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wornoutmouse · 4 years

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Cow Endeavor

Don't ask no questions you don't want answered. Either way, i have no answers for you. I cried while writing this

Praise kink, male lactation (🙃 say something i dare you) farm au, y'all know i love my breeding kink.

You were a simple farm hand. Every morning you'd wake up, feed the animals, and water the crops. It was your job to make sure everything was in order and working properly. In the essence of things working properly, that meant you had to take care of the farm's prized cow, Enji.

You weren't sure how or when he got here, he had just always been there. What you do know was that his performance in producing milk was so great that he had become the pinnacle for your farm, a mascot even. A cow that could make milk without even needing to be bred.

So it's understandable the panic everyone went into when their prized cow stopped producing his prized milk. "I just don't understand, he just had a calf but there's not even milk for hj., we had to result to bottle feeding!"

You pat Keigo's back reassuringly, "It's going to be okay, have you ever considered that maybe he's just too old now?" Takami's face paled, "You're right, what if our poor Endeavor has run his course?!" He then grips the front of your overalls and gazes you with a look that pierces your soul.

"You have to fix this, if they find out he's no longer making milk, you know what they'll do to him!" You nodded, retirement for farm animals was never fun, they'd either try to force his glands to make milk with dangerous chemically induced hormones, or it would be off to the chopping block.

So now, standing in front of Enji's stall, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Though his primary caretaker, you had never seen Enji in person so this would be either overwhelming or underwhelming.

Opening the swinging doors, you stand amazed. It may be called a stall but it was nothing less than a renovated room. There was, of course, a wooden trough where his hay and water was, but there was also a nice bed for him and even a damn vanity with a 6ft tall mirror.

"Are you the butcher?" You jump and swivel your head around. There standing at a whopping 6,11, was the prized Enji.

His blue eyes were cold as they glared down at you, and if you hadn't seen his massive pecs, you would have confused him for a bull.

"Uh, no I'm not. I guess you could say I'm going to be your doctor today." Enji rolled his eyes and walked past you. He sits on his bed and for a moment, you saw a look of sadness etched in his scared face. A reminder of a past problem.

"Look I'd recommend you replace me with Touya, he can't do it as often but the quality in milk is just as good. I only ask that you allow little Shouto to sleep with him here, he gets terrible nightmares when he's alone."

You cursed your bleeding heart as you were two sentences from crying. Shouto was his most recent calf,, not even old enough to graze, yet he was far away from his mother where he should be, sucking and carefree.

"Well I hope it doesn't come to that, can you get comfortable?"

Enji lays on his back, sinking into the soft bed below him. You step out the stall and grab your bag of tools. You walk up to Enji and feel your face warm as he looks back at you. His face remained stoic as he watched your hands maneuver the bag clamps.

You let out a loud shriek as a warm hand envelopes your left breast. "If you were a cow, I'm sure you'd make excellent milk." You laugh awkwardly before breaking into a coughing fit as Enji releases you.

"Thanks, could you remove your top for me?" Enji sits up and does as you ask and you balk at how much bigger his chests were when released. "Mommy milkers." You whisper to yourself, catching Enji's attention. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" You put your stethoscope in your ears, and hold the circle piece to his chest, uttering small apologies when he hisses at the cool temperature. You do the normal required check up before moving to the current task at hand.

You start to put on your latex gloves but it's stopped by Enji shading his head. "I don't like the way they feel." So with your bare hands, you examine his chest.

First you massage the skin around his nipple to try to coax some milk out. With no luck, you decide to pay attention to the actual nipples balancing from prodding to pinching them. "Normally when things like this happen it means that something could be blocking the exit." Enji huffed, "Why won't you people accept that I'm just old?!"

You ignore him and continue. You feel around the swell of his breasts and push inwards with two fingers. At that, you faintly catch the sight of his pink buds being coated with clear shiny liquid. Enji's face warmed at the feeling of it dripping down the valley of his chest.

"See, what did I tell you!? It just needed a little coaxing!" You press and prod more trying to coax a consistently white spurt of milk but soon run dry. Enji's face was completely red and sweat had accumulated on his brow. He was internally thankful for the pants he requested as an embarrassingly large bulge was present just below the fabric.

"S-See all that was just a shadow of what I once was." You flick his nip and shake your head, promptly missing how his eyes gently rolled back at the feeling. "Calm down edge lord. I think you need a constant force, I'm going to go get Shouta and see if he can suck more out and hopefully shift whatever is blocking."

You stand up and give Enji a reassuring smile. Rising into a panic, Enji grabbed your forearm, "Don't bring him!" You pout your lips, "Well who do you want me to bring?"

Enji grits his teeth, he didn't want any of his calves to see him in such a state, but he knew this was an opportunity for him to stay at the farm a little while longer. Gently, you feel yourself being tugged.

You trip over yourself, slightly leaning over Enji which gave him the perfect opportunity to cradle the back of your head. He says nothing as he holds you closer, and it wasn't until you saw his flushed face, that you realised what he wanted.

"E-Enji, I don't think this is appropriate I-" Enji wastes no time before pressing his hardened nipple into your partially open mouth. Your protest is muffled as he pressed your face closer. His eyes closed tightly as your warm breath fans over his cool skin.

Soon you realise that you were not going to be let go anytime soon. You reposition yourself the best he would allow you before closing your eyes as well, and sucking gently. Enji lets out a sigh that reverberated down his body.

You let out a muffled exclamation as you feel a warm liquid

flow into your mouth. It was thicker than the clear liquid you saw before, bittersweet and addicting without any additives. It was easy to see how Enji had become the prized cow.

Enji's grip slackened when he felt you relax against him, but you barely noticed as you became enraptured in the taste of his milk. In a strange way, suckling from him felt almost intimate in a maternal way.

Despite your innocent feelings, Enji found himself becoming aroused at the sight of you enjoying him. In all his years of work, he had never seen someone, besides his calves, drink his product.

"D-Do you like it?" You hum around him and he had to clench his teeth so he wouldn't release any sounds. You find yourself getting pliant in his arms, becoming more focused on getting more of the psweet liquid.

You soothingly lave your tongue around his nipple and Enji can't help but let out a small moan. His dick was painfully hard in his cotton pants and there was only so much he could take.

You remove yourself from him with a wet pop, before applying a kiss to his swollen bud. Rather high off happy chemicals, you stand shakily to your feet. Enji had drool and small dribbles of milk spurting from the unattended side of his chest. "You were so good for me Enji. I'm sure this will get you up and running in no time!"

With that, you utter a quick "thank you" and walk away, missing the large splotch of cum leaking from the fabric crotch of Enji's pants.

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It was 3 weeks before you saw Enji again. And you don't deny that you were avoiding him. What you did was beyond inappropriate and uncalled for. You should have pulled away and called for one of his calves.

But avoiding your job is just as easy as it sounds.

"Hey y/n, Enji thinks he's running dry again. Even though there seems to be nothing wrong when the machine mills him, I think you should go check and make sure." You stiffen and shovel a mouthful of lettuce into your mouth.

"If there's nothing wrong, I have no reason to go. Besides why can't you do it." Keigo looks at you with a raised eyebrow, "He requested you specifically." You feel your chest flutter with an unknown emotion and you quickly finish your lunch to avoid any conversation.

You enter Enji's stall the next day and watch silently as he immediately removes his shirt. Ever since your first meeting, his chests had doubled in size since the milk had finally been allowed to move freely. The sight of them excited you, and you couldn't help but feel conflicted.

You sit in a small chair next to Enji's bed and examine his swollen breasts. Even the slightest touch caused milk to spill forth and it became hard to ignore. "You're not really starting to dry up are you?"

Enji sighs before sitting up. "Ever since that day I couldn't get you out of my head." You tilted your head confused as Enji cups his breasts before trailing his large hands down his stomach to his crotch before gripping his obvious manhood.

"Enji this is going beyond inappropriate." The large man made a sound that was a cross between a desperate whine and a grunt similar to that of a bull. "Don't deny that you like it too, I saw the look on your face." You lowered your head unable to look at his eyes.

Thoughts mulled over in your head about what type of punishment you could receive from possibly contaminating merchandise. Would the milk be different? People have been sending letters about how much sweeter Enji's milk has gotten.

Ah, but the thought of Enji's sweet sustenance on your tongue made your mouth water. Enji hid a small smirk as he saw you finally make up your mind. He had missed you since your last encounter, he spent nights thinking of you as his tits swelled with milk.

You untie your work apron and toss it on the stool before straddling Enji's thick legs. In the back of your mind, the logistics of his height and weight made your shiver at the thought of his cock.

Enji brings you in for a kiss and the rather off putting taste of oats and spring grass floods your senses as your tongues intertwine. You use your hands to massage his breasts and feel your front become warm as you subsequently squeeze out some of his milk.

You place hurried kisses along his jaw as you make your way to the true treasure. The sweet taste of his milk overrides your morning meal and you are baffled by how different it was from last time.

Enji, no longer feeling shy, let out a groan as he holds your head close to him. His free hand pulls his leaking cock out and strokes it in time with your rough tongue as you press it against his sensitive bud.

"Harder my little flower." You sigh with contentment at the nickname and do as ordered. You feel Enji flex below you and you take pride in it.

You scoot your lower body closer to his groin and rock your hips against him. The feeling of your denim pants against his throbbing cock was almost too much yet too little.

"Please, let me be inside you." You raise your head to look at him and Enji almost coos at the milky dribble rolling out the corner of your mouth. You were such a small thing, needed to be fed, needed to be protected and most importantly, needed to be bred.

Dazed, you shimmy off your pants and underwear and grind your hips. "B-Be gentle okay?" You were trembling on top of him and it was absolutely adorable. "Of course my flower."

In the corridor Keigo was making his way towards Enji's stall. It had been beyond the recommended time for an examination so he was coming to see what was taking you so long.

As he comes upon the door, the sound of whining fills his ears. "Just a little bit longer, flower." His eyes widen and he takes four steps away from the stall door. "You sly fox y/n fraternizing with the produce." Keigo shakes his head in disapproval before shrugging with a small grin.

"None of my business."

The feeling of fullness was strange and uncomfortable. Enji was not long whatsoever, that was another characteristic that set him apart from the bulls. But he was thick to the point where you knew you'd have to work extra hard to accommodate him.

"You're doing so well for me flower." You rub your face against his bosom and resume drinking from him. The taste of his milk was therapeutic and before you knew it, he was thrusting fluidly inside of you.

The thickness of his shaft rubbed just right against your g-spot. The feeling of your soft lips alternating between each nipple, made Enji speed up his menstruations for he could no longer contain his pleasure.

He was sad that he couldn't bring you to completion as well but that can always be saved for next time. The feeling of his semen filling you felt just as amazing as the milk flooding your mouth and you clenched tightly around him.

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"It's not funny Keigo!" "Really? I think it's hilarious." You groan as you cradle your slightly protruding belly. You should have seen it coming, and subconsciously, you weren't surprised to see two pink lines on the pregnancy test that you took 4 months ago.

Now at 7 months and obviously showing, Keigo took the opportunity to bring up the fact that he was there when your new child was consummated therefore reserved the right to be it's godfather.

Telling Enji the news went scarily smooth as the cow bastard only replied with, "Of course you are pregnant, I'm the sire." Followed by him asking to try your milk as well, so he could critique. All his calves, now yearlings, seemed to take the news just fine and only seemed excited to pick baby names.

"Look, all I'm saying is, don't come crying when little junior starts asking about the family business." You groan as the dirty blond man continues his jokes. A small content smile is present on your face.

#black y/n #blackreader #am igonna lost my black card for this?#mha endeavor #endeavor smut #kinktober #male lactation #cow aesthetic #cow anthro #enji thirst #enji todoroki #enji smut #mha enji #bnha endeavor

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peakyxtommy · 4 years

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Better Days - Thomas Shelby x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Dark/Hurt/Comfort/Sad Fic/Slight Fluff

WC: 3.1K

Summary: Reader is having a bad time & Tommy comforts her

Gif Credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

It was another morning of waking up with the weight of the world on your chest. The heavy feeling of dread, as if you were walking around with a cement block in the middle of your heart. A day where rolling around to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers over your head seemed better than leaving to the outside world. Staying under the covers had the illusion to block out the light, to block out the pain you felt deep within you. A sadness that seemed to linger, never leaving your side. A continuous cycle, that seemed to never end. Always ready to swallow you whole, but never knowing when it would come. A monster in the closet, always lurking, searching for ways to collide right into you at the worst times possible.

When your feet collide on the cold wooden floor to carry yourself to the bathroom, to start with the routine of your morning, you already knew what kind of day it was going to be. Of mentally checking off the list of tasks to get you from one step to another. You try not to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, afraid to look into your eyes. Eyes that held so much pain and sorrow, eyes that have seen enough heartache. Eyes that have seen joy and happiness, wondering how you could feel the bittersweetness of both sides.

Once dressed and partially fed for the day you continue on through the notions of the day. Repeating the words back to yourself, to feel a sense of quiet, that you were actually going to make it through the day. The long hours of repetitive activity and small conversation with those that you encounter through the day. Masking who you are, pretending that things are okay as they seem. Feeling more energy suck out of you as the hours float on by. Your mind becomes bogged down like a boat in a storm on a foggy night in need of a lighthouse to guide it back safe to shore.

Minding counting down the hours until you could return home and hide. Hide from the world, your problems, and from the one you loved deeply. Shamed and guilt ridden to share the thoughts that held your mind captive on a loop, like a personal tape, running endlessly inside you. The tape that recounted every wrong, every lie, every misstep you have taken.

As soon as you stepped through the door and had your final conversation of the day thus far with Mary, it felt like a small win. You go and find comfort in the darkness and the burrow of blankets on your bed, surrounded by the warmth and love you so desperately craved, wanted to feel. Hoping the pieces would form back together again.

“Mary, have you seen (Y/N)?” Tommy asks as he comes through the door, placing his coat on the rack. You were usually out in the open when he came in early reading on the couch or in your craft room.

“She’s upstairs, lying down Sir.” The woman speaks with a soft tone.

“Is she feeling ill?” He questions with raised brows as it was still early in the evening.

“I think so Sir, she hasn’t eaten much these past few days. I went up a while ago to check on her but she’s sleeping, she’s been out for a while.”

“Thank you Mary, I’ll handle it from here.” He speaks ushering the maid off and heading toward the stairs. He was cursing himself internally for not noticing your emotional state sooner. That’s how he found you, when he creaks open the door. Your frame huddled under the covers, facing toward his side of the bed, with the small lamp by the bedside on.

He reaches the side of your bed, he sees the remnant of wet tears on your face. He takes a seat on the bed, hand reaching out to gently rub your arm to awake you from your slumber.

“Love, I’m home. Time to get up.” He whispers as you awaken to his voice and comforting touch.

“‘Hi Tommy.” You whisper back with a small smile. A smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“How was your day?” He says in a low tone, noticing the way your eyes close for a moment and the pout that appears on your face.

“Not good.” Is the only response that leaves your still pouting lips. It hurts and silently frustrates him that you two are the same in this regard but you are still the better of the two when it comes to others. Internally when you are struggling you're just as bad as him but in the opposite of taking it out on yourself and your body instead of the booze and smokes. He had gotten better than the first few months of your relationship of knowing when you were getting sad and things weren’t going good.

“Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?” He asks in a gentle manner not wanting to badger you but would if you didn’t speak the truth before you went to bed. He knew you always needed space when you were upset and then would let him in. The blue eyes that look so soft in this moment stare into yours with concern and worry. It hurt knowing you were hurting him in this way by remaining silent. You didn’t know why you’d do this still to this day and even as long as you two have been together. You were independent, strong, and prideful at times, but were the most scared when you had to open up your dark thoughts to the soul that loved you like hand craft jewels themselves.

“Maybe later. Need to shower.” You finally sit up and take his hand in yours just craving his touch and he reciprocates the action.

“Have a proper meal, heard you haven’t had much of an appetite these past few days.” His hands squeeze yours, thumbs rubbing circles on your hands.

“Yes, we’ll have a proper meal Mr. Shelby. Whatever it is you want we will have it.” You respond, resting your head against his chest for a moment.

“You go shower and I’ll see what I can get started in the kitchen.” His warm lips press into your forehead.

“Alright, I’ll meet you down there in a bit.” You give him a small smile and press your lips against his cheek, legs swinging over the edge to stand and stretch, him copying your motions. As you walk past him, he grabs your hand to get your attention, causing you to turn to look up at him.

“(Y/N), I love you. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.” You nod your head at his words ready to cry about them as you go run your shower. You watch as he leaves the room, the door closing shut behind him. The flick of a switch and twist of a knob, you find yourself undressing and climbing into the porcelain tub. Those were the days you sat in the hot shower, letting the droplets burn the skin. Wondering about why life has you so down, so paralyze by fear, you could barely breathe. You were drowning under the water and no one was there to pull you out.

