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panicatthediaz · 1 year

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This concludes chapter 3, posted earlier to my AO3 because timezones apparently glitch it out. This is currently one of my three longest parts :') And like I said there, I have no idea how long this entire fic will end up being. I hope you enjoy part 9, 'cause I definitely had fun writing it!

[Part 1] – [Part 8] – [Part 10]

@madaboutmunson @lamburrito @benjaminrussell @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dijkstraspath @swiftiebuckleys @spectrum-spectre @epiclazershark @redheadchimechild @steddie-there @gayngerthings @manda-panda-monium [Let me know if you want to be tagged!]

Pin a String to My Chest - 9

Confirmation

"... And that's what she's doing," Steve finished explaining the current supernatural happening, El trying to find Eddie in his own mind.

Wayne took in the explanation silently, as he'd done every other time. If it weren't for El's demonstration earlier, he wasn't sure how believable any of it would be, but Wayne knew they weren't lying.

Or, well, he hoped he did.

The man nodded slowly, fidgeting with the necklace in his hand. Dustin had held onto that pick necklace until he saw Eddie's uncle a day after everything happened, and Wayne hadn't let it go since.

Everyone else had explained what happened since '83. Nancy had said he'd been a little amused by being right about a Creel doing it all, he'd just missed a generation.

He'd also been reasonably horrified when Nancy and Robin talked about Starcourt, but that had been the worst it got until this spring break.

"Say, Harrington," he spoke after a few minutes of radio static filling the room. He didn't take his eyes off of his nephew on the opposite corner of the hospital room. "I reckon I oughta thank you."

Steve turned sharply to face him, frowning in confusion. "What…?"

"I don't think that many people would actually carry my kid out of any kind of situation," he shrugged. "Even before all this."

Steve nodded slowly. "Sir—" A glance from Wayne, eyebrow raised, had him correcting, "Wayne…" He sighed. "Truth is, two weeks ago—" before all of this— "I'm not sure I would have…"

"You didn't know Eddie," he said, as if Steve admitting that he wouldn't have tried to help Eddie somehow was normal. "I mean, you knew of him, what people said about him, just like I knew of you."

He grimaced. Whatever Eddie had told Wayne had come from his highschool years, and Steve knew there wasn't much good there. Or maybe it'd come from later, from the ridiculous amount of first dates. He knew what that looked like.

"It's not all bad, Steve," Wayne reassured, glancing at him with a smile. "Not from Eddie."

The questioning noise that escaped him made Wayne's smile widen.

"Eddie always said, 'Harrington's always tryin' too hard to please someone'." Wayne's impression of Eddie was pretty good, making Steve snort. "He never elaborated on that, by the way, always shrugged it off when I asked what he meant."

Steve looked down, focusing on the spotless tile of the hospital room. "I, uh, I didn't know he noticed that." What else could he say? Eddie apparently had him figured out a long time ago.

"He talks big and he's always been wary," he smirked, "But he's always been curious about people too."

Steve nodded and let the silence settle between them. He didn't know Eddie as well as he'd like to, but hopefully he could remedy that soon… Assuming Eddie would want to hang out, which he also hoped would be the case. Steve had admitted a while ago that he needed a friend his age that wasn't Robin or his ex.

A sniffle came from Eddie's bedside as El took off the bandana from her eyes some time later. Wayne was up and next to her faster than Steve had expected, but he was just a second behind him.

"You okay?" Steve asked, standing behind her chair as El reached to grab a tissue from the table off to the side.

"Yes." Her reply was a little muffled by the tissue. She did her thing a bit longer than usual, but there was no noise of discomfort or any complaints, and her nosebleed wasn't that bad, so he'd let her be while he talked to Wayne. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"Distracted?"

El nodded, tossing the bloodied tissue away. She looked at Wayne with a smile and shiny eyes.

"He is in his memories, so I didn't talk to him," she explained, "But he is resting. He will wake up soon."

It was like the whole room relaxed a little, the air feeling less tense than before. Steve felt his shoulders relax, and it seemed that Wayne's entire body loosened and he held himself upright with his hands on Eddie's bed.

Steve knew from Dustin that he'd been working as little as he could afford to, worried about Eddie and staying at the hospital with him.

El stood slowly, surprising both men by hugging Wayne. She didn't wait for him to return the hug.

"I saw some of his memories," she announced, only letting Wayne go enough to look at his face. "You were in a lot of the good ones."

"Lord knows he didn't get many of those as a kid," he grumbled, his expression creasing with whatever thought he just had.

"He had you," she said, in that firm way she had when no one could really change her mind. It made Steve smile. "I think he is lucky to have you."

Wayne cleared his throat, returning El's hug a little awkwardly.

"Pretty sure he's been my favorite person since he learned to talk," he admitted with a choked laugh. "Only ever stops when he's asleep, and sometimes not even then."

Steve snorted, drawing attention to himself and making El chuckle.

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve said softly. "He always seems to have something to say."

"I'm glad I can help him say some of it," Wayne sighed, looking at Eddie and taking in the visible bandages in his arms and left cheek. His torso had even more bandages hidden under the hospital gown and the thin blanket.

"He is healing. He is safe," El reminded him, as if she could sense where Wayne's thoughts were going. Wayne nodded absently, not taking his eyes off of his nephew. "But you worry, anyway." She was smiling when Wayne looked at her. "You are good for him."

"I try to be," he mumbled, moving to sit on the other side of Eddie's bed.

El nodded, thoughtful for a moment. "You remind me of Hopper." She glanced at Steve before adding, "You two worry a lot."

Wayne frowned, apparently confused by the comparison, and turned to Steve. "Her adoptive father," he explained. Steve could only guess that Wayne filled a fairly similar role in Eddie's life. He had no idea where Eddie's biological father could have been, but the fact the man had taught a kid how to hotwire a car didn't sit well with him.

Before Wayne could reply through his surprise, a knock at the door drew everyone's attention and Hopper poked his head in.

"El, we gotta go." He nodded at Steve and Wayne in acknowledgment and let out a weary sigh when his eyes fell on Eddie. "He okay?"

"He is resting," she replied. El pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, waving to the two of them and following her dad out.

"I should probably go too," Steve said. He'd been the only one in the room in the times he visited Eddie before, and he found El and Hopper at the front desk this morning. He wasn't sure what to say to Wayne now that the silence was settling with no one else in the room to break it. "Let you get some rest."

"Not that these chairs help much with that," Wayne sighed. "But thanks."

Steve nodded, walking to the door with his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker.

"Steve."

He turned back to face Wayne. The man was staring at him with narrowed eyes, looking for something in him.

"Just because you think you wouldn't have saved my nephew before all this," he spoke sternly, "It doesn't make the fact you did it last week any less important, alright?"

Steve nodded, unsure once again of what to say. He wiggled his fingers in a wave and left, Wayne's words bouncing in his head all the way to his big empty house.

#asexual Eddie Munson #Stranger Things #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Stranger Things fic #Steddie fic #Eddie Munson fic #ace!Eddie Munson #asexuality #Wayne Munson #Steve Harrington #Dustin Henderson #wereswriting

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cappurrccino · 1 year

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day 3: coda + kayne

@malevoversary day 3! i felt like i couldn't just write another fic of kayne relentlessly bullying hastur (ridiculous, i know), so we have an... attempt at exploring his character by way of the coda deal. also i just think it's neat that he like... knows about the voters.

[ read it on ao3 ]

Even for the eternal and all powerful, it was rare for something to be quite this interesting.

Even more so for it to be a someone who was quite this interesting.

Kayne watched as the one, the only, Arthur Lester sat in a heap on the cabin floor, legs still oozing blood, face contorted in more than one flavor of pain, and mentally flipped through the man’s entire mortal life once again. Nothing, nothing, aaaaaaaaand more nothing. A perfectly normal, completely boring, little mortal life.

And yet…

He reached out a hand, hooked a finger around one of the many threads that anchored into Arthur’s body and stretched off beyond time and space and the bounds of this plane. There were dozens like it—thin and ethereal, but permanent enough that they couldn’t be snapped or pulled free. Trying to trace along its length led to… well, not much. Frustratingly not much. A world that still sat annoyingly out of reach, shrouded in murk, seemingly inaccessible but apparently capable enough of reaching out with the smallest sparks of influence. Little nudges that pushed and pulled this one unremarkable man in different directions at certain junctions where the joins between world paths were weak and pliable.

