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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 2 years

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1st July >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on

Matthew 9:9-13 for Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘I did not come to call the virtuous, but sinners’.

and on

John 10:11-16 for Saint Oliver Plunkett, Bishop, Martyr.

Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA)

Matthew 9:9-13

It is not the healthy who need the doctor, but the sick.

As Jesus was walking on, he saw a man named Matthew sitting by the customs house, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.

While he was at dinner in the house it happened that a number of tax collectors and sinners came to sit at the table with Jesus and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, ‘Why does your master eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ When he heard this he replied, ‘It is not the healthy who need the doctor, but the sick. Go and learn the meaning of the words: What I want is mercy, not sacrifice. And indeed I did not come to call the virtuous, but sinners.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 9:9-13

Those who are well do not need a physician; I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

As Jesus passed by, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. While he was at table in his house, many tax collectors and sinners came and sat with Jesus and his disciples. The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” He heard this and said, “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. Go and learn the meaning of the words, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Reflections (6)

(i) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

The Pharisees ask a question about Jesus in today’s gospel reading, which we can all ask, ‘Why does Jesus eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ Why does Jesus share table, enter into communion, with people whom many religious people of the time would have shunned. The answer to that question is that Jesus’ primary mission was to reveal God’s mercy and forgiveness to those who had sinned in some way. The word of God in the prophet Hosea which Jesus quotes in today’s gospel reading inspired Jesus and shaped his mission, ‘What I want is mercy, not sacrifice’. God is a merciful God who showers him mercy upon all and who looks to those who have received God’s mercy to extend it to others. Jesus is comfortable in the company of those who were classified as ‘sinners’ at the time because they were seen to be breaking God’s Law. Jesus wanted them to know that God was more interested in their future than in their past. When Jesus saw Matthew, he saw Matthew’s future, not just his past. Matthew may have exploited his own people to enrich himself, as tax collectors often did at that time, but Jesus saw his potential to be a true disciple. Indeed, Matthew went on to become one of the twelve Jesus gathered about himself, and would give his name to one of the four gospels. Our failings do not drive Jesus away. On the contrary, they can bring him closer to us, if we acknowledge them and open our hearts to the boundless mercy he offers us. The church is a community of forgiven sinners. All of us always stand in need of God’s forgiveness. Jesus shows us that God’s forgiveness is in plentiful supply, if we only acknowledge our need of it. The call of Matthew shows us that the Lord continues to call us into communion with himself, regardless of how often we might have broken communion with him in the past.

And/Or

(ii) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

There are many questions posed in the course of the four gospels. Some of them are asked by Jesus, others are asked by his disciples and still others are asked by various other characters in the gospel narrative. In this morning’s gospel reading, the Pharisees ask a question of Jesus’ disciples when they see Jesus sharing table with those who would have been regarded as religious outsiders, ‘Why does your master eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ It is a good question and one that is worth our while pondering. Why did Jesus share table with, enter into communion with, those who did not keep God’s law, as the experts in that law understood it? In response to this question, Jesus quotes from one of the prophets of Israel, Hosea, ‘What I want is mercy, not sacrifice’. He prefaces this quotation with the directive, ‘Go and learn the meaning of the words’. Jesus is declaring that what God wants before all else is ‘mercy’, and his own style of table fellowship is reflecting that primary desire of God. Jesus’ business is showing God’s mercy to sinners, bringing God’s healing presence to the spiritually needy. Mercy cannot be shown to those who are kept at arm’s length. Jesus seeks to draw close to all men and women so as to reveal the depth of God’s mercy. God’s mercy, because it is unconditional, does not wait for people to change but empowers people to change. Jesus’ way of life, his style of table fellowship, is a response to God’s desire for mercy. The same is to be true of our way of life as followers of Jesus. We are to be merciful as God is merciful, or as Matthew’s gospel expresses it, to be perfect as God is perfect.

And/Or

(iii) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

There was a book written some years ago called ‘The God of Surprises’ by a Jesuit priest, Gerald Hughes. God can surprise us human beings. After all, as the prophet Isaiah said, ‘God’s ways are not our ways’. Jesus, as the revelation of God, was also full of surprises. The gospels record people being amazed at what he said and did. He didn’t behave as the religious leaders of the time normally behaved. Something of his surprising ways is evident in this morning’s gospel reading. Jesus calls Matthew, a tax collector, to follow him and he went on to share table with Matthew and other tax collectors. Matthew and people like him would have been regarded by religious people of the time as sinners who did not keep God’s law. Such people were to be avoided for fear of contamination. Jesus did not follow this path. He was not afraid of being contaminated by others. On the contrary, he knew that his own goodness had the power to transform others for the better. When Jesus went on to say in the gospel reading, ‘what I want is mercy not sacrifice’, he was declaring that he wants his own merciful way of behaving to find expression in the lives of his followers. We too are called to transform others by our own goodness. We are all to be agents of the Lord’s transforming love and mercy.

And/Or

(iv) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

In the first reading this morning, Amos, in his usual forthright way speaks of a coming time when there will be a famine of hearing the word of the Lord. People will hunger for the word of the Lord but it will not be there; they will seek the word of the Lord but fail to find it. Because the people have been failing to take the Lord’s word to heart, the Lord will stop speaking to them. It is as if Amos is saying that the Lord will withdraw from sinners. However, the gospel reading strikes a somewhat different note. There Jesus shares table with Matthew the tax collector and with other tax collectors and people who would have been classified as sinners. Jesus not only breaks bread with them at table; he also breaks the bread of God’s word with them, God’s healing and merciful word. In response to the Pharisees who criticize Jesus for eating with sinners, Jesus quotes from one of the prophets, not the prophet Amos, but the prophet Hosea, ‘what I want is mercy and not sacrifice’. Jesus reveals a merciful God, who expects others to show mercy too; he reveals a God who does not withdraw his living word from us, even when we show ourselves unworthy of it. Rather, the Lord continues to speak his word of love and light into the darkest and most troubled places of our lives. He keeps offering us the bread of his word to satisfy our deepest hunger. As he does so, he waits for us to take and eat, as Matthew and his companions did.

And/Or

(v) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

When people do something out of the ordinary, we often ask the question ‘Why?’ It sparks our curiosity and we want to know what it is that drives this person to do something so unconventional. The Pharisees regarded Jesus as someone who took seriously the will of God for our lives, just as they did. However, he did things which to their eyes were very unconventional. The Pharisees would have separated themselves from those they regarded as ‘sinners’ so as not to be contaminated by them in some way. Jesus, in contrast, shared table with tax collectors and sinners, those how habitually broke the Jewish Law as the Pharisees interpreted it. Jesus knew that he would not be any the worse for engaging with such people. Rather, they would be the better for his entering into communion with them. Goodness flowed from him to others; lack of goodness or sin did not flow from others to him. He saw himself as the heavenly physician sent to heal broken humanity. All would be the healthier in every sense for being around him, even those who taught of themselves as already virtuous in God’s eyes. We all come before the Lord in our brokenness, in our various forms of dis-ease. We come before him present to us in his word, in the Sacraments, above all, in the Eucharist. As we do so, we will encounter what Jesus calls in the gospel reading ‘mercy’. We will be received by the Lord’s merciful presence, and if we are truly open to that presence, we will come away from it more alive, more whole, more complete.

And/Or

(vi) Friday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

One of my favourite paintings is the call of Matthew by the artist Caravaggio. The artist depicts Jesus to the right of the painting pointing towards Matthew. It is the moment of Jesus’ call to Matthew to be his disciple. Matthew is seated with others; he has one hand on the money he is counting and with his right hand he points to himself, this hand almost in line with the pointing hand of Jesus. It is as if Matthew is saying, ‘Who? Me?’ Matthew’s world of commerce was very different to the world of Jesus, even though they both inhabited the much the same space. Yet, Jesus was capable of breaking into Matthew’s world and calling him to a very different way of life to the one he had known. Matthew went on to become a significant member of the group of twelve that Jesus gathered around him; he was the inspiration behind the gospel we know as the gospel according to Matthew. We are being reminded that one of the foundational pillars of the church included someone who, by reason of his profession, was considered a sinner at the time. In the person of Jesus, Matthew experienced both God’s forgiveness and God’s call to a new way of life. Jesus reveals God to be someone who desires that mercy be shown more than that sacrifices be offered and who seeks out sinners more than the virtuous. The call of Matthew reminds us that the Lord is always seeking to break into our world, whatever state our personal world is in. The Lord breaks in there to communicate his boundless mercy towards us, so that we can share more fully in the Lord’s work in the world. Every day, we can ask ourselves the question, ‘Who? Me?’ to which the Lord will always answer, ‘Yes, you’.

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Saint Oliver Plunkett, Bishop, Martyr

Gospel

John 10:11-16

The good shepherd is one who lays down his life for his sheep.

Jesus said:

‘I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd is one who lays down his life for his sheep. The hired man, since he is not the shepherd and the sheep do not belong to him, abandons the sheep and runs away as soon as he sees a wolf coming, and then the wolf attacks and scatters the sheep; this is because he is only a hired man and has no concern for the sheep.

‘I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for my sheep. And there are other sheep I have that are not of this fold, and these I have to lead as well. They too will listen to my voice, and there will be only one flock, and one shepherd.’

Reflection (1)

(i) Saint Oliver Plunkett, Bishop, Martyr

Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Oliver Plunkett. He was from Irish nobility and his family supported King Charles I. He was ordained a priest in Rome in the year 1654 and he immediately became professor of theology at the College for the Propagation of the Faith until the year 1669. He was appointed Archbishop of Armagh in that year, 1669. He was forced to conduct his ministry in secret because it was a time in our history when it was illegal to be a Catholic priest. Ten years after becoming Archbishop of Armagh in the year 1679 he was arrested and tried in Dundalk for conspiring against the State. It was seen that Oliver would never be convicted in Ireland, so he was moved to Newgate prison in London. He was found guilty of high treason ‘for promoting the Catholic faith’ and was condemned to a gruesome death. He was martyred on this day, July 1, in the year 1681 at Tyburn in London. He was the last Catholic to die for their faith at Tyburn and the first of the Irish martyrs to be beatified. His head is in Saint Peter’s church in Drogheda and most of his body is in Downside Abbey, England. The first reading we heard this morning suggests that the goodness of a few, as few as ten, can bring mercy to all. Indeed, the goodness of even one person can have a profound effect for good on others. The courageous witness of Oliver and others who died for their faith at that time has had a enormous impact for good on the life of the church in Ireland. The effort any one of us makes to witness to our faith in the Lord by our lives will always impact for good on the lives of others. When any one of us strives to be faithful to the values of Jesus and the gospel it helps everyone else to do the same. We are very interdependent when it comes to the faith. We can build each other up or bring each other down. We may never be called upon to die for our faith but every day we are called upon to live for our faith, and if we are faithful to that calling the Lord will work through us to touch the lives of others.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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catch-the-wind · 3 years

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when reader is sick hc's

finally posting writing here so true

n e ways okay so i’m brainrotting about the genshin charas taking care of their s/o’s when they’re sick 🥺 and now i'm feeling sick, sigh

ohm and sulien ambros belong to @teyvattherapist! they're such good chara's, i know i'm writing them here but i deffo recommend reading up on them

okay here u go, have some hc's that are kinda sorta long and by that i mean 2.5k- i haven't proofread this bc it's 4am and im going to BED but if i write for any other chara's i'll post a second part <3 mwah

tags: gn!reader, diluc x reader, kaeya x reader, jean x reader, lisa x reader, albedo x reader, dainsleif x reader, tartaglia x reader, ohm ambros x reader, sulien ambros x reader, soft bean hours

diluc

is not working or traveling when his partner is sick

absolutely makes them soup and hot tea and drinks

he’s trying to make them food but he’s not the best cook so he’s asking adelinde for help

absolutely asks jean, barbara, and ohm for help while his partner is sleeping but he’s so awkward LMAO

was absolutely frantic the first day he found out his partner was sick tho, he made them come over to the winery so they could sleep there and he can take care of them <3

absolutely lied about what room was his so they slept in his bed

“hmm this guest room is so furnished diluc are all your rooms like this” and no, no they are not, this room is his, bestie

diluc slept on a sofa in his bedroom and did work on the table that was supposed to be for flowers. kinda stressed over abyss order locations but was more worried ab his partner being okay so he was distracted

he just put the flowers on his nightstand for his partner to see when they woke up <3

gives his partner forehead kisses because they won’t let him kiss them on the lips and he gives them the gentlest cheek kisses while they sleep

also gives his partner his clothes to wear <3

cuddles them and reads to them when they’re awake and TEMPLE KISSES OH MY GOD

kaeya comes over because he’s worried his brother and his brother’s s/o haven’t been seen in a little while

n e way, diluc gets sick after his partner gets better and they nursed each other back to health

kaeya

like diluc, he took off work so he could take care of his s/o i,mediately after he found out they were sick

wouldn’t force them to stay at his place tho, he’d probably let them recover in their own place

but he might make them go to the kof hq or the cathedral just so they can be taken care of by a proper healer

he absolutely soothes their fevers and stuff w cryo and also the man can heal himself w his elem skill ofc he can fix someone if he tries hard enough <3

he gives kisses no matter how much his partner says not to but he’ll also give them butterfly kisses so it’s soft moments too~ sigh, ur too cute alberich

asks ohm and barbara and albedo and lisa for potions and such to help his partner feel better but he’s really lowkey so he doesn’t seem SUPER worried

he just hates seeing his partner not feeling so well </3

refreshes his partner’s vase of flowers at their bedside every day

brings home work so he can watch over his partner. he can’t cook super well either so he asks for help and brings stuff home from good hunter too

jean was okay to let kaeya off of work and diluc would never admit it (man practically swore everyone to secrecy smh) but he helped take up some of kaeya’s duties in his stead

and kae, the alcoholic, didn’t even drink while his partner was sick bc he was lowkey worried they would need his help w smth and he didn’t want to be drunk just in case <3

many cuddles despite protests of getting him sick <3

jean

absolutely uses her healer skills to make her partner feel better

panicked when they were still sick and thought it was her fault </3 she asked barbara and ohm for help and they just told jean to relax a bit bc her partner was sick and it wasn’t going to be a quick fix

wanted to take off work but didn’t, so she just brought her work with her

kaeya and ohm very kindly took up her other duties where she had to leave so she could be w her partner

her partner is staying in the kof hq where they get access to ohm and barbara comes to visit <3 but also so that jean can sleep comfortably enough close by bc you cannot tell me this woman does not sometimes sleep in her office or the library and barely makes it to the kof dormitories sometimes

she’s so worried the entire time, she’s probably got a few gray hairs and a new frown line smh

she has clothes that aren’t her work clothes???? it’s so foreign seeing her in stuff like pajamas. you didn’t even know jean owned pajamas

jean sets them up in her bed at home (yeah she has a place outside of the kof hq??? it’s surprising) but it’s a big bed so they can rest and she’ll have the lamp on her side on while she sits up and does work

absolutely dotes on them. she’s good at making foods that make them feel better, she’s just a good healer that way <3

albedo, klee, venti, kaeya, lisa, and ohm all come over to check on jean and co and make sure everyone is doing okay <3 lots of food brought

if jean was asked to sing to her partner normally, she probably wouldn’t bc she’d probably get embarrassed but i think she probably sounds v good and venti would give her his lyre to try out a musical instrument too. but also she’d read to her partner and they’d probably fall asleep together uwu

lisa

works part time hours at the library so she can go visit her s/o

probably asks them to stay at the kof hq for easier access to medical assistance and plus she’s almost always there

“cutie” but worried and very 🥺 (pleading emoji)

makes soup and potions and reads to her partner until they fall asleep

also super playful omg she’s still got a smile on and is full of affection while she walks her fingers up her partner’s arm to their face so she can cup their cheek

she’ll make her partner laugh and smile and blush even when they’re sick, but she makes them laugh until they cough sometimes and immediately feels so bad

jean, barbara, kaeya, albedo and ohm all come to visit with different foods and soups and medicines and such

klee comes knocking and gives lisa some good fisherman’s toast and asks lisa’s s/o if they want to hug dodoco b/c that always makes klee feel better

purple roses galore, lisa has them in her partner’s room and they’ve got a potion to make the. uh. sniffer? to make the sniffer feel better. don’t ask me how, idk but she would find a way to make them physically feel better with flowers

reads to her partner ofc, and she tells them stories ab her own life and time at sumeru sans the crazies

worried looks when her s/o is sleeping but also the softest smiles when they wake up pls-

albedo

cutest lil frown on his face when he finds out his partner is sick

immediately they are taken home and he’s testing to confirm what’s wrong w them and what he can do to speed up their recovery

he’s more distracted than usual at work but he’s coming over to your place all the time w what paperwork he can do

also sketches his partner while they don’t know. he’s got lots of beautiful candids of his partner sleeping, looking out the window, falling asleep, reading, even drinking water. he’s made the most mundane things look captivating

kaeya and ohm come to check on albedo when he doesn’t show up for work after a few days and it’s bc he’s taking care of his s/o with food and soup and alchemical potions and shit. and when kae and ohm come in, they find his partner opening the door wrapped in a blanket while albedo is asleep cuddling the pillow they left bc he stayed up the night before making soup and reading to them

klee has camped out on his partner’s couch, she helps w the cooking too~ she absolutely lets them hug dodoco and gives them a treasure to feel better too LOL

many kisses from klee and albedo, and they also go out to get treats for albedo’s partner too

domestic albedo cooking in his partner’s kitchen and for once it isn’t some alchemical potion that he might blow up the stove with

tartaglia

takes off work entirely but BOY OH BOY is he stir crazy smh

brings his partner to his apartment to rest <3

he’s so worried ab his s/o that he makes all the sick ppl food the first day, orders from wanmin restaurant when his partner wants smth different, and also gets toys and such to entertain them otherwise

also reads to his partner but, again, he gets stir crazy after a while

absolutely does workouts and katas in the living room and phew shirtless tartaglia working out? gets the heart rate up for sure ahem

rushes to his partner tho omg- need soup? water? a trip to the bathroom? another blanket? he goes to them the MOMENT he hears them moving around. absolutely dotes on them <3

his family knows ab his partner and he’s probably written letters ab them being sick~ his family sent snezhnayan herbs and flowers and medicines and such

zhongli comes around because he wants sugar daddy!tartaglia with tea and medicine from bubu pharmacy. hu tao is in tow with well wishes and a “hope i don’t find you at work!” which is. a little worrying because aren’t you just a little sick-

many kisses from tartaglia because he is Needy and he’ll absolutely get sick from cuddling his partner while they sleep

also he’ll probably just like. envelop his partner while they sleep. they’re all cuddled into him and he’s actually so warm it’s nice bc they’re cold w a fever and he’s living for comforting them

he’s so worried tho, he’s got the frowny face and he’s so adorable but he just doesn’t want his partner to feel sick

dainsleif

the man camps in ruins, he’s going to his partner’s house smh

he doesn’t go into the church either LOL so expect him in his partner’s home making dinner and doing their grocery shopping thanks

he would get ohm and barbara to come over tho <3 “fix them please” but also “how can i fix them”

is so dead set on making sure his partner takes their medicine at the right times, he’s so soft for them and them alone

cooks soup and old recipes he barely remembers from khaenri’ah. he doesn’t really get sick, so he doesn’t remember these ones too clearly. deffo brings back old memories he’d long forgotten

reads to his partner and tells them old stories of how the world used to be, his travels, gives them the gossip on a certain khaenri’ahn but doesn’t give away the name

ohm comes over with medicine and lollipops bc dain is so unlikely to go to the cathedral to get barbara smh

but also dain, so self-sufficient, is unlikely to want to ask for help, so ohm just goes to help anyway

dain with the old khaenri’ahn lullabies and tucking his partner into his arms and singing quietly while he holds them and rocks them to sleep

dain is immortal, he’s giving his partner kisses bc “i’m immortal, ofc i won’t get sick”

he got sick

but his s/o nursed him back to health and then there were smooches the end

ohm ambros

the doctor with his ill lover oh my god

he’s frowny, he’s taking care of his partner at his home in springvale and his home clinic is open to everyone else. but everyone knows his partner is the first priority LOL

kaeya and albedo come over to see if ohm is okay or if his house needs to be checked up on. they’re wondering if he went on a last-minute expedition to sumeru and didnt tell them

diluc comes over too, he’s just checking up on his best friend but he’s also stealing a cherry lollipop smh. he heard from kae that ohm’s partner is sick tho, so he brings some soup and good food over from adelinde. he also brings some of his own specialty food tho, the once upon a time in mondstadt <3

sulien sending letters to his big brother to see if his brother’s s/o is okay

ohm is also just super protective of his partner, there are not many people who come into his life who he loves and lets in in the first place. he’s absolutely trying to heal them with his own vitality, so their recovery is much shorter than initially expected

barbara also comes over w jean to check up on ohm and co, complete w a goody basket of soup, a teddy bear, flowers, and books

ohm reading to his partner <3 he’s got such a soothing voice even if his accent is wack LMAO. he’s reading stories and even his paperwork because just his presence is comforting

he puts his hands on his partner’s forehead to soothe the fever goodbye

ohm will not sing for his s/o simply bc he doesn’t think he sounds v good. and he probably doesn’t but it would be so cute to hear him try and please ohm? 🥺

n e way i want smooches idc if i’m sick KISS ME OHM AMBROS

sulien ambros

when he finds out his partner is sick, the man blinks like twice and then suggests so calmly that they go to his apartment in liyue

man does not sleep normally, he’s just going to nurse his partner back to health and read during their recovery. fruit tart can cover his duties for him <3

sulien cooks for his partner tho, he’s making soup and stuff and getting medicine from bubu’s pharmacy. he’s also picking up books on the way home but some of them are to be read to his partner so it’s okay-

like tartaglia, sulien works out while his partner rests and goes to them if he hears them moving around. he’s reading to his partner and not so frowny, but the slightest furrow of this man’s brow is already such a big expression of his concern <3

sends letters to ohm asking for advice ab how to help his partner feel better. ohm just sends a letter back with “i’m coming” and shows up within the day LMAO

reads to his partner, and the monotony of his voice is soothing and lulls them to sleep. he just looks at them affectionately (well affectionate for him) and presses a kiss to their forehead before finishing the story on his own and in his head

tartagalicious comes over and brings food, flowers and a teddy bear with some of sandrone’s paperwork but he sends a smile to sulien’s partner with some well wishes

scara comes over too just to visit and check to see where sandrone is, but scara is a grumpy bean so he just says “feel better” all brooding and like it’s a command to one of the fatui subordinates LOL

sulien like ohm uses his cold hands to soothe his partner’s fever and also gives them forehead kisses <3

Edit: a link to part 2

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #jean x reader #lisa x reader #albedo x reader #dainsleif x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #ohm ambros x reader #sulien ambros x reader #lane's ocs #genshin fluff #hc's #lyz.writes #i'm finally posting here omg #so many tags...#goodNIGHT

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wowbright · 3 years

Text

Fic: Irreverence

Klaine Advent 2021: cup

Words: ~1330 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Kurt thought Elder Anderson was an open book. Surprise, surprise: it’s more complicated than that.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2021! This vignette takes place the day after My Way Home and maybe a week before Seek After These Things.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

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“I hope animal control is closed tomorrow. Otherwise we’ll have to turn little Spinchen over,” sighed Kurt. The cat was standing on her rear legs, pawing pathetically at his thigh. He turned and spoke to her. “You don’t care about getting my cuddles. You’re just hoping to sneak some food off the dinner table.” He picked her up anyway, nudging his plate toward the center of the table as she settled in his lap.