That is where and when you were the most vulnerable. Alone. The most earth shattering sound releases through your lungs and tightens them back up as it moves through your body. You wonder how one person could have a multitude of tears stored in them that was infinite. It would only last for so long before you felt you could continue on with the task at hand that would bring you closer to the relief you were waiting for.

It was a rare sight to see and was one that you enjoyed when it did happen. It warmed your heart and brought a genuine smile to your face, despite the heaviness in your heart. You leaned against the frame, watching him in an element he was secretly good at but didn’t have the time to do.

Let alone did he ever sit still to finish an actual meal half the time but he would try his hardest for you because meals were sometimes the only part of the day you two would spend together. He was busy and worked at all hours of the day but you had a regular day job. He would try to come home early in the evenings to eat with you even if it meant he had to go back out or continue work in his office, or spend it with you. Sometimes you worked long hours or would have to bring work home that needed completion after hours.

He was wearing his round spectacles, which you enjoyed as it made him look more attractive than he already was. He was annoyed and embarrassed about them at first, but you’d always find a way to remind him how much you loved them. His sleeves were rolled halfway up revealing his strong forearms and ringed fingers that were slicing lettuce on a wooden cutting board. White dish cloth hanging from his shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve been busy here, Chef Shelby.” You teased making your presence known as he glances up at you with a playful stare.

“Only the best for you. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long, I had to take the chance to admire what’s mine.”

“Only yours forever.” He passes you a slice of cucumber as you take a seat at the island.

“What are you cooking tonight?”

“Sausage, mash potatoes, and salad.”

“That sounds great. Thank you Tom.” You both grin at the other as you watch him play chef in the kitchen. It was satisfying as you haven’t had a moment to feel this good in the past couple of weeks. You sat talking about his day and him telling you a funny story of the younger Shelby clan over dinner.

You still had lots of stories to discover about the man in front of you as did him. It was ever evolving when one would share a new story, that would come to the conscious so vividly like a dream of the incident happening again. It wasn’t often Tommy told stories of his past but when he did was usual in moments like these or when you two were up late at night together talking like two young lovers in love.

It was moments like these where it felt easier to breath, even if it was only temporary.

A moment of bliss so delightful, it was beginning to stitch the pieces back together.

Distractions could only last for so long even good ones. You found yourself back in the reality of your sadness as the silence lapsed between the two of you. It wasn’t awkward but you knew you still had to talk to the one person that cared for you better than did sometimes and vice versa.

You both were resting with your backs against the headboard of the bed, settling down for the remainder of the evening. Your upper body was half laying on his broad chest and head was resting against right in the crook of his neck. Your fingers were tracing circles on his bare torso mindlessly, mind away in the abyss.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?” His hot breath whispers in your ear, lips pressing to your temple.

“Too much. It’s like my brain is a broken record and there’s no silence. I can’t shut off the thoughts and it’s clouding my thinking. Everything feels heavy and meaningless. Everything is the same day in and out. Life is passing by and I'm stuck in the middle watching it flash across my eyes.

The fear sets in like a weight in my stomach. It tenses my body and makes it hard to breath, to focus. It sets in first thing as I wake and lasts until it's time to go to bed. I can’t catch a break from it. It’s been hard trying to go to sleep, I feel fatigued all the time.

The weight of existence is swallowing me back down to the depths of Hell. When I close my eyes at night all I can see is this darkness. I’m in our house and running away from this shadow that keeps chasing me. It always finds me no matter where I run or hide. When I call out or try to find you, you never come. It always ends that same, with the shadow coming to swallow me but I wake before it ever can.”

The hot tears come back, falling against his chest as he listens to your inner monologue. The deepest part of who you were, on display for him to nurture with endearment. Your thoughts never scared him because of the life he lived through. Every time he held your fragile and aching body with heart wrenching sobs into his body in moments like this, frightened him. Distressed him to know that you were hurting this deeply. That you were carrying this alone and he hadn’t noticed.

You were the sweetest of souls and free spirited. You were smart and a hard worker. When he first met you, he knew that you would be sticking around for a while. Once he fell in love with you, it was over for him. You were everything he wanted and more. He did his best to please you and give you everything you wanted. You were the most beautiful woman he laid eyes on. He wanted to have children with you in the future. He wanted old and gray with you.

“Love, it’s okay I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here. I’m always going to find you. I’m always going to protect you and will never let anything happen to you. I’ll always save you.”

He holds you close as you continue to cry.

“Love, calm down. Let’s breathe or you’re going to make yourself sick.” He lifts your head, his heart aching more at the sight or your dreary face.

Once he manages to get you to breathe at a normal pace. He gets to make his way to the bathroom. Returns after a minute with a warm rag to wet your face and a cup of water to drink. As you sip the water he wipes your face with the warm cloth. The water quenches your throat and the warmth from the cloth soothes your body while your husband soothes your mind with his affectionate actions.

For that you were grateful. Grateful for a man like Thomas Shelby despite his flaws, that he too even loved you despite yours. He was charming and funny in private when it was just the two of you. He always knew how to get your attention in the softest way and would do anything to see you smile. You held the moon, the stars, and the whole universe in your being for him.

Grateful that a man like Thomas Shelby understood sadness, grief, and the horror of what it felt like to not be able to escape from your dark thoughts. The thoughts that get stuck like leaves in the gutter, waiting to be cleaned out, or it can’t make way for the next rainfall.

He would know how to stitch you back together. It was in those moments of unraveling the strings that held you so tight together, would untangle and pull you closer to him.

“What do you want me to do to help you? I’ll do anything you want. Take time off work, you can quit your job and get a new one. We can go spend time away from town and go on a trip. I want you to know that I want you to be happy and I'll do anything in my power to help you get there.

Don’t listen to the negative voices in your head, love, does you no good. Think of all the amazing things you are. You are an excellent wife and help the company greatly. You are confident at your job and work twice as hard as me. You’re a heartfelt daughter and aunt. Watching with the nephews and nieces makes me know you’re going to be a wonderful mother.

You’re the love of my life. I love you so much, wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you weren’t here. I want old and gray with you, but we need to have some kids first.” His big warm palms hold your face, caressing your cheeks with his fingers.

“Thank you Tommy. I love you so much.” Your lips press against his chaste and slow moving in sync as your noses would bump slightly with minor movements.

“There will be better days ahead love, I promise. When you close your eyes dream of me. I’ll come save you. I’ll be here when you wake up, I'm all yours until further notice.” His lips pressed against yours for the final time that night, as the lights were off. He was on his side holding you to his chest, as your body mirrored his as you laid your head on his chest, his arms holding your back.

You knew in that moment, you didn’t need to say anything. He knew you and your heart for all that it was worth. He would come and help you water your plants as many times as you needed help. He would help you build your garden back until you were blooming yet again.

He was your lifeline, that came to save you time and time again. You would do the same for him. Your love for another ran deep, deeper than both you admitted aloud sometimes. Both being able to tell through little actions and thoughts that would occur daily, he was your livewire.

As your eyes closed you dreamed about something good for a first time in a long time. It was as vivid as a fresh painting on a warm spring day. It was a flash forward of your life. Of being with Tommy, having children, and being old and gray together.

You slept in peace of knowing there were going to be better days ahead.

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#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peakyxtommy

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scary-lasagna · 4 years

Text

Trust || Part VI

" Finally meeting the eyes of your soon-to-be murderer, you realized he was crying again. Fuck him, he deserves to cry, wail, scream, after what he's done to you.

You can't rip a flower out of the ground and expect it to grow in acid.

With a final reassuring squeeze, Hoodie let go."

Yandere!Hoodie/Brian x Reader

* * *

A month later and things haven't gotten any better than when you first arrived. Hoodie just keeps growing more violent and possessive my the minute. You really don't know how much longer you'll survive here from either dying from Hoodie's leather-gloved hand or by your own.

Hoodie leaves on most nights, which would be delightful in planning a route of escape. But it's hard to do so when you're locked in the windowless bedroom.

All you're left to do for the night is look at your picture of your previous life, contemplate your situation, plan his murder, and scan over a few books Hoodie found for you.

This could all change if you only said, "I love you." To him.

Which you weren't, but you were thankful to know that's an option in case you were nearing death by his hand.

It was late night, and thunder rumbled over the depths of the cellar. It must be going to rain soon. Hoodie was still gone, he didn't know when he'd be back. But you know he'll get caught in the rain if he doesn't get home before morning.

And you'll be charged with the task of drying his hair.

You rolled your eyes, tossing the magazine down and pushing yourself off of the bed. Hoodie got you a more qualified mattress to sleep on, along with a bedspread and blankets that kept the damp air off of you. But sometimes you just needed an open window or a fan.

Neither of which Hoodie has provided. A window means a chance of escape, not that he could just give you one anyways, it was a brick-lined basement. And a fan deems a possible weapon to hit him over the head with.

Oh, how you longed to do that. Even if he killed you, it would be so satisfying to watch him stumble with a yelp, clutching the back of his dirty blonde locks.

You shuffled around your room, sifting through drawers and pulling out wrapped clothing. You've been working on making a shank out of a shard of tile you found in the kitchen, and literally anything else you could find. You've only got a rubber band and a few pieces of tape to hold the fabric around the ceramic. It's not much, but it's your only form of protection.

But your plan to craft was cut short by the cellar door rattling. You stuffed the tile inside a few socks before shoving the drawer closed.

"Hoodie?" You called out, pushing yourself off of the ground to stand in front of your door.

"What? You hungry? You're supposed to be sleeping." Footsteps gradually made their way towards the other side of the door, followed by a series of mechanical clicks.

"I'm not tired." You looked up at the mask when the door open, which you cautiously took off. He was sweaty, and very gross in general. "Can't you find a new mask that doesn't suffocate your pores?"

"Yeah, but I like this one though." He gently took it out of our grasp, using the same sense of caution as you used with him.

Hoodie couldn't hold it in anymore. Everytime he left, he was never guaranteed in seeing your face when he returned. You were smart, too smart. You were bound to find the key he hidden in one of the loose bricks of your room. Just in case one day he doesn't return. He wouldn't want you to be left here and starved, even if the masked man did know about the situation.

He struggled to hold back to tears prickling his bottom lid, and he pulled you towards him into the colder hallway. But your skin was soothed by his warm chest.

"I'm so sorry for what I've done. You know I'd never want to hurt you." His muscles twitched along your back when he squeezed tighter.

You couldn't do anything but hug back, running your hand up and down the rough fabric of his hoodie. Even without the view of his face, his jerking chest was proof enough that he was holding back sobs and tears. "Prove it, then." You weren't even sure if he heard your voice through the muffle of his clothes.

"How can I prove my love to you?" He separates your bodies, but kept his large hands on your waist. Tear streaks were travelling down his dirty cheeks.

"Free me." You stared up at him, clutching his forearms. "Please, Hoodie."

He glanced back at the entrance, and for a moment, you had a spark of hope.

"Not now, darling. I'm sorry, really I am." His tone sounded sincere enough, and his eyes were tilted with sadness.

Your face fell and your tense shoulders slumped, "Why?"

He shook his head, his fingers flexing into your skin, "There's too much going on right now. Tim left Jay, and Jay's on his own. And Alex is a good hunter, he'll find you. He's already come around here a few times, actually."

All you heard was a pathetic attempt at an excuse. But in reality, it did make some sense.

"You pinky swear you're not lying?" Your eyebrows twitched as you looked up at him.

He managed a smirk, leaving the cool air to nip at a warm spot on your hip as he held his hand up, "I'd never lie to you."

You linked your pinky with his and it caught you off guard as Hoodie sealed it with a soft kiss on your knuckle.

Trust.

You craved for his lips sometimes, and it was often hard to remind yourself that this is a different person. Would it be cheating on Brian if it's the same body?

What the hell were you talking about? This dude kidnapped you and you're thinking about whether his lips would feel good against yours.

But you were satisfied as he kisses you on the cheek, "Get back to bed, now." He started to coax you back into your room.

"Can't I stay up with you for a bit?"

He squinted, and you could tell he was growing suspicious but nonetheless, he obliged with a, "Sure." Taking you by the hand, he lead you to the kitchen. "I gotta take a shower first, I'm sure you can make something for yourself while I'm gone."

The bathroom door was closed before you could even answer, "I literally just said that I wasn't hungry earlier." You mumbled, glancing around the cute kitchen.

Out of curiosity, you picked up one of the medicine bottles to see what he was taking and if that somehow made him more aggressive.

Tim Wright.

He had Tim's pills. How and why? Did he steal them or did Tim give them to him? Was it the same way he got the picture?

You set the plastic down and walked over to the humming fridge. There wasn't much in it, just a few packs of meat, two jugs of water, miscellaneous in the drawers, and a bag of chips. And that godforsaken tuna.

Why the hell does he keep chips in the fridge?

You took the box of ham and started making two sandwiches with cheese, lettuce, and mayo. You glanced in the direction of the hissing water in the bathroom before chucking the tuna in the trash, tossing some paper towels on top of it to hide the glint of the metal.

The hiss of the shower stopped, and you listened as Hoodie rustled around with some towels.

Oh fuck, he's gonna try and seduce you.

You turned away from the door, busing your self with slowly pouring juice into the glass. Wet footsteps pass the kitchen, and you couldn't help but glance though the window as he made his way to his room.

A guilty part of you wishes that Brian had those type of muscles when you were dating. This dude was really strong just from the look of his back.

He paused at the padlocks glancing over them, and then quickly locked with your eyes. You turned away, spilling the half-full glass all over the counter with a hissed curse.

You tried to look again, but the door was already closed.

You soaked up the juice, piling all of the towels in the trash until the counter was grape-free. Hoodie walked in, hair still wet and in (thankfully) clean clothes.

You accepted his advancements as he wrapped a pair of strong arms around your waist, nuzzling into your hair.

"You smell better than I do, and I've just taken a shower."

"I smell like damp basement and cheap Irish Sring soap, don't lie to me." You picked up a plate and held it out to your left, letting Hoodie take a hold of it as you grabbed your plate and the two drinks.

You could tell how exhausted Hoodie was by the way he flopped down on the couch, almost looing his dinner in the process.

You set your plate and drink on the coffee table, knowing he's going to want half of your sandwich anyways.

The air was calm, and rain had started to tap on the floor above you in the broken building. Hoodie was just chilling, watching the late night news and eating the sandwich you made for him.

It felt nice.

It felt normal.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, hugging his elbow as you cuddled up to him. You were touched starved, you craved affection and contact, and Hoodie was the only one around capable of giving it to you.

He set the plate down on the armrest and wrapped an arm around you, allowing the warmth of his chest to engulf you.

You closed your eyes and even dozed off a little bit until you were stirred by Hoodie running his hands through your tangled hair. You whined, aggravated that you were disturbed from your slumber.

"I love you."

You rolled your closed eyes. You didn't respond, it was obvious you're faking sleep now, but there was really no other option that would end well.

"[Y/N]."

"Hoodie, I don't love you. Not now."

He stood up, quite abruptly, actually, and you almost fell on the floor.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" His muscles flexed under the black t-shirt he was wearing as he scowled down at you. "Don't you realize this is torture?!"

The man sounded desperate, and his elbows were tucked to his waist insecurely. His eyes...they were truly filled with the pain of the truth.

But as he turned to leave, you managed an apology. "Hoodie, I'm sorry." You clasped your hands together, straightening up on the couch.

"You're not sorry." He hissed, twisting back towards you. "You know what you're doing." The blonde squinted at you, searching your body for something, anything, that looked like remorse.

In his blind state of betrayal, he didn't see any.

"I am sorry!" You stood up defensively, clenching your fists by your side. "How dare you say what I don't feel! I was sorry, but now I'm not! You're just an asshole who expects me to fall in love at first sight of you!"

"You did fall in love with me at first sight o-!"

"No, I didn't! I feel in love with Brian Thomas, your ass had to ruin a perfect fucking relationship for your own selfish needs!"

Hoodie stayed silent, he was holding back. His fists were clenched so tight, his knuckles were turning white, and his eyes were full of burning hatred.

"I'm never going to love you, Hoodie. Not truly. Not if you always act like an entitled brat."

"Don't fucking lead me on then." His shoulders slumped and his fingers loosened. "Don't give false hope."

You blinked, watching as he calmed down into sadness, "Hoodie, I didn't want to do that...I want to make you happy, I want you to feel comfortable instead of tense and awkward which gets you on edge. Maybe even a little dangerous.."

He looked up from the ground and into your sympathetic eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him.

"Then you will not get rid of me until you love me."

"That wasn't our deal you sai-"

"Said that I'd free you in due time, yes,” He finished for you, “I keep my promises. Just like how I promised to make your life a living hell if you didn't learn to love me. It's a shared deal, sweetheart." His voice was eerily calm.

You didn't reply, you couldn't. You knew if you opened your mouth you would start sobbing for mercy, for freedom. But you knew that wouldn't happen on his account.

"Now, go to your room." He jerked his head into the direction behind him, staring through your eyes instead of into them.