Strumming across several strands at once brought the image of a coin on its side to the forefront of his mind. A dead split. A refusal.

It was very strange.

It was infuriatingly unknown to him.

It was the most interesting thing he’d seen in the entire span of his existence and he delighted in it.

“You know, someone oughta tell them that coins don’t land on their sides. Your friends suck at following the rules.”

“What?” Arthur’s voice was thick with pain and confusion, but… when wasn’t it, really?

“Look,” Kayne said, at note of fondness running through his stolen voice. “I like you. I liked when you shoved my dagger in your throat! I enjoy our little repartee! I’ll make you a deal.”

It felt like fishing. Or… what he imagined mortals thought fishing felt like. Bait on a line and a little fish looking hungrily at it, weighing hunger against suspicion.

“A deal?”

“Yeah!”

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll put him back, right where he belongs! I’ll even give you your arm and your leg back. But… not your eyes.” He smirked, crooning, “You only have eyes for him.”

One eye on the scales, watching Arthur’s mortal little mind weigh his options. One eye on the threads, curious if they would spark to life; if they would nudge Arthur toward or away from the deal.

“And?”

He startled. “And?” Ah. Damn. Tipped to far into suspicion. “Hrm… good question. I have to think of a catch, right? What malevolent entity appears and offers a trade that only benefits?”

He cackled, amused with his own word choice, and then hemmed and hawed as theatrically as possible, enjoying watching Arthur’s thoughts spiral down their own little “what if” paths, trying to think of something suitable, something fun…

“Oh. Oh yes.”

That could work.

A win-win for him, a lose-lose for both Arthur and Hastur, and, just maybe, a way to stir the pot on that unknown world. Inaccessible, but perhaps not immune to influencing.

“What?”

“John comes back, owns your eyes, as he always did, you get your body back,” he paused, reveling in the new thrum of fear. “But! He. Remembers. Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. No first meeting, no memories in the Dreamlands, no path towards humanity. Nothing.”

“I…”

Kayne barely resisted rolling his eyes. Honestly, Arthur was the one who suggested a catch! What did he think it would be?

“He is as you first met him: a lost and confused, fractured piece of the King in Yellow.” Maybe. Probably.

“But I…”

Honestly. “But I…!” Come on. “What?”

“He…”

Kayne sighed. No wonder something had decided to latch onto this man’s soul to force decisions upon him. “Look, I get it! You don’t want to lose your friend! But you aren’t! Not really. If you stay like this, you really lose him. But this way, he has the capacity to grow! Just as he did before. Can’t you just start again?”

“I… I don’t know, I—”

Ugh. Alright. This was boring now. “Well, it’s a timed offer.”

Panic. The metaphysical scales clattered to the metaphysical ground.

“How long do I—”

“Three.”

“Wait!”

“Two.”

A sob. “Let me—”

“One.”

“Fine! Deal.”

Got him.

“Deal?”

“Yes.”

An electric thrill ran through him. “Oh, Arthur,” he said, shifting closer to where the man sat, whispering to him and along the thin strands, on the off chance whatever lurked at the other end could hear him. “This is going to be so much fun.”

He gathered the fabric of reality in his hands, pulling and tearing and opening a path to the Dreamlands. One last glance at Arthur, and he could see the defeat and despair and hope and pain radiating off of him in waves. He couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

“Say hi for me.”

#//juri speaks #i wrote a thing #malevolent podcast #malevoversary

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alteredphoenix · 1 year

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You know, for all the drama the W*W community gets itself embroiled in, I’m glad - in a way - the only controversy I caused was pissing off the Sylv*ina community and bringing their wrath down on my head by making that crit - not hate - post and bringing up the succession crisis regardless of how in good faith asking that question was. Was I sort of happy about the response? Kind of, but really I was bummed out - and blindsided - by the reaction it caused; I never intended to anger and shock that many people (I still remember a comment someone made in another person’s post that, last I checked, got 100+ notes on “hey, look at this person writing up several paragraphs’ worth of a ship she doesn’t care about“ and another that read “it’s like stopping to look into the window of a restaurant you’re passing on the street and deciding on the spot you hate the food that’s inside” - and this isn’t a call-out or meant to rag on that person, it’s just something that stuck with me).

I still feel bad about making that post to this day; it’s long since been deleted (although you’ll certainly find my response on that other person’s post if you look back far enough) but with the knowledge I have now I would not have made it. I even considered writing a Sylv*ina fic as a sort of olive branch to the community for angering them so viscerally. But then I remembered thinking to myself I’d probably get bullied for trying to make amends or shit on even more and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle; if there was any ragging about it on Twitter as there was here on Tumblr, I’d understand, I deserved that. I can think of a couple certain big-name WLW writers that like that ship that certainly wouldn’t be too happy seeing my name plastered with that ship tag; I’m not always nice to the girls I write about let alone always talk nicely about them. And, you know, that’s fair.

Honestly that was the first instance where I sat back and thought ‘you know, maybe I oughta step away from the fandom’ because the whole point about shipping is having fun with stuff that doesn’t even make sense, and who’s going to want to have someone around that doesn’t like 99% of W*W’s ships? But the W*W fandom has always been volatile, and a lot of other things non-ship related happened that finally got me to back off from it, but. Yeah. I still think about this now and again. And I think it’s for the best to just keep my distance and do my own thing (and I know I’ve said this a lot in the past, but it’s true).

Not going to tag this for obvious reasons, but mainly because I have a certain streamer friend that’s notable in the community who is going through a very rough patch (if you know you know, but I’ll leave it at that) and it got me thinking about the aforementioned bit the past couple of days. That’s all.

#armi rambles #idk it's been a very weird feeling going through twitter & seeing ppl just going off on my friend #do i know him personally? no but i've known him the past 4-5 years to know he's not a bad guy #but i know if i step in there and try to defend him i WILL get slaughtered by those ppl #it made me think 'so ig ppl can't make amends for the mistakes they made huh'#& so i stayed my tongue b/c really it's not worth the war it'll probably start #or worse case get harassed by the followers of other big-name w*w tweeters #watching this play out in real time this past week has been...something #but it got me thinking too #social media can be such a boon but it's shown me how terrifying it can be #i just hope that my friend - and the other parties involved in this - will be alright in the end #i can at least say in a way i'm glad i never got 'big'#b/c that amount of level of scrutiny he's been getting?#what amount i got made me feel like shit #so the backlash he's been receiving as of late would wreck me hardcore #just my two cents and food for thought - i doubt ppl will read this post

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chieana · 2 years

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🤩 😬 🎉 💔 !

Okay, no going easy on me, I see 😂

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Oof, that's a rough one... I've been having a lot of fun writing Mikey lately, I'm not sure why because I am the last person to go out and socialise! And yet his character appeals to me 🤔 I do mostly write the moments where he isn't being social tho, hahaha. Mikey's is so lovely angsty, in a quiet "tell no one" kinda way that I do very much relate to. If you pretend hard enough your problems don't exist, then they don't, right? That's the energy 🙈

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Hmm, I don't think there really are any, because I'm honest and upfront about what I write to people irl. There is the one Kinktober fic that I did not do justice and caused a lot of bad shit to happen in the fandom directly following it, which I would not be happy sharing with others. But I would enjoy having an open-minded conversation about it and what happened surrounding it (from writing to reactions after publishing), so there's that. I'm simply not ashamed of my fanfics any more than I am insecure about any of my writing (ergo: I will always be anxious if someone tells me they read anything I wrote, haha)

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

Depends on which kind of success. I do differentiate here. Personal success would be one where I can see I've learned something, a fic that helped me grow as a writer. For example my BBB21 fic, which is the first novel I wrote, or my fic The End. which was until recently the highest quality story I've ever written! But then there's also the public success that I care a little too much about on days I feel bad. In that case it's generally the kudos vs hits ratio, but also comments. I so rarely get comments, so when a fic has unique comments, by readers I don't know personally, that's when I consider it a successful fic. But I try not to take public success very seriously. My ongoing zombie AU is definitely very successful for me personally, and it's not "popular" at all yet! (which makes sense, I am slow in writing it, haha, and the mcd probably scares people off)