“Even I don’t let cats sit on my lap at the dinner table,” Elder Anderson said, amused. He scooted his chair back and began collecting the dishes. “You’re smitten.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “You don't have to do the dishes. I can help you soon as Spinni stops holding me hostage.”

“Enjoy the beast. This can be my way of thanking you for a wonderful Easter.”

“I’m not responsible for Easter. That was all God’s doing.”

“I meant this Easter, not the concept of Easter.” Elder Anderson flashed Kurt a charmed smile as he lowered dye-stained cups into the sink. (It still bewildered Kurt how much his companion, the definition of kindhearted and innocent, enjoyed his sardonic sense of humor.)

“Oh, well, that. I suppose I had something to do with that. Though as I recall, it was your brother who supplied the Peeps and Chandler who supplied most of the chocolate.”

“True,” Elder Anderson said, leaning across Kurt to pick up the butter dish. “But Chandler would never have given us chocolate if we hadn't met him, and the only reason we met him because he was so taken by you in the sheet music shop.”

Kurt felt his face burn. He buried it into Spinni’s fur. “Do you have to keep reminding me of that?”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.”

“I think I might prefer you hating him.” Kurt heard the closing of the refrigerator door and then the sound of the chair next to him being scooted back. Through the floor, he felt Elder Anderson’s weight shift into the chair.

“I never hated him,” Elder Anderson said. “I was just … jealous, I guess.”

Huh. Kurt stopped stroking Spinni’s forehead with his cheek and sat up. “How so?”

“I don’t know. I guess … growing up I sometimes felt like love was a competition. I mean, my brother Cooper—when you meet him, you'll understand. He's kind of a whirlwind. He sucks up all the focus in the room. And—” Elder Anderson looked down at the table. “I shouldn't say this.” His eyes darted to Kurt’s face, then back to the table. “I really shouldn't.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about the church. I don’t— I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Kurt set his hand on Spinni’s back and stroked her fur deliberately, slowly, to keep his heart from beating too fast. “It doesn't matter if I like it or not. What matters is that there's something you want to say.”

A flicker of relief darted through Elder Anderson's eyes, but the rest of his body remained tense. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Kurt wasn’t. “Please. Tell me.”

Elder Anderson looked down at his own hands. “It’s my dad. You know. You remember. He’s kind of a bigwig in the church.”

Interesting. Bigwig wasn’t a particularly reverent way to refer to a General Authority. But Elder Anderson was talking about his father, not just any GA. Kurt was pretty sure he’d said less reverent things about his own dad.

“I honestly can't remember a time when I didn't feel like I was competing with the church for my dad’s love. Even when I was little. And I know—I know I shouldn’t think that way,” Elder Anderson said defensively, like he was getting ready to argue, as if Kurt had just contradicted him.

“We all think things we shouldn’t. I know that more than anyone,” Kurt said.

Elder Anderson looked more wounded by that statement than if Kurt hadn't said anything at all. He shook his head. “I just, I know it can't be true, it shouldn't be true. But I have so few memories of spending time with him. What I remember is him being gone almost every night for ward meetings and stake meetings and going off to give talks at firesides or to counsel members. He was always counseling members. But when I wanted his counsel? When I wanted his company? I couldn't depend on him being there.” Elder Anderson’s hand lay on the table, clenching and unclenching as he spoke. “The only time I could be sure he'd be home was Monday nights for family home evening, but it wasn't like family home evening at your house. We didn't make dinner together or play games or make art. He’d sit in his chair while Mom and I sat on the couch, and he’d talk to us about scripture in the same way he did in his firesides. As if we were his audience, there to receive his wisdom, and it didn't really matter what we felt or thought. We were just supposed to be grateful that someone of his authority was willing to share his wisdom with us. We were just supposed to be grateful to listen to him.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” Kurt ached to touch Elder Anderson’s hand. He knew Elder Anderson would appreciate it, that simple human touch was the remedy for so many of his companion’s troubles. But he didn't know if he had the strength.

“So I think I have an issue, maybe, with feeling ignored. And I know it’s not fair to my dad, because he's living the right life according to the church’s teachings—he heeds the counsel of those above him, and he fulfills his callings to an extent I don't think I've ever seen in anyone who wasn't a prophet or apostle. And it’s not fair to you because—” Elder Anderson swallowed heavily. Not like he was on the verge of tears, but like the anger against his father was buried so deep that the tears it should cause would take centuries to surface.

“I think you need Spinnenkatze more than I do,” Kurt said, lifting her gently and laying her down in his companion’s lap.

The hand that had been clenching and unclenching moved toward the cat and relaxed into her fur. Elder Anderson laughed, and the way the light caught in his eyes—maybe Kurt had misjudged. Maybe he had been on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” Elder Anderson sighed. “I don’t even know how we got here. A beautiful Easter and then…”

“It’s still beautiful,” Kurt said.

“I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. I’ve barely even admitted it to myself.”

“Well, thank you, then, for trusting me. It means a lot to me.”

The urge to touch came over Kurt again. It wasn’t sexual—of course it wasn’t sexual. That was the last thing on Kurt’s mind, with his companion broken and scared before him. It was like the feelings that Spinni evoked in Kurt—the need to nurture and protect, to offer love to a vulnerable creature just because he could.

Because that’s what the Savior had taught him.

“Do you—Do you want a hug?” Kurt asked.

Relief washed not only through Elder Anderson’s eyes, but over his face and down his shoulders, into the hands that held a purring Spinnenkatze. “Yes,” he said with a small nod. “I would.”

Kurt slipped out of his chair and kneeled next to his companion to give him a sideways embrace. He wrapped one arm over Elder Anderson’s chest and draped the other over the back of his neck. He rested an ear against his shoulder.

The remaining tension melted from his companion in one shuddering sigh.

“Thank you,” Elder Anderson whispered. He sank his cheek against the top of Kurt’s head. “This is exactly what I needed.”

To Kurt’s surprise, it was exactly what he needed, too.

#klaine advent 2021 #klaine advent: cup #wowbright writes fic #mormon!klaine #klaine fic #my klaine advent 2021

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

let him be soft (and let him be mine) p.1

Summary: After Derek pulls another self-sacrificing stunt at the culmination of their most recent case, Spencer runs out of their apartment as he desperately grapples with how it makes him feel.

or; Derek's self-sacrificing tendencies meet Spencer's abandonment issues. It gets messy before it gets better.

Tags: hurt/comfort, crying, abandonment issues, injured!derek, hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!derek

TW: abadonment issues, allusions to grief/loss, some religious imagery (a catholic church and a priest have a small role in the plot)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.4k Total Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Emily's Edit 1 2 3

Colab Alert! Emily (@criminalmindsvibez) and I have worked together on a project based on this poem. Her edits and my fic go hand in hand, so go and check hers out! She will be posting part 2 and 3 of her edit tomorrow and Friday respectively, and I'll be posting part 2 of this fic on Friday, too!! It's been so fun to work together, so please go and reblog her beautiful edit <3

The Poem:

Please, let him be soft.

I know you made him with gunmetal bones and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be a warrior a soldier a hero.

But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do.

I do not want to see him go up in flames the way all heroes end up martyrs.

I know that you will tell me that the world needs him. The world needs his heart and his faith and his courage and his strength and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them.

Damn the world, and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him, damn anyone that ever took anything from him, damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything until there is nothing left of him but the imprint of dust where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas until his shoulders collapse and his knees buckle and he is crushed by all he used to carry.

Dear God, you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again. You can have your pick of heroes.

So please, I beg you– he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine.

—Please, let him be happy ( j.p. )

The Fic:

Spencer offers Derek a weak smile as they sink into their seats on the jet. It’s all he can really manage, considering the emotional exhaustion the case had brought on, fatigue settling deep into his bones as he relaxes into the comfortable fabric of his chair. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid Derek’s anxious, imploring gaze for as long as possible, but he can’t help them opening on instinct as soon as the plane takes off the ground, and his stomach does its familiar vault at the increasing G forces.

“Baby?” Derek asks softly, as soon as he sees Spencer’s eyes flutter open. “What’s wrong?”

Spencer sighs, turning his head to face the evening sunset for a brief moment before looking back to his boyfriend. “I’m just tired, Der,” he lies, throwing in what he hopes is a reassuring smile to try and seal the deal.

It seems to work, some of the anxiety relaxing from his face — though, Spencer notes, the slightly pained expression remains — as he reaches across the table in between them to take Spencer’s hand. He complies, placing his hand in Derek’s and allowing himself to relish in the comfort of his warm, protective hold despite how he’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, Spence. We’ll get dinner from that Thai place and head straight to bed when we get home, yeah? You’ll feel better then.”

Spencer can’t help the flare of anger in his chest at that — so strong he has to shut his eyes tightly against it for a second. How can Derek not realise what’s wrong? How can he sit opposite him, bruised, cracked ribs and all, and not understand that everything is not at all ‘eat Thai food in bed’ okay?

He forces his eyes open again. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Derek squeezes his hand once before letting go and thankfully, finally, dropping the subject. The sunset is a pretty blend of pinks and oranges as they fly down from New Jersey towards home, but Spencer doesn’t focus on the aesthetics of the sky. Not when that awful, tiny voice keeps whispering in the back of his head: how many sunsets does Derek have left?

⭐️

It might have been a lie, but the tired excuse seems to work. Derek doesn’t try to make conversation with him on the drive to DC, instead settling for reassuring touches that Spencer finds himself pressing back into despite himself.

He dives straight for the shower once they get back to their apartment, vaguely hearing Derek on the phone placing their standard Thai order as he sheds his restrictive suit and steps into the shower, immediately relaxing as the hot water cascades down his back. All of a sudden, the weight of the case catches up to him and he lets himself cry. Afterall, his desperate, grief-filled sobs can’t be heard over the water and he can blame his sore, red eyes on the shampoo.

When his tears eventually dry up and he exits the warm bathroom into the air-conditioned apartment, Derek’s sat on the edge of their bed fiddling with his phone next to an outfit of Spencer’s favourite loungewear neatly laid out. He always does it and it always makes Spencer smile, but this time his heart just clenches painfully and he has to fight back the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Hey, baby,” Derek says, voice concerned at the sight of his visibly upset boyfriend. His wince as he gets off the bed to come over to Spencer is the final straw, though, and he can’t help the violent, choked sob that forces its way past his lips, his body heaving with the myriad of emotions running rampant. “Spencer?”

He ignores him as he drops his towel and hurriedly pulls on the clothes Derek set out for him, tears spilling down his cheeks one after the other, indicating no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

“Spencer? Baby?” he pleads desperately as Spencer continues to ignore him. “I know you’re tired, but this isn’t like you. Why—”

“No!” he cries, turning to face him. “It’s not like me! Because even though I feel like this after every case I’m usually so good at holding it in! But I can’t do it anymore, Derek. I can’t keep feeling like this.”

“Baby, talk to me,” Derek begs. “We can work this out, we’ll figure this out together, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

All of a sudden, it’s too much. Standing there in their bedroom facing his injured, self-sacrificing, perfect boyfriend as emotion and fear choke the life out of him is killing him, and all he can do is grab his phone, hastily pull on a pair of shoes, and run out of the apartment.

If it wasn’t for his bruised ribs — Christ, if it wasn’t for Derek being shot not four hours earlier — Spencer never would have outrun him, but as it stands, he escapes the apartment building with only Derek’s pleading cries following him.

He runs through the streets of DC, half-blind from unshed tears, until he sees a bus coming down the road, and before he can overthink it, he’s boarding, paying, and taking a seat right at the back. The streets outside blur as the bus accelerates down the street and the tears he’d been holding back since he left the apartment, spill over, joining the countless tear tracks already decorating his cheeks.

Soon he’s not seeing the vibrant streets of the Adams Morgan district anymore, his brain replaying the shoot-out that ended the case instead. They’d finally cornered their suspect in a dilapidated barn in the middle of nowhere, and Spencer had honestly thought that their attempts to talk him down were working, when he’d suddenly pointed his gun straight at JJ. Derek had easily predicted his next move and wasted no time in pushing her out the way, diving straight into the bullet’s trajectory, shot in the middle of his vest.

Hotch had taken care of the unsub and Spencer had gone straight to Derek’s side, his heart in his mouth as fear overrode rationality with ease. He’d been fine: checked out by an ambulance on site and prescribed some moderate painkillers and a few days rest until his ribs healed up, but Spencer had struggled to see it so positively.

Anger flares up in his chest again at the memory of Derek’s blatant disregard for his own well-being. JJ’s a trained and experienced agent: she could have shot the unsub before he even took the shot if Derek hadn’t pushed her aside, and even if she hadn’t, why was it better for Derek to take the bullet than JJ?

As much as he tries not to take it personally, part of him can’t really help but feel hurt. What if the bullet had missed the vest? What if Derek was really shot? He could have so easily died — in an alternate universe, Spencer is mourning the tragic loss of his boyfriend right now. Does he really not care that all this heroic self-sacrifice could leave Spencer a grieving widow one day?

He feels selfish. The world needs Derek: it needs his heart and his courage and his fierce sense of justice, it needs him to fight for the underdog, it needs him to stop at nothing to apprehend the bad guy, it needs anything he can give them.

But in this moment, Spencer doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about what the world needs. He cares about what Dr Spencer Reid, book nerd and genius prodigy of Nevada needs, and that’s his boyfriend, alive, next to him.

The bus passes a church and Spencer immediately presses the button, getting off at the next stop and retracing the road until he’s standing in front of the beautiful architecture of a Catholic Church. Peace and quiet is exactly what he needs right now, so he takes a deep breath and walks through the heavy wooden doors into the building.

The smell Spencer associates with the churches he’d visit in his childhood when William would dress them up and parade them around a church as the perfect little family for as long as Diana’s meds lasted hits him as soon as he crosses the threshold, and something about it feels comforting. He walks through the small foyer and into the main congregation hall, thankful that no service is taking place. There’s a woman in a pew at the front with her head bowed, but otherwise it’s completely empty, and it emboldens him enough to slip into the back row.

He lets himself zone out, taking in the stained glass windows and the elaborate arcades as well as the ornate statues and decorations around the nave as his mind finally drifts from the torture of his thoughts.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice asks, snapping him out of his trance. He looks over to see a priest standing just to his right, a kind look on his face.

“Uh— yes,” Spencer replies, a little flustered. “Very. An old friend of mine did a PhD in the history of church architecture years ago, but even his high praise doesn’t do it justice in person.”

“Not a regular church-goer, I take it?” the priest asks, smiling warmly.

“Not sure the church would be happy to have me,” he says drily, “on the account that I live with my boyfriend.”

The priest’s face saddens at that. “Would you mind if I sat?”

“As long as you don’t try and convert me.”

He laughs at that, taking a seat next to Spencer. “That’s not my job anyway,” he reassures him. “God takes care of that side of things.”

Spencer nods once, before looking down at his fidgeting fingers.

“What’s led a non-Christian to a Catholic Church on a random Tuesday evening, then?” the priest asks warmly.

“Oh… I’m not sure you’d want to hear about it,” Spencer says awkwardly, blushing a bit at the thought of discussing his relationship troubles with a priest.

“Try me.”

Spencer takes a deep breath. After all, he desperately wants to talk about this with someone, and who better than a completely impartial person whose opinion doesn’t matter anyway?

“I work for the FBI,” he starts, “I have done for nearly a decade now. It’s where I met my boyfriend, actually; we work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I love the job, it’s given me pretty much everything I have, really, but… but I don’t know how much longer I can do it.” He takes a shaky breath in to try and abate the tears again, but when the priest lays a warm hand over his own, he can’t hold them back anymore.

“Derek— Derek is so strong. He’s fierce and he’s powerful and he’s a hero, and I used to be so proud of him for that, I still am, but now… all it does is scare me. Today he took a bullet for another team member, he pushed her out of the way and it landed in his own vest. He’s fine, but this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He’s run into burning buildings, driven bombs across cities to stop them from blowing up in a populated area, thrown himself into the line of fire to save others countless times, but one day… he won’t be so lucky.

“One day, it’s going to catch up to him, and he’s going to be killed by his own calling. He’s so selfless that he’s truly going to give everything to the job until it kills him… and where does that leave me?” He looks up and meets the priest’s kind, empathetic gaze for the first time, comforted by the reassurance he finds there.

“I never really had a family. My father walked out when I was ten and left me with my sick and confused mother, knowing that she couldn’t take care of me, knowing that he was leaving his child to take care of his mother for the next eight years. When I found the BAU, I found a family, and I found Derek. I love my whole team, but when it comes down to it, he’s all I really have left.

“If he stays in this job, I’m going to end up alone. There will never be another person for me, not after Derek. When people sit in this very building and pray for justice,” Spencer says tearily, “God answers that prayer with Derek Morgan. And those prayers, those pleas for mercy are going to take him away from me one day.”

The priest sits quietly for a moment, thinking, maybe praying, as he bows his head. “Child, God makes heroes for a reason. I know he’s so proud of Derek, that he cherishes all the lives he’s saved, but I also know that God cherishes Derek’s life, and yours, too. Derek sounds like the kind of person who loves with his whole heart, and I suspect that he loves you deeply. The Bible teaches us the importance of kind and honest communication, as well as the value in understanding the people you love, and I think you know that your only shot at a happy ending here is to tell Derek all that you’ve told me.”

Spencer’s always rejected the idea of telling Derek how much it breaks his heart to see him running at danger head on because he can’t think of any possible resolution they could come to — it’s not like he can simply turn off his self-sacrificing tendencies — but he doesn’t really see any other way out now.

He looks up at the priest. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m not sure I have any other choice.”

“I’ll leave you to your peace and quiet,” he says as he gets up to leave, “but please never think that God doesn’t want to know you because of your loving relationship with Derek. He loves you both so much.”

Spencer smiles, feeling a little bit lighter after getting everything off his chest. “Thank you.”

As he watches the priest walk out of the nave and into what Spencer suspects is the Sanctuary, he hears something that simultaneously warms his heart and twists his stomach in anxiety.

Derek, calling his name.

I hope you enjoyed part one of this fic - please go and check out Emily's edit here!

PART TWO

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @doctorenby @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoopc@marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #cm fic #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #moreid fluff #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #spencer reid/derek morgan #my writing #cm

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

My thoughts on Episode 3--Hunted.

Most of you lovelies already realize this, but my thoughts tend to zig and zag quite a bit, lol. So. To save some of you the headache and spare you from seeing spoilers you’d rather not see yet, I’m again placing them behind a cut.

First things first. I have totally turned into Yvette Nicole Brown with her TWD notebooks, lol, and I’m not even sorry. I just felt like it would be fun to go back when the final episode is in the books and see how well my thoughts from these early episodes line up with what I’m feeling when we say our (not-so) final goodbyes.

But that’s enough about that. Let’s get to this thing.

It really is insane how very much I love Melissa McBride. Just hearing her doing the previously on TWD recap voiceover makes me ridiculously happy.

Cole! Dude! We hardly knew ya.

Not gonna lie. That first shot of Maggie in all the chaos reminded of a shirt I’ve seen. It says--”Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of my actions.”

I have to hand it to Angela and the rest of her team. These opening scenes--on all 3 episodes--have been BOMB so far. They really hook you in right away. At least IMHO.

I realize I’m behind the game on this little tidbit, but how much do I adore the fact that Dog is now in the opening credits?

Okay. Alexandria might look like it’s been on some kind of post-apocalyptic bender but all our girls are looking beautiful as ever. Maybe it’s Maybelline, lol.

I love to see Kelly and Carol still gravitating toward each other. It really speaks to each woman’s heart. Carol wants to make amends so badly and Kelly just has the most lovely, warm, forgiving heart.

Carol’s point about Alexandria still needing the horses to help with the heavy lifting and pointing out the walls and rebuilding won’t matter quite as much if they’re limited by their hunger and what they can physically lift on their own isn’t wrong. But I’m sure the same viewers that were okay with Daryl and Co. going out on Maggie’s suicide mission (using the same reasoning) and saying it made sense for the bigger picture will pretend not to recognize that the same element is there in Carol’s desire to go out there and look for the horses. You know. Because it was Carol’s idea and not that of their fave(s).

Aaron, Man. Or maybe I should say Angela. You just had to put a pit of dread in my belly mentioning Buttons like that. RIP, Buttons. You deserved better. I’m still traumatized.

Look at all the babies bonding. Look at RJ getting to sit at the big kid table.

“My mom always comes back.” She damn well better. Those babies need her. Until she does, though, Uncle Daryl and Aunt Carol (and Aunt Rosita and everybody else) are going to be there.

Anyway. Poor RJ. He barely ever gets any lines, lol.

Hershel and Judith are obviously the mini-adults in this group and baby Rhee is already more cynical and jaded than his sweet daddy was until they reached Alexandria and the wheels started to come off.

So. Does Maggie just think everybody’s already dead here or what? Hmm.

You know. Any building can be creepy AF when the lights are off and it’s dark, lol. Any building.

So much darkness so far this season. I’m going to have to invest in some blackout curtains. I just know it.

Where are all those stairs leading? Why am I thinking of Hitchcock? Am I mixing up my scary, suspenseful movies? Probably.

Of fucking course, Maggie dropped her flashlight. Thank goodness she had that lighter at the ready just before Ghost Face Reaper took a swipe at her.

Is that Father G with a screwdriver impaled in his thigh? Listen. These people deserve a Mega Bottle of pain killers and a week just vegging out in a soft, luxurious bed.

All these horror movie tropes. Some of them are cheesy, yes. But I’m totally here for it.

LMAO. That’s it, Maggie. A good old punch in the nuts works every time.

Alden really is having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

Negan is still Negan. Self-serving and looking out for number one. But I believe the man really does feel the group is his group too. He’s like that long lost, sketchy uncle nobody wants to acknowledge much less invite to the dinner table, but that bond? However thin? Is there.

I am both hating that Maggie is being forced to work with the man that murdered her husband (my baby Glenn) and finding it fascinating the lengths she’s willing to go to survive. This your plan, Angela?