"This will not make me love you." You whispered, looking closer into his eyes. You wished he could see the hurt in your eyes, the hatred.

But he kept his eyes trained on the plate sitting on the coffee table.

You sniffed, shoving past him towards your damp and dark room.

As you jumped into bed, you heard the sound of a plate crashing. Then another one. Right into the television.

You didn't care. You turned over and stared at the wall until sleep consumed your tense nerves.

___

The door to [Y/N]'s room clicked and creaked quietly open. Hoodie stared at them, hoping the metallic sound of the gun didn't wake them.

You could only see the shadow on the wall, and the clicking disturbance of the gun being handled. You couldn't quite see his position, but he might be aiming at you. You don't where else he'd point the gun at.

You dared not to move. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. You were frozen in fear of the idea of being shot.

The rustling of fabric and shrinking shadow signaled that he put the gun away but was advancing towards you. What if he decided on a knife instead?

Instead, a rough hand brushed your hair out of your face, and placed a soft kiss on your temple.

You know he's not going to let up. You have to plan an escape.

#Trust #hoodie #yandere!Hoodie #yandere #story #creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #Marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #hoody marble hornets #it get spicy next chapter #brian thomas #ok i fixed it #masky #tim WRIGHT #NOT sutton #cmon kitty

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kaoru-tries-to-write · 5 years

Text

A Day Off

Happy holidays and a happy new year to all! Here is my piece for the IkeVamp Holiday Exchange for @panpanda19, I hope you enjoy <3

Thank you @ikevamp-holiday-exchange for the opportunity!

"I am giving you today off for your hard work this past week."

Back home, you would have been quite happy with this news, but somehow his words brought no excitement for the time you will be spending by yourself at the mansion.

"And what will you be doing, Sebastian?"

You ask, perhaps you can still help him, if only for someone to talk to. Without realizing it previously, he has become quite a large part of your day-to-day since your arrival.

"I will be taking the day off from my duties as well."

After tucking the tea towel back neatly across the oven handle, he turns to usher you out of the kitchen.

"There are a few personal errands I must run today, please enjoy your day off and relax. You have deserved it."

With that, you find yourself face-to-face with the hallway. When looking back with puppy eyes doesn't change his mind, you drag your feet up to your room with a pout. Flopping face down in your bed, you make a noise of frustration, before turning over to stare at the ceiling.

Maybe you will spend the day exploring the grounds. You haven't visited the garden yet today, it would be nice to reconnect with nature, and see how the lettuces are growing. With your mind made up, you add an apron over your attire to hopefully keep your dress clean, and head down to the shed.

Just ahead of you, a familiar figure was spotted carrying a bale of hay. You wonder if it was for the horses, but realize Sebastian was walking in the opposite direction of the stables. For someone as organized and optimized in efficiency, it seemed odd the hay is not being placed close by the animals that would need it most.

The garden tools forgotten, your new mission is now following the mansion's butler, and finding out what exactly what is going on. Rounding another corner, you stay a few steps behind, surveying the shrubbery just in case you need a last minute hiding place.

You hear the sounds before you see the animal, a series of bleats to greet the man, and an excited, fluffy cloud could be seen jumping around him, soft nose going to pockets looking for treats.

"Hello Lotte, yes, I have the promised carrots and apples. Just a moment, please.”

The hay was set down gently next to a small stall with windows, then Sebastian rolled up his sleeve with practised hands, and removed the assortment of treats for the ecstatic lamb. You watch from your hiding place, internally going 'awww', and wondering perhaps if you were also a lamb, you'd be able to avoid those forehead bruises and be hand-fed cubed apples.

"How long are you planning to stay in those blackberry bushes?"

While you were daydreaming of a butler that did not deal out punishment by flicking one's forehead, you have been found by the curious nose of Lotte, effectively exposing your hiding spot. You give a sheepish smile, then extricate yourself from the bush, this is going to leave multiple stains, you just knew.

"Your idea of a relaxing day is rather strange-- Lotte, stop that."

You can tell Sebastian isn't trying to tell you off, nor is he asking you to leave, which is a relief. Lotte, now trying to get into your apron pockets, is barely being held back by Sebastian, the muscle in his forearms flexing to keep the animal from knocking you over.

"This beats me staying in my room by myself. I didn't know you had a lamb!"

Lotte's wool was soft, not too thick, and your laughter fills the air as wet tongue licks away at your fingers trying in vain to keep the strings of your apron where they should stay. You see Sebastian pulling another apple slice for the animal from his pocket, and succeed in redirecting the attention back to him so you could catch your breathing.

"Would you like to try feeding as well? Here, open your palm."

He places a handful of cubed carrots and apples in your hand, the sticky fruit juice leaving your skin tacky, but Lotte made quick work of cleaning it off. The ticklish feeling elicits a bout of giggles, bringing a soft smile to Sebastian's normally stern features. That was when he noticed a leaf from the blackberry bush, stuck sideways in your hair.

"You have a leaf-- here, allow me."

Opting to avoid the hassle of trying to describe where the unintentional hairpiece was, he removes it for you, warm fingers grazing the edge of your ear, warmer than you'd expect. Unlike vampires, you thought to yourself.

Your eyes meet his, first filled with confusion that quickly turns into understanding, and you smile at him. The connection between your gaze holds for a moment longer, and suddenly your ear feels a lot hotter than before, with your cheeks warming up to match. Mumbling a soft 'thank you', you look down towards your shoes, avoiding those grey eyes that seemed much more expressive than you remembered.

The tense air is quickly broken by Lotte, having finished with the treats and is now looking for more. No pockets are safe, and the smile is back on your face again, as you show your empty hands to the insistent lamb, nuzzling for more hidden gems.

"You do look best when you smile, without a care in the world."

This makes your blush deepen, but also feel warm and fuzzy inside. After the confusion and shock of learning the identities of the residents of the mansion, you were hesitant to get close to anyone, and were always on guard. You feel safest next to Sebastian because he reminded you of home, and you’ve now come to rely on the structure and routine he brings to your day.

He alone knows of your struggles in 19th century France, and if there was anything he could do in his power to help your transition, he would do it without a second thought. And if spending time with Lotte would bring a smile to your face, then he is going to make it happen as often as he can.

“Lotte will be due for a shear soon, would you like to help me when it’s time? It would be much easier with the both of us.”

In your mind, you've already agreed and looking forward to it. Your smile, one that was brighter and warmer than the sunrise to him, told him your answer before you spoke.

"Yes, I would love to!"

#ikevamp holiday exchange #IkeVamp #ikevamp sebastian #fanfic #ikevamp fanfic #Kaoru writes

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years

Text

Psych 101 (Whumptober 2020)

Day eleven, and warning for torture and blood ahead.

Summary: Dean brings home an unexpected windfall that brings up some bad memories for Sam.

* * *

Dean was whistling when he came back from the grocery store. Sam always knew his brother was more of a social person than he let on, but he wasn’t usually this cheerful after interacting with the residents of their small town.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sam remarked, leaning against the counter as Dean lined up the bags from the store. “Did Becky finally give you her phone number?”

“You know that little butcher shop off Main?” Dean asked, ignoring the comment about his favorite cashier. She was in her sixties, looked a little bit like Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast, and pinched his cheek like he was five years old every time she saw him.

“What about it?” Sam leaned forward to study the packages Dean was unloading. Those weren’t from the grocery store.

“Their freezer crapped out this morning,” Dean explained, hefting a package wrapped in brown paper. “They had a sale on everything.”

Sam made a face and instantly moved a step back. “Dean, you know I don’t eat that stuff,” he complained. He could already smell the iron, sitting in the back of his throat like putting a penny in his mouth.

“Hey, you’re not the only one living here, Sammy,” Dean retorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll grill some lettuce or something for you.

He shook his head and tried to back away, but could only stare in mounting horror as Dean piled package after package on the kitchen counter. Some of them were wet and dripping, staining everything they touched.

It wouldn’t come off his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed at it. Lucifer’s voice echoed in his mind—or was it his ears—quoting Macbeth now.

“Ooh, here, Sammy, let me help you,” the devil whispered, peeling back the skin on Sam’s right hand…

“Sammy!”

Sam jerked, forcing his mind to focus on the situation at hand. “Yeah?”

Dean was staring at him now, face tight with worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just,” Sam blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. It had been so long. He had to be okay now. It was just a bad day. “Just tired,” he finished lamely.

“You sure?” Dean asked. He came around the corner, hands out as though to support Sam, but his hands were stained with blood. As Sam stared in horror, Dean staggered against the counter and coughed until blood trickled out of his mouth. He stared at his brother, helpless, while Dean collapsed to the floor of the kitchen.

Around him the walls were slowly peeling away, revealing the darkness and fire of the cage. His skin was blistering in the heat, peeling away from his bones in ragged clumps.

“That was fun,” Lucifer said in his ear. The devil’s touch was cold against the roaring heat of the cage, but that was somehow worse. Dean’s corpse (not corpse not corpse not corpse) twitched on the ground, blood disappearing into the darkness around them. “Wasn’t it nice to see big brother again?”

“Sammy!”

Dean was standing over him, one hand on his face. Strong and whole and alive, not in the cage. “D-Dean?”

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean grabbed him by the elbows and steered him to the chair. “What is going on?”

Sam shook his head. He was supposed to be okay now. Cas had taken the scars away. “I’m fine.”

“That’s crap, dude,” Dean said with a snort. “Come on.”

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted. “Just go, put your meat away.”

As he’d hoped, that earned him a juvenile smile from his brother. Great, he just had to come up with more innuendo to keep Dean distracted until he could get away from the slaughterhouse.

“Dude, check it out,” Dean was saying, back at the counter again. He had one of the larger packages in his hands and was peeling away the corner of the wrapper. “Baby back-”

Ribs. He tried not to look down as the devil walked around his body, scalpel in hand. Lucifer took great pleasure in carving his skin off in hand-sized pieces, saying a true master could flay a victim in one piece but he’d always preferred the old-fashioned way.

“Remind me again why we’re here?” Lucifer prompted. He had a hand on Sam’s ribcage now, fingers tracing through the ridges of muscle and sinew. “Who dropped us in here?”

Sam couldn’t answer if he wanted to. All he could taste was blood. He coughed it up by the mouthful from lungs that shouldn’t even work anymore. It ran down the sides of his face into his ears, his hair.

There was a crack, a burst of pain, and Lucifer was waving one of Sam’s ribs in front of his face. “Pay attention, bunk buddy. I asked you a question.”

He was soaked. Sam spluttered out a protest, hands up to wipe water out of his eyes.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Dean was kneeling in front of him, empty glass in his hand. “Come on, man. I haven’t seen you this out of it in a while. What’s going on?”

Sam stared down at his brother, shivering a little from the water that had been dumped on his head. His eyes flickered guiltily to the packages Dean had brought from the butcher’s shop and he dropped his head in shame.

He knew Dean understood what had happened when his older brother swore. “Come on, let’s go,” Dean said. He had Sam by the arms, hauling him to his feet. “Keep your eyes closed, kiddo. Let’s get out of here.”

He let Dean steer him out of the kitchen and down the hall. Tears were pricking in his eyes, fear and shame and embarrassment all coiling around inside him. Sam barely noticed when Dean pushed him into a chair and just crouched in front of him, hands still on his arms.

“Sammy?”

Sam sucked in a breath and tried to control himself. Hell was years ago. He could eat meat again, he’d even stayed in the kitchen the last time Dean had cooked steaks (although he hadn’t been near the stove). It was over. He was okay now.

“Come on, man,” Dean said gently. A rough hand brushed his face, and to Sam’s humiliation he realized he was crying. “Tell me? Please?”

It was the please that broke him. Sam lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his brother, burying his tears in the older man’s shoulder. “I kept seeing…kept seeing….”

“It’s okay,” Dean murmured. One hand rested on the back of Sam’s hair, pressing him in close. It didn’t feel restrictive, just safe. “You’re okay, I’ve gotcha.”

“I should be!” Sam protested. He shoved away from Dean and wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s just meat but I look at it and all I see is the cage and it’s been years and he’s still controlling me!”

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Dean said. He gently caught Sam’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. “I wouldn’t have brought it home if I’d known it would upset you. I’m sorry, man.”

Sam was already shaking his head as his brother spoke. “It’s just so stupid.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean pulled him close again, and this time Sam collapsed into his brother’s embrace. “I’ll put it in the deep freeze. We can figure it out later, okay?”

Sam knew he was lying. Dean was going to throw it all out as soon as he got away from Sam, but he was pretending to save it for later so Sam wouldn’t argue about wasting money and food. Even so, he felt too weak to protest, and just the thought of all that meat just sitting there in the kitchen made his stomach turn.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into his brother’s shoulder.”

“Don’t be, kiddo,” Dean whispered back. “It’s gonna be okay.”

#whumptober 2020 #no 11 #psych 101 #crying #supernatural #fic #fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #hell scars #ptsd #blood tw #torture tw #whumptober2020

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anenglishmansinamorata · 5 years

Text

Contra Opinione Vulgi

Alternative Title: Contrary to Popular Belief

[Notes: Domesticity in the Modern Era]

The rain continued to come down as a figure ran towards the covered patio of the small Victorian-styled home. Struggling to balance the bag of files in both hands, the young woman was able to reach into her purse that was slung over her shoulder. It took a few more seconds than necessary to finally locate her keyholder before the female was able to insert the appropriate key into the lock.

Allowing the large ornate door to swing open, the young woman took a step inside, careful not to make a mess with her wet shoes. Stepping out of the uncomfortable pair of heels, the female sighed in relief as she wriggled her stockings-clad feet against the cold wooden floors. Taking her time in depositing her shoes into the nearby closet, the young woman felt a yawn beginning to escape her when she heard a familiar voice a few meters away from her where she was standing.

"You're home early."Arthur stood by the doorway leading into the kitchen almost made the smartly dressed woman slip on the hardwood floors.

"Don't do that." A slightly exasperated look appeared on the woman's face as she gave her husband the faint warning.

The female watched as the short-haired blonde gave her a rueful smile as he approached her, kissing her damp cheek as a sign of a silent apology before reaching for her document bag and purse. She couldn't help as a smile appeared on her face, turning her head towards her husband, she returned his affections with a peck just in the corner of his lips. A faint flush appeared on the Brit's cheeks and being the wife to such an easily flustered individual, the young woman couldn't help but tease the Englishman at times.

"Did you want these in the study?" The Englishman lifted the two items in his hands as the female removed and hung her outerwear unto a nearby coat rack.

"Please." The female gave the male a thankful smile as she made her way to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur Kirkland was not a horrible cook but rather the blonde just needed constant supervision due to some questionable decisions when in the kitchen. Her beloved bushy-browed husband was an excellent listener and surprisingly executed her instructions precisely, like now for instance. Taking the carefully prepared ingredients from the fridge, the young woman completed the main dish before placing it in the oven.

Reaching for a dish towel, she began to clean the kitchen counters before getting started on the side dish. The soft sound of slippers against the carpeted floors could soon be heard, making the female glance up from wiping the surface counters dry. The female leaned against the counter, looking quite pleased as Arthur approached the kitchen island separating them.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The blonde raised a prominent brow, watching his significant other moving towards the fridge.

"I was thinking how nice it was of you to make preparations for dinner." The female answered with a smile on her face only to receive a light scoff from the other individual in the room. "You don’t believe me?"

"Not one bit." The woman merely rolled her eyes and stifled a smile as she glanced over to the slightly red-cheeked blonde who was busying himself with washing the cherry tomatoes that he had harvested from their garden earlier that morning.

Carefully cutting the remaining cucumbers, carrots, radishes and lettuce, the woman gathered the ingredients into a large bowl before allowing the waiting blonde to drop the tomatoes inside the porcelain container. Meeting those bright viridescent eyes with a thankful smile, the smaller individual handed her husband the salad.

"I'm just going to check the salmon before I join you, Arthur."

Turning towards the oven, the female quickly opened the door allowing the fragrant aroma of the garlic and butter to fill the kitchen space. The young woman took a small knife before peeking into the thickest portion of the fish. Once satisfied with the colour and texture of the dish, the female then plated the main course into another plate before garnishing the top with a few drops of lemon juice.

Carefully carrying the platter and making her way towards the dining table which was located in the next room over, the woman placed the dish in front of the blond who couldn't help but admire the simple yet appetizing meal in front of him. Taking a seat across one other, the female couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as Arthur motioned to the food first.

"You first, love. I'm sure you're quite famished." The blonde placed a copious amount of leafy greens and a slice of baked fish into his wife's plate.

"Thank you." The female paused shortly before interjecting. "Ah, wait a moment."

The Englishman blinked in confusion as the other individual stood up from her seat. Carefully moving her chair closer to his own, the female shot her husband an impish grin who merely raised a thick brow before settling down into her chair. She had always respected the Brit's personal space but she couldn't help but wasn’t to be close to him after having such a hectic day at the office.