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Oh man, now here's a tough question x.x Every single angst fic for sure, haha. The Korse/Kobra Kid relationship in my BBB21 fic for sure broke my heart multiple times while writing it, because it is so fucking tragic 😭💔 Also Kinktober 2021 Day 8 the first chapter, it still pisses me off, it hurts so bad, I really oughta write the sequel if only just to soothe my own heartache 😖 My zombie AU also keeps breaking my heart but the most heartbreaking parts haven't been published yet 🙈

Thank you!! Sorry for answering the way I did, not one straightforward answer, hahaha, I hope you still enjoyed learning these things about me 😂🖤

#ask #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #mcr #if more people wanna ask me things they should~#ask game

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solalunar-eclipse · 2 years

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Sonic Boom - S3E6

Episode title: Roll With It

Word count: about 4200 words

AN: Thank you so much to everybody who’s left comments on this fic so far! Whether I’ve been able to respond to you or not, please know that your replies and tags fuel me and help me continue writing both this and my other stories :)

First | Previous | Next

Tails stalked back and forth across the living room of his house, both tails swishing wildly in agitation. “I can’t believe it!” he cried, turning to speed-walk back the other way once more. “Three times in one week already!”

Sonic sat (though the position he was in could only be called sitting with some significant stretching of the definition) upside-down on the couch, his feet thrown over the backrest as his eyes tracked his brother’s movement. “It’s not like they’ve actually taken anything yet, have they?”

“That’s not the point!” Tails insisted, whirling around to face Sonic. “The point is that someone is breaking into my workshop and moving things around! My workshop!”

“Maybe you oughta have a stakeout or something, then.” the hero suggested, his legs kicking idly.

“They’ll notice, since they’ve evaded my security systems this far.” Tails huffed, glowering irritably at the floor.

“Well….” Sonic said, swinging back to an upright (yet still lounging) position, “ooh, headrush.” He winced, lowering his head briefly.

“Anyway, what I was going to say was that since you’re so good at laying traps,” and here he leveled a distinctly flat stare at Tails, “maybe you could use that on this intruder.”

“You’re right!” the fox exclaimed, not even a hint of shame crossing his expression at the reference to his last attempt at trap-building. “I’ve gotta go do that right now!”

And so he sprinted off to the workshop, leaving Sonic still lounging on the sofa.

“This is gonna end well.” the hero muttered skeptically, looking directly into the camera.

[The same intro sequence plays as usual…with one minor change—all of Tails’s scenes are him interacting with Shadow in some form or another.

When Eggman’s villain reveal occurs, his background rapidly cycles through about ten different images (at least half of which are memes and one is a generic Windows XP wallpaper) before settling on a white background with a logo of two yellow tails. Eggman screams in rage before shutting off the camera.]

[The sequence then continues, before ending with the title of this week’s episode.]

That night, Tails slept peacefully in his bed while Sonic lay on the hanging couch out front, his feet propped up on a foam pillow. (It had taken them ages to get that way, though, since the fox had been fully prepared to stay up and wait for the intruder to try again until Sonic was forced to make him settle down and go to sleep.)

[Camera cuts to the inside of the workshop, showing a sliver of light on the floor with a shadow slipping across it.]

Meanwhile, the mysterious person snuck into the building once again. Carefully, they avoided the various cameras, alarms, and casually scattered electronics, sneaking towards a single shelf in the back. Hidden in the darkness, they didn’t make a single sound as they stepped closer and closer to their target…

…but, entirely without realizing it, they accidentally stood on a minuscule wire laid across the floor.

Machinery began to move in absolute silence as the person continued to creep forward. Well-oiled cogs turned and wiring unspooled as the intruder reached out their hand. Yet suddenly, despite all of the sensory evidence suggesting their safety, they stopped. Their ears twitched, and they tilted their head as though they had noticed something.

A single click rang out as a switch flipped, and the intruder startled violently…

[Camera cuts to the outside of the workshop as a half-stifled cry rings out for a moment.]

[Slow fade to morning.]

“Sonic!” Tails yelled, racing out of his room and shaking the hanging couch wildly. “Sonic, I caught them! I caught them!”

The hero looked up from where he had been thrown to the floor, limbs sprawled in a tangle of blue and sports tape. “Huh?” he asked intelligibly.

“I said,” Tails repeated impatiently, waving his Miles Electric around, “I caught the person who’s been sneaking into my workshop! We gotta go see who it is!”

That seemed to wake Sonic up a bit more, as he began to stand up with some urgency. “Alright then, Tails, let’s go.” he sighed, privately expecting it to be an irate villager of some kind or another who clearly hadn’t thought their actions through well enough.

Tails pushed open the door cautiously, revealing a perfectly normal workshop…given that the mess of machinery and the smaller version of Domepocalypse attached to the ceiling qualified as relatively “normal” for his workshop, of course.

The fox frowned. “I don’t see anything in here! It better not have triggered by mistake.”

Sonic squinted. All he could see inside the force field was some sort of ball, which almost seemed to be—

Black and red…

“No way.” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “No way!”

“For the love of Chaos if you want to keep your nose attached to your face you will not say another word.” Shadow snarled, uncurling and glaring down at the two through the purple sphere.

Sonic burst into laughter, making the other hedgehog growl and slowly drag his claws against the walls of the trap. “Wait, wait!” Sonic cried. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not, I swear! I’m just…this is so not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect then, hedgehog?” Shadow sneered, though the rage in his voice began to subside.

“A villager or somethin’, mostly.” he admitted, while Tails hurried to the other side of the building and started fiddling with something on his computer.

“What are you doing?!” Shadow barked, a faint note of panic pitching his voice slightly higher than usual. His eyes fixed on the keyboard as his fists tightened helplessly.

Tails said nothing, but the striped hedgehog got his answer a second later when the force field dropped from the ceiling entirely without warning. A yell exploded from Shadow’s mouth briefly before he discovered that somehow, the force field had prevented him from breaking anything in his fall.

The two brothers made eye contact for a moment, surprised at the display of emotion, before turning to face Shadow. He seemed to be irate, embarrassed, and defensive all at once, but when neither of the two actually asked any questions, his face settled into a mask of indifference.

“Congratulations, you’ve caught me.” he said sarcastically. “Now what?”

“Why were you in my workshop?” Tails replied, hands on his hips.

“None of your business.” Shadow grumbled.

“Uh, it’s literally his place, dude.” Sonic replied, smirking. “I think that makes it his business.”

“Shut. Up.” the striped hedgehog huffed, folding his arms and looking away.

“I’m just sayin’, man—”

“Why do you insist on using those words?” Shadow interrupted, looking genuinely bewildered as well as irritated now. “Do you ever call anyone by their actual name?”

“I could ask you the same thing, hedgehog.” Sonic said smugly.

“That is an epithet! Those are entirely different circumstances!”

“Suuuure.” the hero said, making Shadow scoff in disgust.

“Fine then. Tails, I was here because I wanted to see what kind of technology you were creating in order to modify my combat techniques accordingly. Now will you let me go?”

“You didn’t take anything, did you?” the fox asked, but in a way that suggested he already knew the answer.

“No.” Shadow replied flatly.

“Then…no.” Tails said.

“What?” the hedgehog barked. “I just told you—”

“I know you didn’t! And if you had taken something, I would’ve left you in there longer than I’m going to. But as it is, the only thing I’m gonna subject you to is…friendship.”

Shadow raised a brow suspiciously.

“You’re going to spend half a day stuck with all five of us.”

“Let me out!” he barked suddenly, slamming his fists on the force field with increasing power.

Sonic, who had been watching this exchange with increasing amusement, suddenly stepped forward, all humor gone from his expression. “Hey, listen, man. I get it if you’re…what’s it called…classphobic?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

“Claustrophobic.” Tails corrected him.

“Whatever! I’m just saying, if you need more space or something, I bet we can figure that out.”

“It’s not that!” Shadow growled. “I merely refuse to be forced to endure your inane activities.”

“Oh! Well then trust me, Shads, there’s no worries there. You’re gonna have plenty of fun.” Sonic said, grinning.

“What did you just call me—!”

…

[Scene re-opens on Shadow inside the now moving force field.]

