levi and says, “Provide Ser Levi with a horse so that he might travel where he desires. Once that’s done, bring me Ser Nile. He shall be head of the Kingsguard and shall officiate Ser Levi’s resignation in the Kingsguard’s record.”

“Thank you,” Levi mumbles. He looks up at the king and queen for what he believes is the last time. “I am eternally grateful for the time I have spent serving you, Your Highnesses.”

“Likewise, we are grateful for having your service for so many years,” the king says with a bow of his head. He watches as the servants begin to lead Levi out of the throne room. “Do not forget us when you become a part of the Night’s Watch, Ser Levi. And when you get there, please send Lord Commander Zackley our regards.”

The king’s last words to Levi disturb him the most, echoing in the knight’s head even after he’s left the throne room. It is strange for the king to mention the Lord Commander so casually, to say the man’s name with familiarity as if the two were comrades instead of mere acquaintances. Surely, the two cannot maintain such close relations. There is the distance between the Wall and the capital, the Night’s Watch and its sole dedication to Paradis, and the duties of the kingdom that keep the king busy. Maybe he was simply overthinking things and had simply imagined it. He should no longer concern himself with the royal family. His work with them is done after today. All he has left to do is to travel to the Wall and start his new life.

He follows the servant down the hall and does his best to keep his eyes on the floor. He does not care to gaze at the detailed paintings on the ceilings or the glass chandeliers that hang from them. He wants no memories of this place.

“Ser Levi!”

The former knight turns at the call of his name, and he sees the royal children playing in the garden. He had hoped to leave without seeing them, but it is just his luck to run into them just as he is about to take his leave. He bows deeply as they approach him and raises his head. Although they had all been mere children when he had first been welcomed into the castle, the children had caught up to him in height years ago and now tower above him.

“Where are you going?” a golden-haired boy, nearly a man now, asks. Prince William has his father’s charismatic smile, but his mother’s glittering green eyes. The young prince wears a silk tunic the color of periwinkles and dark trousers, his clothes made of fine material even though he is simply lounging around in the garden. That is, however, expected of a boy who wears his dragon skin boots no matter the occasion. Even now his fingers are adorned with over a dozen rings – gold and silver all studded with a rainbow of gems – even though there is no special occasion. He is certainly his mother’s son. “It is unusual seeing you walking about the castle during the day. When you aren’t on duty, you keep to roaming the halls only during the nights just like a ghost.”

“Don’t bother him, brother.” Prince William’s sister comes up from behind him, resting a graceful hand on her brother’s shoulder. Unlike her brother, only a single golden band is worn on her finger – a promise ring that matches the one worn by her fiancé. She is a far more modest dresser than her mother or anyone in the royal family. On her head, she wears a veil of gossamer that covers her thick brown locks. The last time Levi had seen the princess’s hair was when she was but a girl with waves of brunette rippling down her back. She has changed so much over the years. Rather than wear the bright colors she had when she was a child, she wears darker colors – deep blues or greens on special occasions, but usually browns and blacks – and the only other jewelry she wears is the gold pendant that hangs around her neck, a brilliant ruby in the center of it. It looks like the blazing sun, a symbol of the Church of Ymir. Although her mother had lost faith in them years ago, her daughter is still a devoted follower. “I am sure that Ser Levi has better things to be doing than chatting with a silly prince.”

The two siblings are about to bicker, but Levi interrupts. “I’m leaving today.” He continues before the pair of siblings can protest. If they get another word out, they’ll keep him longer than their parents did. He gestures for the servant to meet him in the stable before continuing. “I have spoken to the king and queen, and they have agreed to allow me to resign from the Kingsguard. I shall be following what I believe is my fate and join the Night’s Watch.

“Fate?” the princess echoes, a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. The corner of her mouth curls upwards. “I did not think that you were one to believe in fate, destiny, or anything of the like.”

“It came to me in a dream,” Levi replies, hoping that will be enough to satiate the princess’s curiosity. He has always thought that she was clever, far cleverer than her parents ever expected. It was a pity that the king and queen were only interested in using Princess Edith for securing a marriage meant to appease the public.

“Well, it is a pity that you must go so soon,” the princess tells him, a polite smile on her face. Although still young, she speaks with the air and grace of a queen twice her age. “When you became a part of the Kingsguard, I felt that you had become a part of the family. Your absence will be deeply felt throughout this castle.”

“It will be an honor to be remembered so fondly by the royal family,” Levi says.

“Will we really never see you again?” another voice asks from behind the two siblings. When William and Edith step aside, a boy steps forward. He looks nothing at all like the royal siblings, but that is because he is not one of them. Despite having lived in the castle and eaten at the same table as the Tyburs, young Zeke is a hostage in this castle. He has been out of place in this castle ever since the rebellion had ended, and he is out of place now. Even the golden ring on his finger, gifted to him and his betrothed by the king and queen to mark the engagement, looks out of place on him. It is no wonder that his slight frown has a mournful look to it, wistful as he watches the knight depart as he remains.

“Those who pledge themselves to the Night’s Watch spend the rest of their lives at the Wall,” Levi says quietly. He watches as the young boy’s expression, once sorrowful, now turns to anguish. Although he has never been particularly close to him, Levi still feels a pang of guilt for leaving. He looks to the prince and princess and says, “I have left all my belongings at the castle. You may have whatever you find. To Will, you keep any of my swords that you fancy. To Edith, I entrust you my white raven’s cloak. And to Zeke…” Levi pulls out the small dagger that was hanging from his belt. He had meant to take it with him to the Night’s Watch, but the truth is that it will get little use up north. “Take my dagger.”

The boy’s amber eyes widen as he accepts the blade. “Th-thank you,” he whispers, admiring the detailed illustration carved on the scabbard – a raven in flight towards the sun.

Princess Edith’s eyes flicker towards her betrothed for a moment before returning to Levi, her polite smile still on her face. “Are you certain? It is very generous of you, Ser. And your cloak…” Her hand hovers over her heart as if touched by his kindness. “I know how much it means to you. My father killed a hundred ravens for that cloak. I shall treasure it.”

“It feels a bit wrong to be taking your things,” Will laughs, but he does not refuse Levi’s gift. A glimmer of his eye reveals just how eager he is to run up to the weaponry vault and lay claim to the knight’s best sword. “It should be the other way around, shouldn’t it? Perhaps we should be giving you parting gifts.”

“Then why don’t you gift him those dragon skin boots of yours?” Edith asks. She glances down at the boots that her brother wears proudly on his feet, smirking when she looks back up to see how the prince had stiffened. “After all, they would suit him much better, don’t you think?”

There is a flash or anger in Will’s eyes. He opens his mouth to lash out at his sister, but Levi speaks first.

“Not at all. They suit the prince much better than they would ever suit me,” Levi says quickly. His answer pacifies the prince, but only for a moment. He can tell that the prince is still simmering underneath, but the prince’s anger will never be his issue again. “I am thankful that we were able to meet before I departed. I will keep you in my memories.”

The siblings give him their good wishes, assuring him that they will think of him often and that begging him to write them when he finally arrived at the Wall, but Zeke stays silent. The boy simply gives Levi a wave with the same forlorn expression on his face as before. Levi makes the mistake of looking back and laying his eyes on the young boy. Zeke’s amber eyes - wide, anxious, terrified - look the same as his mother’s before she died.

As Levi turns around and makes his way to the stables, he wonders if he’s made a mistake.

#levi ackerman #asoiaf au #got au #snk

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coffeedrivenfiction · 6 years

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I’ve Always Wanted To Do That (The Incredibles fanfic)

He wasn't actually sleeping, more like lounging. Lounging on the living room couch on a lazy Saturday with a magazine resting on his face and virtually nothing to do. His homework was finished, the chores were done, and the house was vacant. Since turning eighteen, Violet had taken to enjoying the slight slack in the leash that pertained to dating that kid Tony, who she was miraculously on her third year with; Jack-Jack was at Aunt Edna's, being treated like the surrogate son he so obviously was to her and no doubt being forced into a bevy of different costumes suited for his powers; and Mr. Incredible, free to be himself to a certain degree, was out with Frozone.

Being a teenager was really no different than being a kid. So he was fourteen now. Big whoop. Literally nothing had changed besides the length of his flyaway hair, his school, and the suffocating amount of homework he was given every day. He and the rest of his family were still under witness protection while the government dragged feet in weighing the exact worth of Supers against a cost analysis following the destruction they were sure to cause 'saving the day'. The fall of Supers in no way meant the fall of villains—an occurrence that should have been painfully obvious from the onset—and so certain ones were being allowed back into the line of duty to combat the increasing wave of unrest.

Slowly but surely, Supers were being accepted again.

Winston Deavor was still a prominent figure in the integration of Supers, from back when his sister went rogue to this very day, and the betrayal at the hands of his own flesh and blood had only spurred him on further. The process was plodding as hell to be sure but not without its benefits. His mom, Elastigirl, was still the face of the program, and she was making extraordinary strides toward proving that 'saving the day' could be done with as little collateral damage as possible thanks to her elegance and natural battle tact, and it didn't hurt that she had a massive fanbase backing her.

Back in the day, Elastigirl was already considered a household name, but now? Four years later? She was virtually infamous. Everyone knew her, people all over the world loved her, countries wanted her to make guest appearances, there were parades and parties, endorsement deals and sponsorships, she had apparel everywhere knickknacks were sold—there was even an Elastigirl videogame called Elastigirl: A Stretch In Time. To this day, Dash still found that to be the most stupidest name attached to the most stupidest gaming premise ever. Why they chose to make his mom this time-hopping superhero, he would never know.

Still, beyond all of that, beyond the numerous press releases and public events and award ceremonies, not a single soul outside of her family, Mr. Dicker, and Winston knew Elastigirl's true identity, which was a testament to the statute of secrecy concerning not only her but some of the other high profile Supers in the field. Mostly because trying to figure out Elastigirl's true identity had reached astronomical levels of interest, to the point where people adamantly theorized on who it might be based on hair length, eye color and other characteristics. Not that his mom cared—she found the whole fascination over her ridiculous—she only cared about creating a better, villain-free world for her family. She didn't care to relieve the 'glory' days that she consistently tried to talk his dad into letting go. Her only priorities pertained to being a devoted wife and raising her children; Super'ing around the world was just an unwanted side-effect to accomplish that.

On the other glove, Mr. Incredible was over the moon with the steady integration of Supers and gladly took on whatever jobs his wife didn't want to, even the ones that led him to other continents. Occasionally, after some extreme begging and pleading, Helen would relent to letting either Dash or his sister join in, depending on the severity of what needed to be done; sometimes they even went as a family. Those journeys turned out to be the perfect bonding adhesive, the stories told between them, the laughs shared, the dangers crossed….

It was fun, being able to just be themselves every once in awhile. Being bottled up as an ordinary citizen was no longer such an arduous task thanks to frequent outings that let everyone stretch their wings.

And that meant the most annoying aspect of Dash—always whining about not being able to be free, to be himself—melted away, leaving behind a far more levelheaded speedster.

"Ohhhh, Daaaaash…."

The sweet songbird-like tones of his mother calling tickled Dash's ears and he felt his cheeks begin to burn.

Damn it….

It was no secret that Dash loved his mom. Leaving the shoes of a kid behind and stepping into those of a globetrotting teenage Super had given him a new appreciation for this auburn-haired woman who had taken care of and loved him even during his most unbearable moments. Whenever his dad stepped out to handle Super business tailored to him (that Winston figured wouldn't yield too much cost damage-wise), Dash would self-proclaim himself as man of the house, and he took that role to heart.

His mom, Violet, Jack-Jack—even if they were all accomplished Supers in their own right, save for his little prodigy of a brother who everyone already expected to herald the end of villainy when he grew up, Dash placed their well-being over whatever trouble the world at large happened to be suffering through. Not that any of them took him seriously: Violet nearly pissed herself from laughing, his dad gave him the most patronizing pep talk about responsibility and knowing ones role, and his mom… well… she'd called it the cutest thing he had ever done, bar none.