"Let's eat."

The female immediately turned her attention to the food on her plate, paying no mind to Arthur who seemed a little flustered at how close she seemed to be. Thankfully, the blonde didn't protest to the sudden change in the seating arrangement and instead began to eat as well. The sound of silverware against the china alongside the couple's soft conversation filled the dining room and soon enough just began to make idle chat about their day.

After a period of time, the two cleared the table and together took care of the plates with the Brit volunteering to wash whilst his wife dried the dishes. The female nudged her significant other's shoulder in a playful manner as she finished her task of wiping down the plates. Moving away to return the dishes and silverware in their respective cabinets and drawers, the young woman felt the ticklish sensation grazing her sensitive torso. The sudden touch forced a surprised yelp to come from the smaller individual as she tried to turn around only to find herself in Arthur's arms; His emerald eyes filled with mirth.

"T-that was rather uncalled for."

"I couldn't help myself." A devilish smirk found itself on Arthur's visage as he carefully tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I would appreciate that." The young female couldn't help the small tilt of her lips as she felt her husband's hand squeeze her own before pulling away to prepare them a new batch of tea.

"Ah, I forgot to tell you that the frog called earlier."

"Darling, stop calling him that." The woman lack-lusteredly admonished the Brit as she took a seat on a nearby stool and lightly resting her chin on the palm of her hand. "What did Francis ever do to deserve such a name from you?"

"Just this afternoon, he called to ask about the papers which I had sent earlier in the day but instead the conversation veered towards my hair when I was younger." The Englishman's shoulders tensed but kept his attention to the task in hand. "He is an insufferable snoutband of a wanker."

"Hmm…Was it as messy as it is today?" A grin appeared on the female's visage as her husband's head whipped in her direction before turning his attention to pouring the two of them a cup each.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." The blonde finally moved towards the smaller individual who gave him a thankful smile as she accepted the warm cup in his hand. "I don't know as to why you are friends with the frog."

"Well, He is quite fun to be around and gives wonderful advice. His impeccable taste for cuisine and fashion is only an addition to the package." The woman lifted the golden-rimmed teacup to her lips before adding. "He's not too bad on the eyes either."

As expected, Arthur's expression turned from slightly annoyed to sullen in a matter of seconds. The Englishman tried to hide his irritation as he took a sip of tea from his own cup. The silence lasted for a few more seconds until the male finally spoke up.

"If you like him so much, you should have married him instead."

Placing the teacup down, the female fought back the urge to roll her eyes at the stubborn man. The female leaned on the counter in an effort to move closer to her husband who seem to be in one of his brooding moods. Reaching for his calloused hand, the female received an unblinking gaze before she shot him a serious look of her own before speaking.

"I could have." She felt her husband's hand stiffen ever so slightly before holding tightly onto him to keep him from escaping and adding. "But I love you and so I choose you over him…and over all others, of course."

"W-what!?" The Brit stuttered as his sullen face immediately erupted into a rosy red as he tried to tug his hand away from his wife's in a weak attempt. "Stop saying such nonsense!"

"Yes, Yes." Chuckling, The female released her hold to nurse her tea again with a faint smile on her lips.

For the few years she had come to know Arthur, she had known that he was shy and sometimes awkward when it came to expressing his emotions. The blonde had tried in vain to project this image of a gentleman and underneath his stiff exterior, the blond was a passionate and kind person whom she deeply loved and definitely look forward to spending the rest of her days with.

#aph england #inamorata series

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bohrapbois · 5 years

Text

FULL MARKS

Chapter 7

A Joe Centred Chapter! A thing no one requested but I wrote anyway woo!

Description - Ben just so happens to fall head over heels for a Mysterious Man who loves baseball and cracking terrible jokes. Mysterious Man also turns out to be the father of one of Ben’s students.

Warnings - Full blown relationship Hardzello, with plenty of angst, fluff and future smut.

Word Count - 1,442

After tossing and turning most of the night, Joe had been thankful when Beth climbed into his bed and straight into his arms. Although he was feeling like shit and was still shaken up by the whole ordeal, having his daughter with him gave him something to concentrate. The rest of the night consisted of Joe stroking Beths hair over and over, long after she had fallen asleep, and with her steady breathing ghosting his collarbone, Joe managed to get some sleep in as well.

In the morning, Joe spent extra time cutting his daughter’s toast into dinosaur shapes and using extra jam on the pieces he messed up. Beth didn’t take much time admiring the artistry of her breakfast and managed to scoff them all down in the time in took Joe to pour himself some cereal.

After breakfast, it took some convincing to get the Mazzello’s off the sofa they had draped themselves on, but Joe needed to do some things today and slowly but surely, the hours were ticking by and escaping him. Closer to mid-day than intended, they locked the front door and made their way into town, hands clasped tightly.

Joe lived close enough to the town centre that he didn’t need to use the car all the time. Their house was bigger than many on the street, had a good yard and plenty of growing space - handed down to Joe from his parents who moved to the town over. The small area Joe called home was good enough for him but he understood it didn’t appeal to everyone.

Beth preferred the quiet community anyway - always outside doing something. Her favourite at the moment was making mud pies and prodding Joe until he ‘ate’ it. His lovely colourful flowers had long since been destroyed and dug out in favour of his daughter rampage of mud-pie-cafe. There was a small plastic play house in the corner of the garden, full of spiders and other insects. It had been gifted by a lovely neighbour whose children had long outgrown it, but Beth prefered to be outside in all that means. The amount of times Joe had had to chase a tiny naked Beth around the garden and pull a worm from her hand/ear/mouth.

But right now, with no worm in sight, Beth dragged her feet. She was grouchy from lack of sleep - already so concerned for others - and slightly sticky from residue jam (also known as dino blood). Joe tugged her along for a few more minutes but when she simply stopped walking and dragged her feet under her, Joe gave up, stopping and leaning down, placing his princess on his shoulders as he continued into town.

Walking into main street with his daughter clinging to his ears, Joe stopped to greet some familiar faces. It wasn’t unusual to find the young Mazzello on her father's shoulders, and a friendly shop owner was even prepared with a lolly for her to suckle on as Joe stopped and nattered about the changing weather to anyone and everyone.

An hour later, Joe’s bag full of the weeks groceries, he made a familiar turn down a certain street. Beth, now back on her own two legs, squealed and started running towards the big building. Joe had to run after her, grasping his bag to his chest so the lettuce wouldn’t escape. Beth bounded up the stone steps and rushed through the open doors, still squealing.

Joe finally got inside, only panting slightly as he stopped in the main lobby. Having been here for the last couple of years, Beth hadn’t really known a time before her dad worked at the museum, and although small, she still gave every piece her full attention.

It doesn’t really change all to often, sometimes a travelling piece comes in for a couple of weeks, but the permanent features still needed to be cared for. Joe ducked behind the reception desk, greeted John as he left his groceries on the floor before following his daughters noises deeper into the museum.

Hearing some familiar voices, Joe couldn’t stop the smile on his face even before he fully came into the Egyptian area.

Rami was kneeling next to Beth, both talking a million miles an hour about the one mummy the museum has. They have a tradition to talk to the mummy as if it was a real person and quite often would make up stories about who they were and what they did. This time, sounds like the mummy was called Mary and she was a very pretty dancer.

“And-and-and she was really good at doing twirls!” Beth demonstrated to her godfather what she was talking about and stumbled her way through a twirl.

“What did you think of Beth’s twirl, Mary?” Rami stared up at the silent mummy before turning to Beth with a grin, “said you were magnificent, darling”. Beth squealed, blushing her way through a curtsy.

Joe hung back, leaning against the large doorway, happily watching his daughter and best friend interact. Truth be told, Rami was an important part of this rag-tag family. He helped Joe through his toughest times and loneliest hours, and when Beth started to ask questions about her Mommy and why she didn’t come over much anymore, Rami would always distract the little girl and leave Joe some alone time. When Rami told him he was dating the cute veterinary nurse from down the road, Joe had been privately anxious - would this new woman pull Rami away from them? Would she not have time for Beth or Joe? Would he be alone again? But the moment he met Lucy, he knew he worried over nothing. She was brilliant, fitting in as if she had always been apart of the group and the three soon became a four.

He already had his best man suit picked out. He liked to be prepared.

After he broke up the little moment and he, Rami and Beth had wandered through to the little canteen, the events of last night came up again.

“Man, come on,” Rami had his arms wrapped around Beths waist, who was now dosing on his lap after finally giving in to the sleep her body craved, “Lucy has his address”.

“Yeah, but it’s a bit weird to turn up to the house of your daughters teacher just to ‘check up’ on him”. Just so happened that the teacher was hot and he had a crush on him, but that was for a different crisis moment, “and anyway, what would I even say!” Throwing his arms up in the air, Joe leant backwards, plastic chair creaking as it was pushed up on to it’s two back legs.

“Um, maybe something along the lines of ‘Hope your ok and that dick didn’t hurt you too bad’?”

“Nah, sounds weird,” Joe stretched further, trusting the thin legs more than he probably should.

“Why don’t you just admit you’ve been having wet dreams about him?” Rami shuffled Beth so she snuggled into his chest, freeing up one of his arms and allowing him to drink his room-temperature coke.

Joe spluttered, losing balance and crashing his chair back forward, checks red and eyes wide as he rapidly checked around the very empty room to make sure that the people who weren’t there didn’t hear that. “What the heck man!”

Rami just shrugged.

“No, no, you know what, no, it was a stupid idea anyway and I shouldn’t have even listened to you,” Joe crossed his arms and glared at Rami, ignoring his flaming ears.

“But you did, because you want to go see Mr. Hotty and need an excuse,” Rami took another slurp from his drink as he stared down his best friend. They had known each other for ten years, there was no reason to play coy and pretend not to know each other's mannerisms. Like Joe shifting his eyes just over Rami’s shoulder meant that he was right but Joe didn’t want to admit it.

“Turning up at his house ain’t cool though,” Joe mummered, “‘Oh yeah, hope you don’t mind,’” Joe began in a mocking voice, “‘My bestfriends girlfriend happens to work with your housemate and gave me your address because I think your hot and was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink sometime?’” He finished with a pointed stare and arched an eyebrow.

Rami just shrugged again, “maybe you don’t have to go in so much detail and maybe some small talk before you ask him on a date, but yeah, that’s the right idea”.

Joe just groaned, letting his head fall heavy on the table.

(Did anyone pick up on the tiny, one word cameo in this chapter?)

Tag List- @benhardy-1 @hey-holtzy @watercolouredreams @ellie-hegeman @cyndagoaway @kiraling88

#full marks #my work #my fic #hardzello #ben hardy #joe mazzello #beth mazzello #(hell yeah this little pumpkin gets her own tag now woo)#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #queen cast

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jincherie · 6 years

Text

lagom || 04

➨ hoseok x reader

➨ familiar au, magic au, shifter au, witch au

➨ 1.9k

➨prompt; "I dare you!"

“You’re literally ridiculous.”

“Stop whining, and just do it! What are you, a chicken? A turkey?”

The following chicken noises—which were a far cry from the real sound but similar enough that you knew what they were meant to be— grated on your nerves like nothing else. The urge that rose within you to plant your fist in the middle of Hoseok’s smug, mocking face was not one unfamiliar to you. You were going to have to start charging it rent at this stage, it spent enough time lurking in your subconscious. Nonetheless, you remained strong and resisted the urge. Succumbing to the clucking of a child was the mark of a fool.

“I like you so much better when you’re a fox,” you muttered forlornly, using your fork to push a small cherry tomato across your plate.

“Hey!” Hoseok let out an indignant noise that reminded you, ironically, of a squawk. “That’s slander and I won’t have it in this house!”

“We’re in a cafeteria you absolute egg,” you said, unable to help rising to even the smallest bit of bait. “Also, don’t make me muffle you.”

Your words hinted at the latest spell you’d learnt, in a desperate bid to soundproof the walls of Hoseok’s room—you could only take so much screaming as he and his friends watched movies or played games— and at the mention the fox’s face paled slightly. Your first attempt at the spell had led to a misfire of sorts and Hoseok had spent the afternoon unable to utter a word. Heaven, for you personally, but he’d beg to differ.

“You wouldn’t…” he murmured, squinting at you as though to assess whether you were bluffing. You were, for now, but you were sure that if he kept blaring each sentence out like a foghorn for all the ears in the cafeteria to hear, that would be inclined to change. He seemed to come to the conclusion that you weren’t bluffing. He sat back, crossing his arms, and sent you a glare at the ‘stalemate’ he suddenly found himself in. An idiot, your familiar was an idiot. Stupid, dumb, absolutely endearing idiot fox. You wanted to ruffle his hair.

The male sniffed, turning his head to the side as his nose followed a particularly enticing scent. Hoseok let out a long, tortured groan.

“Someone is eating an apple turnover,” he nearly sobbed, head dropping onto the table. You focused on your attempts to spear the remaining tomato as he continued morosely, “And someone else has butter chicken…. My god, someone has lamb skewers—”

The sudden, sharp CLANK of your fork finally spearing through the tomato and hitting the ceramic plate beneath had Hoseok jumping nearly a foot in the air. He yelped, quick to glare at you and save face, and you grinned widely at him as you plopped the fruit into your mouth.

“Who’s the turkey now?” you mocked, grinning evilly when he glared and sputtered.

“Not me, because I’m not the one chickening out of an actual dare!” Hoseok jabbed a finger at you, voice dropping. “You…. are the turkey here. Do the dare.”

“No,” you refused instantly, stabbing your fork into a juicy piece of lettuce. “I’m not five years old, Hoseok, and I also have dignity.”

“Where?” the shifter snorted, and you almost flicked your fork at him. Thankfully, from the amount of times you’d brought Hoseok to your campus, the occupants seemed somewhat used to his volume level. “Also, it’s not that bad—it’s not even the worst dare I could have given you! You should be thankful I’m such a benevolent companion.”

“You are the biggest little shit I have ever met—” you cut yourself off, pointing a fork at him. “Hey! We were never playing truth or dare in the first place, why are you giving me dares?!”

“Because it’s boring here, obviously,” Hoseok slumped dramatically onto the table. “My favourite teacher of yours left, Taehyung isn’t even here, and you told me I couldn’t play with Jungkook—”

“Because him and Seokjin are studying and practicing something important for an exam,” you cut him off, turning back to your meal. “Which is exactly why we can’t go and bother them. I’m not doing the dare.”

Hoseok huffed, and silence drifted between you for a few moments. You relished the fact the only sound you could hear was your own chewing and the chatter of students around you, but a part of you wondered exactly why your familiar had fallen silent now of all times and how long it was going to last.

The answer was, apparently, not long at all.

It was soft at first, so soft it was almost imperceptible and you had to strain your ears to be sure you heard it. Then, it grew in volume, and you were slamming your fork down as Hoseok clucked loudly, arms at his sides in the form of chicken wings.

“That’s it!” you burst, reaching for the wand you required for finer enchantments. “I’m muffling you—”

“NO!” Hoseok cried, lurching across the table to grasp your wrist and halt your hand in its journey. “Look, Seokjin and Jungkook are over there getting food! You can do it now! I’ll shut up if you do the dare!”

Your head swung around as he pointed, despite the distant thought that you should keep your eyes on the cheeky fox, and to your surprise you found he wasn’t actually fibbing for once. Jungkook and Seokjin stood by the dessert section of the cafeteria, the young familiar bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands clutched together in excitement as he stared at the churro currently being wrapped and passed to him. Your momentary shift in attention was broken by what you quickly discerned to be soft chanting from Hoseok’s side of the table.

“—Do the dare, do the dare, do the dare—”

You swivelled back around to send him a borderline murderous look. There was no way you were doing it, and you were quick to tell him as much. The shadow of embarrassment that resulted from the mere thought of it had your cheeks flushing slightly.

“No!” you refuted once more, smacking your palm lightly on the table. “Stop attempting to bully me, it won’t work! Why do you want me to do this stupid dare so bad anyway?”

Hoseok cut his antagonistic chanting off to grin at you, dimples making an appearance. “Because I’m bored, and it will be funny! Just do it. You know you want to. I dare you!”

“I really don’t,” you denied, although a small niggling thought in the back of your mind brought your attention to the fact that if you didn’t do it, it was probably going to bother you. Your honour, your integrity… were they really at stake here if you refused to follow Hoseok’s childish urging?

“Don’t be a party pooper, oh witch o’ mine!” Hoseok leant forward, resting his chin on fingers he’d threaded together, his elbows on the table. He wagged his brows, the familiar glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Do it. Or do I have to…”

He’d trailed off, the act somewhat threatening, and you hated the fact that you knew him so well you were already expecting the following noises before they even began to leave his mouth.

“Buck…. Buck-bck…. Bck-bck-buck!”

You stood suddenly, nearly falling over the seat that was fixed to the ground, and were quick to step over it. Hoseok was too shocked to stop his clucking as you sent him a filthy look before turning on your heel and marching over to the desserts section where the poor victim of your dare still remained with his familiar.