“Where did you even get those.” Shadow muttered, now resigned to his fate. He gestured towards the small machines attached to the bottom of Minidomepocalypse that kept it hovering an inch or two off the ground.

Tails looked back from where he was walking next to Sonic. The hero had attached a rope to one part of the force field and was now pulling it along with ease. “I reverse engineered it from old Ancient tech Amy found, actually!”

“Really.” Shadow muttered, one brow raised. “And how often, exactly, do you go searching for that kind of material?”

Tails shrugged. “Pretty often. Though I have to admit, we really did get lucky with Sonic’s mech.”

“Did you say you lot found an Ancient mech? Where?” Shadow asked, sitting up abruptly.

“Uh, just lying around in some cave—”

“Was it blue?”

“Maybe?” the fox said, wincing at Shadow’s tone.

“That was my cave, you know.” Shadow growled.

“Oops?” Tails smiled awkwardly.

“If you want, we can…we can give it back.” Sonic said reluctantly, clearly feeling a bit guilty now that he knew where it had come from.

Shadow frowned, thinking for a moment. “No. I’d have to actually find a place for it in my cave then. Just don’t blow anything up with it or I’ll take it away from you permanently.”

“Wow, bossy.” Sonic said, but it was punctuated with a wink and a quick smirk to show he meant no real harm.

Shadow merely rolled his eyes in response.

“Oh hey, look who’s over there!” Tails said wickedly, while Shadow groaned in despair.

“Ames! Knux! Sticks!” Sonic called, waving at them. “Check out who we got!”

Shadow leaned back against the force field with a sigh. (Leaning in exasperation was a carefully cultivated skill of his. There was an art to timing the movement and position just right.) “And yet, you still can’t use actual names.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Shadow?! How did you guys get him in there?”

Sonic grinned. “It was all Tails, really. Turns out Shadow’s the one who’s been breaking into his workshop at night and moving stuff around.”

“Really?” she gasped.

Shadow frowned. “I left everything where I found it! How did you know anything had been moved?”

Tails’s eyes narrowed as he stepped up to the purple sphere. “I know where every single tool and every single piece of tech in my entire workshop is. It may not look like it, but all of the stuff in there has a very specific placement. If things are turned around or even on the wrong side, I know. Immediately.”

Shadow stood firmly in place despite the fox’s tirade, his arms folded protectively. “I believe that qualifies as overorganization.”

“Exactly!” Tails said proudly.

Shadow blinked twice, and then promptly gave up on trying to rationalize anything for the rest of the episode.

“So, what’re we doing today?” Sonic asked excitedly.

“What about the hunting game?” Sticks suggested, a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Uh…I’d do that, but I don’t think Shadow could follow us on his own.” the hero said.

“They hunt each other for sport. Why am I surprised….” Shadow mumbled in the background, his hands over his face.

“Let’s play soccer!” Knuckles suggested. “We haven’t done that in at least ten episodes, so it should be okay, right?”

All five were excited about that, so they started up a game—and nobody paid attention to Shadow’s grumbling in the background, of course. He remained on the sidelines while Sonic and Amy split the groups into ‘hedgehogs’ and ‘not hedgehogs’ teams, determined to prove that they could win against superior numbers.

By the time halftime came around, they were losing. Badly.

“Try kicking the ball at the goal more often.” Shadow said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You do it then, wise guy!” Sonic panted, hands on his knees.

“I would happily defeat you all in this paltry game, but as I’m sure you can see, I unfortunately cannot participate while inside this trap.”

Amy glared at him. “Are you mocking us?”

“Only a little.” Shadow replied archly.

“Well, at least he admitted it.” she sighed, turning to Sonic. “You ready for round two?”

“Yeah! Let’s do this!” he cheered, high fiving Amy.

They did lose in the end, but only barely, managing to scrape by with a score of 4-3. However, as the game had progressed, Shadow ended up beginning to participate as the referee solely out of frustration.

At first, he just called out a couple of times when the ball went out of bounds and it seemed like they were going to ignore it. As time went on, though, and the rules were not so much bent as twisted into a Möbius loop, he ended up shouting about the rules at every single one of them nearly all the time.

After they finished, he found himself yelling, “Do you always cheat this much?!”

(The resounding “YES!” he received in response did not improve his opinion of the team much.)

…

The team then dragged him along to the park, Sonic’s reasoning—paired with a particularly wicked grin—being that “Shadow could use some chill time in nature after that soccer game.”

The hedgehog in question had buried his face in his hands yet again and mumbled something about his sanity slowly draining away. Amy laughed.

“That tends to happen after a while.” she said, smiling sympathetically at him.

Shadow struggled to maintain his cool slouch against the walls of the force field in the face of his frustration, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes briefly before standing back upright. He scanned his surroundings in a desperate attempt to find some form of retaliation, and came to a rapid conclusion—evidently one he liked, too, given by his sudden smirk.

Suddenly, without warning, he curled into a ball and revved up a spindash, cycling around the sphere as fast as he could.

The rope attached to the force field tore out of Sonic’s hands and spun around so quickly it smacked him in the arm twice before he could even figure out what was happening. Shadow bounced back to his feet proudly, having switched directions halfway through to stop the rotation of Domepocalypse just as quickly as it had started.

“Hey!” Sonic pouted. “What was that for?”

“If you dare to mock me, you had better be prepared to face the consequences.” Shadow scoffed, looking down on the hero. “Even if I cannot move much inside this enclosure, I can still deal with you easily.”

“Man, you really need to calm down. Good thing we’re at the park already, huh?” Sonic shot back.

Shadow looked out over the crowd of shouting kids (and adults) currently occupying the space of grass within the confines of the village. Instantly, he turned his back on the scene, leaned forward until his head pressed against the force field, and sighed loudly in irritation.

Sonic then burst out laughing and remained that way for a good five minutes, at least.

…

“Okay, and that’s the town hall, where Mayor Fink does his work….” Amy said brightly. It had been her idea to take Shadow on a tour of the town, even if most of the others had grown rather bored by this point.

(“He’s never been here while not fighting before! This is a fantastic opportunity!” she’d insisted. “Yeah, an opportunity to make him want to burn the whole thing to the ground even more.” Sonic had said.)

“Your government is both corrupted and fails to perform its most vital duties. Excuse me if I am less than impressed.” Shadow replied drily.

Sticks gasped. “Finally! Somebody else with some sense about what really goes on behind closed doors! What kind of conspiracies do you think they’re planning?”

“Only ones that constitute a benefit for themselves and nobody else.” the striped hedgehog replied.

“Exactly!” the badger cried, instantly prepared to launch a single-person attack on the town hall. “We have to stop them!”

“Sticks, no!” Amy called, dragging them back to the group. “Nobody is destroying the town hall today!”

Sticks grumbled irritably in response.

“Anyway, over there is the library…” she continued hurriedly, only to receive another flat remark from Shadow.

“Yes, the library, whose librarian is both an active impediment to the distribution of knowledge and a failure of a pedant.”

Tails laughed at that. “He is, though! He keeps giving people looks if they say ‘who’ instead of ‘whom’, and I can’t even count the number of times he’s told me the ‘grown-up books’ are off limits.”

He turned away, muttering, “Actually, I can. It’s been at least fourteen.

“I just hide them in between some comic books and that works most of the time.” Tails added, shrugging it off. “At least those are fun to read too!”

“That is either incredibly clever or your librarian is incredibly idiotic.”

“Probably both, to be honest.”

“Aw, come on guys, I like the library!” Amy insisted, seeming disappointed.

“And you’re the only one who does.” Sonic replied smoothly, leaning on her shoulder.

“I never said I disliked the library, just the librarian.” Shadow replied, leaning sideways (since it was important to cross-train with different types of leaning) against the force field once more.

“You like the library? Lame.” Sonic shot back.

“I never said I liked it, either.”

Knuckles frowned, confused. “Wait…so you don’t like the library, but you also do like the library?”

“Exactly.” Shadow said, a distinct smugness in his voice.

Sonic and Amy both let out long-suffering sighs while Tails and Sticks fought back laughter. The fox in particular was surprised that Shadow was actually funnier than he had expected, and could in fact hold his own when faced with the combined chaotic energy of the group.