Rosita and Carol! How sad is it that the last really significant scene I can remember the two of these women sharing was way back? Before Rick and Co. attacked Negan’s outpost and Maggie and Carol were subsequently taken? If only the show had done more of these kind of scenes.

How much do I love all the girls working together? Gimps would never. They’d all be stuck back at Alexandria minding the kids and the community.

Shallow aside--Rosita is so pretty in this scene.

Rosita being worried about Carol honestly makes my heart hurt, because it’s about damn time more of them actually did. Her saying Abraham is trying to tell her something in her dreams is interesting. Angela sure loves her dreams, doesn’t she?

Where are Daryl’s dreams, hmm? No. Seriously. I guess they want to give some viewers plausible deniability until the bitter end.

“Really? We’re just gonna go toward the screaming? Cool.” Hahaha. You know. Even the smart people in horror movies sometimes bite it, Negan. Just saying. Maggie really does need to “stop running up the staircase” when she could just run out the front door though, lol.

Poor Duncan. I think you could have been another Tyreese, Jerry type for me.

WTF does this show have against horses? Those poor creatures.

Kelly is totally me right now. I’d be freaking inconsolable.

Carol needed that hug. Thank you, Magna. From the bottom of this tired fangirl’s heart, thank you.

Why give us that beautiful, golden shot with the horses when you’re planning to stab us through the heart later and twist the knife. Oh. Yeah. That’s exactly why.

Oh snap! Father G’s delivery when he tells that Reaper “I’m not. God isn’t here anymore.” Cold as ice.

Judas. That the Reapers’ work. Or. Damn. Either way, that’s harsh.

Back to what Alden was saying. All these oprhaned children. Who’s going to take on Adam if he dies? That poor kid has had a rough go of it. Knowing that, makes you wonder what Alden was thinking volunteering for the suicide mission.

Omigosh. There went Agatha. Terrible way to go. Right, Beatrice?

I’m sobbing. Carol with the horse. That hurt my baby so much but she hurt herself for her family the same way she has been doing since the Prison. Melissa Mcbride? When she cries, I cry. Every effin’ time. Aaron being there just made it hurt more. But at least someone was there to see how and really take in how she continues to break pieces of herself off to keep her family as whole and safe and happy as she can.

Rewinding a minute--that Magna and Carol conversation. I get Magna’s reasoning too. I do. But Angela is just making everything so dire right now so that the sun when Connie is ultimate found shines a ltitle brighter.

Those babies know they’re eating horse. I could never.

That’s got to be a different Coco. She’s even smaller. But she’s gorgeous.

Fucking finally. Angela having the other characters notice after an eternity of being blind to it, just how much Carol sacrifices of herself for them. It’s so long overdue and I imagine Rosita’s even more worried for Carol now. It’s a shame it’s taken 11 seasons. My baby’s had blood on her hands trying to keep her family safe and whole and happy and fed for a long damn time. So heartbreaking watching her try to scrub the blood away.

Sweet, sweet hug that Kelly gave Magna. She’s such a sweetheart kid sis to all of them, isn’t she?

Interesting place of refuge. A gutted church. A visual symbol, Angela, of where Maggie and the rest of our people are now perhaps?

“It’s easy for you, isn’t it? Being reckless with sombody’s life...” Maggie. Maggie. Those words would have hit so much harder if we hadn’t spent the majority of the last 2.5 episodes watching you ignore sound advice just because it came out of the mouth of somebody you (justifiably) hate.

But will Alden be there when Maggie and Negan get back? That is the question. Or will he eventually Lucille himself?

That little bit of lineup Negan music to remind the audience of Negan lovers and sympathizers that he once took great pleasure in murderously swinging a bag at people’s heads was a nice, subtle touch there. Like agree with her or not, Maggie is literally left to rely on the hope, however small it is, that Negan has changed just enough that he won’t try to finish a job he taken on years before--killing what’s left of her.

Oh lawd. Next episode sees the return of a character literally nobody asked for. How excited am I not?

Dog better not be harmed or so help me.

Now for Angela’s weekly explanations of WTF she/there were thinking because they been doing this plausible deniability thing so long some people out there watching with biased, muddy stan glasses can no longer separate head canon from canon.

Is Maggie worried at all about Daryl or does she just assume his superhero powers are in full effect in this episode?

“You can’t really say it wasn’t going to happen anyway.” Not Angela pointing out that simply laying the blame for literally everything bad that ever happens at Carol’s feet isn’t the answer. Say it louder for those in the back. Alpha was going to do what Alpha wanted to do.

“There is love there. There is respect there. However, there’s also frustration...” You damn skippy. Friendships and human relationships are complex AF. Like Carol. She’s honestly one of the most complicated characters on this show and any show, IMHO. That’s what makes her so memorable and such a lightning rod for discussion.

I know I might be in a minority, but I really feel like they need more of those little scenes between the kids to keep things real.

Kang saying she always feels like she’s going to get murdered in a staircase or parking lot is relatable, funny, and sad all at the same time. It’s a girl thing.

Why is Carol’s story giving me Dark Knight vibes? Like I feel like she’ll gladly shoulder the burden of their distrust, their hate, or their judgment as long as the hard choices she makes keeps them safe. And she’s still ultimately going to come back to save their asses even when they forsake her. Just like Bruce Wayne/Batman. Am I reaching too far, lol? Because sometimes I do that.

Anyway. This is the third episode of the season and the third episode in a row that I mostly enjoyed. I don’t know if I’m just so relieved and happy to have all the characters and my show back or what, but overall? I’ve been pleased with the episodes and found something to love in all of them.

There’s a much stronger horror vibe woven throughout Season 11 so far. I feel like it’s a return to the roots of the show and I like that. Literally none of the characters are making perfect choices and this viewer is here for it. My only complaint so far is there hasn’t been enough Carol but what we’ve been given has felt like a gift and significant in a way that Gimps’ version was not. Also? I really hope the trend of the ladies working together and supporting each other continues because they rule the TWD world, lol.

Hope you enjoyed at least some of my TWD word vomit.

Until next episode.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons #my heart

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cosmicbash · 3 years

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no but like oh my god, imagine if kells only has sex with em bc that’s the only way he can think of repaying the rapper??? christ, like, he only thinks of em’s own pleasure instead of his own, using his body as an apology, bc that’s the only way he knows how (i mean there’s his music too, but he thinks em fucking hates his music) ((idk might write abt this, but i kinda want u to kickstart it uknow?))

Yess yess yess I love this.

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it.

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room.

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees.

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays.

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly."

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though.

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol.

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst.

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy.

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop.

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk.

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is.

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet.

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-"

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair.

----

(Okay so this has set in my docs wayyyy too long now and you said you just wanted it maybe even as a kickstart so 🤲🤲 here is my humble offering)

#emgk #asks #i love asks #just making myself sad #thinking about an em who genuinely is crushing on kells and wants to be with him #but kells only sleeps with him because he assumes the poor guy is expecting it #and as such just misconstrues every soft gesture #and ruins the chance they could have had at starting things write and it being enjoyable for both

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 5

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

To those of you wondering when our beloved Easy boys are coming into play... this chapter gives a hint and as to where they are in their journey.

Also, italics means character is speaking in French.

Tag List: @happyveday @alwaysindecemberfeels @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @saritanotserena

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

----------------------------------------------------------------

Anna woke before the sun and slipped out of the cottage before anyone else was awake. Even through the lingering exhaustion that had taken up permanency in her bones, her mind was used to field hospital hours and Nurse Falk's timeliness. So in the still quiet hours, she hurried towards the church.

Although she would like to say she was surprised, she really was not to see Medic Hunter awake and checking on the few patients they had.

"Did you sleep at all, Joe?" She whispered, not wishing to disturb those still sleeping.

"Some." He shrugged, keeping his own voice low. "Figured I could get caught up once you came back. Everything alright? They treat you well."

"Yes. I even got to sleep in a real bed."

He gave a low whistle as they moved towards the back and away from the patients. "Lucky duck."

"How are they? Do we know when they will be evacuated?"

"Not yet. I'll talk to Captain Evans today. Private Harris has a low fever now, I'm worried about infection."

"I'll watch him today. Go sleep, I can handle this."

"Thanks, wake up Arthur if you need anything. The other medics are staying in the building next door." Joe said, squeezing her shoulder. Quietly, he walked towards a side door which led to a private room that they had taken over from the local priest.

With a sigh, she let down her hair and ran her fingers through it, attempting to get all the knots and tangles out. What she would give for a glorious bath. Quickly, she twisted the long strands and pulled it back into her usual bun on the back of her head.

"Nurse…" a voice croaked out in the gloom.

And with that, she went back to work.

That day flew by as she and the other medics worked tirelessly on helping their patients, especially as throughout the day, Private Harris' fever worsened. At one point she was called away to help translate for Captain Evans, conversing with the local priest once again. As night fell, her movements were weary-laden and mind sluggish but she persevered.

She knelt by Private Harris, dabbing a cool, wet cloth on his forehead when the main door opened to the church. At the moment, her patient began coughing so she paid no mind to the newcomer and focused on soothing the young man before her. She could hear quiet talking and knew one of the other medics was dealing with the newcomer.

"Nurse Cooper?"

She looked behind her. "Norman?" Standing up, her eyes scanned him with worry as he slowly approached. "Are you alright? Are you injured?"

"No, no. Um, Boyd sent me… and well Don too. They are finishing up and said to meet them back at the house."

"Oh? Well, let me… do you mind waiting a couple minutes? I need to tell Joe, see if there is anything else I need to do first."

He smiled that endearing boyish grin, so full of sweet innocence even amidst a bloody war. "I'll wait by the door."

"Thank you." She watched him walk away and then headed to where Joe sipped some water, leaning against a table covered in medical supplies.

"Heading out?"

She nodded, hands fiddling with her uniform. "Anything else I can do first?"

He shook his head. "No, get outta here. An aid truck is coming tomorrow to pick up the wounded. Rumor is we're heading out early tomorrow for the next town."

She sighed. She should not be surprised but for some reason it still caught her off guard how quickly they would just up and move, leave the wounded and killed and move on. Only to repeat the process all over again. This was war. Something she had to frequently remind herself. She still hated it.

"Ok, I'll be here to help load the wounded." She started towards the main door but turned on her heel to look at Joe again. "And don't forget to write to your wife. You can send the letter with the medics. Nurse Falk would forward it."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't you forget to write too."

She smiled and met Norman at the door. Together they headed out, down the steps of the church and towards the cottage they had stayed at the night before.

After a couple of minutes, she broke the silence between them. The question had been dwelling in the back of her mind. He looked so much younger than the others. "How old are you, Norman?"

"Eighteen."

"And how did you end up on Fury? Did you go to tank school?"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. I was supposed to be a clerk, a typist. That's what I went to school for."

"Oh! How did…."

"They lost their bow gunner. The army pulled me off the bus and told me to report to Don."

"I'm sorry. I'm guessing it wasn't easy."

"No, no it wasn't. At first I hated them, especially Don. He made me sh… well, it doesn't matter now."

"What?" Curiosity tugged at her as she glanced at the young soldier by her side.

He inhaled sharply then the words poured out like water, begging to be released. "He forced me to shoot a Nazi in the back. Wrapped my hand around the gun and forced me to pull the trigger. Said he was teaching me to do my job. I never wanted this. I didn't want to kill people. I was drafted. I just…" he seemed to suddenly realize all he confessed and slammed his mouth shut.

She stopped walking on the side of the street, ignoring the other soldiers and locals. Her heart broke for this young man who had been thrust into a situation he never wanted to be in, who was forced to do things he had never imagined for himself. How true was that for most of the other soldiers she interacted with daily.

"Norman, my mother always said that a hug can't take away the pain but it can help remind you that you're not alone. So, can I give you a hug?"

That seemed to startle him. His eyes widened, mouth opened slightly as he froze, standing next to her. Hesitantly he looked around before finally meeting her eyes. She could see it behind the surprise in his gaze, that raw vulnerability, the desperate need for physical contact that was more than a slap on the back from a crew member.

"Oh, come here." She took the initiative, not waiting for a verbal response, and wrapped her arms around him. After an awkward second, he put his arms around her, returning the hug. She was only a couple inches shorter than him, but the way he clung to her, it felt like a child clinging to an older sibling for comfort. The feeling brought tears to her eyes. It had been some time since she gave or received a hug like this and she may have selfishly held him longer than necessary. A couple moments later, they released one another. Norman took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck once again.

"See, that wasn't bad."

His cheeks turned pink at her comment but he nodded his head, a small smile on his face.

They finished walking to the cottage in companionable silence. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night's air sleeping through her few layers to bring a chill to her bones. The worst of winter might be over but it was by no means warm yet. Or at least warm enough for her taste.

On the street, it was obvious a war was going on. Between the soldiers and tanks, the random splattering of blood from dead men that waited to be washed away with the next rain, it could not be mistaken for anything else. Inside the cottage, it felt like the eye of a hurricane or an oasis in the desert. Everything was still pristine, clean and orderly. Black and white photos on the walls, cushioned chairs, a basket for knitting in the corner of the room, a small stack of books on a side table. It was odd walking into such a domestic scene after seeing the evidence of war just outside.

"Odette!" She called out in French after she and Norman walked into the cottage and headed towards the kitchen. "It smells like heaven in here!"

"Anna, dear, you are too good to this old woman." The elderly woman chuckled, stirring a large pot over the stove. Even though her hair was gray, wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and she shuffled when she walked, her mind and tongue were sharp as a tack still. "The cassoulet is all done, just keeping it warm for the young men."

"They should be here soon I believe."

"Why don't you go sit down until then? Mmm, you must be exhausted, I tell you nurses never are able to put up their feet for a minute. Was the same with the last war and now this one."

"Yes ma'am, you let me know if there is something I can do." Anna let her hair down, massaging the back of her neck, hoping to relieve the tension slowly building up there. She could hear the door open and headed back out to the common room to let them know dinner was ready.

When she came around the corner, Norman was sitting down near the fireplace with a book in his lap. Instead of the rest of the crew it was just Gordo and Grady making their way in. Gordo dropped down onto a different chair, immediately putting his feet up on an adjacent chair, uncaring of the mud his boots trekked in.

Grady's eyes landed on her, the weight of them making her freeze. "Looky whose still here, boys!" He barked a rough laugh that made her wince.

"Leave her alone." Norman said.

"Leave her alone." Grady mimicked at Norman before sweeping his eyes back to her. "You sucking his cock too, just like Boyd's?"

"Wha… what?" She stuttered out but he did not seem to really expect an answer.

He prowled towards her, each footstep landing loudly in the cottage. "Not gonna share with the rest of us? Huh? Just them pretty boys?"

The way his eyes raked over her made her shiver but not in a good way. She backed up a few steps but found herself bumping into the edge of the doorway.

"Grady!" Norman rose to his feet, book still in hand. Gordo just sat there watching the drama unfold before him, fiddling with the gold chain necklace he wore.

Grady turned to face the younger man, pointing a finger. "You stay outta this."

When his back was turned, Anna reached under her uniform dress and pulled out the combat knife Don had given her back at the field hospital, what felt like ages ago. She had hoped she would never have to use it… especially against one of his own crew. She held the knife just in front of her at chest level. Surprisingly her hand was steady, even if the rest of her felt like she was trembling.

"Ohhh, better watch out. Kitty's got claws." Gordo teased, still making no move to get involved.

Grady turned back to her and seeing the knife, his smile grew. "What you gonna do, little girl? Gonna stab me? Huh? That's it?"

She said nothing, just watched and waited. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Odette watching, frail hands gripping her apron until her knuckles were white.

Grady took one more step closer, almost as if waiting to see what she would do; like a predator toying with its prey one last time before pouncing.

The front door opened; boots sounded on the hard floor. Anna and Grady's eyes remained locked even as the tension in the room increased with the new occupants witnessing the scene before them.

"Someone want to explain what the fuck is going on?" Sergeant Collier stated, anger bubbling just under the surface of his cool tone.

Grady retreated back a step, turning to face his commanding officer. "Nothin', Don. Just having some fun."

"Fun, huh? Then why's she got a goddamn knife out?"

"Anna…" Boyd started to walk towards her.

Before he could reach her, Odette shuffled in and wrapped an arm around Anna's shoulders, glaring at the men in the room. "Come on, dear."

Without a word, she tore her eyes away from Grady and followed their hostess down the short hallway to the guest bedroom she had stayed in the previous night. The whole time she kept the knife in hand. Soon as they walked away, she could hear the raised voices coming from the common room.

"What's the problem?! She's just some girl." Grady spoke first, an almost laugh to his voice as if this was all some joke.

"She's not some girl. She's a goddamn nurse! Show some respect."

"Oh? She sucking your cock too, huh, Don?"

"Get out!" Don yelled. "If you're gonna act like a dog then I'll treat you like one and you can sleep outside."

"You're gonna choose that bitch over your own crew?"

"Get the fuck out or so help me God I will shoot you right now and sleep like a baby tonight!"

Silence… then the front door opened and slammed shut, rattling even the painting on the wall in the far back guest room.

Anna dropped the knife on the ground and placed the hand over her mouth, the first hot tear rolling down her cheek. It had been a mistake coming here. She should have stayed at the church with Joe. Even then, she knew she was not fully safe. She should have stayed back at the field hospital, back with the other nurses who looked out for each other. She should have stayed home and never signed up for the Nurse Corps.

A knock on the bedroom door jolted her, making her flinch. Odette looked at her, arm still around her shoulders.

"Anna?"

The elderly lady made no move towards the door. Silently she continued to stare at Anna but raised an eyebrow in question. The nurse nodded, not looking up from her hands laying limply in her lap. As Odette walked the couple steps to the closed bedroom door, Anna tried to brush away the evidence of her tears on her dirty sleeves, wondering when all those tears escaped.

Boyd stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "May I come in?"

She looked up, holding his gaze for a moment, then nodded and glanced at Odette. "Thank you."

"If you need me, I am just a call away." She shuffled back down the hallway, giving Boyd a long look before disappearing.

"I'm so sorry, Anna." He finally said, sounding far more weary than she had ever heard from him. He had only stepped into the room but made no further movement. "I told you you'd be safe here and then Grady…"

"It's not your fault, Boyd." She said after his words drifted off. Her eyes dropped back to her lap, hands picking at her fingernails.

"Feels like it. I should have come get you instead of Norman. Shit. I reckon you want to head back to the church instead of staying here? Can't really blame you there if you do."

"I don't know honestly. Nowhere is safe for me."

"Well if it helps, Don kicked Grady out, though I assume you heard that. So, if you stay, you'll be safe here tonight. Don won't let nothing happen to you. Me neither. I suspect Norman feels the same way. He looked like he was ready to take a swing at Grady himself." When she did not respond, he finally moved to sit next to her on the bed. "Grady, he… war changes folks in ways they'd never guess."

"I know."

They sat in silence for several moments.

Boyd reached down and picked the knife off the floor near her feet where she had dropped it. "Did Don give you this?"

"Mmm? Yeah." She gingerly took it back from him then narrowed her eyes at his smug look. "Why?"

He shrugged, looking like the cat that caught the canary. "Nothin'."

Her eyes drifted to his hands again and noticed the bandage wrapped around his hand. Guilt flooded her at the sight. Her day felt so chaotic, she had completely forgotten to check his laceration. "I'm sorry, I haven't checked your hand today."

"S'fine. Gordo rebandaged it for me this mornin'. You can look at it tomorrow. Sides, ain't that bad no more. You got worse patients I reckon back at the church."

"Still… I want to make sure you're alright."

"Thank you, Anna. Tomorrow, you can." He stood up and turned sideways to look down at her. "You wanna come out and eat?"

"No… I'm not hungry. I'm… I'm just going to go to sleep."

"Alright. Good night, Anna. You make sure to eat in the mornin' then. You need to eat regularly."

"I will. Good night, Boyd."

Soon as he shut the door behind him, she curled up on the bed. She laid there for some time, allowing the stray tears to finally fall, no longer strong enough to keep containing them. She was thankful no one interrupted and they just allowed her peace. The stillness in the room felt like a haven. She could hear the others occasionally but there was no longer shouting.

Normally she would fall asleep but right now her emotions were rolling, keeping her from relaxing. Carefully she slid to the side of the bed and grabbed her personal bag. After a minute she pulled out her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. She smiled faintly thinking about the many nights her mother would read it to her before tucking her in for bed. Then when she got older, it became her favorite book to read over and over to herself. It was one of only a few possessions she still had that traveled with her from home. She cracked it open to where her bookmark was. For a second, she traced her finger over the beloved words, pretending she was home in her bedroom and the only things she had to worry about were her university applications. She lay curled on her side, allowing the words to drift over her skin and mind, a soothing balm for her nerves.

Once it became too dark to make out the words, she closed the book and replaced it in her bag. Slowly she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The house had been quiet for some time now. She guessed by this point everyone was asleep. Slipping off the bed, she headed out of the bedroom door. Although she was still not hungry, her throat felt parched. Between the crying and many hours of reading, it had been far too long since she had a drink. Carefully she moved towards the kitchen. She could make out the forms of Norman sleeping on the floor and Gordo on a chair, head tilted back and snoring.

Using the pitcher left on the counter, she filled a cup up with the water and drank it. It immediately soothed her throat and she sipped more slowly on a second glass. She stared outside the window above the sink, a full moon shone through. Suddenly the strong urge to bask in its light filled her and she acted on instinct. She set the cup down and swiftly moved towards the back door, opening it as quietly as she could as to not wake the cottage's sleeping occupants.

The full moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky, the stars twinkling alongside it like thousands of diamonds in the sky. War could ravage the earth until all that remained was smoke and barren ground, but it could never touch the heavens. There was something comforting about that fact. The beauty and majesty of the heavens could never be tainted by human hands.

She stood there, arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to ward off the chill of the night air as she looked upward. A gentle breeze made her hair, still unbound, sway around her.

It was not until the smell of cigarette smoke hit her, did she pay any attention to her surroundings. With a gasp, she scanned the immediate area and finally noticed a tall form standing just a few feet away, the burning end of a cigarette almost a beacon in the surrounding darkness.

"Oh! I didn't think anyone else would be out here. I'm so sorry to interrupt."

"S'alright." Sergeant Collier said, still more of a hidden shadow than recognizable form. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's my own fault. I should have paid better attention." She looked back up skyward, lamenting the fact she should head back in and try to get some sleep before tomorrow.

"I'm sorry about earlier." He stated bluntly. "It won't happen again. I swear."

"Thank you." She whispered, twisting her fingers together, trying to force back the wave of nervousness. "Um, can I …" she gestured towards him.

Somehow, he understood her vague gesture. He pushed off the wood pile he had been leaning against and came to stand next to her. Silently, he handed his cigarette over. She could feel his eyes on her as she put it to her lips and inhaled. Immediately she began coughing, eyes watering, as the smoke stung her lungs.