You cursed the fact you were really carrying out this childish dare. Perhaps the clucking had gotten to you a bit more than you’d thought. You should have known better than to think you could resist it—you were just a fool, a fool in a woman’s size 9 boots that were clacking loudly as you marched across the cafeteria.

Devouring his churro as he was, for once Jungkook wasn’t the first to notice your approach; Seokjin sent you a surprised look before a grin tugged his lips. “Oh, y/n—well, well, well… Look who finally remembered the way back to campus.”

You offered him an annoyed look in response as you closed the remaining distance between you, and the male erupted into a bout of loud laughter that almost brought a smile on your own face. Jungkook shoved the rest of the dessert into his mouth and finally noticed you now that his distraction was gone. “Oh, hey y/n. What are you doing on campus?”

You spared a watered-down version of the look you’d give Seokjin for the younger shifter, and simply turned your attention back to the witch before you. A pair of eyes burned into your back and you knew your familiar was watching expectantly.

“I’m really sorry for what I’m about to do,” you winced, apologising in advance. “Hoseok dared me and he called me a turkey.”

Seokjin blinked, confusion clear in his gaze and furrowed brows, but you didn’t give him time to question it before you took another step forward and grasped his face. You just managed to catch the bewildered expression crossing his features before you turned his head and leaned forward to smack a big wet kiss on his cheek. It lasted about a split second before you were whipping your hands off of him like they’d been burned and were waving frantically, entire body cringing in on itself from sheer embarrassment. Your feet were helping you make a quick escape before you even had to tell them to, your next words called over your shoulder as you fled.

“Good seeing you two, bye!”

With that, you left the two males staring after you in bewilderment as you scuttled back across the cafeteria from whence you came.

Hoseok sat, features frozen in the expression they’d been in before you’d pressed a kiss to Seokjin’s cheek as he’d dared you to do in front of the whole cafeteria. He could hear some people whispering, but that wasn’t what had frozen the glee in its path across his features.

No, it was the sudden, foreign feeling that was pressing against the confines of his chest, insistent in its attempts to break free. He didn’t think he’d ever felt it before—it was heavy, icky, made his thoughts go jumbled and his shoulders hunch. He’d expected to be over the moon, cackling at the obvious show of embarrassment you’d make at being dared to do such a thing, but instead…. Instead he felt like this, and he didn’t know why. He struggled to school his expression as you made a beeline back for the table, entire face flushed and eyes glaring daggers into him. He had half a mind to be scared but couldn’t muster the attention to it.

He mightn’t know what that feeling was, or why he was feeling it, but he did know that for whatever reason, despite his initial thoughts, he didn’t like the image that had burnt itself into his mind. Your hands cupping Seokjin’s face, your lips brushing his cheek—no, he didn’t like it at all. It was this, that he was left puzzling over for the rest of the day.

mlist | lagom mlist || prev. | 05 ➨prompt; “I’m not drunk enough for this”

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indieviolet · 6 years

Text

“are you still being a wet lettuce?”

Charlie swirled the liquid around the glass, necked it in one and placed the glass back down on the bar.

“Another one, please.”

As the barmaid filled up his glass with another whiskey, he hadn’t noticed Jan approach him at the bar.

“Have you spoken to her yet, or are you still been a wet lettuce?”

He rolled his eyes at her comment. Jan, just the person he needed.

“Well?”

“You’re really not helping, Jan.”

“And this is?” She gestured towards the whiskey glass, now filled to the brim with an amber liquid.

“You need to talk to her.”

He shrugged. He picked up the glass and drank the liquid in one again, repeating his actions from earlier.

“Charlie!!”

“What?!” He didn’t mean to snap but he’d had enough. He wanted to be left alone to drink, to heal the pain he felt inside. He knew the kind of person Jan was though, she didn’t ever give up. He rose an eyebrow as she sat down on the bar stool beside him.

“Do you love her?”

Charlie chuckled, “if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Jan ordered a pint at the bar along with another whiskey, not that she was encouraging him to drink anymore but the state he was in, another glass wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

“You need to talk to her, put the poor girl out of her misery.”

Charlie sighed, “I don’t want to argue.” He admitted. Having an argument was the last thing he wanted but he knew it was bound to happen. He was angry, he didn’t want to say something else he regretted. He was already regretting his earlier words of not wanting to fight anymore.

“She made a mistake.”

He closed his eyes. He’d had his heart broken numerous times in the past. Baz did it twice, Maggie broke his heart when she turned down his marriage proposal but the pain then, was nothing to how it felt now, it was much raw; much deeper.

“I know.” He finished the liquid in the glass, “and it was partly my fault.”

“Least you’re not blaming Duffy entirely.” Jan answered back.

They weren’t even two years married. It was the happiest day of his life, finally marrying the owner of his heart. He had so many plans. He just never expected it to end up like this. Her god knows where and him sitting in the pub, doing anything he could to numb the pain.

“Are you willing to give up over one, tiny mistake? Walk away at the first sign of trouble?” She shook her head, “I expected better from you, Charlie.”

He sighed once more.

“You’ve got two choices. You find her and attempt to resolve this. Or you walk away.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jan finished her pint, “it’s only as complicated as you make it.” She paused for a minute, “you strike me as the kind of bloke who’s made a few mistakes in his life.”

“I have.” Charlie admitted, too many mistakes to count or remember.

“No offence but neither of you are getting any younger. We’re all on borrowed time at our age. Some more than others.”

Charlie didn’t say anything until he suddenly declared, “You’re right, I’m being an idiot!” He stood up quickly, swaying slightly as the alcohol reacted.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Duffy,” he answered.

Jan placed a piece of paper on the table, “room 36, Green Park Hotel.”

He nodded as he took the piece of paper. Placing it in his pocket, he left the pub. He had to find her. He had to tell her, he was sorry. That somehow, they could move on from this.

Jan shook her head, if she could. She’d bang their bloody heads together.

—x—

Just a small Drabble/ficlet. True love conquers all, but my God my heart is broken. All reviews and feedback is welcome. Something to get the creative juices flowing.

#casualty #bbc #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin #jan jennings #charlie #duffy #jan #chuffy #friendship #pub #alcohol #heartbreak #fanfic #fanfiction

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shaunstoffer · 6 years

Text

I left the school I worked at in Vietnam to start a new journey backpacking Japan, visiting my family in Singapore, and to live and teach in Taiwan. I didn’t dislike Vietnam but couldn’t get past some of the cons that made me not want to extend my stay past my fifteen months of living in Ho Chi Minh City.

Some of the things I do and don’t miss about living in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam:

The corruption: My temporary residence card was a piece of crap to begin with. It cost me well over $100 and was simply a cheap quality business card that had my photo laid on top and laminated. The seal was uneven and already breaking after just a few weeks in my wallet. So, I tried to double laminate it like a stubborn fool only for it to get bizarrely stuck in the laminator and come out looking like this. As a result, I tried several different ways to leave Vietnam from trying to purchase an exit visa, paying a bribe, and hiring a man who specialized in immigration issues such as this. In the end, the only method that worked was ironically getting help from a friend’s, whose dog I was fostering, cousin who worked for immigration. He simply met me at the airport, talked to immigration for maybe one minute, and waved me through hundreds of people queued in immigration and security. Literally he instructed me to go to the staff lines, which were empty, while hundreds of people waited in the regular lines. Each employee would look at me confused, I’d point to him, he’d give a thumbs up and a nod, and they would wave me through without a second thought. It was the most impressive thing I’ve seen in a long time.The pollution: My neighborhood in district seven was among the cleanest in Ho Chi Minh City, which isn’t saying much frankly, but I still never got used to waking up and seeing smog that would conceal the sky. I ended up getting a Vietnam “cough”, something a lot of expats initially develop from the exposure to pollution and are left with no choice but to either get used to it or leave. I was missing fresh clean air and nature more than I ever imagined to the point that every holiday I took I would go somewhere with mountains or beaches or both. Fresh air is something I’ll never take for granted again. The flooding: There’s nothing more comical than watching a horde of people with their feet on the panhandles of their bikes, going a kilometer an hour, and doing everything in their power not to come to a complete stop as that would cause them to have to put their leg, sometimes thigh deep or more, in the dirty flood waters that have nowhere to go due to the poor sewage system which is regularly clogged by locals uncaringly sweeping their into the drains. It was also unpleasant to be driving to work or the gym and experience a mild drizzle turn into a full on flash flood within five minutes. Many people wear heavy raincoats while driving, as umbrellas aren’t rational, even when walking due to the strong winds. However, people typically still bring an extra outfit in their bag or wear shorts and flip flops to avoid being stuck in wet clothes the entire day.

My students:My neighborhood, Phu My Hung:An unfortunate quick stop to Singapore: I reluctantly took a trip to see my mom and her side of the family in Singapore for my birthday prior to going on a three week holiday to Japan. I was fighting a serious case of homesickness and had contemplated going back home for my holiday instead of Japan. However, after spending three days with my family I couldn’t wait to say goodbye and move on to the next adventure. Aside from a nice birthday dinner and some much appreciated birthday gifts, I was all but forgotten. No one wanted to go out to eat, I ended up getting sick again, and every conversation went to gossiping about people or questioning my every life action. “What are you going to do after you’re done teaching?” “How are you qualified to teach social studies?” “What’s this? Why are you growing a beard?” “If you don’t like it you can go eat somewhere else!” It’s been a long time since I’ve been around people who made me feel so alone and small and I attribute my coldness and lack of trust to my undesired experiences and interactions with a fair amount of my family. To them it’s normal, to me it’s something I would never tolerate from any other persons. I chalk it up to different cultures but also to a lack of understanding from both sides of my family. I’ve never been understood and people can seldom relate to me, I ultimately think it attests for a lot of my loner mentality and lack of emotions.

Fair warning Singapore is a fun place but definitely strict when it comes to drugs. If you want a party beyond alcohol, don’t come to Singapore or try your luck in Geylang.The view from my grandmother’s apartment in Braddell Place.Six different currencies I’ve managed to collect overtime. Thai baht, US dollars, Japanese yen, Malaysian ringgit, Singaporean dollars, and Vietnamese dong. (From left to right, top to bottom.)Osaka Food Market: The seafood market was easily the best and my favorite out of the three I visited in Japan. Some of my favorites of the foods I tried were Kobe beefsteak, raw sea urchins, and fresh fire-roasted scallops.

Osaka’s Streets: Osaka is absurdly clean and people follow every traffic rule there is. No one j-walks, no one loiters, and everybody is helpful and courteous despite the language barrier. In Japanese culture it is rude to stare and common courtesy is expected such as holding the door out for someone, allowing someone in a hurry to pass you by, and to greet and thank customers and patrons habitually. That being said, a lot of Japanese will still see foreigners as outsiders, especially if they do not speak Japanese. Meaning just because they are polite to you does not necessarily mean they care or want to know about you.

My regular traditional Japanese Food: Sushi and dumplings.A Guilty Pleasure: I go to a McDonalds in every country I visit because it’s always a little different from the menu to the seating. Japanese McDonalds have bacon lettuce burgers, teriyaki chicken fillets, and double beef and egg burgers for example.Vending Machines: Vending machines are sprawled out everywhere, literally every block has one. From soda to coffee to beer and even ice cream. There are very few things, especially beverages that you can’t find in vending machines in Japan.

Trains: Japan has a lot of conveniences such as toilets and breastfeeding rooms everywhere for the self-explanatory. Trains are definitely one of those conveniences offering different trains like local, sub-express, and limited express. The system is a bit confusing but there are some conveinces to help you such as maps posted every where, machine for route finders and fare adjustments, and there is almost always a tenant who speaks reasonable English at every ticketing queue.

My first experience on the train in Osaka I followed Google maps which took me on an unnecessarily longer route. I showed the ticket tenant my ticket and asked if my directions were accurate. He literally gave me my money back, bought a new, cheaper ticket, and walked me to the right line, stop, and told me when and where to get off. I had never been so thankful or respectful of someone’s courtesy and helpfulness.

7th Eleven: These are everywhere as well in Japan and offer some of the freshest meals as well ass an exceptional variety of beverages.

Toilets: Something I have to admit I miss about Japan is the toilets. The seats automatically lift up and down and there is always a set of buttons that allow you to control music, clean the toilet for you, a bidet with adjustable buttons for the spray strength and temperature. It became one of those weird things where you actually looked forward to using the toilet.

Traditional housing in Japan: Oddities: For whatever reason Japanese people love Spam, they literally have flavors I didn’t even know existed. Nightlife: Osaka has a thriving nightlife from strip clubs to highball bars to British pubs. People in Osaka are generally more open and friendly towards expats whereas many Japanese can be particularly cold to foreigners. For example, many foreigners who have tattoos are not allowed into saunas, gyms, and springs unless they find a way to cover them up. Also, many foreigners are politely unwelcome at restaurants or bars simply because they are foreigners as well as aren’t fluent in Japanese. They’ll be politely told we are closed or full.

I experienced all these things in a variety of way such as being told at a hookah bar in Kyoto that they were full, until they saw my Japanese girlfriend and magically two seats became available. I also booked a hotel in Tokyo with a Taiwanese girl who spoke Japanese and laughed when a sign posted read:

The famous Glico Running Man:

Highballs & Sake: Highballs, which are basically tall cocktails comprised of liquor, normally whiskey and a lot of club soda. At first, this drink seemed unappealing to me as I prefer whiskey on the rocks or neat, but overtime they grew on me and I ended up having numerous highballs over my time in Japan.

Sake, on the other hand, is something to be either taken as a shot or sipped and enjoyed. A general rule of thumb is that quality sake is served cold where has lower tiers are served warm. I had the pleasure of trying a variety at various bars and have to admit I became a fan of aged Suntory whiskeys.

To politely cheers in Japan you should either pour your sake bottle or be holding your sake glass with two hands to receive your sake. You should also cheers lower than the person you are cheering with.

Japan isn’t cheap to eat or drink out at and one should expect to spend around 600-700 (around $6) for a standard beer at a bar.

Hookah in Japan: I fell in love with smoking Japanese shisha in Japan because it was something cheaper, social, and I wouldn’t be comatose in bed the next day. I also happened to Casanova my way into charming a female employee who gave me quite the hook up.Traditional Japanese Eateries: What I loved about the neighborhood, Tennoji, that I stayed at in Osaka was the variety of traditional eateries a short walk down the street form my hostel. The language barrier was difficult at first as I didn’t learn how to say useful phrases such as, “one please” “thank you” or “excuse me” until after a week of practicing in Japan. I relied on Google translate, pointing at pictures, and the dumb luck of having an occasional English speaking server or chef.

Osaka Castle: Is it touristy? Yes. Is it worth it? Hell yes.

Nature and weather during summer’s June: All over fellow travel blogs and travel websites I heard that June was the worst month to visit Japan due to the lack of blooming cherry blossoms and the unfortunate rainy season. However, of the three weeks I spent in various cities in Japan it only rained, and mildly at that, a fraction of the time. There was no flooding, no heavy rain, and no thunder or lightning. A simple umbrella and you can get around no problem. As far as nature goes, there is a bit of a lack of variety in color but there are still plenty of flowers and everything is very green and pleasant to see nonetheless. Many flowers won’t be in bloom but nature is still worth visiting in parks and gardens for sure.

Survival Japanese: Simplified for English pronunciation.

One = Itchy

Yes = Hi

Cheers – Comb pie

Please – Own knee guy she mas

Thank You – are we got toe go zi mas

Excuse Me/Sorry = Sue me ma send

No Problem = Moan die nai

Story Time: My last night in Osaka I spent the day in the slums run by the Yakuza. I walk into the first restaurant I see without any foreigners and the server tells me, “only Japanese menu.” I reply “mondai nai (no problem),” and the cook comes out to take my order but instead asks me about my cauliflower ears. I explain I’m a semi-retired fighter on holiday.

We start taking about fighting and I show him old videos of me and some of my old training partners killing it right now. They start bringing up old Japanese Pride fights and ask me to send them one of my old fight pics. They print two copies out and get me to sign them and they tape one on the wall and tell me they are going to put the other up in a nearby bar. It turns into a small group of the staff but we are all vibing.

I ask them if there are any Yakuza bars nearby I should be wary of and they laugh. They tell me you’re really close to one and I go seriously? The cook pulls up his shirt to show a full back piece of Shiva and I’m like oh shit. He explains he’s lower tier but not to worry, if you respect us we’ll respect you. I offer to buy them a round of drinks and they starts cheersing me and return the favor by giving me a free meal.