[Since it is impossible to properly convey what happened next through text, please imagine a really cool exploding noise here.]

Suddenly, an explosion scattered the five and sent Shadow’s force field flying. A maniacal laugh boomed across the street as the smoke cleared to reveal…

…Eggman, with bass-boosted speakers attached to his Eggmobile for the sole purpose of making his laugh sound more menacing.

Sonic snickered. “Speakers, Egghead? I think that counts as cheating.”

“Oh, shut it, you!” the doctor snapped. “I think they add a certain gravitas to my persona.”

“Oh wow, that’s a cool sound system!” Knuckles said, having missed the previous exchange entirely (although this time it wasn’t entirely his fault, as the explosion had left his…well, presumably he had ears that could have been ringing).

“Well thank you! At least someone appreciates my sense of taste.” Eggman said, still rather indignant.

“What taste?” Shadow scowled, stepping forward…minus any kind of purple shielding. “The only thing you’ll be tasting in a minute is the dirt, Eggman.”

“Wait—how did you break out of Domepocalypse?!” Tails cried. “I designed it to be indestructible!”

“It’s never held me before, Tails.” Shadow shot back, rolling his eyes. “Now then, doctor…” he cracked his knuckles. “…this is for trying to blow me up.”

He smacked the Eggmobile with a roundhouse kick that nearly sent it flying. (Which meant, apparently, that cracking his knuckles had been entirely for effect.) Inside, Eggman ground his teeth before roaring, “Robots! ATTACK!”

Amy sprinted into battle with a shout, swinging her hammer with forceful precision. Knuckles punched flying bee-bots out of the air while Sticks wielded her bo staff, fending off the ones on the ground. Tails took to the skies, defending the team from the robots nobody else could reach, while Sonic bounced around, spin-dashing badniks left and right.

Meanwhile, Shadow was…helping? Surprisingly enough, he actually seemed to be fighting Eggman as well, even if he abjectly refused to actively work with any of the members of the team. He mostly teleported around and used spindashes or kicks, but seemed to avoid performing any attacks like the Chaos Blast he’d used when angered earlier on in the season.

Whirling into another dash, Shadow ricocheted off a wall and nearly missed his mark—but then Sonic took it out instead.

Shadow was about to stalk over and yell at him when he noticed something odd: Sonic had left his own targets free for the other hedgehog to destroy in exchange. He attacked them entirely on instinct, but found that he couldn’t quite manage to work out what had just happened, somehow.

The striped hedgehog hardly had a moment to be confused, though, because soon enough, the battle had ended.

“Ugh! You just got lucky because Shadow was on your side this once!” Eggman barked. “Next time, I’ll win for sure!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Egghead!” Sonic taunted, grinning.

“When will he ever learn?” Amy asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

Tails smirked. “Probably never, honestly.”

As the others celebrated, Knuckles awkwardly inched over next to Shadow. “Hey, thanks for helping us out today.” he said, clearly torn between his usual friendly demeanor and his wariness at getting too close to the guy who’d knocked him—sorry, pummeled him—into a wall.

Shadow blinked, confused. “Oh. Uh. Whatever. I only did it because Eggman tried to blow me up, anyway.” he muttered halfheartedly.

“Yeah, it was great fighting with you instead of against you today, man!” Sonic called. “We should do it more often!”

Shadow’s eyes widened. He stared at the team as it slowly dawned on him that all of them felt this way. “W-well, of course it was easier to defeat him! Since I can best all of you in single combat.” he insisted, ignoring the slight stammer at the beginning of his words.

He quickly teleported away after that, heading back to his cave (to preferably spend the next half hour curled up as tightly as possible in shame).

“Aw man, he left already?” Tails said, frowning.

“I guess so.” Sonic shrugged. “He probably just couldn’t handle our combined awesomeness for such a long time.”

“Does this mean he’s part of the team now?” Sticks asked, confused.

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but then paused. “Actually, Sticks, I don’t really know.”

“If he isn’t now, then he will be soon!” Knuckles exclaimed.

“You know what?” Sonic said, looking off into the distance for a moment. “I think you might just be right about that.”

…

The next day, Tails marched into the library and started pulling not one, not even two, but five different engineering manuals off the shelves of the adult nonfiction section. Stacking them all in his arms, he walked boldly up to the front desk and dropped them in the checkout area.

“Only thirteen-year-olds and up can borrow books from the adult section.” Fastidious Beaver announced flatly.

“I may be ten, but I have an IQ higher than you could ever hope for!” the fox snapped. “I’m borrowing these books whether you like it or not.”

“Such language!” he cried. “You take after your brother in that, of all things?”

“Hey!” Tails barked. “I’m proud to call Sonic my brother, and you know what? If you’re not going to scan those books for me, then I’ll just do it myself!”

Suddenly, he snatched the barcode scanner from the desk and checked out all five books, a determined look on his face.

“That, young man, is against the rules!” the beaver shouted, but he seemed too nervous to actually do anything about it.

“I only follow rules if they make sense.” Tails replied smugly, pausing at the open door. “Otherwise…” and suddenly, he developed a wicked smile that struck terror into the librarian’s heart, “…anything’s fair game for me.”

And then he rushed out of the library and flew all the way back home, cheering excitedly as he went.

Before Tails would sit down to read his hard-won treasure, though, he headed for his workshop. Inside, he walked over to a machine that was analyzing Domepocalypse’s main power source.

On the readout nearby was a list of dates and times, and the fox studied them for a moment before frowning at the display, refreshing the screen, and reading them again.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” he muttered to himself. “This says he could’ve broken out at least an hour before the fight!”

Sonic burst into the workshop at that moment, skidding to a stop at the workstation. “Hey Tails, I heard you come back! What’s up?”

“I was just looking over some of this data from Domepocalypse. It says that Shadow figured out how to escape ages before he actually did!” the fox explained. “But if that’s right, why didn’t he leave sooner?”

Sonic grinned. “Aw, c’mon, you telling me you don’t think it was my winning personality?”

Tails swiped at his arm, snickering. “It was not!”

“Oh, I see how it is!” the hero cried. “Betrayed by my own brother, huh? Is that right?”

But he was smiling too much for even a complete stranger to think he was truly angry.

[Freeze-frame on the two standing together and laughing, followed by a fade to black.]

[roll credits]

#sonic boom #sonic boom: ancient secrets #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #knuckles the echidna #amy rose #sticks the badger #shadow the hedgehog #dr eggman #sol's fanfiction #wow that's a lot of character tags #anyway!#i just had to say:#that one scene with eggman going 'i have an impeccable sense of taste' and shadow saying 'all you'll be tasting is dirt'#i don't know what happened when i wrote that but whatever it is i hope it happens again #because that was awesome #also it is so weird to be posting this when i'm right in the middle of working on something completely unrelated #like i'm trying to wrangle this complicated plot into working #and then it's like 'oh right time for me to post 4k words of humor'#but anyway!#if you came this far then thank you so much for looking at my ramblings #and thank you as always for reading!!

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moosoobi · 3 years

Text

Revelation

In the night: Chapter 1

T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical

Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They say every girl’s another mystery, but definitely not like this. Buckle your seatbelt Tommy, you’re in for a ride

Finally finished the first part of ITN (which is ironic since the moment I wrote this message I still haven’t finished it). I really hope I’m able to bring this story to life the way I want to and I hope y’all enjoy 😔💕. Here’s some stuff to expect:

Told from Thomas’s POV

Modern Au

College talk even though I’m literally in my second year of high school (so please bear with me)

Ruh roh moments

Sorta weird POV/storytelling (I’m new to writing fics and stuff so this is definitely a learning opportunity) Also excuse my English errors: Though this is my only language, my school system seemed to fail in teaching me how to write

Word count: 6.7k (including separators)

2 DISCLAIMERS:

TW: itty bitty angst, themes of injury/blood, etc.

I’m not the best story writer, so after reading this chapter you may have many questions. Please keep in mind that this is one chapter out of (about) 10. Things that you may not understand in this chapter will most likely be explained in future chapters.

-Now Playing: In The Night by The Weeknd-

My God, she’s perfect

The way the sunlight reflects off of her glass skin. The sincerity in every word, every letter that she writes with her only pencil. To be that flawless, it’s a mystery to me. She takes a glance at me. Did she feel me staring? I duck down my head in embarrassment.