"Awww, look at you, momma's little hero," she had said back then, eskimo kissing him into a void of embarrassment. "Well then, I'll be counting on you to keep me safe, okay?"

That much went without saying. It was a pledge Dash carried with him as he grew, year by year, remaining ever vigilant. So there was no denying that puberty was a bitch—all the growing, the danglings, the new bells and whistles—especially when surrounded by others going through the same awkward motions and having to deal with the unending comments his schoolmates made concerning his mom whenever she came to pick him up and actually got out of the car. Not only did his mom have the entire male populous unknowingly under her finger, there were quite a few girls who were quite keen to get to know her as well, even going so far as to try and invite themselves to his house under the pretense of dating or needing a study-buddy.

Contrary to popular belief, Dash was well aware of just how unrelentingly sexy his mother was; he had to deal with it every blessed day he saw her walk around in pajamas, in shorts, even in a bathrobe. He knew that for a woman in her very early forties, her coke-bottle figure was nothing short of perfection. He knew that if he looked up the term 'slim thick' he would see a picture of his mom due to the way her pinched waist opened into a pair of succulent hips that she loved to playfully bump him with. He knew all of that and more, and eventually, he grew sick of others using his mom in their weird fetishes.

It only took about three major fights for the message to get across that Helen Parr was off limits for anyone to so much as speak about in his presence. Since his super speed basically guaranteed that he could doge every hit, in order to keep his identity a secret, Dash allowed himself to be struck a couple times just for the sake of appearance.

"Dash, are you in the living room?"

When she called out a second time, Dash lazily replied, "I sure am, mom," but didn't bother removing the magazine from over his face. He still wasn't ready to 'do things' yet; it was too nice, the warm, natural lighting streaming in through the glass roof. He was more than content to spend the rest of his weekend right here glued to this spot. If the other family members didn't mistake him for just an oblong shaped couch cushion he would be highly surprised.

Though not nearly as surprised as he was when something incredibly soft and plush nudged the arm he had hanging over the side.

Did she just…?

"Wakie, wakie, my little super hero, I need your opinion on something," she chorused, and if her previous hip bump wasn't enough to bring about a barrage of suspicion, her suspiciously energetic tone certainly was. When he made no immediate effort to give her attention, she hip-bumped him again. "Come on, Dash, I need your help here."

Wondering when and how he had fallen under his mother's thumb as well, Dash very hesitantly began to lower his Super's Monthly magazine just far enough for his pupils to peek over the edge.

Oh dear Lord….

Another thing about his lavish mother that Dash was having some trouble dealing with was the fact Mrs. Parr didn't put much stock in her figure—none—she mostly considered herself to be quite average despite the numerous compliments and fansites devoted to her, despite the vocal minority that downright worshipped the very ground she walked on. It was the most innocent display of immodesty that Dash had ever seen; she cared so little that she frequently, obliviously, showed it off in the most provocative ways.

Like now, as she nervously shifted weight from one foot to the other in this lavish white blouse with a plunging neckline and the tightest pair of yoga pants Dash had ever the pleasure to see wrapped around her body. That apprehensive stance clearly showed the effort she was putting forth to be eye-catching was new to her, but her naturally lustful figure seemed right at home being on display; it was this perfectly tantalizing mixture of timid and precocious. His eyes were tracing her curves before he could even begin to stop himself, rolling over those criminally wide hips, those thick, creamy thighs, and that ass….It was only thanks to her that Dash even paid attention to that part of a female nowadays.

Not even trying to being subtle, Dash sank deeper into the couch, making sure to keep the magazine firmly just below his eyes. There was no way he could let her see his face; he was blushing far too hard, it practically invited teasing.

She cleared her throat. "Well, since you're the man of the house while your father's away, I wanted to get a man's opinion on these," and she gave the most beguiling smile, that kind that effortlessly coerced Dash into doing whatever she wanted.

"I—me?" he blustered. "Really? D-don't you think Violet would be a better choice—"

The ease at which she cut him off was as simple as lifting a single finger, her smile growing coy. "That's why I said I needed a man's opinion, buster. C'mon, your honest take—does your momma look good in these?"

A hearty "yes!" was the obvious answer but Dash was summarily left with his jaw hanging when Helen twirled on her heel to give him a full, uninterrupted view of the back. Never had he seen her rear so perfectly rounded, so magnificently framed—it jiggled ever so softly as she continued to shift from foot to foot, almost as if she could physically feel his eyes probing here, prodding there, taking it all in. Every wobble of those perfectly rounded twin cheeks caused Dash's breath to hitch, his grip over the magazine subconsciously increasing to the ripping point. The outlines of whatever dark pink panties she had chosen to wear underneath were excruciatingly visible, hugging her ass tight and admirably keeping both cheeks contained.

"Well?" she questioned, twirling back around. "Thoughts? I'm really feeling the blouse—my chest can breathe, but personally, I'm not a huge fan of lycra. Good fabric and all it's just kind of tight around the, uh… around the back region, don't you think?"

Thinking wasn't really a function that Dash was capable of at the moment so he remained silent, and his lack of an answer caused Helen to glance down at herself, curious to see what had so thoroughly captured his attention.

Then her eyes widened, followed by a very short chuckle. "Annnnnd, dang… did not realize they were see-through…."

Of course she hadn't, and Dash could wholeheartedly believe it, given how her cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree and she brought her hands to her face, probably wishing she had Violet's power to vanish at a snap. Honestly, it was the cutest thing, watching her shrink in on herself, the way she tried squeezing her thighs together like that was in any way going to hide the fact that her very visible panties had a bear face print on the front.

"Mom…pft, what in the—"

"Shut up, just… shut up," she ground out, peeking at him from between her fingers and, wow, was the blush riding high. "Dash, I swear, if you even so much as breathe a word about this…."

It came out as threatening, albeit the embarrassed quivering marred the effect somewhat, and Dash was quite keen to hear her finish that sentence, to hear what she would do to him, but when she fell silent, he couldn't help but grin, fully lowering his magazine and running a hand through his hair.

God above, if the world loved Elastigirl then knowing the woman behind the mask would likely cause heart-attacks all around. Whatever arousal her figure had shamefully brought out of Dash, much like it always did, was bowled over with an all-consuming urge to protect. He needed to protect this 40-something-year-old woman who apparently still wore printed panties.

"I really hope you don't wear those when you're out as Elastigirl," he chuckled, patting the spot next to him invitingly. "Imagine bending over and splitting a seam—bam, secret's out."

The glare Helen leveled him with as she approached didn't sting as much as it could have thanks to her smirk. "Excuse me, Mr. Man, but you aren't insinuating I have a big butt, are you?"

Dash's reply was as quick as his running speed. "I was insinuating that accidents like ripped clothing and Supers go together like white on rice. How many times has Auntie E had to repair dad's suit? A dozen? Couple dozen? Pictures of his underwear are still circulating the internet, God knows why."

She sat down next to him with a scoff, crossing her legs. "I'm impressed, Dash, you said that so smoothly I'd almost believe you thought it up on the spot."

"Well, when you're a pro at sticking your foot in your mouth like I am you learn to have certain replies loaded up," Dash admitted with a shrug, and the sound of her giggling was still just the sweetest thing.

"And he's funny, folks," Helen quipped, idly kicking her aloft foot and brushing back her bangs. She regarded her son like a newly found specimen, staring him up and down appraisingly, moving his hair about, then finally gave his cheek a teasing pinch. "Ah, you make me sick."

The insult was said so lovingly that all Dash could do was chuckle.

"Sorry?"

"You should be. I still can't believe you don't have a girlfriend yet, I figured I'd be beating off girls left and right by now, honestly. It's one of the few things I was actually looking forward to as you grew up."

"Er, well… you know how it is," he said, clearing his throat.

There was a very good reason why Dash didn't have a girlfriend, but it wasn't a reason he was mentally prepared to share with his mother just yet. Diligence required sacrifice, and the rise of villains as of late was beginning to eclipse the speed at which Supers were being allowed to do their job. Elastigirl might be a verifiable symbol of peace for now, but she was still only one Super and the world was rife with nefarious individuals who were beginning to see that she couldn't be everywhere at once.

"You get your looks from your father, you know—the both of you are just riddled with handsomeness. That's how you trick us girls, get us to lower our defenses; you just flash a smile and we go all weak in the knees. It's not fair," she joked, winking. "I swear, to this day I'm almost certain that's the only way your father got me to marry him. The big idiot… the big handsome idiot…."

Chewing on his thumbnail, Dash barely heard a word his mother said; he was beyond lost in thought, his brow furrowed intently. The growing villain contingency had long since filled him with unease and it seemed to worsen every time he turned on the set, which was primarily why he had chosen to read his magazine today. Just once he wanted to go a day without the same question running laps around his mind: how long until her identity was blown? He had seen more than his fair share of movies and shows, mostly as research material, to know how that particular scenario played out and he would be damned if he let some random girl, who was almost guaranteed to be more interested in his mom anyway, distract him from protecting his family.

"It's… I guess it's just not my time yet," he said after a few seconds' silence, rubbing behind his head. "Truthfully, I'm not in any hurry to see you hospitalize whichever girl I bring home."

"Oh come on, sweetheart, look at me—would I do that?" she asked with a faux look of hurt.

Dash stared at her and she stared back.

And then they both started laughing.

"You'd slingshot her across the city!" he said, clutching his sides.

"Without a moment's hesitation," Helen agreed, patting her lap with an inviting glance at her son. When he merely stared at her, confused, she rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth, grabbing his head and bringing it down onto her legs. "There we go."

Even before the cushiony soft sensation of her thighs could fully hit home, Dash was bombarded with the sweet, almost ambrosial scent wafting from his mother's skin. He didn't know if it was some sort of perfume or if that's just how she smelled naturally but it was having an immediate effect where he didn't want it to.

"Um, m-mom? What're you—" he started, trying to push himself back up, but she shushed him, running a hand through his hair.

"Sweetie, I know you don't feel like talking about what you're going through, but… I wouldn't be much of a mother if I didn't say something," she started softly and Dash froze, eyes widening, growing numb to the soothing dance of her fingers.

There was no way she could be hinting at… could she? No, of course not, how could she know? Outside of the usual mood swings, Dash had made sure to be as discreet as possible with his mission in life. He left no stone unturned, erased any tracks he made—there was nothing for anyone to catch, much less his mom.

"If you're talking about that pair of panties, I can explain," he started hastily.

"I really don't think any son can explain how a pair of their mother's underwear wound up under their mattress," Helen began inertly, and it was the evenness of her tone that caused Dash's jaw to tighten. She didn't sound at all like how he'd figured—hoped—she would have, she didn't sound upset or confused or disgusted; she sounded like someone who had seen through his plan, and easily at that. "I've been in the game a long time, Dash, so I know a decoy when I see it. If your plan was to throw me off, you should have grabbed a dirty pair—that's what the true perverts do. After all, what good are panties with no scent?"

Okay, wow.

So many questions slammed into Dash's mind following that statement that it almost hurt trying to decipher them all and so he remained silent, barely breathing, taking in only the faintest whiffs of her natural aroma.

"I know you've probably got a dozen other distractions lined up to keep suspicion low but I'm your mother, Dash," she said matter-of-factly and he could feel those maternal, all-seeing eyes boring into him. "The least I can do is tell when one of my kids is pushing themselves too far, and you, kiddo… you've been pushing yourself too hard for too long."

It flew out of Dash's mouth before he could stop it: "We're safe, though, aren't we? You, dad, Violet, Jack-Jack… we're all safe."

"Yes, honey, we're safe, but it's not like we've got danger lurking around every corner either," Helen argued gently. "You're only fourteen, you should be out there enjoying yourself, living life, making mistakes and crying back to me for help—look at your sister," she said with a snort. "The moment she was old enough to drive you'd think the car was her natural home."

"Vi's not all there in the head, we all know that," Dash said, making a swirling motion with his finger. "I'm different from her—I have goals, I have people I need to protect—"

Helen nodded understandingly. "And don't think we don't appreciate it, honey. All I'm asking you to do is to just… let us adults shoulder most of the burden, okay? It's why I took up this whole Super deal in the first place, to give you and Violet and Jack-Jack a better life than what your dad and I had, a more carefree life."