He chuckled as she handed the cigarette back. "Not a smoker?"

"No." She coughed out. "No, I've tried but I can never get used to it."

"Probably better for you." He exhaled, the smoke drifting away and into the sky.

They stood there silently, side by side. Anna could not help but notice how much taller he was than her. He had to be around six feet tall with her only coming up to him mid-chest. In the moonlight, his strong features appeared softer, less intimidating.

Though the memory of Norman's story from earlier came to mind. How this man next to her forced his newest crew member, someone who was still practically a child, to kill a Nazi point-blank in the back. That fact alone should scare her. The inhumanity of it. But then she was reminded of how he defended her earlier from someone else in his crew. Even how he looked out for her by giving her a knife when he barely knew her. It made no sense. Why was he looking out for her? She was no one to him. Her mind struggled to put the two facets of the man together in her mind.

"You going to be out here much longer?" He broke the silence, still staring forward.

"Um, maybe a few more minutes."

He nodded, tossing his spent cigarette to the ground. To her surprise, he slipped his leather jacket off and dropped it over her shoulders.

"What? Oh no, it’s-"

"Doll, I can see you shivering. You can give it back in the morning."

She huffed but could not suppress the small smile on her face, almost amused how easily he saw through her blatant lie. It was chilly out here but peaceful, and she needed some more of the quiet tranquility before going back inside. "Thank you, Sergeant Collier."

"You can call me Don."

"Then you have to call me Anna."

His lips twitched in what she thought was a smile, but she was unsure with the shadows. "Alright. Night, Anna." He turned and stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click.

It was a long moment before she turned back around to stare up at the sky. She slipped her arms in the sleeves, hugging the jacket closer to her, surprised by how warm it was. It smelled strongly of cigarettes, sweat and something distinctly male. The stench should offend her, she doubted it had been washed anytime recently, but instead she found herself burying her nose into it. It was huge on her shorter form, but it brought a feeling of comfort, like when a child wears something of their parent's clothing, pretending to be grown up.

He was an enigma to her. Someone she knew was dangerous but protectively loyal. What scared her the most though was when he called her the pet name, it woke up a swarm of butterflies in her belly.

*****

The sunrise just peeked over the wooded horizon. Another day of war. Another day to try and survive. Another day to hope your crew survived. Another day to wonder why the Nazis did not just give up.

Fuck 'em all.

Don brushed past the infantry soldiers running around, trying to find their platoons or looking last minute for one of their guys probably off sleeping somewhere. He headed towards where the tanks were waiting on the edge of the little town.

"What's the news, boss?" Binkowski asked, as Don approached the other three tank commanders. They stood several paces away from the tanks, clearly having been waiting for him to return with orders.

"Right. We're heading out…"

"No shit." The big blond deadpanned. The others glared at him. "What?"

"One of these days, I'm going to shoot you." Don stated, only half-serious. He found he enjoyed the blond's dry humor. Binkowski was also the man to jump first into a fight, which either made him quite brave or incredibly stupid. Don had not determined which quality it was yet.

"Nah, you'd miss me too much."

"Like a hole in the head." Davis muttered, a frown on his ever-stoic face.

They all chuckled but then grew serious again when Don started speaking.

"Right. Intel says Krauts are drawing back into Germany. We've been requested by a battalion of paratroops to help them hold the area near Haguenau, so that's where we are headed, boys. Captain Evans and his boys will continue on past and link up with another company set to push into Germany."

"Paratroopers?" Peterson questioned, dropping his cigarette on the ground.

"Yeah, those idiots that decided to jump out of plans, go behind enemy lines, all that shit." Binkowski explained, with a short bark of sarcastic laughter. "Must think they're something special."

"Why don't you ask them when we get there?"

"Alright, here's the lineup- Fury, Murder Inc, Lucy Sue and Old Phyliss. Evans wants us in the front so we can peel off when we reach the main road to Haguenau. Should take a couple of days to get there." Don said.

The other three nodded or grunted their affirmative.

"Good, mount up!"

Everyone headed to their tanks, crew jumping into their positions and turning on their comms. Don headed to Fury but slowed his steps when he saw Grady standing in front of the tank with Boyd by his side. Gordo and Norman had their heads popped out of their holes watching.

With a sigh, he moved closer. He knew Boyd would not let this go. In all honesty, it was probably better to get this dealt with now instead of letting it fester like an infected wound. His crew did not need bad blood between one another. They would never survive if they did not trust each other. Grady refused to meet his gaze as Don stood in front of his gunner and mechanic.

"She's not some whore you can rough up. She's a good girl."

Grady rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "I know, Don. I didn't mean nothin' by it."

"You still scared her good." Boyd said quietly, hands in his pockets. "Should apologize to her."

Grady nodded, staring at his feet.

"You better or I'll kick your ass."

The mechanic looked up at the gunner, a smirk on his face. "Kick my ass, huh? You sweet on her or something?"

Boyd rolled his eyes. "No, I ain't, and you know it. She reminds me of my little sister."

Gordo chirped up, chuckling in his seat. "She's too pretty to look like your little sister, if your sister looks anything like you."

"Shut up, Gordo."

The crew clambered up into their positions, the tension dispelled.

Don stood on his seat, surveying around. The slight shifting of movement brought a fresh wave of scent that was not his own. Somehow underneath the grime, there was the faintest hint of something that reminded him of lilacs. Turning his head, he sniffed at the collar of his jacket and was hit by the scent once again. It had been the most pleasurable torture since he put the jacket on that morning. He had found it resting on the back of one of the chairs in the common room when he stumbled out of the second guest bedroom.

The scent brought him back to the prior night and watching the little, redheaded nurse staring at the night sky with a soft smile on her face. Bathed in the moonlight she looked like an angel to him. After he had gone inside, he had stood at the sink, looking out the window above it for a couple minutes watching her. Alone, he allowed a smile on his face when he noticed her burying herself in his jacket. It had been a spur of the moment decision to give her his jacket and now he was wondering if he regretted the action or loved it. Her scent lingered with him, just like her.

He looked around once more, most of the men in position. He could not help but look towards the back of the company where the medic truck was located. Where she was.

#Fury movie #fury 2014 #fury fanfic #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #Don Collier #Don Wardaddy Collier #don collier x OFC #boyd swan #boyd bible swan #Norman Machine Ellison #Trini Gordo Garcia #Grady Coon-Ass Travis #world war 2 #ww2 #mzwrites

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theanarik · 3 years

Text

WILLEX - BLIND DATES

Title: Blind dates

Summary: 5 times Alex went on a blind date, and 1 time he met the boy.

Rated: T and up audiences because of language

Also on ao3

This story is subject to changes from part 2 on because my betaboy hasn’t come back to me with the notes. But i was too eager.

Beta: Golden Retriever. Best boy ever 💖

Alex loves his parents. They’ve always been supportive of him and his dreams, as well as his career path (studying to become a music teacher did not sit very well with his dad, but he was still helping him pay college). Alex also loves his brothers something fierce. They’re all off doing their own thing, starting their own families or studying a new degree or something other; he’s not keeping up with them much, but they’re good. Alex loves his family a lot, he does, it’s just that sometimes it feels like they don’t love him back, at least not the same amount.

When he was little, he used to hide behind his mom’s legs when his brothers were teasing or bullying him, always laughing at him because he was a “momma’s boy” (although if he’s being honest now, Alex thinks that maybe they were jealous because their mom always favorited him); but growing up, and growing distant from them and their parents, made him realize a couple of things on his own. First, when he was 14, he realized that boys were starting to talk about girls in the "isn’t-she-pretty-?" type of way, and Alex could – objectively – see it, but he wasn’t really sure how to participate on that conversation.

Second, when a new boy, Luke, joined his class halfway sophomore year, he realized that boys could be pretty too, but he really didn’t feel sure about sharing that one with anyone. He befriended Luke when he discovered that he had a passion for guitars, and Alex told him that he played the drums. Alex has never seen Luke’s eyes shine the way they did in the six years of knowing him ever again.

Third, at 16 years old, Alex realized that he may have had a tiny crush on Luke since he met him, but he was obviously not going to do anything about it because he was straight and straight boys don’t have crushes on other boys. Right? (The fourth thing, he later realized is that he might be gay).

Perhaps discovering himself was a journey full of changes – and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t like change much –, but there was a moment that made him realize that the love his parents had for him was… conditional. One afternoon, after coming back from church, his parents were talking about Juliet, their neighbor, about how her son had recently come out as gay, and how devastated she must have felt. The boy was not living with them anymore, Alex had heard. How awful must have been for her, Alex had heard clearly. "Well, he’s not our son, he can do and be as gay as he wants as long as it’s not one of ours", Alex had heard and could not stop hearing.

He didn’t eat dinner that night.

Alex knew what coming out to his parents could do to their relationship. He knew that his mother would cry, that his father would yell or maybe kick him out of the house; he knew that once the words were out of his mouth, there was no going back.

One night, during dinner and while his brothers were visiting, Alex couldn’t take it anymore. They were talking non-stop, rambling and talking and talking about how they wanted grandchildren, about how they wanted them to each find a nice girl each and settle after school. Alex had felt his heart beating faster and faster as the words left their mouths, felt a drum on his hears when his brothers laughed, felt his hands trembling and sweating as he tried to grab his glass. Felt the world stop when it broke.

“I’m gay.”

Two little words, said in a soft, afraid tone, and the table was silent.

“No, you’re not,” his father had said, like it had been rehearsed many, many times before, and continued with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Nobody looked at him as he stood up to grab a swift and the dustpan, nobody checked up on him when he cut his hand picking up the little pieces of glass. Nobody said anything as he started to cry.

Alex loved his parents, but after coming out he realized his parents loved him as long as he was whatever they wanted him to be.

Alex has gone on dates with a lot of different people because he doesn’t really have a type. He even dated Luke (which was a weird, self-discovery time he doesn’t really want to repeat). Alex has gone on dates with boys who knew they were gay, with boys who were discovering themselves and with boys who didn’t want to label themselves just yet. He’s had boyfriends and partners here and there, but they never lasted more than the six months mark. Alex is starting to think he’ll never find anyone and that he’ll die alone. He’s only 21.

His mother calls him on his birthday as usual, wishes him happy birthday with a strained voice – the one she’s been using since he was 17 –, and then tells him excitedly that she met this beautiful girl down the pier, she was singing with her best friend and she played the piano; she tells him that she’d be perfect for him and, "oh, Alex, don’t you want to meet her?"

Alex sighs, it’s been 4 years since he came out and his mother still tries to deny it. He’s never gone on a date his family’s set up and he wonders if maybe, just maybe, if he goes on a blind date with a girl, like his mom wants him to, and then says that it didn’t work, she’ll calm down a little bit. Ruffling his hair and massaging his eyes, he lets out:

“Sure, mom, I want to meet her.”

There’s silence on the other line as Alex waits for her answer. There’s a squeal and a "oh, that’s great, son! and you’ll love her! Her name is Julie, and you should meet her at…"

And that’s how Alex finds himself at Eats and Beats at 11 a.m., a good two hours after his morning classes have ended, waiting for one Julie. He’s been checking his phone for the past ten minutes, hoping against hope that Julie doesn’t show up. He doesn’t really know how the girl looks, his mom only told him that she had beautiful milk-chocolate skin – Alex immediately reacting to that comment with a discreet grimace and yes, Alex did pull a face at that –, dark curly hair, and a "you’ll now when you see her." Well, Alex doesn’t know if he’s seen her.

11:05 a.m., and no Julie. Alex wonders how long he has to wait until he can say that she didn’t show up. 15 minutes per hour just like his classes? He’s counting how long a “straight date” is supposed to last when someone clears their throat beside him.

“Hi, are you Alexander Mercer?” a girl with "milk chocolate" brown skin and dark, curly hair says. She’s pretty and, for some reason, Alex feels somewhat at ease when she smiles at him. He’s sure he’s seen her somewhere. “I’m Julie Molina.”

“Hi, Julie!” Alex says, offering his hand for her to shake. She looks at him weirdly for a second, but she shakes it, nonetheless, sitting in front of him. “And, please, call me Alex. Alexander makes me feel like I’m being scolded by my mom.”

Julie chuckles and asks him how his day’s been going. They talk for almost 20 minutes about their classes (to Alex's surprise, Julie’s also a Music major!) and then they stay quiet for a few seconds, Julie’s happy look turning concerned by the second.

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something, Alex.”

“Okay…?

“I already like someone else.” She says, rushing then to say, “you seem like a great guy! And you’re very attractive, but you’re not really my type. I’m sorry.”

Alex stays quiet for a couple of seconds, staring at Julie, surprised. He blinks once, twice, and then he chuckles. “Oh, thank god.”

“What?” As the tables have turned, Julie now being the onethen it’s her turn to be confused.

“I’m sorry, Julie. I’m gay. I’m only here to appease my mother a little bit.”

“Oh.” She laughs happily and continues, “does your mother not know you’re gay?”

“Oh, she knows. It’s just taking her a bit of adjusting.” He tells her, and that seems to calm her initial scandalized expression. “So, who is this person you like?” She looks at him funnily and Alex chuckles. “I need to know who you’re leaving me for.”

“Do you know Luke Patterson?”

“Been there, done that.”

“He’s like, really good with the guitar and-. I’m sorry, what?” she says with a confused smile.

Alex feels his heart starting to beat faster by the second. Julie doesn’t look upset, but she doesn’t look happy either and Alex wonders if he fucked up.

“I mean!” he tries to explain. “It was a really long time ago, when we were teenagers? He’s my best friend, so of course I know him, you like him?” Alex says, his tone going increasingly higher as he tries to explain his relationship with Luke.

“Alex, calm down,” Julie says, trying not to smile. “Yeah, I like him… we have a couple of classes together, one with Mrs. Harrison?”

“Oh.” Then realization comes. “Oh. You’re that Julie!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“… Nothing.” Alex avoids looking at Julie altogether, focusing on looking at his hands, his coffee, the tabletop, the wall.

“Alexander…” she says, and Alex feels like he’s being scolded by his mom. He looks at her for a split second: her eyebrows are up, her eyes are disbelieving and her mouth is down. Alex groans, he can’t help it.

“Let’s just say that you have a chance with him, okay. That is all I’m gonna say!” He rushes when he notices her opening her mouth.

“Are you sure?” she asks him, softly, and Alex now understands that he doesn’t need to like girls to get why Luke likes Julie.

“Yeah. You’re good. You’ll probably have to ask him out yourself, though. He’s pretty stupid when it comes to something other than his guitar.”

Julie laughs, says that she’s noticed and offers a piece of Luke’s own brand of stupidity during classes. Alex laughs with her and shares some stories of Luke when they were in high school.

When Alex goes back home to grab his other best friend, Reggie, and drag him to have lunch with him, Alex receives a text from his mother asking him how the date went. Alex answers quickly telling her that Julie was very nice, but that she liked someone else, he adds a sad emoji just for fun. He turns off his phone the moment they pass the threshold.

Alex should have known that accepting to go on one blind date would end up in him being set up by his friends. Luke, Reggie and the new addition to their friend group, Julie and Flynn, decide to set him up with four different people to try and date. And no, he doesn’t get a say in this. Alex has tried to explain how he went on a date with Julie only to please his mother, and that that was it, but none of them really listen to him.

Friday afternoon finds him back in Eats and Beats, sitting on the same booth he was at when he met Julie. This time, Flynn’s the one who set him up with someone. He’s supposed to be one of her acquaintances’ cousin, he’s already graduated and is working as a vet somewhere nearby. Alex has never seen a vet clinic near Sunset Boulevard, but he’ll give the benefit of the doubt to the other man.

Alex’s been starring at the wall for a while when someone sits down in front of him. He turns to look at the man, recognizing him from the pictures Flynn sent him.

“Hi, I’m-.”

“Alex, I know,” the man interrupts him, and Alex raises his eyebrows.

“Okay. And you’re Bobby?”

“No. Trevor. Bobby’s my brother but he couldn’t come. Had more important things to do.”

“Okay?” Alex is starting to get a little upset with the man. He frowns, looks at the time and says: “Look, man, I was waiting to meet Bobby. So, if you can tell him to text me if he wants to meet, that’d be great. I’m gonna go.”

Trevor rolls his eyes at him and murmurs a low “whatever”. Alex wants to punch the guy. He walks up to the counter, orders another coffee to go and walks up to his apartment.

“Hey, Lexy,” Luke greets him from the kitchen. “What happened?”

“Dude didn’t even show up, sent his brother instead to say he had ‘more important things to do’. So, I left.”

“Ugh, dude, that sucks. Go shower and come back in 20 minutes, I’m making pizza.”

“You’re the best.”

“Can you say that to Julie, please?”

Alex laughs at him for a couple of seconds, trying to ignore the pout on Luke’s face. It’s not like he really wanted to go on a date anyway.

“Hey, bro” Luke says, smiling apologetically.

“Luke?” Alex says confused. “What are you doing here, man?”

“I’m your date!”

Alex has never experienced war flashbacks before, but the time he “dated” Luke comes back with full force. The awkward kisses, the sneaking around, the hand holding and, oh god, the hand jobs.

Luke sits down in front of him, still smiling, and Alex wants to run away from him.

“Dude, you’re my best friend and I love you, but never again.”

Luke laughs, then he seems to catch onto what Alex just said and kicks him under the table. “You’re a dick.”

“You know what they say, you are what you eat.”

“Alexander!”

“Lukas!”

Luke glares at him for a couple of seconds, mumbling “my name is Luke” before bursting out laughing, making everyone near their vicinity look at them.

“So, why’re you here? I thought you said you were asking someone from your Poetry class?”

“Yeah… so there was a bit of miscommunication with that one.”

“… he thought you were asking him out.”

“He thought I was asking him out.” Luke says with a nod, “and I didn’t want you to keep waiting here alone so I came! Wanna watch a movie?”

“You’re not going to kiss me like last time, right?”

“Nope! I won’t even hold your hand.”

“Then, let’s go.”

Contrary to popular believe, Alex does have friends outside of his band (he has a band now! How cool is that!?), and yeah, it’s mostly the people who he has classes with but! They’re his friends too and they, somehow, have decided that he needs a boyfriend. Alex is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, his friends a little bit too meddle-y.

Nick, his project partner, says that he knows the perfect guy for him, and Alex is kind of getting tired of hearing that phrase. The problem here is that Nick didn’t tell him any name, didn’t share with him any pictures, he didn’t share anything about the other person and Alex is getting anxious. In past occasions, Flynn, Luke and even his mom had shared a picture, a description or the name of the person he was meeting, just so he could feel a little bit in control of the situation; he even rejected some of the people Julie showed him before she gave up.

Alex has checked the time ten times now and it’s still stuck on 3:45 p.m. His date was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, and Alex has not seen anyone come inside the restaurant for about ten minutes now. Alex has taken to count the jars on top of the table – there are five: salt, pepper, toothpicks, hot sauce and something else he doesn’t really want to check out –. When he’s memorized the jars’ order, Alex tries to focus on the stains on the table; there’s one with the shape of a puppy!

His last attempt at grounding himself is the 5 to 1 strategy he read on the internet. He starts by listing the first 5 things he can see, starting by the puppy stain. He then looks at the jars on the table, the window to his left, the waitress walking past him and…

“Reggie!” Alex says, almost yelling. Reggie turns to look at him and frowns when he catches the, probably, frantic look on his face.

“Hey, man!” Reggie says sitting down in front of him, smiling reassuringly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to be on a blind date, but I have no idea who this person is, and before you say anything, he’s not here yet.”

“Well, that is the general idea of the blind date, yes.”

“That’s not what I-. Okay.”

“Well, I’m supposed to meet someone here too. My friend Nick set me up with this-.”

“Wait, Nick?” Alex interrupts, starting to feel his blood rush to his face. “Nick Danforth-Evans?”

“Yeah, the very same!” Reggie smiles at him brightly. “Cool dude, you know him?”

“Oh god.”

Alex realizes what’s going on a few seconds before Reggie does, hiding his face on his hands and groaning. He should’ve seen it coming. Nick has been talking for weeks about a new friend he made at the puppy shelter where Reggie volunteers. He should’ve seen it coming from a mile afar.

“Oh.” Reggie says and he sounds a little bit disappointed. “Well, now that we’ve realized we’re both each other’s dates, and there’s no chemistry whatsoever, no offence-.”

“None taken.”

“Wanna grab street dogs?”

“I’m not sure, Reg-.”

“Relax! Street dogs haven’t killed us yet.”

Famous last words.

After getting out of the hospital for a really bad case of food poisoning, his mom insists on him staying at home a couple of days before going back to school and Alex loves his mom, he really does, but he’s come to associate home to the apartment he shares with Luke and Reggie, and occasionally Julie when she stays. He doesn’t really want to stay with his parents. Managing to escape her hold, Alex promises he’ll go on another date with a girl she picks, and he wonders if it was a whole plot to get him to agree to it after she let him go. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter, and he forgets about it for a couple of weeks until he receives a call from his mother telling him that she found that Carrie Wilson, “lovely girl, Alex, is single and that he’s going on a date with her, and please try?”

“Mom, but Carrie is-.”

“Beautiful, I know, but I think you have a shot.”

“I mean, sure, she’s pretty but she’s also-.”

“Don’t you dare say that she’s out of your league, baby.”

“… That is not what I was going to say.”

“Then it’s settled! You’re going on a date with Carrie!” Alex stops listening when she starts talking about cute, blond grandchildren.

The day of the date, Alex thinks that Carrie’s not going to come to the café. She’s running late and if there’s something he knows about her is that she values time too much. After half an hour, Carrie enters the café, scans rapidly for him, and walks straight to his table, sitting down gracefully as she flips her hair.

“You’re going to help me get together with Flynn.”

“Hello to you too, Carrie. How are you in this fine afternoon?”

“Tired, I just came from a Dirty Candy rehearsal. Alex, I need you to help me, Flynn hates me.”

“Alright, Wilson, but only if you let me rehearse with you guys.”

“Deal.”

Oh, yeah, mom, I forgot to tell you. Carrie’s a raging lesbian and she’s been out for a while now. No blond grandchildren for you.

Alex has decided to stop going on blind dates. He won’t even look at the pictures his friends have for him because he’s just not doing that anymore. He hasn’t met a single person who he has spoken more than a sentence to without feeling uncomfortable. He’s just leaving Eats & Beats after signing the band up (Julie and the Phantoms, “tell your friends!”) for an Open Mic night. He’s happily answering texts on his group chat when he’s promptly ran over by someone.

The next thing he knows he’s on the floor, his to-go coffee is now all over the sidewalk, his hands burn a little bit, but he’s overall okay. There’s a person lying beside him that moves all too quickly to stand up and say:

“Aw, man, you dinged my board!”