“Jefferson, you oughta put that scholarship to good use”

Professor Washington boomed to the entire class. I hear a fragment of her giggle. Her laugh is soft and naïve. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of her happiness.

Washington is right, though. It's my first semester after I came back from my student exchange program over in France and I can already feel my sanity slipping. France was a beauty to visit, so many customs and cultures I wish I could be flourished in right now.

But there was one thing great about going to school in New York: I get to sit in a classroom with Y/N L/N.

I’ve never talked to her formally, at least not yet. She’s always sitting alone, never answers any questions, but Professor Washington makes the class acknowledge her perfect test scores and fascinating interpretations

As the bell rings I watch her stand swiftly. Is she in a rush? I can't help but watch as her hair is flung over her shoulder. She stuffs her notebooks and singular pencil into her burgundy-magenta backpack. Hey, at least she has good taste in color.

I don’t think you understand

She sits alone everyday during lunch, yet she never looks bothered. Her energy is so compelling to me. A feeling about her that I cannot comprehend, something that feels greater than my existence. I just got to know.

“Thomas, you gotta work on staring at people less noticeable” James catches my attention by pointing his fork a little too close to my face.

I was staring? Again?

I shake my head to snap back to reality

“The great Thomas Jefferson is interested in someone for longer than 30 seconds. I gonna be honest with you Thom, that’s impressing”

I hear James laugh as he violently stabs a few pieces of pasta onto his fork.

James has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went to the same middle and high school down in Virginia, and just coincidentally ended up going to the same college in New York.

We’re always there for each other. I remember cheering for him at a high school assembly after he won a story writing challenge, he’s such a nerd. Then again, he had to drive me home a couple of times after I failed multiple driving tests.

Back in high school, James was the Chess Club Champion, a title he always shoved down my throat. It’s no secret why, though. He’s really good at thinking things through, While I on the other hand tend to dive headfirst into the abyss.

“Shut it James” I sarcastically retort, taking a sip of the expensive chocolate milk which my scholarship supposedly pays for

Hey, can I sit here?

I talked to her during class. Her voice is angelic: Now, I’m not one to be religious and all, but that voice could get me on my knees praying for forgiveness. My ego couldn’t get me anywhere at all, as if she already knew my tactics, she knew my flirts, and how? I guess it just adds to her mystery.

“C'mon! that one works every time!” I whine

“Don't be so full of yourself Jefferson, I’ve heard them all before” A smile danced across her face

She did, however, laugh at some of my remarks. It's good to know that she has a sense of humor. My jokes of Professor Washington’s shiny, bald head. The jokes of Professor Washington’s assistant, John Adams, who’s suspiciously absent considering he signed up for this job.

Heck, I would even make fun of myself if it meant I got to hear that graceful laugh one more time- actually, that might be a little too far.

Many days of giggling in class came after that day. I can see her starting to open up to my friends and I, like she’s spreading her wings and showing us the greatness that lies behind the social wall that she put up years ago. Even when we got in trouble for a little too much giggling in the back of the class, I sacrificed my own pride so she didn’t have to. Yes, I, Thee Thomas Jefferson, did that.

---

Even though I could see the social wall she put up, I knew one day Y/n would fall for my charming pick up lines, or maybe I just happened to have a lucky day:

“Y/N I need some a some help with my math homework”

Y/N glances over to me in concern. I fake a scared expression.

“Quick!” I swiftly grab her shoulder and shake her “What’s your phone number?”

She playfully smacks my arm

---

Obtaining her number felt like a rite of passage, like I’m important to her, like she wants me in her life. I couldn’t stop smiling that day, and of course James just had to make a comment on it.

“Thomas, if you keep smiling like that I’m going to start thinking that your sick or something”

James said as he shut my laptop, tired of waiting for me to pack my things.

“Now that's REAL ironic coming from you, James”

I raised an eyebrow as my laugh begins to come up my throat. I take my closed laptop and shove it somewhere into my backpack.

“Okay, leaving for a month in sophomore year just because of a little fever doesn’t make ‘being sick’ as part of my trade mark”

James playfully smacked the back of my head. Thankfully, my curls serve as protection, not just to make me sinfully handsome. James and I walk out of the freezing lecture hall and were hit with the crisp-coldness of New York.

To the right of me I catch a glimpse of that eye catching burgundy-magenta backpack as it’s thrown into the trunk of a shiny, expensive car. My feet keep its motion as my head turns to see Y/N standing at the door of the car.

“Yo, is that Y/N?” I hear James whisper behind me “and who’s that?”

My attention is suddenly drawn to the tall man walking around the car to open her door. His curly hair is pulled into a small bun and the smile he had on his face broke apart the stubble on his jaw. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m just as clueless as you are”

Keeping my glance on Y/N and the man, I watch as the man opens the door for her. My stomach turns as I watch Y/N smile back at him as she sits in the car.

For a split second, I swear I saw her shoot a soft glance at me. My feet almost stop in their tracks before I feel James’ hand yank me onto another pathway.

“I’m all for you being head over heels, but we’re gonna be late to our study session with Angie”

Reality starts to set back into my head.

“Right, lets dip.”

---

“So little Tommy is Infatuated with this woman?”

Angie’s eyes are piercing, and her luscious hair frames her face in a saintly manner. She slips off her baby pink coat to ease into her library seat. Her eyebrow raises as she takes a sip of her steaming coffee

Of course James wouldn’t shut his mouth, especially around the notorious Angelica Schuyler.

Angie’s pretty popular here, I find myself wondering why she has so many connections, yet it’s not just any reason(s) why she seems to be in the spotlight.

1: She’s the oldest Schuyler. Her last name definitely got her places, not like I’m one to talk. Everyone seems to know her, not just at school, but all around New York City, and with her 5,000 Instagram followers, her first name’s starting to catch up with her last name in popularity

2: Angie’s Daddy has money money. And that’s no secret when she decides to walk around campus with her designer handbags and shoes. I tend to think she always gets what she wants, but I know deep down, she’s never gonna be satisfied. Maybe it’s just a side effect of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth

And finally,

3: Miss Schuyler here is Bold. She’s never afraid to put both me and James in our place. It’s almost as if she can’t be touched by anyone’s thoughts of her, then again the gossip in NYC is terribly insidious. With such grace and respect, Angelica is not afraid to throw your opinion into the ground.

“Yeah I swear, Jefferson would’ve gotten run over if I didn’t pull him onto the pathway” James attempted to tone down his laugh so the librarian wouldn’t stab him with those old, sharp eyes

“She-...”

For the first time, I didn’t know how to recoil

“..Just caught me off guard.”. In an attempt to change the topic, I flipped through the pages of his textbook.

Angelica and James shared an astonished glance at Thomas before looking at each other. I could hear James shrug and flipping open his textbook. I lift my head as I hear Angelica dig through her bag

“Alright let’s get started” Angie claps her hands together with determination

—-

It’s been 2 hours of studying in the ghostly library. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid the talk forever.

“Hey Thomas, why don’t you invite her to our next study session?”

Angelica smirked as she rudely shut my laptop. I desperately imagine the day where both James and Angelica leave me alone. I angrily glare up at her, but she has a good idea

“Actually, that’s not to bad of an idea” I ponder for a moment before retrieving my phone from my pocket

Thomas: Hey Y/N, u free this week?

Hmm. Is this okay? Nah it’s too straight forward. I sigh as I deleted and retyped the message

Thomas: Greetings Ms. L/N, this is Mr. Jefferson from class. Would you delight me by partaking in a study session?

What the heck Jefferson? I began to get frustrated from this nonsense. It’s just a text, why am I getting so anal over it?

Thomas: Hey Y/N, ds@insdas/19z7dnesdc-

Angelica, who was watching me the entire time, snatched the phone from my hands. I attempted to protest, yet Angelica Schuyler knows how to hold her ground.

“Angie wh-”

“I’ll do you a favor, Jefferson.” She said sternly. There was no way I was getting that phone back, heck, I would be lucky if I got it back in one piece

“Aaaaand sent!” I heard her squeal

Angelica suddenly tossed the phone to me and I fumbled it between my hands before I held it stably. I check to see the text that Angelica sent from my phone

Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?

Oh. It was that easy.