We keep talking and they literally say we’re going to close the restaurant down and take you to a local bar. Being me, I reluctantly say let’s go. They literally close the place down and we go to a Yakuza bar that’s something like a speakeasy where, go figure, is the second picture hung up. The bartender’s and other patrons go what are you doing bringing this foreigner here? They go don’t worry he’s with us, he’s cool. They warn me the boss isn’t in tonight but if he decides to show up you have to leave, it’s not personal but you aren’t one of us. I tell them I understand and we start eating and drinking but then a random member stands up and slaps me in the face – twice. I stand up and square up like what the hell? They all start laughing and say we wanted to see how you would react then say don’t worry, we all like you now because you didn’t back down, it shows you have pride like us. We go shot for shot, drink for drink ALL NIGHT. Eventually, I leave and they ask for a way to contact me to keep in touch, I right down my number and bid them farewell.

Never a dull moment. This is my version of Bert’s “I Am The Machine!”

Osaka I left the school I worked at in Vietnam to start a new journey backpacking Japan, visiting my family in Singapore, and to live and teach in Taiwan.

#Asia #Backpacking #Japan #Osaka #Survival Japanese #Travel #World Travel

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iamindeedasmartypants · 6 years

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I Found, Chapter 2

Warnings: None yet.

Pairings: Dean/OC, Crowley/OC

Summary: Finn has a run in with the Winchesters, who are also looking for the mysterious Sarah Klein.

CHAPTER TWO: FINLEY JULY

One hand held her burger while the other poked at her phone, leaving a greasy smear on the screen. “No new messages,” it mocked her, though she couldn’t claim to be surprised. After the last text two days previous telling her to bring back Sarah Klein at any cost short of the woman’s life, and another telling her to be discreet about it, Crowley had refused to answer any of her twenty-seven follow up texts. Finn knew she should probably cool it, given that her situation with the King of Hell was a bit precarious, but it irked her that he wanted her to jump through any and all hoops he could think of without even an inkling as to why. She should have expected it, given the source, but even for Crowley this was surprisingly tight lipped. Just what the hell was so special about Sarah Klein, anyway?

“That’s the fourth demon this week, Sam.”

That was a word you didn’t hear every day, and Finn paused in her chewing to listen harder. The other man said something she didn’t catch, and she cursed the other people blissfully chatting over their own lunches. Had her own chair not been so close to his, she probably never would have heard the first man. There was always a chance that the word “demon” was being thrown around metaphorically, but Finn doubted that- though it did raise some new questions about her own “mission.” The demons, for the most part, answered to Crowley. If he had sent his henchmen to Utah to look for Sarah Klein as well, then what did he need her for? A demon was a match for any run of the mill human even on their worst days, so it should have been an easy open and close case. Unless Sarah Klein wasn’t a human, but if that were so, then what was she?

“You still think its related to the Klein case?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Finn’s head snapped up so fast she dripped BBQ sauce on her pants, just inches from where she had smeared toothpaste on them that morning. Surely Crowley hadn’t sent another errand bitch out to find the woman, so what was the likelihood that someone else was also looking for this target?

“You don’t? A car skids off a mountain pass on a perfectly clear day, leaving behind only one survivor, who by the way was quoted to be ranting about several people standing in the middle of the road?” The speaker was a tall man, with shaggy dark hair and the sort of looks that Finn would describe as cute, but wouldn’t be her first pick for night’s end. He was typing on a silver laptop, fortunately not noticing that she was watching. She glanced toward the other man, but his back was to her, and she wouldn’t have been able to turn without being obvious about eavesdropping. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away and picked up a wet wipe packet, ripping it open and dabbing it on the fresh stain on her pants.

“I don’t know. You heard the nurse at the hospital- Sarah was in shock, she just lost her family. She could have been ranting about a herd of hippos in the road for all the sense she was making, and apparently she’s been going to therapy for a few months for ‘visions’ anyway. I mean yeah, it’s weird that demons seem to be vacationing in Utah, but I’m not so sure this is related.”

“I just wish we could track her down and talk to her, maybe make a little more sense out of all of this. I just… have this feeling that the two are related.”

“Yeah, maybe, but why are demons looking for a botany student? Not exactly the holy roller of Satanic worshippers, botanists. Besides, you saw how well that went- I have a bruise from that shotgun barrel her mother shoved me with.” He raised a burger to his mouth and took a big bite out of it, a few pieces of lettuce falling to the tabletop.

Why indeed? Finley thought wryly. She tossed the wipe onto her half empty plate, frowning at the wet patch before glancing back at the men. Her appetite, so ravenous before, had abandoned her completely. Apparently Crowley had tried to obtain the woman through his demons, but something had stopped them. What?

“I don’t know, but I do know how we might be able to talk to her. Look at this: the funerals for her husband and son are tomorrow.” He flipped the laptop around, showing it to his companion. Finn shifted in her seat, trying her best to read the tiny font and not succeeding, but she could see the words “Kinner Funeral Home” plastered across the top in what appeared to be Edwardian Script. “You want to crash her family’s funeral?” The man’s distaste was evident- Finley didn’t even have to be able to see him to understand that much, it was in every syllable.

“Not really, but it may be the only chance we get with her mother guarding her. We can sneak in, pose as mourners, and hopefully catch her alone. It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one we’ve got right now.” Frustration and impatience were etched on the speaker’s face as he pushed a fry around his plate without moving to bring it to his mouth.

“That seems a little low, even for us. Besides, what if her mom sees us? I think she was pretty serious about that ‘come near my daughter and I’ll shoot you’ thing. I don’t really care to die again, Sammy.”

Whatever retort the man named Sam had for that died on his lips, and he made a jerking motion with his head in her direction. “Dean.” His companion turned around, and Finn fumbled desperately for anything to say that might salvage the situation, hoping to make her eavesdropping less obvious, but she came up with nothing. Her job wasn’t the type that usually yielded competition, and she hadn’t been warned that there would be any here. She shoved her hand in her pocket and fumbled for the crumpled bills she had put there that morning, moving to push herself out of her chair- only to find herself chest to chest with the man she couldn’t see previously, and what a chest it was. Finn tilted her head back to get a good look at him, which was quite the task given he was over a foot taller. She felt like a child next to him, and not for the first time, cursed her petite frame for not being more imposing.

“Do you like to eavesdrop on private conversations, Barbie?” Dean’s tone was conversational, but the look of mistrust he was giving her was anything but. Sam was behind her, keeping her from an escape, which left one of two options, as far as she was concerned- screaming and making a scene, causing problems for them but herself as well, or complying until she could get away. Given how many times Crowley had stressed haste, it appeared that Finn would be taking option B. She had seen up close what happened to the people that kept Crowley waiting too long.

“Sometimes. I was more interested in the… scenery.” She smiled prettily up at him, but his expression didn’t change. It wasn’t the right time, but she couldn’t help but notice just how damn gorgeous this man was, and had she not had the feeling he was about to attack her, she would have reached up to run a finger over his sharp cheekbones playfully. Finn’s self-interest in survival was only slightly stronger than her libido, however, and she glanced once more at the door. “Speaking of, I can explain everything if we can just take this somewhere more private?” It was a lie, but stalling for time until she came up with a plan was the best thing she could think of. Hell, maybe one of Crowley’s demons would be outside if they were truly as plentiful as these two claimed, but she doubted it. Her luck had never been that good, and the demons held no interest in her, she was forbidden fruit.

“What a great idea,” Dean said sarcastically, taking her wrist as Sam led the way outside. No one paid them any attention, no doubt thinking they knew one another, and Finn was once more struck by how oblivious humans could be. They had barely made it into the parking lot before Finn was struck in the face with water, and she spluttered in surprise, shaking her head.

“Well, she’s not a demon,” Sam stated, putting the empty water bottle back into the pocket of his jacket.

Finn glared at him, pushing wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “No shit!”

“Still doesn’t explain why she’s eavesdropping on us. Hear something interesting?” Dean leaned back against a classic Impala, watching her every move. Finn raised her brow, her silence sullen. He wanted to throw Holy Water on her and then demand answers? Good luck with that. “Silent now? You were so willing to ‘explain’ a minute ago.”“Yeah, before you gave me a shower. What the fuck?”

“I suggest you start talking.” Sam’s voice was gentler than Dean’s, but still brooked no argument. Finn turned her glare on him instead. “You were very interested when we started talking about Sarah Klein. Why? Do you know her?”

“No.” There was no use lying on that front. They would find out the minute their questions got any deeper than “who is she to you?” “Are you two crazy? Don’t you think that anyone is going to be looking at you strange for talking about demons and funeral crashing in public?” She used the hem of her shirt to mop the last of the water from her face, showing off her pierced navel. She was mildly sorry to see that Dean’s attention didn’t waver from her face, like a dog on point.

“I don’t buy it. Most people, when they think someone is crazy, don’t nearly fall out of their chair trying to get a look.” She had to give it to him, Sam was observant. It was quite annoying, but she supposed that was how he had survived this long. The hunting world wasn’t one that was very big on second chances, and for him to speak so casually of demons definitely told her he was a hunter since he obviously wasn’t a priest. “Something we said got your interest. You’re not a demon, so what was it?”

She folded her hands over her chest, looking between the two men. Inside her pocket, her phone buzzed, and she groaned inwardly. Only one person had her number, and trust him to find now an excellent time to answer her. “If I answer you, you return the favor?”

“This isn’t a negotiation. Get talking,” Dean ignored the look Sam gave him. Finn wondered whether he was always this irritable, or if she was a special case that brought it out in him.

“Fine. I’m a demon hunter.” Oh, what a lie. She was sure if Crowley could hear her now, he would nearly piss himself laughing. “My name is Finley Morris, I’m a Leo and I detest long walks on the beach, happy now?”

“What do you know about Sarah Klein?”

“About as much as you do, honestly.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “For what it’s worth, I do think there’s some credibility to your belief that she’s tied up in the sudden demon appearances here, but I haven’t seen her or talked to her. Hell, I just got here a few hours ago myself.” Dean was still looking skeptical, but she could see Sam at least partially believed her, and she sighed more out of relief than exasperation. “What? Do you want to frisk me or something?” She raised a brow at Dean, who glanced at Sam before shaking his head slightly. “I think the least you can do is tell me who you two are after kidnapping me from a perfectly good lunch.”

“I’m Sam Winchester,” the taller man stated, holding out his hand to shake hers. “This is my brother, Dean. Sorry about that, it’s been a rough few days.”

The Winchesters? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell fuck. Finn didn’t know whether to be in awe or vaguely sick. Everyone who hunted anything knew who the Winchesters were, but that was a double edged sword as well. A case the Winchesters were on could hardly be called discreet, and it definitely made her anticipated Houdini act with her target all the more difficult. “If ‘a rough few days’ can lead to kidnapping, I’d hate to see what a good day brings,” she joked, forcing herself to stay calm. Her phone buzzed again, not helping the situation. “If you two want to give me a few hours to get settled and find something a little more appropriate to wear, I’ll tag along with you to the funeral home. Before you object,” she nodded to Dean, “I’m going either way. I just figure since we’re all looking into the same case, we should work together. More eyes, you know?” She pulled her bike key out of her pocket, the goldfish keychain winking in the sunlight. “I’ll meet you here six- we can work out our game plan then.” She turned on heel before either of them could respond, the gravel crunching under her boots as she walked away. Part of her figured they wouldn’t turn up that night, but that was inconsequential. Neither of them followed her, and that was all that mattered. They might not trust her, but they weren’t in her way for the moment, and they had given her her first lead on Sarah Klein. It wasn’t the best case she had ever worked, but it was a start, and as she swung a leg over her bike, Finley whistled to herself cheerfully. Time to find some new clothes, a hotel, and to see what Crowley had to say for himself.

#dean/oc #dean winchester #crowley #crowley/oc #supernatural

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eirabach · 7 years

Text

Heathens [8/14]

Summary: After the events of Renegades, Emma finds herself the reluctant monarch of a struggling Kingdom, her only advisors a mish mash of those who’ve betrayed her in the past, and her only comfort one very uncomfortable pirate.

Believing her long lost parents could still be alive, Emma and Killian set out to find them and reunite them with both their daughter and their throne.

Easy.

Right?

Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented so far, I hope you continue to enjoy! This chapter and the next are two of my favourite things I’ve written - so I hope you like them too! All my thanks and love as ever to @phiralovesloki and @katie-dub for their beta work and general amazingness, and to @seastarved for her incredible artwork!

Rated: E. Warnings for violence and corporal/capital punishment specifically in this chapter! @killian-whump this one’s going out to you.

This chapter 4.4k

Other Pairings: Snowing

Catch up on tumblr: Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six or here on AO3

Chapter Seven: Blood on the Floor

When he’d been dragged from the cell they’d thrown him into almost as soon as they’d arrived, and the guard had left David, bemused and enraged, behind, he’d assumed some sort of… personal treatment was in order. The rack, perhaps, or the whipping post. He was no stranger to either, after all.

He’d assumed the guard’s brutish manhandling of him as he practically threw his chained body down the courtyard steps had been due to frustration with the way Killian’s knees refused to buckle at the prospect, but then he’d seen the waiting crowd, heard the slam of the pillory being opened, and suddenly, he hadn’t been so sure.

“Is this is really necessary?” Killian asks as the prison guard as he’s bodily forced into the shackles of the pillory. “If I could just speak to the king, I’m sure he’d - ”

“King’s got nothing to do with this,” the guard spits as he slams the shackles down painfully hard on Killian’s bare wrist. “This is just a bit of fun, y’see.”

“Fun for who, exactly?” Killian chokes out as the collar tightens around his neck.

“Me, of course. Ain’t got a hangman’s stomach, so this is as good as I can get.”

“You’re taking this all very - very personally,” Killian gasps as the guard gives him a solid cuff around the back of his head and sets his ears ringing.

The man stands up straight and folds his arms.

“I had a lad, once. Brave he was. Stupid, perhaps. Joined the Navy didn’t he? Your lot got him on his first voyage.”

“My lot?”

“Pirates,” the man spits, “Dirty, filthy pirates. Scum of the Earth, every last one of you, and you, oh, you are going to feel it.”

“Marvel at the great pirate Captain Hook!” he bellows to the crowd. “Come see him in all his glory! Shall we thank him, one and all, for his years at sea? Shall we show him our gratitude for his treatment of our fine navy?”

The crowd snarls and jeers, seething with hatred, as someone pushes a large wicker basket before the pillory.

“You’ve made your point,” Killian grits out from between his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your son.”

The man leans forward, his hands on his knees, and smiles.

“Too late.”

The sharp, wet smack of the first putrid vegetable sends his head reeling to the right and he grits his teeth against the sting of the laughter that follows.

“Good shot!” someone calls. “Get the stump, go on!”

A howl of agreement, and then the frame judders under the onslaught of half-black turnips and slime-coated lettuce. Killian struggles to keep his eyes open and his mouth closed as they rain down on him, acid sending his vision blurry and his head throbbing under the onslaught.

He thinks he sees, just for a moment, a young boy stood by the basket, a rotten apple in his hand as he seems to consider his shot, and over the cheers of the crows, over the thundering of his own blood, he thinks he can hear Liam calling his name.

“What you doing? Killian? Killian!”

The weight of the apple in his hand, the bruise blackened face of the man in the stocks, and Liam, Liam behind him, his hand on his shoulder, his guiding light.

“Why?” he asks, and Liam’s reply is as grim and as tight as his grip as he pulls him away.

“You can’t know another man’s story, Killian.”

Yes, brother, he thinks, his eyes closing as something harder, sharper, slashes his cheek. I can.

Killian’s only respite after the humiliation of the pillory is a barrel of icy water thrown over his head and thin prison-issue garb before he’s tossed back into the cell he shares with Dave, the promise of their looming execution on the guard’s gleeful lips.

That was three days ago, and this morning is to be the last they’ll ever see.

“Hung,” says David for the fifteenth time since dawn had risen and brought a breakfast of mackerel and eggs to the condemned men’s cell. “I’m going to be hung.”

“Hanged, actually,” says Killian with false cheer. “Thought a king might know that, but that’s royalty for you,” says Killian as he picks the bones out of his fillet. “Never appreciate their education, and all about the capital punishment until it’s their necks on the block. Perhaps if King Eric had been hugged more as a child we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“I’m a shepherd,” David says with a scowl, “About to be hung like a piece of mutton, and for what? Associating with a pirate? Perhaps if you hadn’t dragged me into this mess, I’d be at home!”

“With what, your sheep?”

“Do you have any idea,” David seethes, “what it feels like to give up? To lose everything you’ve ever loved in one fell swoop? Yes, I’d be at home with my sheep! My sheep are all I have!”

Guilt itches at the back of Killian’s neck, and he considers telling David right then, about the daughter who’d grown up to be the Saviour, the determination with which she’d set out to find her father. Her certainty that somewhere, somehow, this man’s True Love is still alive.

Waiting.

But that means telling him how Killian has failed them. How Killian watched this man’s daughter sink to the depths. How fate took her, in a way, as assuredly as it will take this man, this good-hearted shepherd King, for the sin of daring to bestow an ounce of kindness on the undeserving soul of Killian Jones.

Of admitting that Snow White will wait forever, and David is helpless to prevent it.