When she took him by the chin, Dash allowed her to steer his gaze upwards so that he was staring directly at her, so that he could fully see the concern in her eyes.

"Let me be the parent, okay? I don't care about the love of all those people out there, or the Superhero initiative, I don't care if this whole operation goes or blows, I really don't," she said genially and Dash found it astonishing how true her words came across to him. "Like I told Winston, like I told your dad… and like I'm about to tell you now: I only care about keeping my kids safe. So let me do that, okay? Let your mother do her job. Your only job is to be a kid for as long as possible."

The firm pout Dash had fixed across his face broke away into a groan when she kissed him over the nose.

"Don't pout, I find it adorable," she said.

"Awww, mom—c'mon," he fussed, rubbing at his face. "I'm fourteen, what teenager still gets kissed on the nose?"

"You do," she said easily, and gave him another, smiling at the way he turned deeper into her thighs to hide his face. "And so does your sister. She gets at least two a day. And Jack-Jack? Until he shifts into another dimension. Resistance is futile, you know, you all might as well just give in to the momma kisses—they always win."

"Maybe I've been protecting us from the wrong side since you're clearly the most villainous thing around here," was what Dash tried to say but it came out a muffled mess against his mother's thighs, and he caught the way she shuddered against him, no doubt feeling the rumbling vibrations his stifled words caused.

When his mother's hand came down over his head, he tensed, half-expecting her to give him a good thumping. What he didn't expect was for her fingers to wind their way back through his blonde locks again. "Any time you want to get your face outta there would be fine with me, buster," and her tone was full of a teasing mirth even as she playfully squeezed her legs together, "before I start thinking you stole my underwear for another purpose."

Dash sat up so quickly he nearly went tumbling off the couch and Helen laughed, watching him scramble to catch himself. "Calm down, calm down, Dash, sheesh—I was just kidding," she chuckled, waving a dismissive hand his way, "but now that your secret's out, feel free to put them back, those are one of my favorite pairs."

Pushing that little tidbit to the farthest reaches of his mind, Dash's perked up like a dog sensing danger when the doorbell rang. When he made to move, the palm that met him squarely on the forehead kept him seated. "Relax, it's just the door," said Helen, standing in his place. "I got it. Here, you take care of this." She picked up the remote, picked up his hand, and joined the two. "Find something fun for us to watch on TV when I get back. I'm gonna start making sure you enjoy yourself, buster."

The idea of enjoying himself did sound like something pleasant, if wholly foreign, Dash figured as she strolled from the room, unknowingly taking his gaze with her, but he also knew it was something he would never allow. Despite what his mother said and the way her calming words offered a much-needed sense of tranquility to his frayed nerves, this was the path he had long since chosen. There was no alternative so long as the villain contingency continued to thrive on the lack of Supers.

Still… watching something together….

"That… that'd be okay, right? Yeah, course—but just for a little while," Dash told himself firmly, and he nearly leapt out of his clothes when the phone rang. "Not cool, Dash, c'mon…." Grumbling, he dove to the other end of the couch and snatched up the cordless. "Parr residence, Dash spea—"

"DASH—Dash, listen, it's Dicker—" Instantly, Dash's breathing faltered, his stomach clenching with dread. Mr. Dicker hadn't contacted them for quite some time, and whenever he did it was never anything good. "Listen to me, son, you have to leave your house—right now!"

"What? Why?" There was a panic in Mr. Dicker's voice and it transferred to Dash, setting his heartbeat into overdrive. "What's going on—did something happen?"

"There's no time!" the older man yelled and for the first time in a long time, Dash was afraid. "Evelyn Deavor escaped prison during a riot and we think she's making a beeline straight to your position—we don't know exactly when she escaped but it's highly possible she's not alone—she could be bringing accomplices, Dash—you have to get out of there!"

The phone clattered to the ground, everything was suddenly very dreamlike.

No….

It was the slowest Dash could remember ever going even as he pushed his legs past the normal limits of his ability. He didn't know how… he didn't know what could have possibly pierced him with this overwhelming feeling of loss, but he could feel his eyes beginning to blur with tears, he felt his mouth opening in a scream that didn't reach his ears he was running so fast.

No, no, no, no—

The force of his halting skid left blazing scorch marks in the carpet and he rounded the corner just as Helen pulled the door open.

"Mom—WAIT!"

Two hooded figures stood in the frame, silent and still—and Dash was in motion before his brain could give a command. It seemed the larger of the two figures was waiting for precisely that and flung out a hand comprised oddly of stone. The floor underneath Dash liquefied itself and he gave a surprised yelp when he began to sink, first his feet, past his ankles, up to his knees; it wasn't until the one with the hand of stone snapped their fingers that the floor solidified again, causing Dash to pitch forward and bash his forehead against the tiles, cracking several.

No, no, no, no, not now—

Everything was happening so wretchedly slow it was like a switch had been flipped. Breathing was problematic, Dash's head was throbbing unmercifully, each pulse sending a trickle of warm blood splurging down his face, but the pain was lost on him as he struggled, desperately reaching out for his mother.

"MOOOOM!"

The second figure pulled off their hood and it was over before the yell could fully leave Dash's throat.

Looking every bit as unhinged as she had four years ago, Evelyn Deavor struck out a hand, gripped Helen by the back of her head and snatched her forward, roughly mashing their lips together. It was a terrible kiss and the shock that contorted Helen's face only intensified when Evelyn rammed something sharp into her stomach.

It was a new type of terror, one that Dash never thought he would experience, one that robbed him of everything as he watched Evelyn drive that blade deeper and deeper still into his mom, holding their kiss until it was buried to the hilt. And when Evelyn broke their embrace, her mouth was smeared with blood; it was dribbling without end over Helen's lip, the sounds of her strangled gurgling causing the bile to churn hot in Dash's stomach.

"I've always wanted to do that," Evelyn cooed with a sickening tenderness, continuing to grip the wobbling Super tight by the hair. She inched closer, placing those filthy bloodstained lips next to Helen's ear. "Tell me, Elastigirl… what do you do when you want to destroy the very fabric of the people's nerve?" she whispered gently.

His legs were broken, Dash knew that much, he could feel that much, but that didn't stop him from struggling; he clawed at the ground like a trapped animal, gaining purchase over nothing, fingers slipping, tearing his throat to shreds with the strength of his yells.

Yet Evelyn's deadening voice conquered all. "The answer's simple: you take away their symbol of hope."

And Dash was rendered mute when she forcibly snatched the knife from his mother's stomach, spilling a copious amount of blood down her front, over the floor, splattering droplets in an arch that flew from Evelyn's blade.

It was relatively easy to pinpoint the exact moment Dash felt his heart die. He had stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped feeling—eyes unblinking, he could only see, could only watch as the woman he had sworn to protect fell… and fell… the shock never quite leaving her face….

When she collided with the ground, it was the most painful scene of Dash's life, watching as his mom brought hands to her wound, hands that shook, hands that were instantly saturated in blood, hands that were, even now, determined to shield Dash from what he knew was there. She didn't want him to see it, she didn't want him to see the wound causing the unbridled agony distorting her face.

"Don't worry, Dash," said Evelyn softly, bending down to wipe her knife over the front of Helene's blouse, further staining what was once such a beautiful and pristine white, turning it into a scarlet mess, "when your mom dies, and when they find her… she'll be regarded as a true hero. You should be proud."

His mom was gasping horribly, struggling to hold on even as blood continued to spill through her fingers; she paid no mind to Evelyn, that wasn't important… her eyes found his, they found her son's, and she didn't look away. "D-Dash…."

Like a baseball through a window, Dash felt all of his willpower, all of the strength and resilience he had built up over the years, shatter into nothing. Hearing his name gurgled out with so much pain from the one person he thought would never fall had instilled something terrible in his heart—and he started crying, he started crying like he had regressed back to his toddler years, the days when his mom would drop whatever she was doing and come running to him.

Except now she couldn't, and the hollow realization of that caused her face to scrunch up, caused tears to well in her eyes….

Sighing, Evelyn made the climb back to her feet, the look lining the sunken groves of her face displaying just a flicker of regret. "I… don't think I thought this through well enough," she admitted with a tired shrug. "This sort of thing might just galvanize the people instead of break them apart." The revelation of her actions didn't seem to be cause for worry, on the contrary, it was like watching withered parchment paper crinkle when her lips curled into a sinister smirk. "If anything, I probably just accomplished in three minutes what every Super has been trying to do for the past four years. I should be thanked, right?" She snapped her fingers at her larger companion. "Let's go. We've sparked the flame… now it's time to watch it all burn down."

Wiping his eyes on the back on the back of his hand, Dash watched them go, he watched them stroll uncaringly through the puddle of blood pooling out from his mom….

"Dash…." His eyes shot to her the moment she inhaled, the very act of talking causing her mouth to form a painful rictus. "Sw-sweetheart, I… I'm s-sorry…."

No matter how hard he swiped at his eyes, the tears wouldn't leave him be, they constantly blurred his vision, blurred his mother. "Mom, don't talk—please, just… h-hang on, I just gotta get my legs free and then—then I can get help, I swear, if I can just…."

His voice shook so bad he could hardly understand the words tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to move his legs, but he already knew he was hopelessly stuck; the floor had reformed around his knees, it'd take a construction crew to get him out and he'd be lucky if his legs survived.

Not that cold reality prevented him from struggling his absolute hardest.

"C'MON! Stupid—please, please, why won't… I can't get… m-mom," he fumbled, turning to her for guidance, and it scared him at how quickly the light was fading from her eyes. "Mom! No, no, no—damn it, c'mon! Don't leave me! I'm coming, if I can just—it's my legs—I can't get them… I can't get them free, I'm trying!"

Her smile was so soft, and so weak. She understood, she knew he was trying his very best, and that was enough. "I'm s-sorry, Dash, I…" She winced, inhaling sharply. Every word lanced her body with pain; every syllable only caused more blood to pulse over her bottom lip. "I…I tried… I wanted you t-to… to be happy…."

"Don't talk, please!" Dash begged, and he reached out for her, stretching his arm as far it could go.

The last time Helen had cried, in front of him at least, was a couple years ago after Jack-Jack had bumped his head on the coffee table and cut himself. That one moment had been the deciding factor to Dash committing himself to the protection of his family. The look on his mother's face, those heart-wrenching sobs as she cradled Jack-Jack and apologized over and over… he swore to never see her like that again.

"I… I couldn't do my job as… as your mother," she whispered to him, and the tears glittering down her cheeks, the regret that poisoned her smile… "I'm sorry, sweetie…."

The ground around Dash's legs gave an ominous crack, almost as loud as the one that he felt reverberate somewhere in his shins. He was pulling with all the might he possessed, grasping out for all he was worth, but it still wasn't enough to reach her. "HELP!" he screamed shrilly, blistering his throat. "SOMEBODY—ANYBODY HELP! PLEASE!"

When something soft grazed his cheek, he jerked, momentarily stunned into silence; his mother had stretched out one of her hands, past his own, and was busy brushing away a tear. He instantly nuzzled into her, ignoring the crimson fluids that caked her fingers, unable to keep his sobs at bay long enough to shout again. "D-don't leave me, momma… p-please…."

"It's okay… it's okay, sweetheart," she told him, her voice growing weaker, fainter, "I'm f-fine… I'm not… I'm not going anywhere, I'm st-staying right…."

He heard her exhale, then nothing.

"…Momma?"

The sudden silence pried Dash's eyes open and he saw his mother staring back at him. Except… she wasn't blinking; her fingers had fallen still, she wasn't moving, she wasn't… she wasn't breathing. She stared back at him with eyes that had lost their light, with a smile that was barren.

"N-no…"

The world seemed to drop away into nothingness leaving only Dash and the woman who had shielded him since birth. He didn't want to believe, he didn't want to accept the fact that his mother was gone, but it was her expression… that loving smile… she was telling him that it was okay, that everything was going to be okay, even if she wasn't around for it.