Alex blinks twice while standing up, feeling anger starting to bottle up on his chest.

“I dinged your board!? Dude, you ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-.”

His mind goes blank for a couple of seconds when his eyes land on the man in front of him, adverting his eyes as he tries to process what just happened. The man in front of him is a little shorter than him, and it’s looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Y-you ran me over.” Alex stammers and mentally kicks himself as the other takes his helmet off, slowly, and flips his hair back, showing him a piercing on his right ear.

Oh god.

“Sorry. I thought you heard me” he answers and then smiles, and Alex’s heart does summersaults. “I’m Willie, by the way.” Willie offers him his hand and Alex shakes it.

“Alex.”

“So, Alex, what are you doing in Hollywood, man? Taking a picture with that Marilynn girl?” Willie wiggles his eyebrows and clicks his tongue; Alex wants to laugh.

“Uh, no. I was actually signing us up for an Open Mic night at Eats and Beats.”

“Who’s us?” Willie asks with a little pout, bouncing on his feet. Alex thinks he’s cute.

“Oh, my bandmates and me. We’re a new band and we’ve been playing gigs here and there.”

“That’s cool, man. What’s your band’s name?”

“Julie and the Phantoms,” Alex answers and continues after a beat. “Tell your friends.”

Willie smiles and then turns to look past him, frowning. Alex turns around and realizes – again – that his coffee lays on the sidewalk, completely gone. Alex sighs and bends down to grab the cup, finding a nearby trash can to throw it.

“No coffee for me.” Alex murmurs to himself, drying his hands a little bit on his pants.

“I did pancake you, huh?” Willie says smiling and Alex chuckles. “Sorry again, though. Come on, I know the best coffee place, I’ll buy you another one.”

“Really? Uh, okay, yeah. Sure.” Alex answers, trying not to seem too eager.

“Cool! You just gotta keep up.” Willie tells him while putting on his helmet again and starting to skate away.

Alex runs after him not long after and catches up with Willie right before he goes skating into traffic. Willie laughs a little, getting off of his board and grabbing Alex’s wrist to make him cross the street running. A couple of blocks of running later, Willie stops in front of a coffee shop Alex has never seen before: The Hollywood Coffee Club.

“Come on,” Willie says, opening the door for him.

One cup of coffee turns into two, which then turn into three. Alex spends his whole afternoon talking and laughing with Willie, talking about their lives, their dreams, their hobbies. Alex talks about the band, and how he thinks they’ll make it big someday, and Willie promises to go to their next gig at Eats and Beats. Willie tells him that skating is the most freeing thing he’s ever done, that he met Tony Hawk once and signed one of his boards, and that he’s working towards his master’s degree.

Alex learns that Willie is three years older than him, that he’s studying because he’s not really sure what else to do with his life, and well, his dad offered to pay for it. Willie learns that Alex has two brothers, that drums is the most anxiety-relieving thing he’s ever done, and that he’s afraid of graduation.

Once Alex realizes the time – 7:45 p.m. – Willie and he decide to get out of the coffee shop and walk down the pier. Somewhere along the way Willie grabs his hand and links their fingers, and Alex’s head blanks for the second time in the day before continuing with the conversation. Once they reach the beach, Willie tells him that he lives nearby the university and, “would you wanna come watch a movie or something?”

Willie rambles about how the dorms for post-graduate students are individuals and that the dorm is small, but it’s cozy.

“We could watch the movie and order takeout? But it’s okay if you don’t want to!”

“Willie,” Alex interrupts him smiling. “I’d love to.”

Willie smiles again and Alex feels his heart wanting to get out of his ribcage. Once they reach the dorm room, Alex shoots a quick text on the group chat letting his friends know where he is, and also that he’s probably not coming home.

Alex🥁: on a date. See you guys tomorrow.

His phone immediately starts vibrating and he decides to put it on silent, stuff it on his pocket and forget about it until later.

“Hey, Alex!” Willie calls him from the small en suite bathroom. “Do you want pizza or like, Mexican?”

“Pizza’s fine by me.”

“Awesome.”

Alex smiles to himself as Willie gets out and starts calling the pizza place. Willie sits down beside him on the bed, already logging on Netflix, turning to look at him with a soft smile. As he hangs up, Alex decides to be bold and kiss Willie on the cheek, feeling relieved as he gives him the brightest smile he’s ever seen.

Alex’s really glad none of his blind dates worked out, and finally decides to flip off the version his parents decided to create of himself on their heads. He likes this version of him better, the one he is with Willie.

Tagging: @netflixaddictedd @headheartbellarke @tiriansjewel @justaphantomband @phanhowell @sunshine-julie-molina thanks for waiting!!!

#willex #alex mercer #willie #jatp #also on ao3

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katie-writes24 · 4 years

Text

Last Chance

Pairing: Alexander Hamilton x reader

Warnings: Language, suggestive material, brief religious content ig, angst, fluff, weddings, bad officiant script (if that makes sense), irl it’s kinda wrong but just go with it.

Part 2

I’ll just get straight to the point, Taylor Swift was the cause of this..... That’s it! You’re welcome, enjoy! Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Oh and also, can we appreciate that I finally figured out to put the ‘keep reading’ feature on because I finally set tumblr up on my computer? Yay me, this is a life changer you don’t even know!

As a kid, Y/N would be dragged to church every Sunday, told to represent her supposedly "religious" family. Her mother would force her into a dress, always reminding her to "sit like a lady" since there were always boys present, and you just never know. They would go and learn about the god above, be thankful that they were brought here, cheer his name.

When she was fourteen, she went into church on a Monday, this time for a funeral. She automatically noticed the change in tone, obviously, but since then she looked at churches a bit different. They weren't praised as much, they held an entire different meaning, one that wasn’t very happy at all. No, she learned that churches could be just as devastating as celebratory.

Like now, where people gathered in front of the steps, mingling and wearing expensive clothing. There was a truck on the lawn, workers were shoving different table sets across the road, where a large tent was set up. There was a group of people laughing a couple feet away, all looking down at a little girl with a white dress on. A stretch limousine rolled around and a few women climbed out with grace, all wearing the same pale color.

Truly devastating.

Y/N tugged at her own dress, hoping that the simple color would at least help her blend in with the crowd. Maria had told her it would be just fine, and it’s not like a new fancy dress was in her budget.

Besides, it’s not like anyone here cares about her appearance. They’re not here for her. In fact, she hadn’t found one familiar face yet, which should be a good thing, but Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how many of these guests both parties even knew.

“Would you ever get married?”

He scoffed, “Marriage isn’t very meaningful is it, why should I have to document my love for you? As long as we both know it right?”

“Okay...I guess you’re right, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a nice tux.” She wiggled her eyebrows, but it didn’t bother him.

“Is that all you’d want a wedding for? Because I will gladly put on a fancy tux if it meant you’d be down to-”

“Shut up! No, that’s not all. I’d like one, I’d think it’d be nice. It wouldn’t even have to be a big one.” She could see them by the beach, perhaps even getting married at the courthouse and use their money to blow on a big dinner after. She wouldn’t even mind a service in their apartment, it’s roomy.

“Well, not like I have anyone for a big wedding anyways…”

She sat down next to him and stroked her fingers through his hair. “We’d invite our friends. I could invite my mom, you know she loves you. We don’t need a bunch of people to have a wedding.”

“Good, because I don’t want a giant guest list where there are different number tables and- a full service and a grand ceremony. I just...I just want you.”

She wonders how much of this is total bullshit.

From where she’s standing, Y/N doesn’t think anyone would approach her. The lake is quite breathtaking, but the crowd is full of anxiousness and people are patiently waiting for the ceremony to start by the front of the church.

Some people pass her by, and she picks up on certain terms, like how “beautiful the church is” or “she picked out the perfect dress, Philip was crying it was so pretty” and her favorite “just wait till you see this guy, they are just perfect for each other.”

Perfect.

“I told you I can’t dance.”

“And I was a fool to not believe you. My feet are killing me,” He smirked and then laughed as she hit his shoulder.

“Fuck off! Why are we doing this again?” She looked up at the sky that cracked before her, grey clouds mushing together.

“Because dancing in the rain is on my bucket list,” He twirled her around, pulling her close when she fumbled out of the turn.

“Okay, what does that have to do with me? You’re telling me all your years before we met you couldn’t have gone outside and danced?” She grimaced as she felt drops of water against her skin.

“Maybe I was waiting for the perfect person to do it with?” A hand wrapped around her waist and she chuckled.

“Perfect? I am far from perfect,” They met each other’s stare and she got butterflies just seeing that look in his eye.

“Well, then this is perfect,” The rain started to beat against the cement below them. “You and me, here right now, together. It’s perfect.”

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear anybody approach until they called her name. Y/N turned her head a little too fast, scared that she would be caught, there would be a giant scene, and then she would lose her chance at-

At what exactly? She didn’t know either.

“That’s really you, isn’t it?”

Hercules always was so welcoming, she never felt out of place when she was around him. In fact, he actually had a small smile on now, dressed nicely in his, most likely own, tailored suit.

“Hey, Herc,” Y/N gripped her own arm, unsure if it was appropriate to go in for a hug. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, I made it myself.” He chuckled and opened his arms, allowing her to view his form. He looked just the same as she had seen him almost two years ago.

“It’s definitely you! Did that business of yours ever hit it off with the investors?” Maybe she was aiming for small talk in hope of a distraction, she wasn’t ready for the obvious to be out in the open just yet.

“No, but I’m working with something better. Got a lot of new line ups, good people to work with…” Hercules trailed off with a fond smile on his face.

“I’m really happy for you, Herc. You deserve it!”

He smiled, “What about you? What have you been up to?”

Y/N winced and tried not to fidget. “Still working for the same place, I actually got a promotion a couple months ago, so I’ve been busy with that...But everything else has been...things are going well.”

Hercules nodded, and just like a wave, tension flooded the air around them.

Y/N refused to look up and meet his eyes, to either see full curiosity, disappointment or any other mood that would just make her feel sick to her stomach, will have her asking the same question over and over to herself. However, the silence couldn’t stay too long.

“Y/N, what...why are you here?”

An older woman was yelling at a worker, wanting more champagne for the bride's suite. She was aggressive, and yet the guests around her weren’t baffled at her behavior in the slightest. Y/N hated entitlement, hated more when the rich forgot that other people aren’t as fortunate enough as them.

Y/N also hated that Hercules was still staring at her while she was wondering if her own mother would be so stressed as to the point of lashing out at others.

“How long have they been engaged?” She finds herself asking only to quiet her thoughts of if they were stuck in one place and never seemed to want more.

“Eight months,” Hercules sighed, never being one to push and always being honest. “Eliza’s sweet, she has a good heart. She’s loyal-”

Ouch.

“And she makes him happy.”

“Do you think we were ever… not happy?” Her eyes finally met his, instantly going soft and trying to word his answer carefully, even though Y/N could see a straight answer on his face.

“I think...you guys worked around each other well. I think you enjoyed each other’s company, and maybe you might have been in love once, but that’s in the past. Right now, over a hundred people are going to celebrate what’s best for him and Eliza…”

He’s not marrying you, he’s not with you.

It was something unspoken, but Y/N knew that was what Hercules was trying to get at, letting her know that her presence was unwelcome and that this was for the best.

Why was she here? Why did she think that today would be the day to confess her feelings that never drifted away? Why was she so selfish, and think that her happiness was more important than-

Someone approaches them rather quickly, and it makes her turn and brace for an attack.

Instead, it’s just John.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, you weren’t invited!” He was loud and he was causing a scene, something Y/N definitely did not want. He actually looked like he was about to jump her, but before he could move any closer Hercules puts his arm on John’s chest to block him.

“Relax, John,” Hercules looked back at her with a pointed look. “Y/N was just leaving.”

There was a pause, and she almost believed that yes, she was leaving. This was her cue, no one wanted her here, she wasn’t supposed to be here. Who is she to ruin a wedding? How could she do something so terrible?

“You should move in,” He ran his hand over her back, listening to her slow breaths.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice, having you here all the time?” He knew she was drifting off and probably wasn’t even registering what he was saying. He was proven wrong when she raised her head to look at him in the dark light.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt seeing you all day,” Y/N smirked as he nudged her with his leg. She kissed his chest and smiled down at him. “If I move in, there’s no turning back. Rent is too high for me to be switching back and forth.”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else I'd want you to be.”

Y/N gave him a curt nod, walking backwards a bit before fully turning around. She walked all the way pass the church, passed the parking lot, all the way down to the end of the lake. She was out of sight.

But there was no way she was leaving. There was no way she was going to give up her last chance.

Even from where she stood, she could hear the beats of the traditional wedding music pick up, cheers from the crowd pick up as everyone hustled inside.

Her feet moved before she could even make a decision.

There was an elderly couple just walking into the room, and luckily the man held the door open for her. She thanked him and took the grand venue in. On each bench there was a bouquet of flowers, a white row leading up to the altar. It was packed, and Y/N could only imagine how many people she was about to shock.

She sat in an empty aisle seat in the back, and finally realized that Eliza was just reaching the top of the stairs, kissing her fathers cheek before he gave her over to him.

“Should I get a haircut?”

“No. I like it the way it is. You have nice hair, it’s soft and always so full. Why would you want to chop it off?” She caressed said hair.

“Eh, it’s too long. I think it’s a hassle to work with when I’m getting ready for work. I don’t know…” He looked in the mirror with a pained face. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, leaning her cheek on his back.

“Well, personally, I like it. But it is your hair. You know I’d love you either way.”

“Are you just being biased?”

“Mmh, well, I can’t say I don’t like having something to pull on.” She tugged and he whimpered before turning and kissing her, a full grin on his face.

He looked just like Y/N imagined him. In fact he hasn’t changed, except maybe the circles under his eyes got a bit darker. His hair was neatly wrapped in a ponytail behind his head, sharp tux on, a smile on his face.

Except none of that was for Y/N, it was for another woman.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat she cleared her throat, tapping her foot nervously as the officiant started speaking.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the love of Alexander and Elizabeth.”

“Stop being such a poor sport.”

“You so cheated! You know what, it’s fine. Because I know what really happened.��

“I’ll tell you what happened: Mr. Hamilton sucks at Mario Kart!”

“You take that back!”

“Through their time together, they have realized that their goals and dreams are more meaningful through a combined effort and mutual support provided in love.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You got promoted, Alex! You’ve come so far since we met. You work so hard, you stay late at work, you stress yourself out far too much for my liking. But you got exactly where you wanted to be! And from here you can only go up! I’m proud of you!”

He smiled, kissing her knuckles and thanking her.

“As we create this marriage, we create a new bond and a new sense of family.”

“I hope our kids have your eyes.”

“If we’re thinking about children, I have no problem shoving them right back if they don’t look exactly like you.”

“Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying. Your eyes, your nose, I even want them to be as witty as you.”

“I hope they don’t have your sense of style.”

“Hey!”

“Now, before we begin the vows, if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony-”

“You’re acting crazy!”

“No, I’m acting reasonable! You can’t seriously think that you were just going to let this go?”

“Where are we going, Y/N? We’re stuck in this one spot, and I can’t do it anymore!”

“Then don’t!”

“Let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you…” She wiped the tears from her eyes as he held her closely to his chest. “And I’m terrified.”

Y/N stands without letting herself have any more doubts.

Almost immediately, attention is drawn. There are gasps in the crowd, one woman even let out a horrid yell. The man sitting a couple feet away even scoffs, like Y/N’s idea was ridiculous. It’s enough commotion that causes the bride and groom to look her way.

Warmth filled her as his brown eyes connected with hers.

It went in flashes, Alexander’s emotions. First he was a bit confused, almost as to why their loved ones were making such noise. Then, it was anger, finally realizing that it was because someone was objecting to his wedding. And as their eyes connected, it was like he was sad.

Maybe it was because he hasn’t seen her since she walked out. Maybe it was because she was ruining his special day. Maybe it was because he knew she lost her chance years ago, and that even he knew it was too late.

Maybe it was because he knew the outcome of this.

Y/N took a shuddering breath, before saying the three words that could easily crush the hearts of everyone in this room. But she ignored the appalled crowd, she ignored the angry face of John right next to Alex, she didn’t even want to see how broken Eliza must look right now.

Instead, she focused on the very small quirk of Alexander’s lips, the small chance of hope that was promised.

#alexander hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton x oc #alexander hamilton imagine #my writings #alexander hamilton fic #hamilton fic #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton fanfic #I should probably rewrite this #but it's whatever for now #I've had no inspiration for the past four days and then suddenly at 4 am I finished this #soooo yeah #hamilton imagine #okay but this is totally inspired by speak now and exile

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carrionxcamille · 3 years

Text

A Year into Life | self para

Who: Camille... And a few margaritas Timing: Current Summary: As the 1 year anniversary of her resurrection approaches, Camille reflects, researches, and rages. Content warning: references to alcoholism and domestic abuse

Camille used to be the type of person who knew the expiry date of everything in her fridge. Mostly because she was worried that Jace would eat something off and somehow it would be her fault. But now, with her brain pulled back together by magic and other things on her mind, sometimes she forgot something at the back of the shelf. The lid on the yogurt pot told her it had expired on April 23rd. Which was… How long ago? Just a few days, she thought.

As Camille glances at the date on the calendar a memory hits her like a sack of bricks. A newspaper on a bench on a cold early morning, birds tweeting, a couple of joggers going past in the distance. Camille stumbling out of a church in someone else’s clothes with no idea where she is or what the fuck is going on.

“A year.” She whispers, horrified as the fact registers. “It’s been almost a year.” A cold shiver tingles down her spine and shakes her hands, rattling the yogurt pot she’s still holding. She sets it down on the counter and forgets about it instantly.

A year of not knowing, of near catatonia, of waking up in a cold sweat frantically feeling for her pulse, of living in a town that gets stranger and scarier by the day, of feeling like her body doesn’t belong to her anymore.

A year since she came back from the dead.

Should she… Celebrate? No. No, that was weird. Maybe a bottle of wine though. Or some margaritas, she had been looking for a good excuse to try that recipe Marley taught her. First birthday seemed like it fit the bill.

Suddenly, everything felt surreal again. Like it did when she sat in that internet cafe staring at a picture of her face and an article saying they’d found her body. Was everyone in the grocery store staring at her, or was she just paranoid? Did they know? Well, arguably, some of them probably did. Because of the mark on the back of her hand. Camille narrowed her eyes at it as she reached up to grab tequila. That stupid thing. Did it have to be on her hand? She didn’t take issue with the idea of magic- especially something as drastic as had been done to her- leaving a mark, but it was just so visible. Reminded her every time she saw it.

So she returned home and made margaritas and tried not to think about where her life had been three years ago or wonder how much her sisters still thought about her. She thought about calling someone and inviting them to join her in this evening of absurdity, but Camille didn’t really know who she would call. She really had to work on that- a whole year and no friends? That was a bit pathetic. And okay so she was out of practice because with Jace it had become easier to not have friends than to try and hold those friends far enough away that they never saw the fractures in the marriage, but still. She used to be an excellent hostess, once upon a time. Dinners and parties and gatherings and what have you. She loved floating about a room thanking all her friends for coming, chattering away about inconsequential things. Now she was alone.

After the first two margaritas that stopped mattering quite as much, and after four Camille was dancing around the living room to the Beach Boys.

Eventually, as tended to happen, the buzz of elation twisted into a drone and Camille found herself lounging on the couch staring at her hands. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. A year, and who was she? What had she done? No one, nothing. She felt… Well, she sure as hell didn’t feel alive, for all the effort she put into behaving that way. For all the perfume she bought because she was always paranoid about smelling like a corpse.

Camille Dugar was a ghost. A sad slip of nothing throwing herself against the wall and trying to stick. There had to be a way over this funk. What was holding her back? Why was she still tiptoeing around like there was a drunk man in the next room who’d go mad if she woke him up?

The first time she’d threatened to leave him, Camille had been angry as all hell.

He hadn’t moved the laundry to the dryer. It was a Friday, she always spent Saturday ironing and putting away the clothes that were washed and dried on Friday. Couldn’t do that if they hadn’t been dried, and it was just another thing to add to her list of the shit she had to do after she got home from work and before she could actually sit down. Move laundry to the dryer, put empty beer bottles in recycling, make dinner, grade homework, check lesson plans, put empty beer bottles in recycling.

(This was, she acknowledged, not a big deal on its own. The problem arose when this was a battle they had to have every Friday, of course it would turn into a war eventually.)

So things had gotten heated, and when Jace had turned to walk out Camille had threatened to do the very same. Maybe I should storm out this time. She’d said. Maybe I won’t ever come back. She’d meant it, in the moment. It was the first time she’d said it out loud but certainly not the first time she’d thought it.

She’d been so mad she was shaking. For a moment there was a terse silence and she thought she’d won. Jace laughed and it made her angrier, and she grabbed her keys and made for the door. He’d apologized then, grabbed her arm and begged her not to leave. For three days after that he was the perfect husband. The balance shifted because Jace realized he needed her. Eventually that had made her feel too guilty, too sad and scared to leave. But for a while that shift made her feel powerful.

Maybe she needed to shift the balance again. Maybe she needed to get mad.

As far as she knew, he’d never outright admitted to killing her, but whatever else Jace had done he sure hadn’t tried to save her life.

Camille didn’t know. She didn’t know the story, and for a long time she’d told herself it was because reading about her own death was too macabre, too depressing. She had a new life and thinking about the old one was wasting energy. But she was doing that regardless, every day. Maybe knowing nothing except the fact that they’d found her and put Jace behind bars was not enough.

It was her life, damit. Her death. Her story.

There was a chance knowing the finer details would actually just make things worse- but honestly, how much worse could things get? She was alone and scared and lost already. Would she stop wondering, if she knew? Would the sound of her skull hitting the bottom step stop echoing in her nightmares if she could put together those final moments for real, and understand what had happened in the months following before she was found?

Five margaritas in, Camille wanted to know. She wanted to be angry. It had to be better than apathy. Knowing the sordid details of how terribly he’d treated her even in death would probably make that happen. Yes, even if it was an anger she could never confront him about, Jace Hawkins deserved for her to be mad at him.

Her laptop sat on the coffee table, the little light blinking, daring her. She grabbed it, booted it up, and sat with it on her lap for a while just wondering if she could handle the potential upset having all this information would cause. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know the most damning thing, right? She’d died at the bottom of her staircase, trying to leave her husband. Didn’t get much more devastating.

There were pages and pages of articles, a lot of them the same story from different news outlets. The publications detailing the trail were at the top of the results, and Camille tabbed a few of them to look at later. First, she wanted to know what the initial response had been. How Jace had behaved before they’d found her, what the public opinion had been.