“Rather a desperate turn of events all around, if you ask me.” Killian says instead, shaking his head. “No. I’m sorry, your Majesty, I truly am, but I didn’t ask you to brain that bloke, did I? I wasn’t to know just being in my presence is a death sentence nowadays.”

“Your presence encourages poor choices,” says David, and shoves his plate away, “so I shouldn’t be surprised. How can you eat at a time like this?”

“Well, there’s not much else to be done about it,” Killian says with a shrug. “And it’s pretty good, you sure you don’t want any?”

“Am I sure - ” David sucks a breath between his teeth. “Do you even have a plan to get out of here?”

Killian drops his fork and any attempts at pretense, his expression darkening as he looks out of the barred window towards the shadow of the gallows.

“None whatsoever.”

“So what, you’re just going to die?”

“Maybe it’s time,” he says. “I’ve lived a long, long time, mate, and there’s more I love waiting for me there than there is remaining here.”

“Me, too,” says David, letting his head hang back against the stone wall. “I never thought I'd be scared, you know? I thought - I thought when it was time, I’d be ready. Ready to join Snow. And yet - ” He lets his head loll to the side. “Are you so sure they’re waiting for you?”

“I’m not a priest,” Killian says. “Far from it. But I’d like to think - what’s the alternative, eh? Nothing? Can’t be worse than here.”

“Can’t it?” asks David, and sighs. “I wish I knew, that’s all.”

Killian swallows hard and looks at his feet, bare apart from the chain around his ankles. He doesn't know if his next words are cruelty or comfort, but he knows he can't go to the gallows with them unsaid. Not when David’s desperation is so familiar to him.

He wishes he knew, too.

“Your daughter - Emma - ” he stops, pausing to swallow the ache that seems to follow her name. “What if I told you I know that she’s waiting for you?”

“How would you know that?” David laughs grimly, then his brow furrows. “How do you know her name?”

“Because,” Killian sighs. “I rather hope she’s waiting for me, too.”

“You know Emma?” David says, scrambling up onto his knees. “How? Why? Are you telling me she’s - ” His mouth works helplessly around the last word, his face bright red.

“Gone?” Killian winces at the word. “Aye. I loved her, but I couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save any of them.” He looks back out of the window. The clouds are gathering now, the wind picking up. It won’t be long. “Not even myself.”

“What do you mean, you loved her?” asks David, rearing back against the wall of the cell, his already pale face blanching to the colour of the stone behind him. “What happened - what did you do to her!”

“Nothing,” Killian insists, shaking his head against the implied accusation even as guilt makes his last meal sit unsteady in his stomach. “Nothing she didn’t ask me to! I was her - ” and it’s his turn to pause, the words tripping over themselves to escape and yet none of them quite right - lover, consort, captain - “friend!” His shoulders sink, the realisation stinging at the back of his eyes. “I was her best friend. And she was mine.”

“And she was alive,” David says softly, his eyes far away. “And you loved her.”

“I did. I do.” Killian shakes his head. “We were looking for you, you know. I don’t think this is quite the reunion she had in mind.”

“Looking for me?”

“Aye. You and the Lady Snow.” He smiles, a sad, wistful little thing, but genuine enough. “We were neither of us cut out to rule. Emma had the idea that the two of you may be better suited. I don’t think she was expecting - well.”

He gestures to David, but he’s too busy gaping to take any offence.

“But Snow’s - and Regina, is she - ”

“Dead, mate?” Through the window they hear the sound of a hundred or more feet skittering over the cobbles, voices raised in excitement, as the dark figure of the hangman strides past their cell door. “Aren’t we all?”

The crowd that forces its way through the prison gates and into the courtyard ebbs and flows like a sea of humanity baying for blood, small children propped on their father’s shoulders, young girls shrieking with laughter at their friends.

Emma spits bile over the parapet above their heads, and hopes it lands in their eyes.

“This is entertainment?” she hisses. Ariel wrings her hands, her long red locks covered in a heavy cloak.

“It’s been a hard winter,” she says. “The suffering - ”

“Clearly wasn’t enough,” Emma growls.

“Emma, please,” Ariel pleads, “you must remember that this is a seafaring nation - these people have lost many loved ones to pirates - and your Killian Jones is no innocent man.”

“I told you,” Emma says, her eyes flicking over the crowd, searching for something, anything, that might act as an escape route. “He’s changed.”

“And I believe that,” says Ariel. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I know.” Emma reaches out and squeezes Ariel’s hand. “I know what you’re risking for us. Thank you.”

“As I said, I’m an old romantic,” Ariel says, and then adds wryly, “and completely mad.”

She pulls a steel hook from the confines of her cloak, handing it over to Emma with a wink and a smile.

“Please don't ask what I had to do to get that.”

Emma squeezes the metal tightly, and tucks it into the waist of her breeches.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Ariel shakes her head. “Don't thank me yet.”

There’s a last push from the rear of the crowd, and then the iron gates are drawn shut behind them with an ominous creak, a hush falling over the crowd as the hangman strides out onto the gallows.

“I’ll spare you as much time as I can,” whispers Ariel, “but the rest of it’s up to you. Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” Emma says, watching the loop and the turn of the ropes as they’re attached. Two of them. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Easier said than done,” mutters Ariel, and she turns to scurry down a staircase to join the masses below leaving Emma alone with nothing but her roiling stomach for company.

She hasn’t got a clue what she’s doing. No plan, no resources, just a view of a gallows, and the sure and certain knowledge that she won’t survive watching him die, and someway, somehow, that’s going to have to be enough.

She’s still got her sword, and her dagger tucked into her breeches, she’s still got her wits - such as they are right now - and she’s got Ariel’s sworn promise of distraction. At her feet are a couple of half barrels, mainly empty after a rainless few days - and the flag of the Maritime Kingdom flutters in the breeze from a flagpole that juts up beneath her.

She sees more than hears the frisson of excitement that runs through the crowd as the metal doors of the prison grind open, people standing on their tiptoes and elbowing each other for a better view of the damned men as they're dragged out onto the dais.

There's an older man with graying curls and a mutinous expression who shakes his captors' hands from his shoulders and stands surveying the crowd like a man who’s found himself in a terrible dream, his bearing almost regal despite the way his hands are tied behind his back, and then - and then - there's Killian.

If the other man looks mutinous, then Killian's expression can only be described as - well, cheerful. He nods to the crowd, throws a wink to the young girls who've pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and practically swaggers his way to his own death.

She wouldn't have expected anything else, not really. Once a showman, always a showman, but this isn't a swan song she's prepared to witness.

The barrel wobbles beneath her as she tests her weight against it, her focus split between where the older man appears to have chosen to berate Killian with his last words and the gentle sway of the flagpole.

If she misses this, she isn’t going to be witnessing anything. Ever again.

No pressure.

She waits for the moment Ariel mounts the dais, the little hand gesture the two of them had agreed upon the only hint that the queen isn’t truly there to pass final judgement on the ne’er do wells alongside her, leans forward, and jumps.

She hits the flagpole with a clatter, tangling herself helplessly in the flag as she scrambles for grip before clinging on to the wooden pole like an infant chimera to its mother’s back. The crowd at the base of the flagpole looks up in shock as the pole begins to sway alarmingly beneath her sudden weight, and she sort of grimaces down at them in a way she hopes is reassuring. A small child opens her mouth as though to scream and Emma shakes her head furiously, struggling to press a finger against her lips. Luckily, Ariel takes the opportunity to clear her throat, and their attention is drawn back to the gallows.

“Citizens of the Marine Kingdom,” she begins in her bell-like voice as Emma begins to shimmy indelicately down the pole. “It is always a sorrow for my husband and I to proceed with events such as these, but it is our duty to see that justice is done for the - ” Emma slips, only her right elbow catching in the rope stopping her from falling the fifteen feet to the ground below, and Ariel stumbles. “For the good - and the - the glory - ” Emma untangles herself enough to slide another five feet, and is judging the remaining drop when the hangman moves to cover Killian and the other man’s faces with the rough sacking hood they’re to die in. Killian’s mouth is moving, she can see it from here even though she’s no hope of hearing him, and gods help her but it looks like Emma.

“I’m coming,” she says, all air and fear leaving her in a single breath, and falls.

He remembers the queen, not like this - oddly nervous, her hands twisting in the silk of her cloak as she condemns the already dead - but younger, bolder, with a tail made of shining scales and a passion beyond his tormented understanding. He wonders for half a moment if he shouldn’t appeal directly to her, for Dave’s sake if not his own, but her eyes are fixed firmly on the crowd, her back forever turned to him, as David continues to mutter pointless threats beneath his breath.

“If there is an afterlife,” David hisses, “I will kill you in it, be sure of that.”

“That would be more frightening if it weren’t for the noose,” Killian mutters out of the side of his mouth. “It rather takes priority.”

“I can make it frightening,” David assures him. “You wait.”

“You’re assuming I’ll see you there,” Killian adds. “Rather hopeful of you, but thanks anyway.”

“That’s enough,” spits the hangman. “Her Majesty is speaking and your breaths are numbered. Save ‘em.”

“For what?” snipes David, and his head is covered by the hanged man’s hood.

Killian swallows hard, and for a moment lets his eyes close, runs through the faces he can only hope are waiting for him on the other side. His mother, Liam, Milah.

Emma.

He opens his eyes one last time as the hood descends, and for one moment he thinks he can see her, a vision floating above the crowd, her golden hair wild in the breeze, and then he sees no more.

She scrabbles to her feet as the drums begin to roll, their thunder rolling out as the crowd surge onto their tiptoes, all desperate for a glimpse of death at work. Elbowing her way through them, hand tight on her sword’s pommel, she finds herself fervently muttering aloud, her breaths cut short and quick in desperation as though she's willing him to hear her somehow even if it's the last thing he ever hears.

I love you I love you I love you I love you.

She's never told him. Never. And the drums reach a crescendo, the crowd surges forward, tears running hot down her cheeks, Ariel’s frightened face blurred and distorted.

The hangman pulls.

The trapdoor drops.

The world stops.

She doesn’t know how she gets from twelve feet away to the gallows in less than a breath, nor why the hangman is bleeding at her feet, only that the ropes are swinging and their feet are twitching and her sword is sharp, sharp sharp as she slashes the first man down. Somebody’s screaming, several somebodies, the whole world, probably, but it’s far away - only I love you on her white, cracked lips as she rips off the hood.

The man stares up at her through bloodshot, watery eyes, as she throws him aside.

“Not you,” she hisses, and maybe he balks at that - she feels like he balks at it, his rheumy gaze fixed on her - but she hasn’t time to care. Another swipe, another clatter of bone against wood, and she’s dragging him to her, her tears wet against his sackcloth skin. She rips off the hood only to realise that beneath he’s too pale, blueish lips and still lashes, a violent, livid mark at his throat where the rope has tightened.

“Don’t be dead,” she whisper-sobs, her sword abandoned as her hands rove over his too still chest. “Don’t be dead. I’ll kill you.”

“Emma?” The other man is behind her now, her sword in his hand. “Emma, is that you?”

“Don’t be dead,” is all she can manage, and he shakes his head, the movement jerky like a man rising from a dream.

“You need to go!” Ariel, still stood at the front of the gallows, her arms held out placatingly towards them as though warding off enemies of the crown, speaks through gritted teeth, her eyes wild. “The guards!”

And sure enough over the echoing screams and gasps of the crowd and her own panicked breath, Emma can hear the approach of chainmail and hooves.

“I can’t,” she says, her fingers tight in the worn fabric of Killian’s shirt, “I can’t leave him.”

“Then you’ll die with him!”

“Emma, please,” entreats the stranger, “it’s too late.”

“No.” The guards are upon them she imagines, Ariel frantically thinking of a way to keep them back a moment or two longer, but it doesn’t matter. “No,” she mumbles, “I just got him back.”

She squeezes her eyes tight against the tears that keep falling, takes a deep breath, and presses her lips to his cold ones to breathe life into his lungs - once, twice, three times.

“Don’t you dare,” she pleads, and behind her heavy footsteps mount the gallows, loud voices, large hands that reach out and grab at her clothes.

She has no idea how she does it, only that she does, her hands thrown out in front of her as she twists around and lightning streaking through the air. The crowd scream as one, the sound of a hundred frightened pairs of feet thundering through the wood beneath her as she scrunches her face up in concentration, the white light from her fingertips sending the guards wincing backwards.

“No,” she pants out. “I don’t think so.”

The swords that the guards had been holding are ripped free and arc towards her, the men’s astonished expressions the last thing she sees before she grabs hold of Killian’s sleeve with one hand and hooks her ankle around his companion’s leg, closing her eyes and willing the fire within her to get us out of here, get us out of here please!

The screaming stops, suddenly, replaced by the sound of bird call and the drip, drip, drip of rain falling softly through the canopy.

Her sword drops to the floor with a dull thud, the man who had been holding it staring around himself in bemused wonder, but she only has eyes for Killian, only cares for the slight pink plush returning to his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelids as he draws first one rasping breath and then another.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she hisses again, “not ever, do you hear?”

He smiles, a small uptick at the corner of his mouth.

“Never, love. Never.”

“Good,” she snaps, and thumps him hard enough in the shoulder to send him roiling and wretching against the forest floor.

“Oh, shit, shit I didn’t mean - “

“It’s quite alright, love,” he gasps out once his stomach is empty. “No doubt I deserve it.”

“No doubt you do,” grumbles the other man. “Are you always this much of a drama queen?”

“It’s a habit that doesn’t only apply when at death’s door, I’m afraid. Why, does that put you off wanting to kill me?” he manages, before coughs wrack his body. Emma rests her hand on his back and scowls up at the other man.

“Who are you?” she asks sharply, rubbing firmly between Killian’s shoulder blades as he hacks into the grass. “And how the fuck did we get here? Was that me? How - ”

The man’s jaw twitches, and he shrugs in a poor showing of nonchalance.

“Damned if I know. There was smoke - and this bright light - and then,” he gestures around them, “we were here. Wherever here is.”

“Magic,” Killian says, smiling up at Emma between coughs. “That’s my girl.”

She shakes her head, but he nods, wincing at the action.

“You might not know how you did it, Swan, but you saved us all. Again.”

“The Saviour,” says the other man, the word falling out on a long breath, his eyes wide. “It’s true.”

“I don’t do autographs,” she says sharply, “but you’re welcome, I guess.”

“No, I - ”

“Swan,” says Killian, something bright and cheeky and delightfully comforting flickering to life in his gaze, “I’d like you to meet my new mate.”

“I’m not your - ”

“Dave, meet your daughter. Swan, King David of Misthaven.”

“Wait, what?” Emma's jaw drops, the blood draining from her face as she stares up at the man she rescued entirely by accident. The man with long, grey blond hair and a set to his shoulders that makes her muscles twinge in recognition. “You're the King of Misthaven?”

“No,” he says, his voice cracking, “not for a lifetime - but Emma, oh Emma, I thought you were dead.”

He scoops her up from the floor and into his arms, his hand cradling the back of her head as though she's an infant, and she stiffens instantly, the feeling both awkwardly unfamiliar and strangely right. He holds on regardless, his arms shaking slightly as he holds her tight.

“Where did you go?” he asks, the words pressed into the crown of her head. “Where have you been?”

“I rather think that's a question she's been planning to ask you, mate,” Killian says, still crumpled forward on the forest floor, and Emma forces herself to pull back from the embrace.

“Something like that,” she says. “You never found me.”

“I didn't know I could,” David says, and she can see the truth in his eyes, hear it in the gaps between his staggered breaths. “If I'd known, Emma, if I'd known - ”

She steps back, her palm held up between them, and shakes her head. It hurts, the thought of him wondering, looking, wanting her, hurts deep in a part of her soul that she'd thought she'd buried long ago, and she can't face it. Not now, lost in the wilds with this man who claims to be her father and Killian wheezing at her feet.

“Not now,” she says as his eyes widen in disappointment. “Not - not never, but not now.”

“Alright,” he says, and reaches down to pick up her sword, handing it back to her with a bow of his head. He lifts the two guardsmen’s swords that have accompanied them to wherever the hell they are, testing the weight of them and smiling slightly. “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” she says, and heaves Killian to his feet, shifting her weight as he leans heavily against her. “Literally, anywhere.”

“Together?” he asks hopefully, swinging Killians other arm over his shoulder, and she manages a smile.

“Together.”

#cs ff #cs fic #csbb #cs crew #captain swan #clare vs heathens #clare vs writers block #the chapter that made killiancygus attempt to blow her nose on a cat #my lifetime achievement

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braingaryshortstuff · 4 years

Text

Richie’s Revolution

Richie kicked the door to his office open with a slippered foot. His arms were full with a very high-stakes balancing-act, between the plastic grocery bags full of money, the Mossberg shotgun nestled in the crooks of his elbows, and a half-pound of reefer smashed against his chest in an Armani shirt that had been tied into a bindle to better hold the sticky nuggets. A 12-pack of Pabst dangled from the fingertips of one hand.