And that made him cry. He buried his face in the warmth of her palm and cried, grabbing her fingers with both hands. The grief hurt, it burned from the bottom of his soul, it gave fire to his sobs until he had no more tears to give, until his throat was too hoarse to make a sound, until all he could do was collapse, worn with pain and broken with sorrow.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard it… voices… a multitude of voices on the peripheral of his hearing. They were coupled with the sounds of rushing footsteps—Dash didn't know what was happening and he didn't put forth the slightest bit of effort in figuring it out; so long as he kept hold over his mother's hand then nothing else mattered. Perhaps Evelyn has seen the folly in letting him live and had returned with more flunkies to finish him off?

Please. I'd be grateful for it….

The voices were coming in clearer as Dash's hearing gradually returned.

"KEEP THOSE PEOPLE BACK! I need a perimeter shut down—RIGHT NOW!"

"Dash! Dash, wake up! Is he okay? DASH!"

"Please, stay back—he's alive, he's breathing—"

"HELEN—is she… she can't be…."

"WE NEED A FUCKING AMBULANCE!"

"Clear a path, clear a path, what's happened? What's the… oh my God…."

Who was talking? Better question, why were they talking? Nothing said could undo what had happened, nothing could—

Every nerve in Dash's body sparked to life when someone tried to pry his hand away from his mother's and a piercing yell burst from his throat. He swung without thought and felt his knuckles collide solidly with someone's jaw, knocking whoever it was to the side. Tears blurred his vision, he couldn't make out a single person from the swarm surrounding him; they were moving too fast, nothing but hazy, faceless mannequins; all he could do was growl, increasing the hold he had on her, daring a soul brave enough to step forward. They would have his life before they took—

"Dash…."

He froze. That last voice sent a familiar shudder down his back and he turned in its direction, frantically reaching out with his other hand. A wave of sobs erupted around him but Dash paid it no mind, continuing to reach, gasping when a larger, rougher hand took his own and held on tight. "Dash, it's okay. We're here… you can let go, son, we're… we're here…."

Dash sniffled, fervently shaking his head. "I… but if I do, she'll… th-then she'll really be gone," he choked out and there was a massive shift as several people moved to hug him at once. He felt it, he felt their warmth, their pain, he felt it all and hung his head, shoulders trembling with the urge to cry again. "I can't… I c-can't lose her again, I—"

Another cheek, slick with tears, mashed itself against his and the hug tightened. "You won't, Dash," he heard Violet gasp and she sounded stricken. Her entire body shook but she clutched him like a life raft. "Sh-she's still here—I s-swear she is." She nodded as strongly against him as she could, her jaw firming. "It's okay, it's g-gonna be okay…."

Many voices, many recognizable voices, were echoing in agreement, several that Dash could immediately place a face to and several more that existed only on the fringe of his tired mind. They were all telling him that he was safe, that it was okay, that he could let go….

And when he finally did, when he reluctantly relaxed his grip and felt her fingers slide away, there was no force on earth that could have kept Dash from passing out. Her touch had been the last pillar keeping him conscious and he quickly went limp without it, succumbing to the darkness that had been steadily, incessantly, tugging at him; and as he mercifully began to sink into that nothingness, he heard a hurricane of furious yells from his dad, from Mr. Dicker and even Winston, all three of them shouting to get his legs freed immediately.

My legs…? If Dash weren't so dangerously depleted, he would have laughed. He didn't care about his stupid legs. Whether they managed to pry him free or not, whether he woke up whole or to a pair of bloody, bandaged stumps—it was the farthest thing from his mind. Everything was growing startlingly dark, the ache that gripped his body was slipping… and then he felt it.

A hand so soft yet so warm rustled his hair, soothing him in a way he knew he was never going to experience again. Her touch hurt… it hurt so bad, the most excruciating pain of his short life, but he couldn't help the way her loving motions caused the corners of his mouth to quirk up in a silent smile. It was for her, only for her… and it was probably the last genuine one he would ever give.

I hope… wherever you are, I hope you're safe, mom. He couldn't speak it, he lacked the energy, the motor skills; this was nothing more than the last few synapses of his mind firing off into the gloom. You were the light of my world and I… I…

He struggled against himself; it was all fading so fast but he desperately fought to hold on. The warmth of Helen's hand moved from the top of his head to cradle his cheek, giving him the strength to finish.

I'll always love you, mom….

XXXX

Sixteen months later, the world was a very different place. The news of Elastigirl's death spread like wildfire throughout very major news network across the globe, and the reaction was deafening. Elastigirl monuments were erected, marches were held, it was nearly a collapse of order as the public found blame against those who had previously dragged their feet on allowing Supers to do their job. Due to their rampant negligence, the world had lost its brightest symbol of hope to evil—and it was a day that would forever be a blight against justice.

Not long after, there was a major seat-shuffling in the government—several people resigned, many quit, and some vanished without a trace. It paved the way for a new era, one spearheaded by Winston Deavor, who, after severing all ties to anything related to his sibling and her existence, was quick to give Supers back the power that they should have had years ago.

The name of the operation was 'revenge', pure and simple. There was no point in hiding it, no one even tried to suggest otherwise—contrary to being crushed spiritually, the populous was ablaze with rallies against villains that numbered in the thousands and persisted faithfully to this day. The entire world knew what had to be done, any other plan of action was unthinkable. One of the most loved souls to ever protect had been taken from them… and a heavy price had to be paid.

The nations came together to organize a strike team comprised of some of their most prominent Supers to hunt down Evelyn Deavor and bring her to justice. It was unanimously decided that Mr. Incredible take the helm and he accepted the role with a blazing resolve, leading them from one lead to the next in a flurry. The public was on their side, the government was giving them aide, the resources were near limitless—it was only a matter of time before Evelyn Deavor was found, before the world could rest.

Before he could rest.

Hands in his pockets, Dash trudged up a hill he had traversed more times than he cared to remember. He could have made the journey blindfolded, letting his legs lead the way. They were what brought him here after all, that familiar throbbing in his knees. When he was excavated from the ground all those months ago, they told him a normal person's legs would have been reduced to mush, but due to his power and his unnaturally granite-like leg muscles, he would make a full recovery pending a few months of physical rehabilitation.

And that… was certainly good news, good enough at least to bring Violet to tears since she had been worried sick over him, but even as his dad cheered and snatched him up in a rib-cracking hug, what was there to really be happy about? So his legs weren't a lost cause, did that bring her back? Did that somehow retroactively make him able to save her life? Or did it just remind him that he was alive while the one he failed to protect wasn't?

The frustrated tears he shed that day, smothered under his dad, went by unnoticed.

The further he walked, the more he allowed himself to enjoy the day. Clouds dotted an otherwise marble blue sky while the sun laid down an enjoyable haze of warmth. Gentle drafts of wind rustled his hair and he almost smiled as he carefully stepped between the graves of fallen Supers. Some of them he knew, others he didn't, but all he respected.

So many of them had died within the past half a year—so many had gladly thrown themselves in the line of fire if it meant getting them one step closer to finding Evelyn Deavor, and Dash would forever keep their names with him until it was inevitably his turn to join them on this hallowed hill.

Before his mother was taken from him, Dash always figured he would follow the typical motions of life: get a wife, have some kids, adopt a dog, live a full life spoiling his grandkids, the whole nine yards. With her gone, he got the feeling that path had been lost to him—not that he cared much, it was just obvious that her death had thrown him onto an entirely new track. He didn't expect to live very long, not with how he planned to eradicate villainy, so if he somehow saw the age of twenty then he would take that as a nudge from his mother to keep living. And if he didn't… well, that would be less time wasted wondering this world aimlessly, wouldn't it?

By medical standards, so long as his heart continued to beat, then Dash was deemed alive, but he had never felt so taciturn, so disconnected from the everything; and oddly enough, it was a feeling that comforted him as much as it tortured him. He welcomed the trauma that woke him up so violently he had to clutch his mouth with both hands to keep from screaming, and he reveled in hearing Evelyn Deavor's snake-like voice erupt from whatever shadow he passed, whispering the very line that was forever seared into his brain: I've always wanted to do that.

Even now, it brought his blood to a boil without fail and his walk turned into a forceful march.

Metroville Super Graveyard was where Dash spent a majority of his time whenever he wasn't at school or being forced to endure therapy for his night terrors. It was a specially crafted graveyard that existed in secret, away from the public, where only Supers both alive and deceased were allowed. It helped conceal the identity of the heroes who perished in the line of duty—to protect their friends and family, mostly—while also ensuring they received a burial befitting their service.

It was the weirdest thing... the first time he was called to publicly speak about his mom, only he couldn't be seen as Dash Parr, no, that would have been the equivalent of painting a big red target over himself, his family, and anyone who knew them. He—all of them—had to appear in their Super suits, the anonymity of which made the entire thing feel disgustingly impersonal, so much so that halfway into his prepared speech, Dash just walked off stage, leaving his father to quickly blame his abrupt leave on the grief. It was a necessary precaution to keep their family safe, Dash knew that, but from where he stood, it was also a stupid one, at least where his family was concerned. Evelyn Deavor already knew them pretty well beyond the costumes—hell, he was genuinely surprised she hadn't ousted them to the public yet or sent some of her flunkies to knock down their door.

Maybe she was enjoying the chaos that followed killing his mom… or maybe she knew that breaching the statue of secrecy surrounding Supers would immediately get her the death penalty. Oh, how he wished she would be so brave… but so far, aside from a few personally written letters threatening more deaths and a couple glimpses through pictures, Evelyn herself might as well have become a shadow in the world of villainy, a shadow that stretched far and consumed whatever it touched.

The grass crunched under Dash's shoes as he came to a stop in front of a massive statue depicting Elastigirl in one of her trademark hero poses. Commissioned by Winston and crafted by some of the most talented sculptures money could buy, it was a marvelous feat, filled with all the love everyone held for the fallen hero. Even now, as Dash noted the little distinguishing features he had noted a million times before—like the separate strands of hair or how lithe her fingers were—his chest tightened to the point where breathing was a chore, but he forced a toothy smile.

It was a quivering one to be sure, lined with the tears that trickled down his cheeks, but still, he smiled.

"Hey, mom."

A watery chuckled left him and he sniffled. Already, he could hear her scolding tone, wondering why he wasn't in school since it was technically a weekday. Not that it mattered. Despite a surprising uptick in his grades, Dash regularly skipped classes, or, like right now, the entire school day. It got to be such a problem that Mr. Dicker, while wholly sympathetic, couldn't take anymore and decided to get one of his subordinates hired at Dash's school so they could deliver a mind-altering flash whenever it happened. The only stipulation was that Dash's grade had to maintain themselves, and they did. Originally, Dash had planned on going to school, if only to get his sister to quit nagging him, but when he woke up with his old leg wounds throbbing, any plans on receiving a higher education went out the window—he knew where he was truly needed.

When he took a knee next to the headstone, his eyes traced the gold lettering that spelled her name and he had to swallow hard to keep himself composed. He bowed his head for a moment of silence, then looked up with a smile. "Um, hey, look what I got…took a lotta effort but I still did it," and he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket. After some smoothing, he lifted it up high. "See? Remember that English test I had? Well, bam! Took Vi' forever to drill the basics into my thick head but I passed!"

It was always painful, the silence that followed, the lack of reaction, but he was well used to it and, after stowing the test sheet back in his pocket, plowed on ahead with what his morning consisted of. He told her how Violet had burned his eggs (again) and how when Jack-Jack stubbed his toe he let loose a screech that wound up summoning a plethora of eagles.

"—so we're not sure but that's probably 'beast tamer' added to the list now," Dash continued, shaking his head with a simple shrug. "I dunno how many powers that kids gonna have but whatever, as long as he doesn't get super speed then we'll still be best bros'. Can't have my little brother edging me out on my own territory, ya know?"

When he laughed, he imagined her laughing with him. It helped keep the encroaching loneliness at bay.