It was… Surreal, to say the least, and Camille knew it was vain but she kept fixating on which photos of her the article had chosen to use. Very few opted for photos of her with Jace- not that there had ever been many, thank god- and the ones that really insulted her were those that just used her drivers license pic (no one looked good in those!). There was one that had dug up a photo of her at a school fete, laughing as a couple of students tried to drag her onto the bouncy castle. It made her want to cry.

One article in particular focused heavily on how Jace spoke to the press, and Camille scoured youtube for uploads of those moments. His face was hauntingly familiar, and while most people at the time had chalked his bloodshot eyes and sallow complexion up to heartbreak and neglecting himself in the wake of losing his wife, Camille knew the truth. He’d looked rough as hell for years. He denied any and all accusations that their marriage had been less than perfect, until some journalist managed to dig up the report from that one time a neighbor had to call the police because of all their yelling. Then his tune changed, but not by much. A rough patch they’d long since gotten over, he claimed.

“Lying prick.” Camille scoffed, listening to him prattle on while she made another drink.

Of course, family on both sides did solidify this image by insisting their marriage had always been happy… And how could they not, it was what Camille had always insisted on presenting to them. Perhaps she’d had some part in orchestrating her own downfall after all.

He looked into the camera and pleaded for her to come home, for whoever might have taken her to let her go. His tone was gentle and sweet, his lower lip wobbled every time he said please. Oh, he was pulling out all the charming stops. Yeah, this was a charade she’d seen before. Camille, baby. Please, I love you. Please come home.

“Shutup.” She sneered, slamming her glass down on the table and standing to pace a circle around the sofa. “Shutup Jace. Shut the fuck up!” He stared back at her, unresponsive. The reporter asked how long they’d been married, and he got it wrong. She made a noise of indignation, “there was a photo on the mantle of us on our wedding day and the frame had the fucking date engraved on it you asshole!”

Apparently the police's favorite theory at first had been that she had run off- with another man, or just to start a new life alone- owing to the fact that some of her clothes were missing and as far as Jace claimed she’d never come home from work that night. The suitcase, what the hell had he done with it? Clearly he hadn’t put her stuff back.

They found it in the attic, not long after finding her body. Clothes still neatly folded inside.

He hid it. For some reason, that effort broke Camille’s heart all over again. “You son of a bitch.” He hadn’t just watched her fall down the stairs and buried her in a panic. He’d taken the time to hide the suitcase, thought far enough ahead before calling the police about how it would allow for theories that she’d run off. They went through the computer and dug up a deleted file, a letter supposedly typed up by Camille. (But obviously not typed up by Camille.) A letter that said she was leaving and not coming back. “You son of a bitch!”

There were more youtube videos. Teenagers in their bedrooms discussing her case, putting the timeline together. Camille was slightly horrified that this seemed to be such a trend, but also morbidly fascinated with watching the coverage of her death. People found video footage of him being interrogated and she delighted in watching him squirm.

In clips from the trail he looked antsy but exhausted. Right, if they’d kept him locked up he probably couldn’t drink. Cold turkey. She hoped it made him miserable.

In the end, the only thing they couldn’t definitively prove was that he’d pushed her. But they could place her in the house that night, they could prove she was in the trunk of the car. He spent the entire trail claiming she’d fallen. “Then you call an ambulance!” Camille exclaimed, arms thrown out wide as if he was there in-front of her for real, the last argument they could never have. “If your wife falls down the stairs you call an ambulance! You don’t watch her die!”

Her breath came fast, her pulse was thudding. Camille felt a little unhinged, maybe, but also more real and alive than she had in months. “I hope he fucking rots in that cell.” She muttered as she drained her glass again, echoing the sentiment of one of the comments she’d seen under a video.

Camille grabbed a glass of water and some leftover stir fry, shut down her laptop, and found some corny lifetime movie to watch. It was late, and she was going to be hungover as shit tomorrow. But her whole body felt like it was humming with an energy she’d been lacking. Okay, so maybe year one hadn’t been perfect, but that shouldn’t be a surprise right? Year two, though. Year two was going to be better.

#fun fact this started life as a short story about Camille's sleeping habits over the years because you know #we had that whole thing about sleep #somehow this happened i dont know this is just camille getting her vibes back #domestic abuse tw #alcoholism tw #inspo

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The Night Oliver Branch Died

CW: Drowning, threats with a gun, discussed/referenced noncon of a minor, discussed pet whump/dehumanization, oliver branch is gross but hey he dies in this one so, related note: character death

Tagging Chris’s crew just because I feel like you’ll all appreciate this: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

READERS: Tell me if you guessed it before reading this!

TIMELINE: Takes place in the future of Chris’s timeline, when he has been free for years and has enrolled in college.

The night Oliver Branch died was absolutely ordinary.

He spent some time going over the notes for the trial, sitting in his nicely appointed but perfectly modest three-bedroom home, scanning his handwritten planned remarks for the press while he ate a light dinner of soup and salad. The cook left for the night, and Oliver was the only one in the house.

Well, or so he thought.

It used to bother him, but honestly he didn’t mind the solitude any longer. Years spent with a full staff, worries he had to constantly consider at all hours of the day and night, natural disasters and economic downturns and everything else. It was nice just to take a deep breath, smell the candle burning in the center of the table, a soft sweet magnolia smell that reminded him of his childhood home.

After the trial, perhaps he would move back home. He’d lived in this state for twenty-four years, was its governor for eight of them, but he felt… a bit tired of it all. He wanted to go back to a place where people moved more slowly, wandered the streets after church in pale linen suits in the summer with the ocean air a constant truth of everyday life.

They would know, of course, about his disgrace. But they would be polite about it, keep it to themselves. He had the sense that while the scandal would follow him, it would be easier to ignore in a place where people keep their secrets safely behind closed, locked doors.

Oliver had done the same, once upon a time, only to have the secret simply walk away when someone else opened the door.

He sighed, sitting back, looking at his half-finished soup with a wistful sort of sadness.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain. He was just grateful to be out of prison, living in his own house with his own cook and the cleaning woman who comes by twice per week. Almost back to normal. Once this trial was over, of course, he’d sell the house and move back home, and it would all be just fine.

He took a deep breath and picked up his notes, handwritten in a series of different ink colors to differentiate which part of the speech he was in. It helped him to memorize if he thought of the colors. The only one he didn’t like, but used, anyway, was a deep teal ink in the paragraph where he admitted to what he did to his beautiful boy.

His beautiful boy, who had ruined himself with freedom, just as Oliver had always known he would. Some people were meant to be kept, they could not be trusted to keep themselves. His Baldur had been one of those, he had known the moment he’d been shown the intake photo, of the pretty boy curled up in a corner of a plain white room, hands up over his face in some attempt to protect himself.

We believe this will suit your specifications, the email from Ms. Renfod had stated in flat, clean prose that could never have encompassed the perfect leap in Oliver’s heart at the sight, the excitement that ran through him from scalp to toes at the fear and tears in big green eyes. We have recently acquired this individual as a result of a deal involving a family member. No inconvenient missing persons report, Mr. Branch. Perfect confidentiality, no complications. We believe he will require three and one-half months of training, plus two weeks extra for final preparations. I have attached a price list for added fees.

God, what a sight, the pretty thing before they’d taken him from himself, before he’d been delivered smiling and silent and still in the dead of night to Oliver’s door.

Honestly, what a loss that he was roaming around like some wild animal now.

Some people needed a keeper, and every time he had seen his beautiful boy since his liberation it had only emphasized to Oliver how badly Baldur needed the right sort of keeper. This new one, the tall young man with his threats and curses, clearly wasn’t doing a very good job.

Well. That was fine. Not his problem any longer, and soon enough Oliver would stand up at a podium before the press, looking at all their little recorders, and he would tell everyone exactly who Christopher Stanton was and what he had been. Oliver’s disgrace would be total, but if he played this right, Baldur would never go anywhere again without no longer being able to hide behind his earrings and awful hair and the patch of scarred skin where his barcode once had been.

Baldur might have gotten away from him, all those years ago, but Oliver intended to ensure he could not get away from what he had been made to do, to be. One did not stop being a pet, once they were made into a thing to be used for pleasure, there was nothing else for them to be.

Baldur might have delusions otherwise, but Oliver could ruin those, for him, just like his boy had ruined himself.

Kicked out of his fancy little college for his fake identity, maybe even charged with it. All his new little friends would know who he was. It was the last bit of pettiness Oliver intended to allow himself to indulge in before he returned back to his hometown and let Baldur’s fragile new life come down around his ears.

Oliver smiled, trailing fingertips over the teal ink, the exact shade of Baldur’s hideous dye job. He still had a PI on retainer, taking pictures of his pretty boy out living his life. Oliver liked to keep tabs on his old flames, just to ensure they were keeping quiet, keeping to themselves, living nice respectable lives.

Lately, with his reduced income, he’d had to cut that down to tracking Baldur alone.

Christopher Stanton. Oliver snorted. Awful name. Hardly did any justice to the perfect line of his cheekbones, the still-gentle curve of his jaw, the nicely full lips that would no doubt still part just so with a press of the right fingertips-

“Daydreamin’, are we?” A strange male voice asked, and Oliver looked up to stare down the barrel of a gun.

His heart stopped, eyes caught by that circle of infinite black surrounded by unfeeling metal, and then he raised his eyes to see a man he had never seen before. He wasn’t very tall, draped in heavy clothing that disguised his body type, though he seemed a bit on the muscular side. Perfectly average face, difficult to describe to any law enforcement, blondish-red hair cut in a flattop, narrowed eyes, smattering of freckles. Too far to see the eye color.

Robbers, really? Tonight, of all nights?

Oliver put both palms carefully down on the table as his heart began to pound. “Can I help you?”

His voice was admirably steady, and he was more than a bit proud of himself for that. He did not visibly tremble or shake, but he was deeply, deeply aware of that gun. He could see the safety was off, the man’s finger resting lightly around the trigger.

“You can,” The man said, with a hint of amusement in the blocky lines of his face. It came out more like ye can, an accent Oliver couldn’t quite place. Irish, maybe? “Hearing some rumors, about someone planning to testify next week. I was hoping’ you’d be able to disabuse me of such a disturbin’ notion.”

Oliver blinked, caught off-guard by the man’s friendly, personable tone even as the gun never faltered but it’s position held pointed directly at him. “If you work for WRU-”

“Oh, I don’t. No, as heartbreaking as it is, lad, Rossi’s group got the WRU rejects pipeline all sewn up, don’t he? Clever fuck. And I am a good many things, but I’m not a man stupid enough to cross Giovanni Rossi. You don’t put that man in a bad mood and walk out alive, do you?” Once again, the word slipped into ye, and Oliver was sure now that the accent was Irish. Faded, with the local accent flattening the vowels and roughing up the consonants, but the Irish was there nonetheless.

It occurred to him that it didn’t really matter if he identified his accent, because he almost certainly wasn’t going to walk out of this alive if the man was so easily dropping names.

“I wouldn’t know. If you’re not with WRU, I don’t see why there’s-... there needs to be a problem,” Oliver said, without moving, barely even letting his lips form the wounds. His heart still pounded in his chest. His dreams of moving back home by the coast, to Charleston’s beauty and grandeur and age, were rapidly feeling like scraps of tissue paper dissolving in water.

“You’re not just testifyin’ about the company, now, are you?” The man sighed, pulling a chair out on the other end of the table, sitting down without lowering the gun, keeping it trained on Oliver, just shifting it slightly to aim directly into his chest.

Oliver had taken a few courses in self-defense, back in the day. Aim for the center mass, the easiest thing to hit. People in movies can nail an arm or a leg with accuracy but in real life it’s rarely so easy. Aim for something lethal.

“The trial is about the company,” Oliver said, voice shaking, his own genteel accent thickening the more the fear settled in.

“It is, at that,” The man said, nodding. “But it’s not only about that, either, is it?” He snapped the fingers on his other hand, and Oliver jumped nearly a foot in the air as he realized there were two other men standing behind him he hadn’t even noticed. They appeared on either side of him, one of them picking up the papers on the table and moving them over to the man, who gave a soft, polite thanks and looked them over.

Suddenly, Oliver’s different ink colors for different aspects of his speech seemed… superfluous. He was never going to give that speech.

“What else is it about?” Oliver asked, breathy. He was going to die, and he’d always hoped for one more chance to visit his parents’ graves. Spit on them once or twice, leave flowers, and go. He’d always hoped…

Something occurred to him.

“Is this about my Baldur?”

The man’s face twisted in an expression of utter, absolute disgust.

“Is that it? Did his new keeper send you to-”

“No. Oh no, fucknuts, no.” The man laughed, looking over the papers, flipping through them idly with one hand as his associate stepped back, one of them lurking on either side of Oliver, hands pressing steadily into his shoulders to keep him right where he was. “No, no. I’ve nothin’ to do with that young lib boy. Know of ‘im, though. We keep an eye out, on our own. It’s been a long, long time, but… I owe a debt.”

“A… A debt?” Oliver’s voice caught in his throat.

“Indeed.” The man set the papers down, and for a moment, Oliver could have sworn there were tears in his eyes, emotions that played openly across the man’s utterly nondescript face. Grief, anger, sadness all warred there.

The hands on his shoulders tightened.

“Long time ago now, but I don’t forget, do I? Ah, look, here ‘tis.” The man tapped his finger in the teal paragraph so carefully written on the third page of the speech. “Here’s our lad. Tristan.”

“Tristan-... are you talking about Baldur?”

The man snarled, and Oliver flinched back against the back of his chair, waiting for the burst of sound and the bullet and his own death. Nothing came, and after a moment he opened his eyes. The man had settled his expression, but it was with effort - the anger was still clearly visible. “I’m not talkin’ about your bullshite pet name in the slightest, you sack of shit. No, I’m talkin’ about my friend’s boy Tristan.”

Oliver swallowed, and offered, “I believe… I believe he goes by Christopher now. I could give you his address-”

“We know where he lives, gobshite.”

“Then why are you here-”

“I told you, my debt. You’re an awful thick, aren’t you? We’re not the type to abduct a wean, although that never gave your like a pause, did it?” The man tapped his gun on the table, the first time it had truly lowered since Oliver had first realized he was here. Oliver let out a breath of relief.

“What is your debt, exactly?” His voice was still airy, but he tried to sound calm, in control. Never moved his hands. “I still have some funds the courts are not aware of, perhaps we could work out a deal-.. I have a safe upstairs-”

“Not that kind of debt. I had to stand by when my mucker and his wife got his face shot in by our own boss, no less, but I’m the boss, now. Took a while, took too long. I’ve had to wait and wait and wait, but me and my lads here, we’ve all owed Paul Higgs a debt since, Lord, has it been nearly a decade now? And I intend to pay it tonight.”

The man smiled, briefly, at Oliver.

“Couldn’t stop Paul’s boy from the sufferin’ already inflicted, but I can ensure you don’t say a word about him ever again, can’t I? Ah, no, we can’t have that. He’s got a good life now. Nice boy, all grown up. Hair’s a bit bollocked but who are we to judge, hm? He’s got himself a nice life goin’ and I intend to ensure he does his da proud, just like he would’ve if he weren’t forced to fuck you, you depraved bit of dogshit on my shoe. Fucking a child. A boy. What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

Oliver didn’t even bother to open his mouth. He understood that any attempt at self-defense wasn’t needed or even wanted. He understood that probably there was absolutely nothing he needed to say, ever again. He closed his eyes, lips moving in some dim form of prayer.

“Ah. A man of God, then?” Oliver looked to see the man pull a rosary from underneath his shirt. “That’s a fuckin’ laugh, considering what you’ve done. But, hey, He’s forgiven worse, I imagine. Tristan might even forgive you, too, he was always too good a boy for it all. Too bad for you that I don’t forgive shite.”

“If you’re going to shoot me,” Oliver said, barely able to get his voice above a whisper, “then do it.”

“We’re not going to shoot you, idjit.” The man rolled his eyes, giving his companions an exasperated can you believe this? look. One of the men, the one on Oliver’s right, laughed. “They’d trace it, we’d have to deal with the law, and honestly I am just not in the mood to pay any cops off this week. I’ve already paid Rossi off to keep him from gettin’ pissed at me, although he’s a man who understands the value of family, I think he’d have let us anyway. Still, never hurts to grease a palm, does it? What we’re going to do, Mr. Branch, is drown you. Your bathtub’s chock full of river water.”

“What?” Oliver swallowed, jerking forward as if to push himself up, but the hands on his shoulders pushed him back down. “H-how-... why-”

“When we dump you in the Trelawney,” The man said, calm and easy, “your lungs’ll already be chock full of its water. Nothing unusual about that, hm? Just another child molester dumped in that chemical swamp where he belongs. My mucker’s boy-... I couldn’t help him. I’ve owed Paul for that, we all have. This is my organization, now, and I will ensure Paul’s boy’s name never leaves your lips again.” The man snapped his fingers and Oliver shouted as he was dragged to his feet by the other two, kicking out, knocking his chair over with a clatter.

Just beyond the window were a hundred other houses, lights on in some, families laughing in front of their televisions. Utterly unknowing as their neighbor was dragged upstairs to his own master bathroom, to a custom-made clawfoot tub absolutely full of disgusting, muddy river water dredged up and brought here and Oliver had never even known they were in the house.

They held his head over the water as he screamed for help.

The leader leaned back against the sink, lit a cigarette, took a long drag and let the smoke float over his face. His eyes were green, Oliver realized with a kind of hysterical panicked giggle. His eyes were green.

Like Baldur’s.

“W-wait-, wait-... one question, just one, one question-”

The leader held up his hand. They kept Oliver’s head a few inches above the brackish water in the tub.

“Paul Higgs-... Baldur’s-... the boy’s father.” Oliver could barely breathe, barely get out the words. He was going to die, why was this question so important? Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking it. “The boy’s-... just a friend?”

The leader snorted, flicked his cigarette onto the bedroom carpet through the bathroom door. A trail of thin smoke began to rise. “Paul was my best friend, yes,” He said flatly. “His da and mine were cousins. The looks run in the family, don’t they?”

“Why… why now? Why not before? When he was-... why only now?”

The man’s lip pulled to the side in a sneer. “Had to wait ‘til the company couldn’t protect you, didn’t I? You’re not a client now, Mr. Branch. Just a bit of blood on Karen Renford’s shoes. Loose thread. You’re not the only one keeps tabs on runaways, you know.”

“What?” Oliver’s eyes widened, the muddy water giving him a strange, distorted, half-transparent view of his own reflection. “What, what are y-you-”

“Ah, it’s not worth explaining this shite to him, is it?” The man rolled his eyes. “Renford knew where he was. She knows where all the runners are. She’s not going to let you fuck the company just to get your fifteen minutes, gobshite. I hate that insufferable bitch and she’s the one who made Paul’s boy into a pet, but I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth even if the one given’ it should probably be shot herself.”

“Wh-why-”

“Shut your feckin’ hole. We may not have the pleasure of a regular contract, but I was happy to accept this little job free of charge. Everyone gets what they want, don’t they? Paul’s boy gets his nice little life for keeping, Renford gets the blood out, and I get to make up to Paul what I couldn’t do back then. Ah, Tristan was a sweet boy. Bit of a wild thing, but…” The man sighed mournfully. “Well. We all lose people, in this business, Mr. Branch. I’m sorry to’ve lost him but I’d never think to take him from what he’s got. I’m no monster.”

Laughter bubbled in Oliver’s throat, and he barely held it back. No monster, but you’ll kill me, will you?

“Tonight, everyone gets what they want.”

“I wanted Charleston,” Oliver said, staring into the brownish silt-soaked water, thinking of the blue of the ocean, the waves battering the shore, white-capped on rougher days, the salt-smell of the sea. His mother’s hands holding him, sitting on his father’s shoulders, before it had all changed. “I, I wanted Charleston.”

The words were more plaintive than he intended them to be.

“Sad for you,” The leader said without sympathy. “The heart bleeds. Perhaps you should’ve kept your wee dick in your pants and not touched our friend’s boy, then, hm? Bit late for that, though. Hope the Good Lord’s feelin’ His mercy today, pervy fuck, ‘cause you’ll see none from us.”

He snapped his calloused fingers, and Oliver’s head went under the water. He’d jerked in a final breath just before, and as he held it - lungs burning, time running out - Oliver had only a single remaining defiance. His last thought, before he had to pull water into his lungs, before the thrashing and the choking and the final blackness that pulled him under, wasn’t of Baldur at all.

He was found in the Trelawney River, the water in his lungs a perfect match for the water around him. His bathtub had been recently cleaned, but that wasn’t suspicious, as his cleaner had been there only the day before and Oliver rarely took baths. His dinner table was clean of any sign of his final meal.

There were no papers on the table, or anywhere in the house, detailing his intended speech to the press. Those papers were burned and the ashes spread on the graves of Paul and Veronica Higgs, along with a fresh spray of daisies, Ronnie’s favorite flower.

Oliver Branch’s testimony could no longer be given, due to his untimely death.

The suggestion that he had killed himself because of the shame of his own actions made the rounds in the press, followed by certainty in certain spaces that he had been murdered to protect WRU on Karen’s orders.

Perhaps a handler had done it, the rumors went, sent by the strange emotionless Karen Renford, who sat on the stand and spoke with perfect diction and a total lack of feeling on the particulars of her job, and who had never once set off a lie detector in her life. Perhaps a pet liberation member had finally snapped - there had been an incident years ago with someone who had beaten Oliver nearly to unconsciousness, maybe that person had hunted him down again.

Maybe Karen had killed him herself.

The rumors went in circles, but no one ever guessed the truth.

Oliver’s final defiance was known only to him, and went with him to the grave he was eventually buried in. His final thought was simply of the crash of a white-capped wave against the shore.

Oliver Branch died thinking not of his crimes, but with the ocean behind his eyes.

#death of a villain #original fiction #drowning tw #gun tw #threats with gun tw #chris the strawberry blond romantic #oliver branch is gross #but also very dead now #so that's nice #whump #character death tw #creepy whumper #villain death #did anyone guess 'paul's mob friends'?#karen renford #wru #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse

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buckyscrystalqueen · 3 years

Text

Meant To Be: Part 10

Pairings: Past Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, Opie x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, cheating

Word Count: 4,935

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud screech directly in front of your face jolted you from your nap, followed by toddler strength slap to your cheek, and a second screech.

“Child, what the actual fuck?” You groaned as you opened your eyes and watched Opie try to wrestle Gage into a diaper while your son continued to screech, laugh his butt off, and squirm with all his might to get away.

“Sorry. He is just not having anything of it...”

“Gage Michael!” You barked as you threw the blanket off of you and sat up. “This is not naked baby time! Naked baby time is after your bath...”

“Oh... um... I kinda had to spray him down?” Opie said hesitantly as he looked up at you. “You were out, and I heard him giggling so I was gunna take him outside to play on the swings so you could sleep a little more, but he was covered in shit, and... well I didn’t really know what to do so I just hosed him off in the bath and used the towel...”