“Thanks Angie”

I shove my phone back in my pocket. Part of me was excited to have an excuse to text Y/N, yet I do wonder how awkward it would be if she rejected the offer. I mean, she already has the perfect grades, why would she need the extra help?

I start to rethink my decision.

—-

It wasn’t until 11 pm at night until I got a reply from Y/N. Beforehand, I arrived at my apartment around 8 pm. As soon as my door shut, the room was filled with growls indicating my current problem: hunger. That could only be solved with one solution: microwavable mac and cheese.

My phone dinged while I was laying motionless on my bed. My apartment was right next to the street, and all I could hear was the busy streets of New York City.

My eyes opened as I turned to my charging phone.

Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way

I was filled with joy, so much that I couldn’t wait another second to reply.

Thomas: Alright, we meet at the library after our class. Can you make it?

Seeing the three dots jump melodically made my stomach feel as if two fairies were dancing throughout my body. Any second now, any second. ding!

Y/N: sounds good!

I guess it’s settled, I get to hang out with the puzzling Y/N L/N, and maybe I’ll get to learn a bit more about her. But just because it’s a study session doesn’t mean I can’t show her what a southern gentleman looks like, and for the first time, I’m so excited to study

---

James, Y/N, and I walk out of professor Washington’s class, laughing our asses off over some stupid joke. Everyone around us appears to be annoyed, especially with having to sit through almost two hours of my friends and I laughing in the back of the class, but it’s not like I care.

Once we’re hit by the bitter cold of New York, my eyes are immediately drawn to that expensive car. So familiar and so faint in head, the memory of Y/N smiling as she hopped into his car replays in my brain.

“I’ll be back guys”

Y/N excuses herself from the group before lightly jogging to the car. Her hair was graceful in the wind, and her burgundy-magenta backpack didn’t seem to weigh her down at all. For a split second, my brain acknowledges that mysterious man in the driver’s seat. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with him, his cold eyes pierced through me before my attention was drawn back to Y/N. She fixes her hair and jacket.

That was cute.

What?

James and I watch Y/N before turning to each other. I suggest to James that we wait for her, show a little southern hospitality. Even though Y/N seems to be fond of this man, he gives off a mysterious vibe similar to Y/N’s, but I do not want to unravel that mystery at all.

Seeing him throw a smirk at Y/N causes discomfort in my stomach.

Y/N comes prancing back to us, an embarrassed smile on her face. Behind her, that shiny, expensive car begins to drive away.

“My bad, I forgot to tell my roommate that I would be out late”

“That’s your roommate?” James asks, attempting to hide his curiosity and shock

“and he takes you home after class?” I interrupt briefly

Y/N nervously laughs before nodding “something like that, he just..”

That pause was a little too long

“..doesn’t like me out of the house too late so he volunteers to drive me home all the time”

I shrug it off before jumping at the feeling of James’ warm hands pulling Y/N and I to the direction of the library. Y/N and I look at him with confusion

“What? Angie doesn’t like when we’re late, remember?” James says, practically dragging us to the Library

—-

“Nice to meet you”

Angelica and Y/N got along pretty well. I can tell Angie was happy to finally have a girl to hangout with rather than having to deal with me and James only. She’s already starting to resemble a sisterly figure to Y/N, then again, growing up with two sisters must’ve prepared Angie for this moment.

I don’t hear much about the other Schuylers, but I am familiar with them. Angelica is the oldest, as we know. Her first sister, Eliza Sch- I’m pretty sure she got married, is the nicest person you’ll meet. Whoever won her surely must be worthy, because we all know people like me wouldn’t get anywhere near Eliza thanks to her older sister. Her youngest sister, Margarita Peggy Schuyler, is just like Angelica.

Stubborn. As. Fuck.

I’m confident that Angelica has taught her that philosophy since she was born. Anyway, Peggy is currently living her dreams in Southern California. Not sure what she does, but I’m sure she’s financially stable, she is a Schuyler after all.

All of us struggle to not annoy the librarian, let alone the entire library. I watch as Y/N opens up, just a little more, to Angelica, James, and I.

Hours pass as we clown around in the library. From actually completing class work to a small drawing competition between James and I, I was certainly having a good time, and so was everyone else.

It was pleasing to see Y/N more laid back rather than how she acts in class. In front of Professor Washington she’s so ‘put together’ and organized, but surrounded by her friends she’s such an amazing person, her range in professionalism and humor is astounding.

I can’t seem to ignore the fact that Angelica notices the way I look at Y/N. It’s definitely not in my strong suit to be ‘low key’, I’m known for dramatic entrances and stealing the spotlight. She smiles when I make eye contact with her, and I’m pretty sure it’s just her way of annoying me, but I can’t help the way I look at Y/N. She really is an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a college student, and I’m just lucky enough to be her friend.

I’m blind to her flaws. When I see her, I feel like a tourist glancing at the Mona Lisa, memorizing every curve of her face, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the way the library lighting reflects off of her glowing skin.

What felt like a sledgehammer breaking a slab of fragile glass, I see Y/N’s phone light up. Even across the table I can read the word “Lafayette” off of her phone. I can’t lie, it surely sounds familiar.

When she finally noticed her phone flash on, I feel her ease turn into worry, and it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by James, Angie, and I. She starts to pack away her books

“My bad guys, I really gotta go”

Y/N said notably panicking. Her phone flashes once again, yet the only thing that seems to catch my eyes is the bold “7:30” spread across the top of her phone.

“Are you okay by yourself?” I asked, trying my best not to pry into her business

“Yeah, my roommates here to pick me up, I don’t want to make him wait” she tried to play it off, but I’m learning to see right through her

“Alright, see you next time Y/N” I shrug it off

She sends my friends and I a quick smile before replying

“for sure”

Angelica and James got back to work without saying a word, and I could tell they were waiting until she was gone to start teasing me. I eased back into my chair before flipping the pages of my notebook

I watched as she shoved open the library door and disappeared into the darkness. She’s such a mystery, when I feel like she’s opening up, she just shuts the door and we’re back at square one. Though I do claim to love a good challenge, Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

—-

And that’s when it started. It wasn’t just one time where 7:30 was Y/N magic number, oh no, it was oddly consistent. I’m convinced that Y/N is some variation of Cinderella; her polite attitude and the beautiful little things she does without acknowledging it all vanish when the clock strikes 8:00, but that’s just one of many theories made by James.

Another study session with James and Angelica, and Y/N’s flashing screen still compelled Y/N to leave the library without a trace. On some occasions we don’t even notice her escape, we just turn to see her seat empty and feel the faint wind from outside as the library door slowly closes.

One day Angie bought us all tickets to see the preview to the newest, scariest movie I’ve ever watched. I was accompanied by Y/N, James, and Angie, yet their presences made it worse. Halfway through the bucket of popcorn and the movie, Y/N suddenly stood up and left after saying those 5 words. Before she left, I felt the warmth of her hands leave the place on my arm.

I never knew how addicting her warmth would be until it was already gone.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go” The weak smile on her face instantly resonated feelings of sympathy and understanding.

From then on, Y/N and I grew closer as friends. We’d fool around at a local park before heading to campus, obviously sparking a few observations and remarks from James. I’d invite her to fancy dinners, or maybe even a small festival down the road from my apartment, yet her response would always be proven false at the moment she’d leave me and my thoughts at 7:30.

But that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to hang out with her. Even on the days I wouldn’t have class with her we’d go out and get ice cream, study at the park, I guess you can say we’ve gone on a few ‘dates’ since our initial study session.

Whenever we’re apart, I can feel every second expanding to its maximum capacity of time. I wouldn’t see her for a day and it will already feel like years since I’ve seen her. The days I do see her, time seems to maneuver a little too fast. When I recall hanging out with Y/N, all I can imagine is the feeling of floating above the clouds every time she and I made physical contact. Like a rock being dropped into still water, ever touch ripples throughout my body, sending shivers down my spine.

Truly incredible.

—-

She doesn’t like to talk about her personal life, and I find that quite odd. I’m usually one to continue rambling every detail of every trait of mine, yet I find myself yearning to learn more about her.

We text every now and then when we’re outside of class, a little more to be considered ‘just friends’. There’s always a story which unravels just a little more of Y/N’s past, and she’s left me on my own to connect the dots. I must say, she’s definitely an interesting gal, but I know there’s more to discover.