"Oh—OH—and I almost forgot! Today marks a full month since my leg—"

His lips continued to move but a series of sharp beeps had drowned him out and Dash immediately froze. All at once his stomach dropped into a void and he started to tremble where he stood. His throat was suddenly very dry, too dry to swallow, and he slowly glanced down the front of his shirt. Around his neck was a necklace made of some of the toughest alloy the world had to offer, and on it dangled a silver pendant in the shape of a heart.

Frantically, Dash pulled it free, hardly daring to believe. The beeping had subsided into a flashing red light like that of a fire truck, a beacon easily spotted regardless of distance.

Really…?

Paralysis wiped the feeling out of Dash's legs and he hit the ground on his knees, pursing his lips together to keep silent. He clutched the pendant in both hands until his knuckles turned white and lurched forward, slamming his forehead to the dirt. He knew he was crying, the painful sound of his uneven sobs carried far in the surrounding silence.

Two weeks after burying Elastigirl, Winston Deavor had approached the Parr family with a set of specially crafted pendants, each one tailor made for them and only them. He felt that before anyone else, they should be the ones to receive closure concerning their loss and told them that on the day their pendants were activated, it would be the day that Evelyn Deavor had been captured.

Relief and elation flooded Dash so quickly that he grew lightheaded. Somewhere, he knew the pendants of the rest of his family were going off as well. What were they doing? How did they feel? Were they like him, numb with joy? He fought to breathe properly; every breath came in with a rattle and left as a wheeze. All over again, he felt as drained as he did on the day his mom died, except this time he punched the earth with a fist, refusing to stay grounded.

"C'mon, Dash, get up….It's not over yet," he muttered shakily to himself, making the arduous climb back to his feet and wiping under his runny nose. Standing as straight as his trembling form would allow, Dash narrowed his eyes in the direction of his home. Right now, he knew everyone was racing there, from his family to Winston to Mr. Dicker—it was the rendezvous point for this exact moment, the moment they had all been waiting for….

Tensing his leg muscles to a dangerous degree, he glanced back up at the statue of his mom, still standing over him, still protecting him, and smiled as wide as he could.

"I love you, mom, but I gotta go, alright? There's some, uh… unfinished business we have to take care of, but don't worry. I'll be back soon," Dash promised, and he blurred out of sight.

A/N: Great way to begin the new year, yeah? Hahahaha....

#the incredibles #elastigirl #dash parr #evelyn deavor #incredibles #helen parr #mr incredible #The Incredibles 2 #winston deavor

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thehardy-boys · 7 years

Text

The Set Designer

Hi everyone! If anyones listening...Here’s another one! Sorry it took me so long to write this request but I finally got it done! Don’t worry I got more requests already in the queue, so I’ll be posting more soon!

Request: Would you possibly do a Cillian reader best friends, with reader visiting peaky blinders set, and Cillian's being slightly flirty maybe handsy or cuddly because he realizes how much he appreciates them loves them even

Hope you enjoy!

"He did not!" You shouted as Helen finished telling you her rather shocking gossip.

"Oh, he did darling, he did." She said giving you a knowing look as she sipped her tea.

"My god, and with her! Of all the girls in Hollywood to sleep with." You said all of this while pouring yourself another cup of tea and splashing some milk in. "He always had bad taste," Helen said glancing around set.

You as well glanced around. You were both sitting at the round table located in Michaels hospital room. The crew and cast were on break for lunch.

You worked on the set of Peaky Blinders since the very beginning, season one. You were a set designer, a good one. You made sure the sets were realistic and detailed, you helped with the lighting and the costumes so the corresponded well with the backdrops. You had quite an important role. As soon as you began to work on season one of Peaky Blinders you had made friends with the whole cast. You and Cillian had always been very good friends since the beginning.

You and Helen watched Michael get chased around set by Sophie. They were giggling manically as if they were children again. Paul was in an intense conversation with Harry, probably about politics. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around a bit more but no, you couldn't see him.

"Looking for your true love?" Helen teased.Your head immediately whipped back around to face her.

"I have no idea who you are talking about." You mumbled into your cup of tea that you brought up for a sip.

"Hmm. He's still in the makeup trailer." She said glancing at you in amusement. You nodded, "Well I best be off, I got another set to finish." Helen nodded still with a small smirk on her face.

As you walked off you heard Helen call after you, "Tell Cillian I said hello." You felt a blush creep up to your cheeks and shook our head and continued to walk away.

As you opened the door to the makeup trailer you really did wonder to yourself why you liked him so much. He was your friend. But god, his eyes, and his laugh, and his smile. He was just too good to be true. "Hello, Darlin'" You heard his rich Irish accent wash over you, clearing you of any coherent thoughts.

"Wassup?" You say playfully. You moved over and sat down next to him in the makeup chairs. He did something that he had never done before. He lent over and pecked you on the cheek. It was fast and quick and, and lovely. He went back to flipping through his lines as if it was a normal thing to do. And it became one. Now every time you came to visit him in the makeup trailer in the morning he would always give you a quick swift kiss and then you would both start to chat like normal.

"He probably feels bad for me." You said to Helen over another cup of tea. Helen wasn't working today and neither was Cillian but they both came to set anyway wanting to watch the scene that was being filmed that day. "Why would he kiss you on the cheek every day because he feels bad for you?" Helen asked utterly confused.

You were as well, you actually weren't quite sure why you thought he felt bad for you.

"I don't know Helen maybe because he thinks I'm lonely?" You said shrugging your shoulders.

"Maybe you're in denial because you can't accept Cillian likes you," Helen said raising her eyebrows at you.

"He does not like me." You said blandly although a blush did tint your cheeks. "Okay, hon, whatever helps you sleep at night," Helen said after a sip of her tea. "And you like him." You immediately shushed her in case anybody was listening.

"Who likes who?" A strong American voice asked from behind you. You and Helen were both sitting on the floor in the corner of the room trying to stay out of the way.

As you heard the voice you swiveled around and craned your neck up to try and see the face of the man that spoke. But you already knew who it was. Adrien smiled down at the two of you with his hat tilted to the side. "Um..." You tried in vain to think something up glancing over at Helen for help. "Don't worry, I already know who you like," Adrien said with a chuckle winking down at you and Helen.

"What?!" You said in a horrified voice.

"Love, it's not like your very subtle," Adrien said with a roll of his eyes. Someone called out to him about his hair and makeup.

"And," He said as he was about to turn away, "Cillian likes you too." Before you could deny any knowledge of Cillian he walked away with a bit of a swagger in his step.

A hand slipped around your waist as you were placing multiple books on the shelf in Tommy Shelby's office.

You jumped at the contact, "Hi." You heard his low Irish voice from behind you. "Hey." You said back continuing to put books on the shelf. Cillian lent his head against your shoulder and just relaxed there. You both stayed like that for a while, you putting books onto the shelves and Cillian leaning his head on your shoulder with his arm wrapped around your waist.

It was calming, hearing his steady heartbeat and breathing. "Where you off to then?" Cillian asked from his seat on the couch in Tommy's office. You work hours were over but Cillian still had some scenes to film for the second episode.

"Helen and I are just goin' out for a couple of drinks, down at the local pub. I would say join us but, well I guess you're still working." You said the last part as a bit of tease, knowing very well that Cillian was tired and wanted to get away from the set.

"Oh, shut up." He said with a smile. "That dress looks lovely on you, by the way." He said calmly. You didn't respond, not knowing what to say.

"Blue always looks amazing on you, but really every color does." He said again as if he was talking about the weather.

"Thanks." You whisper, feeling nervous under the blue eyes of the man before you.

He smiled back but before you had time to return the compliments Helen bounded over and pulled you out of the building ready to get some alcohol in her system.

After a couple more weeks episode 2 and 3 was done filming and the cast was out for a couple pints down at the local pub as a celebration and of course, you went along as well.

You were on the end seat and Cillian was sitting next to you on your right. Helen was in front of you and Adrien sitting right next to her. Everyone was laughing and talking to each other. Paul and Tom were causing a ruckus at the other end of the table while they laughed. Helen and Adrien were in a very serious and quiet conversation across from you.

As the night wore on Cillian's arm looped itself around the back of your chair almost as if to make sure you were safe.

Later on in the night, Cillian went over to the bar to get another round for everyone. Without knowing it your eyes followed his every movement at the bar. Admiring the movement of the muscles underneath his simple black t-shirt. After placing his order Cillian lent on the bar and turned around to survey his surroundings and caught sight of you looking at him.

He smiled at you and gave you a wink, sending shivers down your back and a blush to your cheeks at being caught staring at him. Helen gave you a big sloppy kiss on the cheek as you bid her good night at her trailer door, she was only a little tipsy.

"Nighty night." She said, only a bit slurred.

Before Helen fully closed the door to her trailer she lent out and whispered in your ear, "Why don't you get lucky tonight?"

At first, you didn't understand what she was talking about but then when she nodded over your shoulder at Cillian you immediately spluttered. "You know what you need to do Helen?"

"What?" Helen asked curiously.

"Get some sleep." And with a roll of her eyes at your comment she closed her door fully.

You turned around and watched Cillian chatting to Adrien, they both found something funny and laughed together. You admired the way Cillian laughed and the way he smiled when he was happy.

As you approached Cillian Adrien bid him a good night and one to you as well. "Hey," Cillian whispered as you came to stand next to him. Cillian snaked a hand around your hips and pulled you to him as a big gust of wind blew into both of you.

"I'm not much sleepy now." You said once the gust of wind was passed. "Me neither."

You both stood there. Cillian's arms were still wrapped around you in a hug. He looked down at you, "Wanna go stargazing?" "Yeah!" You said with a giddy laugh.

As you were halfway up the mountain it started to rain, luckily you whipped out an umbrella and the two of you slowly made your way up the hill. The entire time Cillian always had one arm around your waist, making sure you wouldn't fall. When you finally got to the top you both hunted around for a nice spot. You put down your big raincoat you were wearing and you both sat down and relaxed.

Cillian placed a hand around your shoulders and you leaned on his shoulder. And after a bit his hand roped into your hair and started to gently play with the ends, relaxing you even more.

"Why are you so nice to me all of a sudden." You demanded quietly. Cillian looked away from the night sky with a look of worry and confusion on his face. "Aren't I always nice to you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Well, of course, you are, but why are you complimenting me all of the sudden, all the time. And, like, and pecking my cheek, you never use to do that."

Cillian remained silent, he had turned back to look at the starry night. "I bet you feel bad for me." You mumbled to yourself. Cillian's head whipped around to look at you. "Why would I feel bad for you?" He asked.

"I don't know, maybe because you think I'm lonely." You said, now you were the one looking up at the night sky and Cillian was the one intensely looking at you. "I know you're not lonely."

"Then why?" You whispered.

You felt Cillian sigh and take your hand. He played with it, stroking it and tangling his fingers with yours.

"I really like you. I realized after all this time, after so many years how fond I am of you. And I realize now just how lucky I am to be friends with you, I just can't really help myself touching you. I-you don't have to like me back, I can stop if you want." He said looking away from you to the sky.

Your mouth hung open in shock, "Cillian, I-I like you too. I thought you would never like me."

Now both of you were finally looking at each other at the same time. Both being sucked into the others magnetic eyes.

"How could I not? How could I not like you?" Cillian whispered.

Cillian slowly took the umbrella away from you and placed it next to both of you, allowing the rain to splash onto your skin and hair, quickly making both of you soaking. Cillian then, like a predator stalking its pray moved over you, gently pushing you onto your back. He reached down and guided one of your legs around his hips and immediately you hooked your other leg around his hip. His hands were on the ground on either side of your face.

You could feel Cillian's warmth through his clothing. His simple black t-shirt, now wet was clinging to his body allowing his muscles to show through. You rubbed up to his forearms over his biceps and up to his shoulders. You allowed your hands to glide over the shaved sides of his head and tangle in his wet, unruly brown hair at the top of his head.

He slowly, very slowly lent down until your lips were inches apart, you could feel the sensation of them hovering just above yours. You, finally getting annoyed with his teasing pulled him down to meet your lips. Allowing them to connect in a heated and passionate kiss.