The twenty-eight-year-old portfolio manager had had one hell of a night; Starting innocently enough with some colleagues enjoying some cocaine, cocktails and crappy chinese food had ended with Richard being dragged through a sort of cosmic hellscape within his own mind, where over the course of a few hours, he had died again and again and again. He couldn’t be sure what had happened, although he suspected (correctly) that one of the smug, liberal hipsters from the bar had slipped something in his fourth or fifth martini, likely while he was showing them all pictures of his yacht on his phone, a visual aid used to support a long-winded, unsolicited lecture on the merits of hard-work and faith in the economy.

The experience began for Richie about 15 minutes later when, without warning, he began to projectile vomit mid-sentence. The stream of pink shrimp cocktail, grey Lo Mein and several stiff drinks and their respective olives blasted some poor young lady right in the face, as if she had been hit by a hose full of pies.

Richie didn’t remember much after that, but when he came around hours later, shirtless, dripping wet and staring at the bottom of the Hennepin Avenue bridge, he laughed and laughed at the punchline of The Great Cosmic Joke™.

It was now five in the morning. He sat at his desk in his empty office downtown with all the lights out in his robe, rolling one of the biggest joints the midwest had ever seen on a stack of printed spreadsheets and working on the first of six tall cans of beer, still smirking and giggling.

In a few hours, his colleagues would begin to arrive, and soon after that, they’d be in on the joke. He’d have a fat, sticky joint for every goddamn person on that floor, and once they were all sufficiently imbibed and on the same mental and spiritual page, Richie planned on sharing the punchline with them, in an effort to emancipate them from the day-to-day slog that they called their careers. He would tell them about the nature of reality, about the miracle that was the sustainability of all life on this planet, and the delicate, constant balancing act of circumstances it required. He would tell them that every dandelion was every bit as meaningful and important as any given human, cosmically speaking, and how they were all existence manifested; Mooshy sacks of protein and water and electricity arranged in a manner that allows it to experience the universe around itself, the universe that they were very much a part of, like cosmic nerve-endings in the body of existence. He would tell them of Heat Death and the nature of time. They would discuss the nuances of exploding stars and the roles they play in creation as we know it at great length. He supposed after that, his colleagues would probably need a few hours to meditate and discuss and digest this new information. He also thought to himself that they’d likely need more grass.

The shotgun was for the revolution, obviously. He didn’t have ammunition for it, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on firing it once, but rather using it as a symbol of The Resistance. Unlike any before it, Richie’s revolution would be one that took place without a single shot being fired. He thought it funny, the notion of bringing an old, unloaded shotgun as the main tool of the coming revolt, as if to smile smugly and say “Well, they said we’d need to be armed, so we brought this”.

In the latter-stages, he envisioned drones dropping bales of Maui Wowie through the sky-lights of condos and onto the porches of suburban homes. He saw neighbors who had never actually spoken tossing footballs and grilling in their yards together. He saw children running and laughing and playing while teenage youths, no longer saddled with the angst and pressure from a daunting miserable existence, painting in the grass, practicing writing poetry, and teaching each other how to kiss. After a few weeks of this, abandoned cash bills of all denominations would be seen dancing in the breeze, collectively forgotten by a people working toward repairing generations of degraded empathy and selfish pursuit. Where they went from there was unclear to Richie, and he didn’t care. He was excited to be the catalyst for global change, and in a few short hours when the rest of the office got there, he would take the first steps toward bearing witness to the next step in the story of mankind’s evolution.

He put his dirty, slippered feet up on the desk next to the pile of aromatic, dried flower buds and took a long pull of his award-winning beverage, washing it down with a long drag and an even longer smile.

******************

“Good morning, and thanks for tuning in, I’m Kurt Bootlap. Our top story this morning is one that unfolded only hours ago downtown at the offices of a corporate hedge-fund management company. We now go live to our reporter on the scene, Trisha Mosquitos. What’s the situation like there now, Trisha?”

A young reporter stands frozen in-place holding a large coffee. She’s washed in LED light, and slathered in HD make-up, but not quite enough to hide her tiredness. A production assistant reaches into frame and takes the coffee out of her hand and replaces it with a microphone. Trisha has a huge, fake smile for some reason.

“Thanks Kurt, I’m here on the scene of what local authorities are calling ‘the strangest and most short-lived stand-off in history’, and here with me live is one of the witnesses, a woman who works in the office where this all took place. Ma’am, what can you tell us about what happened here this morning?”

A woman in her fifties wearing thick glasses and a pile of grey hair steps into the shot wearing one of those drab blankets that firefighters give to people to wear after being pulled from burning buildings.

“Well, I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped off the elevator, because I could smell that someone had been smoking that awful jazz cabbage-.”

“ ‘Jazz cabbage’, Ma’am?”

“You know…’Laser-Lettuce’...’The Oregano of Confusion’...”

“Marijuana, Ma’am?”

“Probably that too. Anyway, I start turning lights on and I turn around and I just about jumped out of my skin when I saw one of the managers standing in the doorway of his office with his robe hanging open. He had a beer in one hand and a shotgun in the other, babbling about the “dancing spheres” and the “hidden language of three’s” and a whole bunch of other nonsense.”

“And what did you do?”

“I told him he should go home and that I was going to call the police. That was when he tried to grab me.”

“So there was a struggle? He assaulted you?”

“No, it was more like persistent, aggressive hugging...It was completely unwanted, but not exactly life-threatening. Nonetheless, I phoned the sheriff as soon as I got a hand free.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, for your harrowing story, and we wish you a speedy recovery. Also joining me this morning is county Sheriff Harry Diabetis, who responded to the scene with at least three dozen of his fellow officers. Sheriff what do you make of this morning’s events?”

A portly man in his fifties shoulder-nudges the blanketed woman out of the way, stepping into frame. He’s bulging out of a crisp, sharply-pressed uniform, and sweating heavily despite the early hour. There was no chance the man could pick a brussel sprout out of a line-up, and he hadn’t had a glass of water since he got the flu eight years ago. He grinned from ear-to-ear.

“Well, as you can see, my men quickly responded, and everyone can feel safe and carry on with their day.”

“You don’t think this was an unusual event, sir?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean it was weirder than a rattlesnake’s arm-pit, but again, it was quickly brought under control by the swift actions of the deputies of my department, so, y’know…’Back to our previously scheduled Monday’ I guess.”

“What can you tell us about the alleged perpetrator?”

“Well, there’s not much to tell, he was a young fella who broke into his workplace in his britches and decided to get all goofed up, and presumably shoot up the place with this assault weapon.”

The sheriff raised Richie’s old, weathered shotgun, an evidence sticker dangling from a tag on the trigger. One of its’ two rusty barrels fell away, clanging against the street at the sheriff’s feet.

“Well thanks to the great work of your force, thankfully that wasn’t used to harm anyone.”

“Er...Right. Anyway, the suspect approached the officers tasked with penetrating the perimeter, despite their warnings to stop and put down the weapon and all that. He was babbling on about throwing away their guns and badges and burning their wallets, saying it was keeping them from loving each other and asking if they’d ever really been hugged...Basically a bunch of hippy horse-crap. He was all messed up on god-knows-what, so it was pretty easy to take him down.”

“So the suspect is in your custody?”

“Oh my, no, we shot that poor boy to pieces. No we don’t have the room in our detention facilities for that kind of a thing, what with it being the Monday after St. Paddy’s Day and all.”

“Naturally. Well, thank you for taking the time to talk with us this morning Sheriff, and of course, thank you for all your hard work keeping this community safe.”

“It’s my pleasure, Ma’am.”

“Another tragic end to what could have been pandemonium in the streets this morning, prevented by a capable police force, and leaving another work-week unhindered for the people of our great city...Back to you, Kurt.”

“Thanks, Trisha. Coming up next, could the president’s history of gum-disease make him appear weak at the upcoming middle-east peace talks? And later, a local man gets a lesson in defensive driving from some very unlikely teachers; a pack of pregnant squirrels. Stay tuned, we’ll be right back after this.”

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amercurialbeing · 7 years

Text

Pink-haired Woman

Rating: T

Summary: "Why don't you stay in the village for a while?" "Too dangerous." "At least show yourself to your wife." "Did something happen?" He sighed, sounding a bit disappointed. "Nothing. But it'll do something right." And the words came out as if he's also lecturing himself.

a/n: A short story for Sakura this mother's day. And this is my entry for Day 7 of SasuSaku Week: Free Choice. Hope you guys like it :)

I don't own Naruto. Also posted in AliceInRealWorld.

"Why don't you stay in the village for a while?"

"Too dangerous."

Time of arrival: 7:00 pm.

"At least show yourself to your wife."

"Did something happen?"

Mission status: Ongoing.

He sighed, sounding a bit disappointed.

"Nothing. But it'll do something right."

And the words came out as if he's also lecturing himself.

I arrived earlier than expected. So, with my chakra scrupulously hidden, I decided to use my limited time watching them from the shadows.

The first thing I saw was her pink hair. It had grown long, flowing down to her slim waist. She tied it into a loose braid to keep it brushing her face as she chopped vegetables. From the shadows, I could hear the boiling broth and smell the calming aroma. I also observed the changes she had done in the manor: it's now brighter and more welcoming, contrary to the daunting abode from a memory of my youth. Before, returning here was a curse. Now, it's tempting me to come out of my hiding, inviting me to join their perpetual supper.

And I almost did. But I held my ground as the door noisily opened and an unfamiliar voice announced, "Tadaima!"

"Okairi," Sakura replied, turning her body slightly to give the person a gaiety smile. Eventually, a child maybe around six years old came into view. She bore jet black hair that framed her spectacled face. "How's your day, Sarada-chan?"

"Sarada..." I mumbled as a part of me wondered, ‘When did she get so tall? How did she get so tall? Aren't those Karin's-' I counted with my fingers. 'How long have I been traveling through dimensions..?'

"For a while now," Sakura replied lightly. With a flinch, my attention returned to the scene. I reminded myself that her words were for Sarada's question which I didn't hear.

"Okay, I'll go change." Sarada disappeared upon ascending the stairs.

Sakura went back to her task. She started to prance around the kitchen, accomplishing multiple tasks at once. Her thick locks swayed along her practiced movements. Her skilled hands moved about her domain.

And I mused when the last time I was this thoroughly amazed as...

She tested the broth, added a little bit of salt.

She shaped the rice balls, placed them artfully on a plate.

She rinsed the lettuce, garnished them with tomatoes and citrus.

She paused for a moment, probably debating if she should have the same thing in the morning.

She stacked her used utilities. She wiped her few spills.

She washed her hands then wiped them dry. She slid her apron off then hung them by-

The phone rang. With a raised brow, she picked it up. She pinned the receiver between her temple and shoulder.

"Dr. Uchiha speaking," Her relaxed expression was replaced by concentration. "How are the children, Nurse Michiko?"

She began fixing the table-placemats, plates, spoons and forks-

"He finally woke up?!" Her calculating eyes glistened with relief. "Thank goodness! Now, after you check his sutures, I want you to give him this concoction that I made..."

-cups of tea, bowls of soup, a tray of rice ball and a serving of salad.

"...yes, place all the reports on my desk." She switched ears. "Tell his mom that he's first on my rounds tomorrow. Yes. Thank you so much!"

She returned the receiver. She went by the window. She leaned on the sill. She's probably checking her mental list, to see if her work was done.

Her back showed off the Uchiha crest. A warm sensation spread across my chest. A dazed sigh escaped my lips, 'when was the last time I...'

Gradually, the memories relayed like flipping pages of a book.

Awakening beside her. Kissing her awake. Falling in love. Cooking her breakfast. Watching her breast-feed. Fighting over the bathroom. Laughing at inside jokes. Tapping our foreheads. Wondering about them during work. Musing what's for dinner. Returning home. Wrapping my arms around her waist. Kissing her neck, her temple, her forehead. Enveloping Sarada's small frame. Waiting for dinner. Listening to Sarada's babbles. Receiving her sloppy smooch.

Having supper together. Cleaning up the table. Preparing for bed. Closing my eyes. Occasionally making love. Falling in love. Falling asleep. Feeling secure knowing that this was more than a dream.

Sakura clasped her hands in satisfaction. She turned around then smiled to herself. She gaped at the starry sky; a part of me already knew her wish. She laughed at herself. "You know, I cooked your favorite dish."

Then she shifted her gaze at the Sakura tree, her emerald eyes directly looking at me.

My heart beat began to rise. Dry mouth. Sweaty palms. I got lost in her maze.

Everything went blank. All focus was on her. And I surmised uncharacteristically, 'everything is her.'

God. What did I do to deserve this perfect piece of art?

"What are you looking at, mama?" Sarada appeared all of a sudden. Her onyx eyes followed her look. I held my breath, realizing that I had lost my grasp of the chakra-masking jutsu.

I backed away, trying to refocus my chakra.

She stared at my direction for ten nervous seconds before giving me a sweet grin, "Nothing. She replied lightly. "I thought I saw a falcon on that tree." She pointed at me.

My shoulders tensed.

"Falcon?" Sarada squinted, confusion written on her face. "All I can see is the Sakura tree, mama."

"Yeah," Sakura giggled knowingly. She put a hand on Sarada's shoulder then led her to the dining table, "Guess it's just my imagination. Let's have dinner!"

Then relaxed again.

Sarada raised an eyebrow at the 'Sakura tree' before dismissively shrugging. "A-ah... Before that mama…" she rummaged through her duffel bag in a hesitant manner. Focused eyes told a story that she had rehearsed for what was to come. She then carefully pulled out a ribbon-bound plastic container. With a nervous smile, she greeted, "Happy mother's day!"

'So Naruto was referring to...' A wave of guilt crept in.

"Eh? B-but the breakfast you cooked for me earlier is enough Sara-chan! You shouldn't have!" Sakura timidly accepted the parcel yet her lips curved from ear to ear.

She opened it and revealed a dozen of syrup-coated anko dumplings. A surprised gasp escaped her lips, in an instant, her smaragdine eyes widened in pure delight. "Oh wow! Thank you so much, love!" She unceremoniously pulled her daughter in one of her bear hugs.

Sarada returned the affectionate gesture, wrapping her arms around her torso and burying her face in her braids. "I-I thought that this could be like... Papa's sort of… representative..?" She laughed weakly.

A glint of cognizance flashed in Sakura's eyes before stifling a chortle. "Is that so... What gave you that idea, love?"

Sarada glued her look on the floor as her fingers fidgeted the hem of her skirt. "B-because I saw the seventh t-treating Auntie Hinata a-and-" She bit her lip, trying to surpass a heave.

Sakura’s smile wearied. She placed the sweets on the dining table first before gingerly squatting down to Sarada's eye level. She placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "And?"

It was perhaps her mother's tender gesture that encouraged her to look back at Sakura's eyes. Sarada bit her lip, scrunched her brows then shed a guilty tear.

"M-mama... I know that you're tired of this question, b-but where is papa?"

I felt my heart break along with her voice. I gritted my teeth as thousands of contrite words flooded my mind. Every one of them, I rejected for I knew there's no excuse that would bring back the times I was away.

I clenched my fist until it's pale white. 'And more to come.'

"He..." My wife thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. She threw a gander at the Sakura tree then started, "remember the story of the falcon?"

Sarada wiped her wet cheeks. "T-the falcon living on the Sakura tree..."

"The Sakura tree that is located in a sacred forest. A sacred, bountiful forest which is targeted by many selfish people. So, in order to protect its home, and the forest, the falcon took it upon itself to fly around the world to defeat the enemies."

Sakura nodded. "Papa... is like the falcon." Sakura gently angled Sarada's head to my direction. Our onyx eyes clashed. "He's on a very important mission to protect the village." She raised a hand then tapped Sarada's forehead. "To protect you."

I felt my eyes brim. I leaned my body on the Sakura's trunk as all of my strength mysteriously drained. The admiration that I felt from watching Sakura earlier, intensified. This time, it's mixed with pride and joy and overflowing gratitude.

So much so, my heart ached with urge, an ample amount of courage to perpetually announce to the world (in many ways than one) that, 'This is Sakura Uchiha. She is my wife, the mother of my child.'

The most amazing woman in the world.

"Always remember, love, our hearts are connected. No matter what happens, wherever papa is right now, he's always thinking of us."

Sarada threw her arms around her mother's again, "I love you mama.” She sobbed. “Thank you so much for taking care of me... even if papa..."

"Shh..." Sakura rested her chin on Sarada's head then brush her soft, raven tress. She glanced at my direction again before saying, "we love you too, our sweet, sweet love..."

I stood my ground even if the rest of my being was demanding me to join their huddle. I stood my ground even if her viridian irises were pleading aimlessly. I stood my ground even if all I wanted to do was to go home.

Naruto's advice whispered in my head; I decided to wait for midnight to come.

a/n: Gah. Too cheesy. Should I write a sequel? Please review if you have the time XD Till next story!

#sasusakuweek #day 7 #free choice #mother's day #uchiha family

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