“Then let him go for a bit.” You sighed with a nod. “It’s fine. Saves me a step before bed, but you should have woke me up. You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Yea, well you looked tired as hell.” He said as he set the clean diaper down on the coffee table as you both watched your son take off too push his dump truck popper toy around your living room, as happy as can be in his birthday suit. “And the kid fucking reeked.”

“That happens.” You laughed as you stretched your back out. “Time’s it?”

“Four thirty.” He said as he moved his foot out of the way for the toy. “And I’m just gunna fucking do what I should have done a decade ago and see if I can take you both to dinner tonight. My treat. I know a place by the beach, we can sit, and watch sunset if that’s not to late for him.”

“You don’t care that I literally just got out of a relationship and am currently knocked up?”

“OK one, does it look like I care, and two, can you really call that a relationship or just a toxic partnership?”

“Look, he may be a toxic, cheating, drug addicted scum bag, but he did give me two children and a lot of good memories, too.”

“And I respect that. But let me ask you this. Is the life you had with him the life you really see yourself raising your kids in long term?” He paused for a moment to let that question sink in, before he crossed his feet on the floor and leaned forward to rest his arms on his bent legs. “Look, you know me well enough to know I don’t fuck around with women I’m not serious about. I also know you well enough to know that you don’t like being alone. And I know that if you don’t move on, you’ll go back to him, and I couldn’t live with myself if I waited around for you to see your own self worth only to lose you to him again before that’s happened. So, I’ll ask again. No expectations. You wanna go to dinner tonight?” You groaned and covered your face with both your hands as you fell back into your couch.

“I hate that you know me so well!” You whined as you sat up and looked over at him with a shake of your head. “This better be the best mother fucking restaurant in the fucking world cause I’ll be really fucking pissed if our first date sucks...”

“It’s food truck city. You’ll have plenty of options to pick from and they’re all good.”

“The fuck is food truck city?!”

“It’s by the beach.” He repeated with his eyebrow raised. “How have you not seen it when you go to the beach?”

“Because I don’t go to the beach.” You giggled with a shake of your head. “I had a pool in my back yard...”

“OK, get the fuck up.” He laughed as he got off the floor with a giant smile on his face. “We’re fixing this problem right fucking now. I’m gunna go grab my other shorts from the truck and I’ll help you get your little nudist into a suit after. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“God, just as dramatic as ever!” You called out as you stood up to grab your child. “Come on, bubba. Opie’s gunna show you what the beach is all about.” With surprisingly very little coercing, you got your son in a swim diaper and a bathing suit, packed a small beach bag, and changed into a suit yourself in under twenty minutes. You let Opie drive your car so you didn’t have to move the car seat and so you could cover your kid in sun screen, and just when you were about to ask him about parking, he pulled into a house a couple blocks from the beach.

“Is this your place?” You asked as you leaned forward to look at the stunning house.

“Buddy of mine married a doctor.” He said with a shake of his head. “I use his driveway and save myself the parking fees as payment for photographing his wedding for half what I usually charge.”

“Do you have to go up...?”

“Nah, they’re both at work.” He said as he got out of the car with you and pulled open the back door to get Gage. “I already called him.”

“I got the stroller.” You started as you put the beach bag on your shoulder, but he shook his head.

“I got him.” He said as he shut the back door and moved Gage to his shoulders. “See, that view is much better.” He said over your son’s peels of laughter. “Can you carry my camera.”

“Oh, my God please do not drop my kid!” You laughed as you shouldered his bag and nervously reached up to keep Gage in place.

“Really? You think I’m gunna, what? Drop him on his head or something?” He laughed as he looked over at you, before faking a worried look and lifting Gage’s leg a couple inches. “Whoa... whoa!”

“Harry Winston, don’t even play!”

“She remembers the full name.” He chuckled as he lead you down the street. “Impressive.”

“Shut up.” You huffed as you whacked his arm and glanced up at your son again, who was curiously looking around at his new view of the world. “Wait, stop for a second.” You said as you grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop beside you. “He’s in awe right now.”

“It’s a pretty good view from up here.” He teased as he adjusted his grip on Gage’s legs. “Like right now, I have a killer view of this gorgeous pair of tits.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You laughed as you took a couple pictures of the two of them. “All I get is a beard.”

“That’s cause you’re short.” He pointed out as the three of you kept walking down to the beach. You gasped and fake pouted for a moment as he laughed at his own joke, but when he pouted his bottom lip out at you, your heart skipped a beat.

“Is it bad that I wish you hadn’t listened to my brother?”

“Our worlds would be a lot different, that’s for sure. I never would have moved to this hell hole town.”

“And I wouldn’t be bringing ten tons of emotional baggage with me.” You sighed as you crossed the road beside him.

“I’m not afraid of a little baggage.” He said as you stopped at a corner to cross the main road. “Especially when I know the girl carrying it. Not the girl she’s been trying to be, but the real deal, Southern born and bred, trash talkin’, gun shootin’, hunting in camo instead of going to church on Sunday morning girl.”

“You’re gunna make me start cryin’ again.” You pointed out as you followed him to the first of roughly a half dozen food trucks by the beach.

“Well, you can’t pick out something to eat if you are, so I suggest you stop and pick something.” He said as he took Gage off his shoulders and put him on his hip. “What about you, little man? What sounds good to you tonight? Uh huh. Yea, I think so, too. Uh huh...” A smile spread back across your face as Opie listened and chatted with Gage, pointing out different colorful things for him to look at and talking to him as if he was his best friend and not a one year old.

“Oh, my God. Fried Okra.” You said as you stopped in front of the second to last truck with a shake of your head. “I haven’t had fried okra in years.”

“Fried okra it is.” Opie said with a smile as he stepped over and got in line. “What else you thinking? Their southern mac is pretty spot on, too.”

“He’ll definitely like the mac.” You said with a nod as you stayed close, but far enough away to see the menu on the side. “Fuck, I don’t know. I want a little of everything.”

“Then we split a bunch of shit.” He said with a shrug. “My favorite is their shrimp and grits or their biscuits and gravy...”

“OK, you’re making the pregnant girl even more hungry than she was five minutes ago.” You laughed as you moved back over to his side. “But I’m down to splitting a couple things.”

“We’ll take one of everything for Opie.” He requested the second he walked up to the window. “No kick for the kid on the side of grits. And a beer, a large sweet tea, and what for little man?”

“I’ll do a water and a fruit punch for him. He’ll like that.”

“Alright bud, can you hand her the money?” Opie asked as he handed Gage a fifty, turned him toward the counter, and pointed at the lady. “You gotta share. Can you give it to her?” She ‘aww’ed’ at your son as Opie gently pushed his hand toward the window so the woman at the register could reach it, and he cheered for him when he let go of the payment, which made your pride and joy laugh and clap his hands excitedly.

“He’s adorable.” The woman said as she got Ope’s change.

“He’s his mother’s son in the looks department, that’s for sure.” Opie said with a glance over at you. “Keep the change, hun.”

“Thank you so much! We’ll call your name when it’s ready.” With a nod of his head, he put his hand on the small of your back and led you over to a half empty group of stone picnic tables. He grabbed one closest to the sand, and sat you down on one side of the bench facing the water to hand you Gage.

“Hey.” He said softly before he went back to get the food. You hummed and looked up at him as you situated your son on your lap, and he smiled for a half second before leaning down to kiss you. “Didn’t feel like waiting until the end of the date.”

“You are just trouble, mister.” You said as you reached out and grabbed his shirt before he could walk away. “I like it.”

“Oh, I’ve always been trouble.” He growled as he leaned down to kiss you again. “And you better fucking love it.”

“I do.” You confirmed as he turned and walked back up to the truck to get your food. You set up what you needed for Gage and looked up at Ope as he set the full tray of food down on the table. You both got an absolute kick watching your son fall in love with butter grits, and surprisingly, not the homemade mac and cheese you expected him to love, but you both about died laughing at the horrified look he made when he tried and quickly spit out the okra.

“It’s an acquired taste, bubba.” You laughed as you gave him some more grits to make it all better. Just like Opie had promised, there were no other expectations from the date, other than to just enjoy your evening. He took care of the bags as you helped Gage explore the new environment; snapping a few photos of quick range of emotions the child felt as he stood in sand for the first time, and documenting his sheer joy at the cold waves of the Pacific Ocean. And then his up close presence changed to one from afar as you played as a mother to a little boy, who didn’t also have to keep an eye on your troublesome ex for the first time in a long time.

You took your time building a small sand castle by the shore line just so Gage could smash it all down when you were finished, and you taught him how to chase after the seagulls like all little boys should do. You helped him pick out the best shells to bring to Opie as gifts, who put them all in his pocket as if they were his new prized possessions, and showed him how to gently return a starfish to the water where he lived. You sat in the shallow water with him standing between your thighs to get him to laugh every time a wave washed over your laps, and pointed out the surfers and the setting sun, which he was not that interested in, until he finally just collapsed in your arms in sheer exhaustion and passed out.

“You wanna take him home?” Opie asked as he sat up and put his camera away when you walked over with Gage fast asleep on your shoulder.

“In a little bit.” You said as you used his shoulder to sit down in the sand beside him. “I haven’t sat and watched the sunset in years.” You glanced over at his nod and took the towel he was handing you to wrap your son up. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t want this night to end yet.”

“Absolutely.” He said with a nod as he draped your towel over your shoulders. “It’d make my day ten times better.”

“Mine, too.” You agreed as you leaned over into his side with a sigh, realizing for the first time that this date didn’t feel forced the way the one and only date with Colson did. “Thank you.”

“Any time, sweetheart.” He said softly as he scooted closer and wrapped his arm around your waist. “Any time.”

——

“Wait, you’re back?!” Your old agent, Shawn, nearly shouted. “Like back, back. Like taking work...”

“I’m back.” You said over him as you made breakfast for you and Opie while Gage babbled incoherently to his French toast stick pieces and cut up grapes. “But tell who ever that I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. But I don’t give a shit if it’s TV or a modeling gig or what, I just need something.”

“OK, you said sixteen weeks pregnant?” He clarified as he took notes, when a phone call beeped in on your other line.

“Yea, just hit four months.” You confirmed with a nod as you looked at Colson’s ID picture. You ignored the call and hit a quick text letting him know you’d call him back, which only made him call you back immediately anyways. “So not super showing yet, but if you squint, you can see it.”

“OK, I know for a fact Inked wants you.” He said as Colson called back yet again, which made Opie reach out to send the call to voicemail for you. “Inked has wanted you for months, I just didn’t know whether you wanted to come back after everything or not.”

“Yea, I wanna be back.” You sighed as you served up breakfast plates while a splash of regret washed over you. “Just don’t wanna think about my past shit anymore. Trying to move on, you know?”

“Right, of course. Well, let me make some calls. I know people have been in touch the past two years to see if you were taking jobs or not, but I gotta see if too much time has passed...”

“Just tell them I’m down for anything but porn.” You said as Colson called back a fourth time. “Keep me posted, I got another call.” You handed Ope his plate and hit answer with an annoyed growl. “Dude, I am on the fucking phone!”

“Yea, well when I see fucking pictures of my son and my girl at the beach with some other guy first thing when I get off the fucking plane, I’m gunna blow your shit up ‘til I find out what the fuck is going on!”

“I’m not your fucking girl anymore, Kels!” You shouted back as you threw your pan in the sink. “That was your mother fucking choice. And I made a choice based off your stupid fucking choices, too. Now can I eat my breakfast in peace...”

“Where’s my kid?” He demanded over the sound of his car door slamming shut. “I wanna see my kid.”

“He’s eating breakfast, I’ll FaceTime you...”

“Tell me where my Goddamn kid is now, or I will put out a fucking warrant for kidnapping!” He shouted over you, which made Opie jump to his feet when he saw the sheer rage flash in your eyes.

“Mother fucker, I will drag your Goddamn name through the fucking mud if you so much as think of putting a warrant out on me ever again, do you hear me, bitch?! Don’t you fucking dare threaten me...”

“Easy...” Opie breathed in your ear as he stood against your back and took the second frying pan from your hand while Gage started to scream. “Easy, baby girl. You’re pregnant...”

“Tell me where my son is, and I won’t fucking have to!” Colson shouted back as Opie gently grabbed your wrists and crossed them over your stomach. Your whole body started to shake as you fought the conflicting feelings in your mind, and you teared up as you took a shuttering breath to respond.

“555 Whipper Willow Court.”

“I’ll be there in 30.” He barked before hanging up the phone, and you instantly dissolved into tears.

“I hate him.” You sobbed as Ope lowered you to your knees on the vinyl plank wood floor.

“I know, sweetheart.” He said with a nod.

“I need to find a lawyer.” You gasped as you stood up quickly and grabbed your phone. “Fuck, I gotta get ahold of that guy before he does.”

“OK, well I’m gunna head out for a bit...”

“No, please stay.” You said as you looked up at him with a desperate shake of his head. “He’s never hit me before but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t hit walls near me when we’re both going at it.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.” He stated simply with a single nod. “I’ll clean up little man and take him out back while you call, OK? We got time.”

“Opie...” You said as your phone call to the lawyer that did your custody case with your mom started to ring through on speaker. He paused to turn around to look at you as you started to tear up again. “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby girl. I’d do anything for the three of you.”

“Adam Gracey’s office, Nicole speaking.”

“Nicole, it’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I need to schedule an urgent appointment with Mr. Gracey today to file for primary or even full custody...”

“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/L/N), Mr. Gracey is leaving today at...”

“It can’t wait.” You interrupted as you took the call off speaker and put the phone up to your ear with a shaky hand. You took a deep breath, knowing there was no other way than then truth you had tried so hard to manipulate in your favor just a month before in this situation, and exhaled forcefully. “We’re going through a horrible break-up and I don’t trust my ex around me right now, and I’m pregnant with our second. And even though I got clean two years ago, I’m worried he’ll try to use that against me to take my kids into an absolutely toxic environment without me in it to protect them from his lifestyle because he still uses drugs. Please... please, I’m begging you. I need to get the paperwork in before he does. Please. I know how this looks right now, but please...” Nicole stayed silent on the other end of the line for a moment, before you heard your lawyer’s voice faintly in the background.

“I remember them. Call the jet and push it back to four. Tell her to be here at one on the dot, or I’ll have to leave...”

“Oh, thank God.” You gasped as relief washed over you and took a giant weight off your shoulders. “Thank you, I’ll be there on time, I promise. Thank you so much.”

“We’ll see you at one, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Nicole said with a smile in her tone before she hung up to answer the next call.

“Does that smile mean you beat him to the lawyer?” Opie asked as he came out of the downstairs bathroom with your de-syruped son.

“He’s squeezing me in at one.” You said with a nod as you looked over at him. “You got him for a minute?”

“Yep. We’re gunna go out and swing a while, right little man?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” You said with a nod. After locking the front door so Colson couldn’t just walk right in, you ran upstairs to double check the safety net of cash you had been squirreling away since you found out you were pregnant with Gage. It was small, considering it was mainly just all of your paychecks from working at the farm stand for a few months, some money your dad had secretly gave you when you dropped him off at the airport, and what was left in your savings account when you moved back home, but it was better than nothing since your current bank account didn’t look much better after renting the house you did.

The weight that had lifted moments before settled right back down on your shoulders as the thought that, even if you were to get custody, you wouldn’t be able to keep your head above water for very long without work crashed down, and made you wonder if it would just be easier to go back to Colson to avoid what was about to come. But that thought was temporarily pushed aside when your ex started to ring the door bell incessantly between his angry pounding.

“Jesus, this man.” You growled to yourself as you put your money back in it’s hiding spot and headed down stairs to get the door.

“Who the fuck is here?” Kels demanded as he walked right by you without a glance.

“Friend from back home.”

“Where is he?”

“Jesus, asshole. Can you fucking chill out for one minute. No stop.” You said as you jumped in front of him before he could go upstairs. “This ain’t your fucking house, Kels. It’s mine. You’re not just helping yourself to roam about my house...”

“Move.” He said as he reached around you to grab the latch of the baby gate, and with your close proximity to it, you got pushed out of the way a couple feet when he swung it open forcefully.

“Hey!” Opie shouted, making your ex freeze as the former handed you your son and moved to stand in front of you. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“You the fucking prick that thinks he can move in on my fucking girl?” Colson asked as he stood up to his full height, which was the exact same as Opie’s. “Yea right.”

“No, I’m the fucking man that’s stepping up to treat her better than you could ever fucking dream of, boy.”

“Oh the fuck you are.” Kels said as he pulled back to knock Opie out in his rage, but your childhood friend grabbed his wrist before he could even come close to connecting with a simple smirk.

“Smile, mother fucker.” Ope said as he gestured to his side at his DSLR camera that you didn’t realize he had set up on the table by the door when you were upstairs. “You’re on candid camera. Judge’s love violence.”

“Wait, what... you filed for fucking custody?!” He shouted as he ripped his hand back and looked at you in total shock. “You’re fucking serious.”

“Colson, I’m not gunna take your kids from you.” You said with a shake of your head as you held Gage tightly to your chest. “But I don’t trust you to be alone with them.”

“Oh, I’ll see you in fucking court then, bitch.” He said with a nod. “All because you think I slept with some girl I didn’t even touch. Looks like you’re the slut here, shackin’ up with some new guy...”

“That’s enough.” Opie said loudly before you could say anything incriminating on camera. “Are you here to see your son or what?”

“No, my son needs to be home where he belongs...”

“Not without a court order.” You said with tears in your eyes and a shake of your head. “Or until you can pass a drug test.”

“Oh, because you have the moral high ground on that one. I’m not the one that overdosed when I was pregnant.”

“And you’re also not the one that’s stayed sober since then either.” You said evenly, hating that you had to use things you were sometimes guilty of yourself against him. “We have a swing set out back. Do you want to spend time with your son...?”

“Nah, I’ll be back with a court order to take him home real soon.” He said as he yanked open your front door. “And a fucking restraining order to keep Lurch here away from my kid.” You jumped when he slammed the door behind him, and Opie instantly reached back and picked up his camera.

“Take this to your lawyer today.” He said as he stopped the video and handed you the whole camera. “Just hit this play button twice and it’ll play back the whole thing. I’m gunna have a buddy of mine that owes me a favor- tech kid, he’ll put up cameras for the next time he comes back...”

“Ope, I can’t ask you to do that...”

“It’s no big deal...”

“It’s no big deal that I can’t afford!” You hissed back as you bounced Gage in your arms to get him to stop crying. “I’m fucked here unless my agent calls back. I will either be able to afford a good lawyer and be homeless by the time Colson finishes dragging this out as long as he can because he knows I’m broke, or I get a shit lawyer I can afford and I lose my kids. So I can’t afford some fancy cameras to make my case, all I have is my word against his so I’m probably just better off dealing with the cheating to keep my kids safe...”

“OK... OK.” He said as he locked the front door and stepped over to you to pull you and Gage both into a hug. “Listen, I’m not fucking around when I say I’m in this. You need help with bills, I can easily move in, because I live in a studio apartment paying month by month, and I hate the place. Shit, I’ll even sleep on the couch if need be. (Y/N), I moved out here to help you years ago. I just... well I lost you for a minute there, but now that I’ve got you back, I’m not letting you or your kids go.

I’ve known since the day I fucking met you at that stupid middle school dance that we were meant to be, and I don’t give a shit what you’re going through right now, same as I wouldn’t have cared if I had been able to save you when you were using. I’m here for it, just like I should have been years ago when I saw how bad you were with using, and years before that when I saw the start of your down slide at my graduation. I know it’s messy and fucked up, and confusing as hell right now, and even if you just see me as a friend at the end of the day, let me help you. Let me help get you on your feet after everything you have been through until you are able to finally see the woman that I know is hiding under layers of make up, ink, and choices that were made for all the wrong reasons. Let me help you love yourself again. Let me help you be the mother I saw at the beach last night, who is willing to kill herself to make sure her babies are safe and sound. Let me help you, because I know you won’t let anyone else do it for you.”

“Opie.” You cried into his chest, which made him carefully tighten his arms around you in a way that didn’t squish Gage.

“I’m here.” He said with a nod as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for anything.”

Part 11

#meant to be #machine gun kelly x reader #mgk x reader #colson baker x reader

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emospritelet · 4 years

Text

Heatstroke - chapter 8

*snickers*

[AO3]

“Here.” Sidney Glass dropped a file on her desk, making Lacey look up. “Next assignment.”

She sat back slowly, picking up the file and raising an eyebrow.

“So what is it this time?” she asked. “Flower-arranging at the local church? First prize in the pumpkin-growing contest?”

“Pumpkins aren’t in season yet.”

“Then the story will only be slightly more boring than it otherwise would be.”

Sidney sighed.

“I have no idea why you even moved here if you find it so dull,” he said. “Wouldn’t you have more fun in the city?”

She gave him an amused look.

“Would you believe me if I said I actually wanted a quiet life?”

“Not really.”

“It’s true,” she insisted. “Or at least it’s mostly true. I grew up in a small town. Being back in one is kind of - it’s like I’m a teenager again, so I’m rebelling against it even though I know it’s a good place to live, you know?”

“Good,” said Sidney. “In that case you won’t mind writing a piece on Zelena West’s charity work.”

“Charity work,” Lacey snorted. “She’s a mean-spirited witch.”

“True enough, but she still organises the food drive every year.”

“Probably because it’s the only way she can hold any power over people,” said Lacey. “I bet she takes the best stuff for herself.”

“Get some proof of that and the piece might get interesting,” said Sidney. “In the meantime just stick to the brief.”

“Five times Zelena West didn’t get bitch-slapped for talking shit about people and one time she did?” suggested Lacey.

Sidney chuckled as he sat back down at his desk, sending her an amused look.

“I’d read that,” he said. “But she’s going beyond the food drive this year. A charity dance. All profits to the church outreach program.”

“Wow.” Lacey pursed her lips. “She trying to bang the priest?”

“I doubt it,” said Sidney, shuddering. “She’s been trying to get her claws into Mr Gold.”

“Really?” Lacey sat up, an odd sensation going through her. It almost felt like outrage, which she couldn’t understand. “She had any success?”

“What do you think?” he said dryly, and she nodded, settling back in the chair.

“Okay, I’ll interview her,” she said. “If she’ll talk to me.”

“Good.”

There was a moment of silence. Sidney tapped at something on his keyboard, glancing at the screen in front of him. Lacey pondered the unwelcome image of Zelena West throwing herself at Gold, and shuddered just as Sidney had. Not that Zelena was unattractive. Just unstable. Lacey got the feeling she didn’t easily take a hint, and she was almost intrigued to know what Gold’s response to her would be.