It was a like a kiss from the movies.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #peaky #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #helen mccrory #adrien brody #luca changretta #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby x reader

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sashakielman · 4 years

Text

More Than a Flame

I originally wrote this short story as background for my current novel project this past summer. It features one of the side characters from the novel. I entered it into a short story contest this January--it was not selected, so I’m posting it here! Title taken from “Flower and Flame” by Helen Hoyt.

Pooja was a fire-witch, a damn good one at that, although it was not for what she was known--that, of course, was her cooking. She would have preferred to be known as a capable fire-witch, though compared to her wife’s family’s prodigious gifts, her magic was paltry; she could not stand down the Imperator himself, with him beating at her mind, and still crush an entire legion of his best troops with a blast of her power the way the late Queen had.

May her soul find peace.

House Ashtoretara did not begrudge Pooja her own gods, nor her particular clothing styles, spicy recipes, and rich teas--they welcomed her with open arms when she pledged her heart to one of the few remaining daughters of their house, just after the war’s end. Too many lives were lost to deny true love, or dwell on trivialities.

Her wife was now officially the Elder of the House, and it was Pooja’s cooking that became famous rather than her own accomplishments. Pooja sighed while she adjusted the flames to the perfect height and temperature to simmer an aromatic stew for dinner and to put a kettle on for afternoon tea.

It was warm, too warm in the kitchen with the flames just so, but Pooja would not have it any other way. She adjusted her garment over her ample figure, and waited for her wife to return from her meeting.

If it made Pooja feel any better, her wife wasn’t known for her magic, either.

Ameliorana Ashtoretara was not as gifted a witch as her cousin Eliana, Queen of all Witches, nor their niece Shina, who would be the next Queen of House Ashtoretara, but she was a good wife, a capable negotiator, a fierce lioness as an auntie, and the love of Pooja’s life.

They accepted their destiny to not bear their own children peaceably. None of the seed potions they tried ever took root in their wombs, and neither was ever interested in opening up their marriage to a partner with whom they could conceive traditionally. So they opened their doors to a number of apprentices, cousins, nieces, nephews, and whoever else happened to appear seeking knowledge, wisdom, or a full belly.

Pooja loved the sounds of laughter, of knowing people enjoyed her food, of knowing people felt safe with her and Ameliorana.

It made moments like now all the more painful, knowing they would go to war once again.

For the clouds darkened over the Solstice, the most sacred time for the people of Galilena, and the magical storms arrived, along with infernal shadows and birds. They could have been sent by only one man, and one man alone.

The thrice-damned Imperator had returned. Pooja damned him once for the first war, once for the war that was yet to come, and once for his death, when it would come. Pooja’s people did not believe in a place of damnation after death, but she liked the concept when applied to the Imperator.

Despite the warmth in their house, Pooja rubbed her arms. It was only a matter of time.

She did not know what grudge the Imperator bore House Ashtoretara and the Realm of Galilena--only that they had borne the brunt of his evil during the last war, and it looked to be the same with this one. Her own family, House Fintana, contributed to help their siblings in witchery during the last war, but their losses were nothing compared to what her wife’s family suffered. Though on the other side of the world from his own Realm, Galilena still bore the scars of the Imperator’s attacks.

Pooja sipped her tea in her favorite chair while she waited for Ameliorana, making mental notes of everyone in her home Realm who owed her a favor, or could be counted upon to have well-stocked warehouses.

Her people’s magic tended towards fire magic, but she knew there were strong earth-movers from her realm in some of the Realms-wide competitions these past few years. Their rivalry with the sea-witches of House Mariushka was well founded and vicious. House Mariushka was one of the few ancient Houses that was not a hereditary family; their witches came from across the Realms once they earned entrance by sailing--or in the rare case, swimming, or riding a sea creature--to their ancestral seat on Mariu, from which they took their name.

They could count on House Mariushka’s fleet. Those witches would never flee a fair fight. Pooja tried to remember their famous captain’s name--Brendanus?--but found she could not. Naval history was never something that interested Pooja when she was in school. Nor war history, nor politics and strategies.

And yet here she was, the wife of one of Galilena’s most famed politicians, in a land known for public service.

When Eliana came to beg her cousin’s help, Pooja told Ameliorana they should leave the adventuring to the younger generations. They were getting old, with gray streaks in their hair and joints that creaked more and more with each day. Pooja’s figure reminded her more of melted wax than a statue of a goddess, and Ameliorana needed to wear glasses when reading documents each day.

Yet the sparks still came to Pooja’s fingertips the same way they had when she was but a child of four years of age.

Shira’s daughter Rabekaia was but four years of age, and shrieked gleefully every time she caused her toys to float and move in her room. The child deserved to have her mother teach her properly, to have her mother hold her and kiss away nightmares and tears.

Though she was the heir apparent, Shira could not be the Queen of Galilena alone.

She needed support. She needed her aunties.

And Pooja needed more tea if she was going to write everything down.

Nearly every candle in the house was burning by the time Ameliorana finally returned. Pooja had already lit incense and said a prayer, lit other flames to send messages across the Realms, and cooked a magnificent dinner.

Her notes were haphazard, scrambled, as she thought of new leads, new people, questions she had for her cousins back home--but they would suffice.

She clapped her hands to light the dinner table candles, and then embraced her wife.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Ameliorana said.

“Come,” Pooja replied, leading her wife to the table.

“It smells wonderful.”

“It should,” Pooja said, ladling thick, rich stew into bowls. Ameliorana sighed, stretched her back, and yawned.

“You were right. We’re getting too old for this.”

“I’m always right.”

Ameliorana snorted. Pooja placed a bowl in front of her, then turned to heap a plate for her with rice and bread.

“Shira can’t do this alone. Eliana can’t do this alone, no matter how much she wants to. And Edan--”

Ameliorana stopped.

Edan, their prodigal nephew, Eliana’s son.

The only male heir ever to be born to House Ashtoretara. The heir of their House always followed the female line. Thousands upon thousands of years of witches dating back to the bards who called their song-spells down Galilena’s mountains above the clouds to the beaches and forests below, and all the Queens of their line were either assigned female at birth or identified thusly among the many genders.

Until Edan.

Until Edan ceded his title as heir to his cousin Shira and agreed to participate in one of his mother’s clever schemes. Clever--or deadly.

Only time would tell if he would live long enough for it to work. Pooja had already lit a candle for Edan, but she would light another. The witches on that side of the family had always tended toward self-effacing sacrifice. It seemed to be the other half of their burden of power--or perhaps its shadow, its cost.

“Edan never wanted the burden of legacy, of leadership,” Pooja answered for her wife. She wasn’t sure what exactly Edan wanted from his life, but it certainly wasn’t that.

None of us ever wanted any of this, was the unspoken continuation of the natural thought. Ameliorana knew it as well as Pooja.

Pooja sat down with her bowl and plate. Ameliorana had already started eating.

“It’s wonderful, my love,” she said, answering the unspoken question in Pooja’s eyes.

“You were late. I was worried it simmered too long.”

“Even if it did simmer too long, it would still be wonderful.”

“That’s not the point.” Pooja sighed into her stew. This was how it would be--late nights, dinner left to her flames for hours, candles burning low.

The candle that burns at both ends provides double the light, but half the time, they said in her home Realm.

Pooja hadn’t understood what it meant, not truly, until she went to war.

Until she saw Queen Jadira sacrifice herself for her people.

Until she saw the lines around Eliana’s eyes and the gray streaks in her hair years before her own developed.

A candle should only bear flames on one end.

People could only bear so many burdens before their flames extinguished themselves.

Pooja did not often look into the flames for deeper meanings, for mystic experiences--there were other fire-witches who preferred that kind of magic.

But she often visualized a person as a different type of flame. At the moment, she could tell Ameliorana’s flames were low, smoldering embers, gray before the dawn in a hearth during winter. She knew her own to be the same, even though she would have preferred them to be slow and steady, an even flame for cooking.

Eliana had always been a blaze--a Solstice bonfire. She was born to be a queen, a rebel, a firebrand--the kind of flame that caught and sparked if one wasn’t too careful.

Perhaps her flames would spark Pooja’s and Ameliorana’s after all.

They were quiet for the rest of dinner, both lost to their thoughts and savoring the soft food against their tongues. When they were finished, Pooja took their plates and bowls and began cleaning them, but Ameliorana came to her side and took her hands, holding them despite the hot water and dirty dishes.

“We will get through this,” she said. “And then we’ll retire to a small cottage by the beach, like you always wanted.”

Pooja sighed. She would not allow herself to become maudlin; they had borne enough pains and sorrows throughout their lives. She blinked back tears and shook her head.

“We will need enough money to hire a beautiful young woman to fetch us drinks and fresh fruit while we laze upon the beach.”

Ameliorana laughed. “That’s the spirit, my love. I will dry the dishes if you keep washing.”

Pooja nodded, and when the kitchen was cleaned to her exacting standards, they cleaned themselves up for bed.

Ameliorana draped an arm across her wife’s shoulders. “What was that pile of notes you left on the table by your chair?”

Pooja sighed again. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“We’ll make a politician of you yet, my love.” Pooja could hear the wry humor in her wife’s voice.

Pooja shook her head. “Never. But a general, perhaps, leading a column of fire. That might work.”

Ameliorana laughed and pressed a kiss to her wife’s cheek. “I think that can be arranged quite easily. You would look quite fearsome with a battle helmet.”

“I will look quite fearsome if we don’t destroy this menace for once and for all.”

“We will, my love, we will.”

Ameliorana slept, but Pooja kept thinking of a flame, bobbing and dancing in the wind.

The storms would come. The darkness would spread. Would it be enough?

It would be. It would have to be.

Laying on her side in the darkness, she reached out her hands and watched a flame spark at each fingertip. She extinguished them before she finally closed her eyes, recognizing that her body needed rest, that she needed to save her strength for the journey ahead.

#My writing #original works #women writers #high fantasy #short story

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spaz8550 · 5 years

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Stay

Ch 27

After having dessert, a milky way cake Sinead had baked Severus needed to return to Hogwarts. He made two brief stops just in case then returned to the castle. Minerva was walking the dungeons when he returned.

"Well?" She asked a very small smile on her face.

"John was very nice but Sinead's mother spent most of the time upstairs or in the kitchen."

"Well I am glad to hear at least her father was nice. Sinead is such a lovely woman maybe she just takes after her father."

"She looks just like her mother but has her father's disposition."

"I should be returning to my office. No issues with our favorite person." Minerva walked away briskly and Severus entered his rooms. He went to his desk to get caught up with grading parchments. Sinead sat on the couch looking at anything but her mother.

"Helen, I think you owe Sinead an apology as well as Severus. I can't imagine what he thinks of us." John said embarrassed with his wife's behavior.

"What he thinks? What about what I think?!" Helen yelled her face turning bright red. "Sinead is our only child and you expect me to just accept that man as her future spouse?" Helen began to pace as John looked at Sinead rolling his eyes.

"Mom, if you'd give Severus-"

"What kind of name is that anyway? Severus Snape?"

John looked at his wife and frowned.

"Helen, I found him quiet acceptable and Sinead speaks so highly of him-"

"Stop it, both of you. John, would you honestly be happy if Sinead married him? He's at least 10 years older than her and not at all attractive. He's a school teacher so I highly doubt he can give you the lifestyle you are accustomed to." Sinead but her lip.

"Severus is a good man and I love him. I don't care how he looks or how much money he has. I can give myself the lifestyle I am accustomed to. My business is doing well. I plan on opening my own shop in Salem and also somewhere close to here."

Helen was shocked over the years she knew how independent her daughter was becoming but she never expected that response. John smiled at his daughter and stood.

"If you excuse me I have a video conference to get to."

An hour later Sinead sat in her pjs in Maggie's flat. Caleb was staying at Bills house so the girls could talk. Sophia and Tonks were also present. Sophia was in her pjs as well but Tonks was dressed since she had a patrol with Denis that night. Sinead went through everything that happened earlier in the day and Maggie was happy to hear that Sinead stood up for herself. The next topic of conversation was Tonks and Remus who had just began to start dating. Tonks was flushed as Maggie started giving her sex advice and Sophia put up her hands.

"Your a virgin, aren't you?"

Tonks turned even refer as Sinead came to her aid.

"There is nothing wrong with that. It's great that you waited till you found someone who loved you. I regret my first all the time, he turned out to be the biggest asshole alive."

Tonks gave Sinead a small smile as Maggie grinned.

"Anyway, how are things in the bedroom with you? I bet he's the controlling type, likes to be in charge, am I right?" Maggie asked as Sinead stuck out her tongue.

"Unlike you two I like to keep somethings personal." Sophia and Maggie frowned.

"For once will you lighten up. You did do it finally, I know you did." Sophia said as Sinead flushed.

"And was it worth the wait? Come on a nod or something." Maggie asked as Sinead just smirked.

"Hmmm... so Severus is a fire cracker then. Us red heads are hard to please. I will say that I am highly enjoying myself with Bill and for an older guy he has great stamina."

Sinead made a face of disgust.

"You always have to take it too far."

A few days later was Sinead's birthday, she spent the morning in London with her parents then she and Danny flew to Dublin to see Bon Jovi in concert. They flew back to London the next day and John invited Danny, Maggie, Caleb, and Bill to a birthday dinner. He had Maggie contact Severus but he was unable to get away from Hogwarts.

That day Maggie added Remus and Tonks to the list and John made sure to reserve a room in an expensive Italian restaurant. Helen wasn't too happy to be spending the night with Sinead's friends and she spent most of the night in silence or talking to Caleb.

Three days later Helen was left at Sinead's house while Sinead and John went to the Weasley's for dinner. John had never traveled by Floo Powder and he found it amazing since Sinead held him by the arm. John and Arthur spent most of the meal talking about muggle items and muggle law. John found the Burrow to be an interesting building and he found it interesting that magic was holding it up. Fred, George, and Bill Weasley were also present for dinner and John wanted to know all about the shop Fred and George were going to open.

"John, you have a wonderful daughter. Did Sinead tell you how she saved Arthur's life?" John shook his head only knowing that Arthur had been attacked by a a large snake. Molly went into great detail telling the story wiping at her cheeks as she grinned at Sinead. "Wow, that is something. Is that a common thing around here?" John asked as Arthur shook his head.

"The snake was sent to attack and kill me. Good thing everyone was alerted and Sinead is gifted with Potions. No one at St. Mungos knew what to do for me. I was thinking I was done for."

"Arthur, you were never done for. If I wasn't there I'm sure someone would have come up with the antidote. I'm sure Severus could have done it as well."

George made a face.

"Sinead, Snape might be nice to you but-"

"I thought Severus was a nice man as well. He was very civil and brought Sinead and my wife flowers when he came over for dinner."

"Fred, don't you start. Maybe if you and George spent less time playing around at Hogwarts your grades wouldn't have suffered."

"Mom, Fred is right. Severus Snape is a difficult grader. Hardly anyone can achieve high marks in Potions." Bill said as John looked to Sinead.

"What do you think?" He asked as Sinead flushed.

"I have only ever worked with Severus when there were no students in the castle. I did see him speak down to Harry but there is a complicated history there, Harry's dad and Severus were at Hogwarts together."

"Sinead, maybe you should check into this then. I want to make sure this man is worthy of your attention."

George gave Fred a small smirk. After dinner Albus Dumbledore made a surprise visit since he wanted to meet Sinead's parents. John and Albus talked for a few moments before an owl appeared.

"Sorry to have to cut this meeting short but I need to be going. Order business." Albus said before wishing everyone good night. John and Sinead remained for another hour so John and Arthur could continue to talk.

"Sinead, your father is such a nice man. He is exactly as you described him. I heard your mother wouldn't talk to Tonks or Remus the other night." Sinead nodded.

"At least she didn't leave like she did when Severus came over for dinner. I think she would have feigned a headache if she didn't have Danny there. She thinks the world of him and I know she didn't want to seem so narrow minded in front of him." Molly looked at Sinead's expression and knew her mother's behavior was the cause of pain for the young witch.

#spazie85 #stay #severus snape fan fiction #severus x ofc #severus snape x ofc #severus snape #harry potter fan fiction

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faeriekim-blog · 5 years

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P.I.S.T. - Chapter 5

What a shame, Andrew thought as he turned the tin over in his hands, feeling the cold metal against his fingers. The label had long since come off, so he couldn’t begin to guess at the contents. But it was definitely a tin can. By the looks of it there used to be a ring pull that would open up the contents. But the ring pull had broken off in such a way that the contents were not reachable without a can opener. In fact, Andrew wondered whether that would even work with a tin that is supposed to be opened with a ring pull. He looked at the square shaped tin and reflected that it was probably corned beef inside. What a shame, he thought. He liked corned beef and this was one tin that would probably never be opened by anyone.

He put the tin down and then looked up at the field in front of him. It was mid-June. The sky was overcast but it was dry. The odd bird tweeted and fluttered in nearby trees while bees buzzed lazily around the wild flowers close by.

Andrew noticed a strange spot a small distance away in front of him where a fence actually blocked off a small region of bushes, trees and wild plants. It was only a tiny place, about the size of a small bedroom. But it was completely fenced off, with a combination of barbed wire and wooden fencing. No human could get in or out of that place.

Totally inaccessible places entirely blocked off from their surroundings had always intrigued Andrew. He couldn’t have told you why. Maybe it was a product of his mental condition or the weird workings of his mind. Speaking of which, today was the day. He had decided to avoid parks this time, and had instead come out to the countryside, to the nearby village of Wootton, to have his episode out in the fields, hopefully far away from people.

The sleepiness came over him, as it always did, and with the new moon high in the summer sky, Andrew lay down in the place where he sat and let his consciousness drift away.

He grabbed the tin can between his taloned feet. He remembered what he had been doing shortly before the change and it instructed his actions. Yet he did not act with conscious will but was instead compelled by instinctive desire. He flew over the fence, the barbed wire and wooden planks, and landed in a tree inside the enclosure. He put the tin down on a branch and pecked at it with his beak. It took several attempts to break inside, and the skin around his beak felt sore and bruised by the end of it but the tin can came open. He ate hungrily at the corned beef inside, cawing out as he did so in the language birds used to announce when they had found food.

The vaguest notion crossed his bird brain as he ate the delicious meat inside the tin. Was this a dream? He wondered. Or was it real? Real or not, was lucid dreaming relevant here? How much or how little could he control his actions when in bird form?

Instinct took over all notions or thoughts. He left the food, causing the tin can to topple to the ground below. He lifted his head back and cawed loudly, hoping to find a mate to breed with. But the other bird songs he heard were not from his own species.

Then suddenly his body began to change. He should fly back to where his clothes are, he thought. He tried to direct his bird self to act according to the thought. But he continued to caw loudly and then flew down to the ground where the tin can was, still pecking at bits of meat that had fallen into the mud. He started to change, he could not get himself out of the enclosure to where his clothes were. His crow brain was stubbornly resisting all attempts at rational choice. This was not a lucid dream, he decided. Beak became nose and mouth, wings became arms and before Andrew knew it, he was naked inside a fenced off piece of wilderness he could not get out of, with corned beef all over his bruised and bloodied face and an open tin can nearby that had previously seemed impenetrable.

Andrew couldn’t believe it. The evidence was undeniable now. It was real! How could he have possibly opened that tin or got into this place otherwise? This was not mental illness or a dream. How could he have opened the can with his bare hands or teeth? How could he have done it without tin opener or knife? How could he have got over this fence without wings and with no scratches or bruises on his arms or legs? He was naked after all, and his clothes were on the opposite side of the fence.

There was only one explanation. He had literally turned into a bird and everything he experienced about flying here and pecking open the tin with his beak, had actually happened the way he remembered it. His crow dreams were real!

So much for staying away from people! It turned out to be the most embarrassing experience of his life. A father and his young boy had discovered him, naked inside that place. The fire brigade and the police were called. They helped him out and also asked him a lot of questions. It was something that Andrew hoped would never happen to him again.

When he finally got home later that day, he immediately opened his laptop and googled for whatever he could find to help him with his condition.

“I think I turn into a crow every new moon,” he typed into the search engine. There was a bunch of stuff about crows of course, or phases of the moon, and even some links to popular TV programs, films or books that deal with either werewolves or crows. But then Andrew scrolled down and found something very interesting indeed.

There was actually an organisation called Shapeshifters Anonymous. “Do you suffer from unexplained episodes during certain phases of the moon?” It said. “Perhaps every full moon at midnight you change into a dangerous beast or have dreams that you change into a nocturnal beast. Or maybe it is new moon in the middle of the day that you transform into some kind of bird or animal. Do you have dreams or visions that you are an animal and that you mate or fight with other animals? Perhaps you even dream that you hunt and kill other animals, or worse still that you have attacked or hurt a human while in animal form. These are not dreams, and neither the police, the government, the medical profession nor the priesthood are going to believe or understand what you are going through. But there are others like you. You are not alone. Come and join us at one of our monthly meetings at a location near you. We are a nationwide organisation designed to help those afflicted with the condition of Shapeshifting and your membership of the group is strictly anonymous. We exercise a strict code of confidentiality so that no one will ever be able to link your name to your condition. The rest of the world may struggle to understand or accept us, but we can support each other. Do not struggle alone, come to one of our meetings, meet other shapeshifters and maybe learn some skills to help you manage and understand your condition. Oh, and don’t worry, our meetings never take place during either the full or the new moon.”

Andrew spent some time looking around the website. He found the list of local groups for shapeshifters. He found the local Bedfordshire group and checked when and where the next meeting was. That settled it, he must go along to it. He looked at some of the pictures of the group. They seemed like a mixed group of relatively ordinary looking people. He also read some of the information about different types of shapeshifter. There were owls and bears, cats and foxes, wolves and snakes and tigers. It was fascinating. Was this what he was then? Was he really a shapeshifter, a were-crow? It seemed hard to deny it after what had happened that day.

“Perhaps we should all start by introducing ourselves.” The leader of the group announced. She was an older lady with a grey bob and thick round spectacles. “My name is Helen, my animal self is an owl and I help to run this group.”

The large man who sat next to her spoke next. He had an American accent. “My name is Ted,” he said “my animal self is a bear and I also help to run the group.”

Then one after another, everyone introduced themselves, going round in a circle around the entire group.

The room they met in was in some kind of community centre. The walls were kind of pale orange with small framed watercolour pictures. The floor was wooden. They sat on wooden chairs in a circle in the centre of the room.

As people spoke about their experiences, Andrew was impressed by the variety of creatures that people shapeshifted into. He would never have imagined that something like this could take so many forms. It was also a relief to see how ordinary all these people were. None of them seemed like flaky, conspiracy theorist loonies or pretentious hippies or anything like that. Instead it was a real mix of people, old and young, male and female, black, white and Asian. Ordinary, hardworking people with average unremarkable lives who just happened to share the fact that they turned into some kind of animal once a month.

As people talked about their conditions, Andrew also became aware of two interesting factors that he didn’t quite understand yet but which threw an intriguing new light on things. Firstly he noticed that some people seemed to change shape at midnight on the full moon, while other people like him changed shape at midday on the new moon. He wondered what it was that made this difference, and why there should be a difference at all. The other thing he noticed was that there were roughly four individuals, all sat together at one end of the circle and occasionally scowling at the other members of the group, who referred to themselves as werewolves, wereweasels, werefoxes etc. They did not use the term “animal self” like the others, instead they said simply “I’m a werewolf”, or whatever their form of shapeshifter was. Andrew couldn’t escape the feeling, just by observing this difference and the body language of that small set of people, that there was some kind of division within the group that explained this different use of language.

In fact Andrew was musing on this when it got to his time to speak, so that the leader of the group had to prompt him to speak, which was a bit embarrassing.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “my name is Andrew and I…” He paused. How could he know whether to introduce his animal self or to state that he was a werecrow? He didn’t know what the difference in terminology would imply about his views. “I turn into a crow every new moon. It’s my first time at this group.” He smiled nervously. Several other members of the group smiled back at him. Some members of the group of four rolled their eyes instead. That was rude and so Andrew made a mental note of which ones had done it: a skinny ginger guy and a Latin looking young lady dressed in denim and with studded leather wristbands. The werefox and werewolf, he remembered.