It had been several days since she had come across Gold naked at the cabin. Clearly the guy was comfortable letting everything hang out. Maybe that was how he relaxed. She supposed she could understand that. It wasn’t as though it had been an unpleasant sight, anyway, just - unexpected. She still hadn’t summoned the courage to go and apologise to him, and told herself they had both been busy.

“So,” said Lacey, putting her feet up on the desk and her arms behind her head. “Mr Gold. What’s his deal?”

Sidney looked surprised at the question.

“Well, he’s landlord for most of Storybrooke,” he said. “Owns a pawnshop, richest guy in town…”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, what’s his history? He married? Single?”

Sidney’s surprise turned into alarm.

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on hitting on him.”

“What? No!” Lacey was surprised at her own vehemence. “No, it’s not like that. I’m just - interested, that’s all. He seems like kind of a loner.”

“Well, he keeps to himself, that’s for sure,” said Sidney.

“That has to get to you, after a while,” observed Lacey, tapping a pen against her lower lip. “Alone every night, only your own thoughts for company… You think he’s into anything weird?”

“Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how much I do not want to think about that,” muttered Sidney, and Lacey smirked.

“That’s not a no.”

Sidney sighed, slapping a file down on her desk.

“I don’t know a thing about Gold’s private life,” he said. “No one does. He keeps it - well, private.”

“So he could spend every Friday night dressed in leather and riding a huge butt plug and no one in town would know?”

“Oh my…” Sidney ran his hands over his face. “I’m gonna need bleach to get rid of that mental image.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lacey snickered, and Sidney shook his head.

“Look, aside from being a hardass with people who don’t pay their rent, he’s quiet and reserved and spends every hour holed up in the pawn shop,” he said. “He’s a generous donor to Storybrooke General Hospital, particularly the children’s ward. He takes a walk every morning and gets coffee at Granny’s. About as straight-laced as you can get.”

“It’s always the quiet ones.”

Sidney sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay, you want to cover something more interesting than the church fundraiser, and I want to pretend this conversation never happened,” he said. “How about we make a deal?”

Lacey perked up.

“Really?” she said. “What deal?”

“Simple,” said Sidney. “Get Gold to give you an interview.”

Lacey felt her face fall.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You get him to agree to sit down and talk to you for half an hour, you’ll do something no one else at the Mirror ever has,” said Sidney. “Make it something personal and I’ll even give you a raise.”

“But he hates me,” she complained.

“Why would he hate you?”

Lacey shrank down in the chair a little.

“We kind of - got off on the wrong foot,” she muttered, and he shrugged.

“Guess you can’t want that raise too much.”

“Okay, not so fast,” she said, sitting up again. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, I’m just saying - well, it’s not gonna be easy, that’s all.”

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” said Sidney. “So I’m told.”

Gold made his way up the path, wincing at every step. His leg had been giving him hell all day, and he suspected that it meant rain was coming. It was a night for taking a couple of painkillers, drinking whisky and losing himself in a good book while he waited for them to take effect.

He mounted the steps, pausing when he saw a cardboard box in front of the door. Probably his delivery of special ingredients from August’s in Boston. He found that Storybrooke could satisfy most of his culinary needs, by and large, but there were things he couldn’t get in town, like dried porcini, smoked paprika and loose-leaf Earl Grey tea. Smiling at the thought of the things he could make with the box contents, he opened the front door, scooped up the box and went inside.

It had been a long day, and he went straight to the kitchen, dropping the box onto the table and pouring himself a glass of wine before shrugging out of his coat. Taking a sip, he pulled a knife from the wooden block and sliced open the tape sealing the box. The contents made him frown; he was used to gleaming jars of ingredients nestled in packing noodles. This box was padded with scrunched up brown paper, wedged around boxes containing - oh.

Gold withdrew one of the boxes, a full ten inches, the cardboard thick and gleaming, silky to the touch. On the box was a picture of an anatomically-improbable plastic penis, the text on the box boasting ‘realistic feel and ten-speed vibration’. He dropped it back, picking up a smaller, square box with a bright pink wand made of curved silicone. Intense clitoral stimulation for rapid climax, announced the box. Perfect for solo play.

Gold pushed the box back in amongst the brown paper, flipping the lid closed again and eyeing the label that he hadn’t bothered to check. Miss L French. Of course.

He could feel his cheeks heating, and a vision of Lacey using the products on herself burst into full colour in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to dispel it and cursing the telltale twitch of his cock. The image changed, and to his dismay he realised he was imagining himself using the toys on a very naked Lacey, her body undulating against his as she moaned in pleasure. His cock began to swell, and Gold shook his head, remembering the look on her face when she had seen him naked, the disparaging words she had used to describe the encounter to Miss Lucas. The images disappeared at once, and he sagged in relief. Sighing to himself, he was about to seek out some tape to seal the box again when he paused, fingers drumming against the sides. Fuck it. I’m taking it over there now. If she’s the one embarrassed by our encounter it’ll make a bloody change.

Lacey peered inside the fridge, chewing her lip and trying to decide which of the unappetising contents to have for dinner. She really needed to go grocery shopping, but kept forgetting that Storybrooke’s stores didn’t stay open late. One drawback of being in a small town.

She closed the fridge door and opened the freezer section. God, not frozen pizza again! Jesus, Lacey, get your life together. The cat eats better than you.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Darcy appeared at her feet, mewing, and she sighed, pulling out a pizza box and dropping it on the counter.

“I have to learn to cook something more than omelettes,” she told him.

Darcy stood on his back legs, paws against the fridge, and Lacey grinned.

“Okay, let’s feed you first, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She gave him a pouch of food, and although he sniffed at it cautiously, he settled down to eat. She wasn’t sure where his recent lack of appetite had come from, but he was in good condition, so if he wasn’t eating what she put down, he was clearly eating somewhere else. A knock at the door made her glance around, and she headed for the hallway, pausing as she recognised the silhouette of her neighbour, cane held a little out to the side. Lacey took a deep breath, fists opening and closing, and nodded to herself. Well, he’s here. You may as well apologise. Suck it up, girl.

She strode towards the door before she could think about it too much, wrenching it open and nodding at Mr Gold. He was carrying a cardboard box in one arm, his gaze steady.

“Hey,” she said abruptly, and Gold showed his teeth.

“Miss French," he said. "I apologise for disturbing your evening.”

The words weren’t said in the stiff, terse way she was used to. Instead they seemed to flow, dark and soft, like black silk. Idly, she wondered if he wore underwear that matched his silk shirts.

“Yeah, you interrupted a heavy evening of heating up frozen pizza and drinking wine,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

He glanced down at the box, then back up. There was a gleam in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, and she wasn’t sure if it was amusement. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“I appear to have something of yours,” he said. “I was expecting a delivery, and so I opened it without checking the address label. My apologies.”

Lacey shrugged.

“Sure. No problem. Happens to all of us, I guess…”

Her voice trailed off, a heavy weight sinking into the pit of her stomach as she recalled what she had been expecting to arrive that week. A shipment of sex toys for a freelance review piece she was doing. A blush rose in her cheeks, and Gold’s smile grew.

“I’ll leave these with you, then,” he said, handing her the box. “Do enjoy your evening, won’t you?”

He bowed his head, heading down the porch steps and swaggering back to the house. She was desperately trying to think of something clever to say, but her brain had gone blank.

"Well, I will now!" she shouted, and he glanced over his shoulder, grinning widely. The bastard.

Lacey slammed the front door, leaned back against the wall with the box in her hands, and waited for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

She still hadn’t apologised.

#fic: heatsroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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aspenflower17 · 4 years

Text

Finding You (Part Two of ??)

Hello again! I'm back with the second installment of my new series, Finding You, which was previously Untitled. If you want to be tagged when I update this series, just comment below :)

Part One Link

In this part, we finally get to Satan and what he's been doing during all this. It's not really a happy chapter. You have been warned.

I think it's important to note that I am American. In this part, there is a funeral. Since I don't know much about other cultures or religions way of holding funerals, I just wrote what I know (and that's very little actually. I've only been to two full funerals. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have). Feel free to change the story up in your head to match your own funerary customs.

As always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated and help me endure the torture that is typing up this story from my notebook 😒 I also tried to make sure the editing on here was good. Any DM's for typos or things that didn't make sense are appreciated so I can fix them (please be kind though 🙂 ). I did write some of the funeral disjointed on purpose, trying to recreate how I was feeling when I attended the funerals I did.

Tags (for you lovely people <3 ): @obey-me-trashshshshsh, @naimena

F! MC/ Satan

Word count: 3,195

Warnings/triggers: ANGST!, description of funeral, loosing someone dear to you, some violence at the end though nothing too graphic (he is the avatar of wrath after all)

Satan had felt when Mc died. His pact mark had begun to glow and heat up. A terrible rending feeling in his chest, then… Nothing. He couldn’t move, fear completely paralyzing him. No, it couldn’t be…

Then he heard Mammon scream. Then Asmo. Then Levi. Soon, the whole House of Lamentation was filled with wailing. Satan scrambled for his D.D.D, hurriedly dialing Mc. No, no, no, no, no. He had just talked to her. She’d been fine.

“Hi! This is Mc. I can’t get to the phone-”

“No… No, no, no, NO!” Satan screamed, throwing his phone at the wall. Satan sunk to his knees in a sobbing heap.

The brothers never got an answer to what exactly had happened to Mc. Diavolo had confirmed she had passed, but he couldn’t get any details since she hadn’t been sent to the Devildom. He had managed to find out when and where the funeral would be, if they wanted to go. They would only be able to attend the graveside service though, since the viewing was being held in a church.

Each brother attended the graveside service. Satan stood stoically as the casket was brought out of the hearse. He was wondering if he would be able to get Asmo to charm everyone in attendance so he’d be able to see her face one last time, when he felt his brothers all shifting around uncomfortably. He realized the religious figure he’d tuned out was quoting scripture at the congregation, promises that Mc was now in the hands of God. He decided to tune him out again. Then the casket was being lowered. He had to be physically restrained from going out and pulling her out as the first fistfuls of dirt were being thrown on the casket. How could they do that to her? A voice murmured a reminder that she was gone, and they were just saying goodbye. Well, he needed to say goodbye too. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

Next thing Satan knew, he was at the corner of the grave, a flower he’d had a death grip on since they had started out from the Devildom in his hand. Her favorite. A shiny wood box met his eyes from 6 feet below. Was she really there? He couldn’t feel her presence from his pact mark. Where was she? When was he going to wake up?

The other demon lords watched their brother loose the fight with his emotions. He sobbed, falling on his haunches. Six hands found a part of Satan to touch, tears in their eyes as well.

“It’s time ta let ‘er go,” Mammon’s stuffy voice came from next to him. Satan looked over to find Mammon had removed his sunglasses. His eyes and face were wet.

“I… I don’t think I can,” Satan stated, tears falling freely.

“I know. I know,” Mammon said, pulling his brother in for a hug. Each of the rest of the brothers joined in the hug, pulling the fourth and second born up with them. After a bit, they all let go, moving forward to give Mc their own token and say their last words. When Belphie had finished, Lucifer put his hand on Satan’s shoulder.

“Mc’s waiting for her flower,” Lucifer said, gesturing towards the grave. Satan nodded, and walked forward. He fiddled with the stem for a second, trying to find the words to say, “Mc… Huh, I don’t actually know what to say… I guess, I… I thought I’d find some way to be with you forever. I never thought… I’ve never felt anything like you before Mc, and I don’t think I ever will again… Please… Please, if it’s possible, come back to me. Please,” he uttered as he dropped the flower onto the casket, and walked back to his brothers. He knew everyone was looking at him, confused and curious through their sorrow. They all stayed until the end of the funeral, when Satan turned to Lucifer, “I think it might be time to go.”

“If you’re sure, that would probably be the smartest course of action,” Lucifer nodded, the humans looking questioningly at the demons. The religious man from earlier was actually making his way towards them.

“I’ll visit her later when there aren’t so many people around,” Satan stated as he started walking. The brothers exchanged looks before following him.

The next couple months were quiet at the House of Lamentation. The brothers did the bare minimum required to keep the household going. They were all absent from RAD and Lucifer even took some time off from the endless amount of paperwork he usually did, to grieve. Mc may have been dating Satan, but the rest of the brothers loved her too, and missed her greatly. The only time the brother’s saw Satan was when he was raiding the fridge, finally giving into his stomach pleading for food. He still managed to look somewhat put together, though his eyes were dead and haunted. He had retreated so far into his mind if one of them managed to get him to acknowledge their presence they counted it as a win. He was a shell of himself, and everyone was worried.

Time marches on though, and life slowly returned to normal. One day, Lucifer had gone to RAD and come home with some random paperwork that needed to be done. Another, Asmo was going out to update his wardrobe because his was terribly behind the trends. Each brother found their own way of coping. Beel eventually asked if they could all have family dinner again. They all actually made an appearance, though Satan left once he was done eating.

Though he wasn’t doing well, Satan had been visiting Mc’s grave at least once a week if not more. Lucifer had granted him access to the portal indefinitely, a gesture of kindness that did not go unnoticed. At first he just cried quietly at her grave, not able to produce a coherent sentence. It slowly evolved into him reading her her favorite books or some snatch of poetry that reminded him of her. Eventually he was able to talk freely as he once had. Sometimes it was a mixture of the three. His brothers never saw him cry though. Since Mc had been the only one that seemed to truly understand his feelings, she was the only one allowed to see him cry. Through this self therapy, Satan started to heal. He started sitting in the common room with his brothers in the evening, or snorting at some joke that had been thrown around the table at dinner.

As the years passed, Satan would still visit Mc’s grave, though the frequency dropped. He slowly learned to deal with his sorrow, just like he had with love when he’d first fallen for Mc. It was much harder, his wrath often informing his depression. She became his support again, even if she wasn’t able to respond to help him through his feelings. He always visited on her birthday, bringing her a bouquet of flowers and some small piece of literature, art or playing her some music.

One year, while reading her some Shakespeare, someone came up behind him, “She appreciates it. I know she does.”

Satan stopped reading instantly, whipping around to see a woman who looked quite a lot like Mc, “Excuse me?”

“Coming to see her every year. You have great taste in art by the way,” the woman said, sitting down besides Satan, looking fondly but sadly at the headstone.

“Um, thank you. May I ask who you are?”

“Only if I can ask you the same thing,” the woman responded, smiling at him wryly. The look was so similar to one Mc would give him, he found himself instantly trusting this woman, “I’m S… Stan,” he answered, giving the nickname Mc come up with, when he had asked if he’d ever be able to meet her family. She’d laughed when she'd thought of it, saying she could never introduce him as Satan.

“Stan? I was wondering. She met you when she took that trip out of the country right?”

“Yeah… Did she tell you about me?”

“Oh, you want me to remember that far back? Hmm… I seem to remember her talking about how smart you are, “She chuckled, her eyes far away, “I remember one time, I went in to talk to her and she was furiously reading some book. When I asked what she was reading she told me she couldn’t talk to me right then, needing to catch up to where you were in the story. It was a silly little moment, but she looked so determined… I do know she was in love with you. Though she only really told me about you shortly before she died, I remember the look in her eyes when she talked about you. Telling me about how drawn she was the moment she laid eyes on you. You know what a romantic she was. As her Mother, you can guess how excited I was to meet you, especially after watching her get her heart broken before... You’re exactly her type, you know. Tall, blonde, smart. She was even thinking of introducing you to us. Then it happened.”

Satan didn’t realize the tears were flowing until she looked over and wiped a tear away. She continued, “I was disappointed when I didn’t see anyone that matched your description during the viewing. I don't know what kept you, but I am glad you made it for the casket lowering. I was surprised to see your brothers though, if that's who they were. You all look so different… Anyways, I’m sure she would've loved the intrigue you brought to her service. A handsome stranger, distraught at the thought of life without her. She always did love big, dramatic displays of affection.”

“You remember me from the funeral?”

“Who could forget? It became a topic of conversation in our family once we could all talk about her without crying. Who was that blonde guy? Why wasn’t he at the viewing? Who were the other men he was with? Did she secretly get married while she was out of the country? So many theories, each one more ludicrous then the last. It seems her best friend and I were the only ones to connect the dots as to your identity.”

“Ah. I’m a little embarrassed now,” Satan admitted sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I was extremely bitter after the funeral for a long time. How could my beautiful daughter be taken away from me? Parents were never meant to outlive their kids. I’ve never understood the reason people take photographs at funerals. Most of the time, there’s so much makeup caked onto the body they’re almost unrecognizable. There’s a photo of you from the funeral I actually saved though. You’re looking at the casket with such a look of longing and loss, just waiting for her to come back to you. That photo actually brought me a lot of peace after she was gone. Your look perfectly encapsulated how I felt at the time. It also helped me to know she was able to know that much love before she left. I never want you to feel embarrassed for showing that kind of love to my daughter.”

" She is and always will be the only one for me.”

Mc’s mother laughed, “Oh, you’re still young and quite handsome. You’ll find someone else. In fact, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day from the first time I saw you. You must’ve made some kind of deal with the devil,” she joked.

“Ah. Very funny. Yes. A deal with the devil. Haha.”

Mc's mother looked at him, slightly concerned, "Well, it seems I've made things awkward. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to leave on my behalf,” Satan protested.

“It’s alright. I live close by, and I come and visit fairly often. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Good night, Stan”

“Good night, and… thank you.”

Mc’s mother smiled at him and walked away.

“Well, Mc, I guess I have your mother’s approval now,” Satan joked, turning back to his Shakespeare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Remind me why we’re here again,” Satan said, only slightly interested in the antics Mammon was trying to drag him into.

“Tryin’ to get some sucker… er, customer ta part with their Grimm, obviously,” Mammon explained, leaning back in his chair and turning to face Satan and Belphie.

“What does that have to do with us?” Belphie mumbled, eyes more closed than open.

“Well, everythin’! You two are super smart, so I need ya ta…” As Mammon continued talking, Satan wondered, not for the first time, if Mammon actually ever intended to make money with his schemes, or if he had simply found a way to work through his sin without causing too many problems. He had to understand how likely his plans were to fail… Right?

A bump on his shoulder announced Belphie had fallen asleep. Since Mc had helped him work through some of the trauma he had held onto since Lilith’s death, Belphie had gotten comfortable with his brothers again, growing especially close with Satan, their mutual dislike of Lucifer giving them something to bond over. When Mc had died, Satan had found Belphie to be the most supportive of his brothers. Though they'll lost had lost Lilith, Satan had found Belphie the most sympathetic to what he was going through.

“Oi! Listen when I’m talkin’ ta ya! Ya both younger than me, so you shouldn't really show me more respect.”

Belphie lifted his head, and rolled his eyes, “Mammon, do you really want me to do you a favor? How about this? Maybe, don’t explain how you’re going to con people in front of those you want to con.”

Mammon looked around worriedly, finally noticing the glares he was getting, before rounding on Belphie, “I was just explainin’ the plan ta ya and Satan cuz ya both asked again! If ya didn’ wan’ an explanation, ya shouldn’ have asked!”

Belphie was about to retort, when he got a self satisfying smirk, “Oh, dearest big brother, looks like you’ve got your first customer.”

Mammon went pale, turning around slowly to find a demon about as tall as Lucifer staring Mammon down, obviously angry.

Very interested in how Mammon was going to worm his way out of this one, Satan turned to say something to Belphie when he caught sight of a familiar hat.

“Belphie, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn’t that Luke?”

“Hmm? You mean the chihuahua?... Oh, I think it is. Why do you suppose he’s here? I never heard we were getting any visitor."

"It's a little terrifying just how much you know. You're like Asmo that way."

"It's not my fault everyone just assumes I'm sleeping while they're talking."

"Belphie, you know enough, I think you store information while you're asleep."

"Huh… I'd never thought of that before… Who’s that other angel with him?”

“I don’t know… She kinda looks familiar though, don’t you think?”

Belphie looked over at him, arching an eyebrow, “Do you know any angels younger than Luke?”

“Well, no, but… She just looks so familiar.”

“I guess… Hey, you’re missing Mammon squirm.”

“You watch and enjoy. I’m going to go talk to them,” Satan said, clearly distracted, as he got up out of his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a large body planted itself in front of Satan. The demon was tall, but so was Satan. He was able to look him right in the eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re with the guy that was going to scam us right?”

“You were actually going to fall for his scheme? Really? Well, the first step to getting the help you need is admitting you have a problem. Now, move. I’ve got places to be.”

“Not so fast Princess. You’re not getting away that easy,” the demon put out his hand and grabbed Satan’s shirt.

Satan looked down at the offending hand, and then at the demon, his horns already starting to sprout, “I’d suggest you unhand me if you want to keep your kneecaps.”

The demon laughed, a cocky smile on his face, “Ya think just cuz you’re an elite ya can take me? What makes you so special huh? Ya just think ya so great, just because ya pretty. Am I right?”

The rest of Satan’s demon form appeared, his eyes glowing, a menacing aura surrounding him, “No. I know I can take you because I’m the Avatar of Wrath. Maybe, if you weren’t such a dunce you’d have noticed that,” and with that Satan grabbed his hand in a bone crushing grip. The demon started yowling, trying to twist out of his grasp. It only made Satan increase the pressure. He leaned in right next to the demon’s ear, “Next time you pick a fight, understand who you’re dealing with first.”

He swept the demon’s legs out from under him, and put him in a wrist lock submission hold. The demon was now yelling for mercy, desperately trying to break Satan’s hold. Satan looked around to see if he could still see Luke, but realized quickly that wasn’t going to be possible. Both of his brother’s were currently dismantling whatever demon had decided to pick a fight with them. The rest of the area had erupted into chaos, most demon’s running away. No one wanted to be around when one of the Avatar’s were fighting, much less three! A couple idiots were trying to get in on their fight though.

Sighing, Satan leaned down again, “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re losing your kneecaps today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan muttered to himself, picking up bits of trash that had been left by the fleeing demons. Because of his involvement in the fight, he had to clean up the entire park. Trying to explain to Lucifer he'd been trying to walk away apparently didn't help when you'd put five demons in the hospital before he'd shown up to stop you.

“Well, Lucifer, if you could’ve just kept your cool, you’d still be prancing around with Simeon and Michael up in the Celestial Realm, making friendship bracelets, painting each other little rocks and braiding each other’s hair as you giggle about how… Huh?” Satan crouched down, noticing a small foot peeking out from a pile of leaves. Moving around to the other side of the pile, he saw it was the small angel that had been with Luke.

Up close, the feeling he'd met her before was even stronger. She looked so familiar, but he knew he’d never seen her before. The youngest angel he’d ever met was Luke. Maybe she was from the foggy memories of Lucifer’s he still had? That was forever ago though. She should've grown up quite a bit by now...

His musings were interrupted as the small angel moving. She winced as she sat up, holding her head, “Wha… What happened? Luke? Where are you?, then noticing Satan, “Oh, hello there. I’m sorry, but could you help me find my big brother?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Three Link

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