He decided to ignore the troublemakers and focus on the rest of the group. He warmed instantly to the scruffy looking young lady and chubby Asian guy who described their animal selves as a rat and a pig respectively. Nice to know that he wasn’t the only one with a seemingly harmless animal form. The range of animals was interesting though. There were eagles, foxes, wolves, bears and owls. Then there were crows, rats, cats and pigs. One dark skinned guy even turned into a leopard, while another South Asian guy had a snake as his animal form. There was a real menagerie of shapeshifters here!

“Well, we’ve got a couple of newcomers in the group today,” the big American guy announced, the one who turned into a bear, “so perhaps you could tell us a bit more about yourself. How about you start, Andrew?”

All eyes turned on him and Andrew gulped hard. His palms started to sweat. “Well,” he said, “I always thought my condition was a mental disorder. I’ve been on medicine my entire adult life: mood stabilisers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, you name it. They keep on changing what I take and the dose I take. But whatever they gave me didn’t stop the incidents of what I always assumed were just dreams. Once a month, as regular as clockwork, I have to go somewhere by myself at midday on a new moon. It has to be somewhere out in the open. The one time I stayed indoors I regretted it. My house was a mess with so many things broken or damaged. But it also has to be away from other people. The looks people would give me!” He paused and looked around the room. Everyone was listening.

“So I learnt how to manage this over time,” he continued, “where to go and what to do. I never knew what actually happened to me. I always assumed I just had a delusional episode, took off all my clothes and dreamt or hallucinated that I was a crow. Then some things started to happen that left me in no doubt that this was actually a real experience and not a dream. I had a fight with another crow and it pecked my wing until it bled. When I got home with a bleeding arm and washed the wound, I found crow feathers inside the cut. Then another time I actually pecked open a sealed can of food with the ring pull broken off. There was no way I could’ve opened it without a knife or a can opener. And I managed to fly inside an entirely fenced off area in a field. The evidence was there when I came back to my human self. The tin was open, the corned beef around my mouth, I was naked without a scratch on me but trapped inside this fenced off piece of wilderness. I must have turned into a crow and done the things I experienced myself doing because there was simply no other explanation.”

“You’re lucky you’ve never killed anyone,” the girl in the denim and studs responded, screwing up her lips as if in a snarl and then taking a sip from a can of diet coke. “That shit makes it pretty obvious from day one.”

“We all have our crosses to bear, Sandra,” Helen reminded her. The girl simply shifted in her seat uncomfortably, crossing her arms and frowning. “Carry on, Andrew,” the group leader urged him. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“Well, when I found this group of course I wanted to meet others with the same condition,” he explained. “I can’t believe that I thought I was mentally ill all this time. The doctor doesn’t understand what’s going on. No one does. My wife left me over this. I feel like it’s made my life a mess all things considered.” He added, tears welling up in his eyes. “And it’s not fair. It’s not my fault I’m like this. It’s not right that I should feel useless, crazy, unlovable and incompetent at life just because of something I can’t help that nobody understands.” Tears rolled down his cheeks now. He never even knew he felt that deeply about this until he started talking about it with other people. He hadn’t expected to cry. It was a bit embarrassing really. He sniffed back the tears and continued. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I’m not crazy now at least.” Then he paused with a slight frown. “Even the doctor took a blood sample just to make sure,” he said. “She doesn’t know why the medication’s not working, so I managed to convince her that it might be worth checking out if there’s a more physical cause. Do you think she’ll find anything?” He added, looking round the group in concern. “I’m a bit worried about it to be honest.”

“You let her take your blood?” A short, round bodied Indian or Pakistani lady responded with horror. She had described herself as a werecat and she sat with the werefox, werewolf and wereweasel who were the other members of that breakaway group of troublemakers. “I can’t believe you’d let her do that!”

“You’ve put all of our lives at risk!” The girl in denim snapped at him. “You stupid half-were!”

“Half-were?” Andrew echoed in confusion.

“Now, now, Sandra,” said Helen, “it’s not as if none of the rest of us has ever had a blood sample taken.”

“Yeah, but not one where they’re actively looking for signs of our condition!” She responded.

“She doesn’t know what she’s looking for,” Andrew assured her. “It’s no different from any other routine blood test to establish the cause of an ailment.” He furrowed his brow and looked down at his feet with worry. “I didn’t realise I was putting us at risk. I didn’t even know for sure that I was a shapeshifter back then.” He looked up at the two leaders of the group. “Have I done something really, really wrong here? I’m truly sorry if I have.”

“Don’t worry,” Ted assured him. “They’ll either find something or they won’t. And if they do find something then chances are they won’t know what it means anyway. You know doctors. They always default to scepticism where the supernatural is concerned. They’ll probably just think they’ve discovered a bizarre new genetic disease or something.”

“And even if they do begin to suspect the truth,” Helen added. “Perhaps it will prove to be an opportunity to open up a dialogue with the general public. Perhaps it’s time we came out of the shadows and announced that we’re here, that we’re just people like everyone else and that we deserve rights and equality, tolerance and understanding.”

Sandra nearly spat her drink across the room as she burst out laughing. The others who sat with her sniggered or outright laughed with her. The Asian cat lady even cried out, “Oh my God, what the fuck?”

“No, that seems like a great idea to me,” Andrew said to the troublemakers. “Why shouldn’t we work towards being accepted by society? Why shouldn’t we try to raise awareness of our conditions? Who knows where that might lead or what might be possible in the future. God knows, I’ve suffered enough in my life. There has to be a way to make life better, there just has to be. I don’t want to be at odds with the rest of the world anymore. I want to be a valued part of it.”

“You stupid half-weres are ridiculous,” denim girl said with a sneer. “Just because you only eat dead animals or discarded leftovers in bins, you think it must be fine and dandy for the rest of us too. You try turning into a wolf every full moon! You try having vivid memories of tearing someone’s throat out or waking up with blood all down your chin and neck! See where your talk of tolerance and acceptance gets you then. They’ll never accept us. All true weres know this. They’ll never accept us because we’re dangerous and they’re always going to fear us. And for good reason too probably. If they ever found out about us and had scientific evidence to back it up, it wouldn’t be an opportunity for awareness and dialogue, it would be all out war between the humans and us. It would be werefolk apocalypse, like all those films and novels always told us it would be.” She paused and looked round the room accusatorily. Several people looked away or fidgeted in their seats.

“You use words like ‘shapeshifter’ and ‘animal self’,” she continued, “trying to whitewash who we are. But the medieval poets and writers had it right all along. We are were creatures! We are werewolves and werecats, we are werebears and wereeagles, werefoxes and werestoats. We are the creatures who lurk in the night, ready to sink our teeth into some poor, unsuspecting victims throat. There’s no whitewashing that. There’s no point in trying to ‘educate’ the public or ‘raise awareness of our condition’. It’s us against them, it always has been. We don’t lobby for our rights, we take them; enacting revenge if necessary. They’ll never accept us so we might as well accept ourselves, in every aspect, instead of lying to ourselves and trying to make the truth of our condition seem more tame and palatable. We are were creatures. We are red in tooth and claw. And we are magnificent just the way we are!”

Her friends all cheered and clapped their hands at her speech, the ginger haired werefox, the short Indian werecat lady and the thin, little spotty guy who looked about fourteen and said he was a wereweasel. Andrew finally understood. Those four considered themselves ‘true weres’ because they were carnivores and thought of the likes of him, who feasted off dead flesh and leftovers, as only a ‘half-were’. And they didn’t like the term ‘shapeshifter’ or the phrase ‘animal self’, preferring to use the term ‘were’.

The scruffy young lady that was sitting next to Andrew whispered in his ear suddenly. “I don’t like the term were,” she said. “It’s a slur. It’s the word people used all through history to hate and fear us. That’s why we promote the word shapeshifter instead. We’re human just like everyone else. It’s just that we change our shape.”

Andrew looked round at her and smiled. “Nicola,” she told him, shaking his hand.

“Andrew,” he said and shook hers back.

They both turned their attention to the rest of the room. A confident and opinionated black woman had spoken up about the issue. “You’d rather align yourself with their hatred and fear,” she accused them, “than challenge it and help them overcome it? This word ‘were’ that you embrace, and the concepts and ideas that you propose are exactly the kind of anti-shapeshifter propaganda that has plagued our kind for centuries. They would hunt and kill us, not because of what we are but because they have this idea in their minds that we are all vicious, ruthless killers and cannot be reasoned with or co-existed with but should only be feared and killed. It has to stop! And you are not helping.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” the ginger guy said. “When you’re at no risk at all of accidentally killing someone.”

“And when was the last time you, or any fox, actually killed someone?” She argued.

“Well, I have!” Sandra, the denim lady butted in. “I am the big bad wolf that they all fear, quite literally. Are you telling me that their fear is unfounded?”

“I’m saying it is a risk that can be managed or contained,” the black lady argued. “I’m telling you that the vast majority of us are not dangerous, that we can and should reach for acceptance and try to promote understanding. And maybe with greater awareness and understanding even those of us who do pose some risk can work with the authorities to try and achieve strategies where our condition can be managed without harming anyone. I mean come on, are you telling me that with the entire medical establishment, the government and the police on our side that there would be no hope at all of co-existing peacefully with other humans?”

“I’m telling you they’d never be on our side to begin with,” Sandra argued, “no matter what we do or say. It’s futile.”

“Well, it is bloody futile,” the black girl continued, “if you continue to promote the very propaganda we are working so hard to overcome! If you continue to nurture hatred in your bellies and continue to shamelessly use the very same slurs that were hurled at our ancestors when the witch hunters and villagers came after us with torches and pitchforks! It’s disgusting and I won’t stand for it. I’m not a were, I’m a shapeshifter. I have the animal self of a noble eagle. And I am proud of it!”

At that moment there was a sudden loud, flapping of wings. Andrew was astounded to see that Helen had changed herself into an owl, a large owl the likes of which Andrew had never seen. This big grey owl hooted loudly and flew above the room, the drama of her appearance immediately causing everyone to become quiet and stop arguing.

After she flew over the circle for two or three times she landed back on her seat and then transformed back into her human form. It was fascinating to watch it. Andrew had only experienced the transformation within himself. He had never witnessed it in someone else.

The rest of the meeting was fairly mundane. There was some chit chat about various aspects of people’s lives or more technical detail about the shapeshifting condition itself. After the meeting ended, Andrew got to talk to some of the people he had been warming to. He met Nicola, whose animal self is a rat, and her friend Wu, who’s animal form is a pig. They also introduced him to Honesty, the black lady who spoke. Her animal self is an eagle.

“How did Helen do that?” Andrew asked suddenly. “It’s not new moon or full moon, is it?”

“Well,” Honesty explained. “Some older shapeshifters can learn over time to control their actions when they change. If they harness this ability then eventually with a lot of practice and discipline they can even learn to change into their animal self in-between the times when it would usually occur. It takes a lot of work and dedication though, and some say a certain natural predisposition towards it. I’ve only met two shapeshifters in my lifetime that could do it. One of them is Helen, the other was someone back in Uganda who died about fifteen years ago.”

Andrew didn’t know what to say. The ability intrigued him. He had seen a development himself from unconscious, dreamlike experiences to almost believing he could act on his own free will when changed. Maybe he was one of the people who could learn to do what Helen could do. He wanted to learn.

“Excuse me,” he said after a while, “but I think I’d like to talk to Helen and Ted.” He left his new friends then and spoke to the group leaders. After a short preliminary chat about the group and his own story of being a shapeshifter, Andrew called Helen to one side. “That thing you do,” he whispered to her. “Can you teach me how to do it too?”

I’m only posting the first 8 chapters of this story on this blog. To read the rest of the book, please buy The Psychic Investigation and Study Team on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk

#fiction #fantasy #supernatural #writing #novel #lgbt #shapeshifter

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