She’s a native New Yorker, born and raised, surviving by splitting an intense rent with her mysterious room mate. Y/N doesn’t talk much of her family, other than faint memories of her mother single handedly raising her and her little brother, who I’m fairly unaware of.

Going into college undecided, Y/N describes her want to learn more about herself before she’s able to make any life determining choices. I’ve noticed that her schedule seems like a labyrinth avoiding life problems and obstacles, so perhaps being placed in the same class coincidentally was just fate playing its part.

Y/N loves to explain her dream for workless weekends, moments in the week where she just gets to sit back, close her eyes, and breathe a little. With finals starting to appear from thin air, I can’t blame her for a dream so far from reality.

Even with the knowledge I hold of her, something never seems to change: her disappearances at 7:30.

It’s always that damn 7:30.

7:30--the cliffhanger your favorite show leaves you desiring for more

the end of a fun night of laughter and glee, wishing it lasted just a little longer

the off-set energy in a room when those around you know something you don��t.

As days, weeks, and months pass since my first text proposal to hang out at the library, Y/N and I become a little closer than just friends. It’s been obvious, especially to James and Angie, that Y/N is more than capable of holding my attention.

Though James is worried that Y/N will just become ‘another girl’ to me, concerning my tomcat nature in the past, he can see the potential I see in her. I find myself wishing I did spend more time with her, maybe I just need to make a better effort.

I’ll prove James and Angie wrong.

Filled with determination and confidence, in the midst of my silent room, I whip out my phone and direct my attention towards forming a text message for Y/N

Thomas: let’s get coffee sometime?

Jefferson charm, don’t fail me now.

---

Before I knew it, Y/N and I were feasting on exotic cheeses and aged wine in my New York apartment. I hit play on a random romcom which helps to fill the emptiness in my apartment and ironically the thin space between Y/N and I.

I have no idea how to make my move. Though I’m not aware of my competition, I imagine if Y/N could attract someone of My caliber, I should be well aware of the things she’s capable of. Originally I planned to court her-- I know, I know, I’m a man of tradition--yet after James caught on to my recognizable frustration, He suggested I go for it.

This is surprising on multiple occasions, especially since James possesses the ‘brains’ between the both of us. Being the chess club champion, ‘talk’ won’t aid you when you're struggling in a chess match. Just like how he meticulously plays chess, he examines my situation and provides his Virginian insight, or so he prefers to call it, and they always proceed the way his scheme describes.

I’ve adhered his advice to my life ever since we were kids, and when I didn’t, he’d simply reply with:

“I told you so”

His smug smirk accompanied with a finger pointing to his temple would soon transform from clever to annoying.

I feel a vibration come from my pocket. Well, of course it’s not Y/N texting so must I really answer it? I pull out my phone despite my doubts and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

James: 👍

Speak of the Devil.

But enough about James. I understand that both Y/N and I are mature college students, yet I still fear the disruption in our friendship I can provoke just by making my move. I’ve gotten this far; If she wasn’t interesting I’m sure she would’ve rejected me sooner.

She’s different, she’s unique, something about her that I just can’t place, but also something missing. Anyway, this is probably my best chance at shooting my shot at Y/N, and it’s too late now to back down.

As my lips part in an attempt to speak and make a move, Y/N’s motionless phone (currently laying undisturbed on my coffee table) suddenly brightens with the most obnoxious ringtone I’ve ever heard. The words “It’s 7:30!” flash on her screen, almost as if it was warning her rather than reminding her.

“Y/N—” my eyes follow her body as she swiftly stands up

“I gotta g—” I watch as she attempts to grab her purse, yet her body is limited when I firmly grab her arm. She looks back to me with tiredness in her eyes.

Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, Cinderella here wouldn’t have a curfew. That I somehow would be the exemption to this consistent confusion . But you can only daydream so far into the day until you’re pulled back into your reality

Her entire demeanor seems like it was reconstructed after her alarm went off. Moments ago she was just enjoying tasty cheese and cheesy movies, and the worst part is, I have no idea why.

“Let me speak, darlin’”

I stand up to avoid the way her eyes look down on me. I can’t stand that pitiful glare; she looks at me as if I’m a child incapable of understanding her situation, but she’s too stubborn to let me know. I’d be wise to use this time to make a move on different circumstances.

“Now, you’re always leaving at seven thirty..”

Her sigh is almost enough to interrupt me

“..why’s that? Talk to me.”

I maintain my eye contact before it’s abruptly broken. She looks everywhere but my eyes, and I wonder where in my apartment she would find an excuse, yet still manages to dodge the question.

“..you wouldn’t understand..” she scoffs almost intentionally, honestly scratching a part of my ego. I hate to admit she’s right, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

I cock my head to the side. Where’s this coming from?

“Darlin’, I’m sure I’m a very understanding person—”

“—I need to leave”

I could tell by the look of her face that she wasn’t trying to argue, but it’s inevitable.

“Why can’t you just tell me?..” I put my hands up as a sign of defeat, but I’m not giving up yet. “We’ve been friends for a while and you’re always leavin’ at seven—”

“I know! I know..” she removes my hand from her arm, clearly refusing to look up at me.

“Let’s just say..I got a job..?”

Oh. That’s what this is all about? A job? She couldn’t spare at least an explanation for a part time gig?

“See? That wasn’t so hard”

“It’s..really embarrassing..” The glance she takes around the room makes me wonder if she’s really telling the truth. it’s not really my place to speculate, there’s no going back from this.

“It’s alright, it’s just a job after all” I claim, trying to get this conversation back on track

“This is exactly what I meant but ‘you wouldn’t understand’”

Huh?

“You don’t know what it feels like to have your life rely on minimum wage—” she sounds like she’s holding something back.

“Y/N wher—”

“A-and here you are makin’ me late for work” her eyes appear on the verge of crying.

“darlin’ look..”

“God, you’ve never had to work for anything in your life!”

Silence.

Both of us refuse to speak. Y/N phone, still on the table, chimes again. “7:35” it said on its bright screen.

“Is that really how you feel?..” I take a step back to give her space. She still refuses to look at me.

There’s no way she’d cause all this chaos just because of a job. And even if she believes I’ve piggy backed off of my name for my entire life, why would it matter to her?

“I..I should leave” before I could process what just happened, she swiftly tosses her phone into her bag and heads for the door.

“Y’know, I had a nice time..” was all I heard before the harsh shutting of my apartment door.

And that was the end of it.

My first thought after the door shut wasn’t to whip out my phone and attempt to text her, it certainly wasn’t to call James and inform him of his miscalculation, but instead to attend to the matter at hand. This cheese and wine won’t clean itself.

And the night continued normally, as if nothing had ever taken place. I couldn’t help but microwave another cup of Mac and cheese to cope with what Y/N said. Nothin’ like a good meal to divert your attention away from your problems. But even a good cup of cheese and pasta can’t stop me from thinking’:

Is that all I am to her?

A southern snob incapable of functioning without their father’s last name?

After an introspective shower, and a few episodes of a random Netflix show, I’m finally alone with my thoughts and feelings. I lie in darkness, tussling and turning at every occasion, unable to extract her words from my mind.

If there’s someone whose opinion I care about the most, it’s Y/N L/N. I consider texting her at this very moment, yet I’m sure that I’m the last person she wants to talk to. The weight of my actions falls heavily onto my shoulders every minute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Give her space, Jefferson, and maybe you’ll be able to fix this tragedy.

---

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocks on my apartment door were enough to jerk my body back to consciousness. Sadly pulled from the warmth of my dreams, I’m hit with the cold, noisy reality of an average night here in New York.

Can my day get any worse?

Coming straight from the depths of slumber, I take a few minutes to process reality. Maybe the knocks were in my head. Did I dream about someone knocking on my door? Perhaps it’s

The sun’s still not up yet, why am I?

Groggily sitting up, I decide to check the time, yet it takes me multiple attempts to grab my phone in the dark before I catch a sight of the time.

2 am?!

Who is so out of their minds so show up to my apartment at this time? Who do I know that would show up at this time?

James is too sensible for that,

Angie would never waste her time on me, for whatever reason,

And Y/N—

well.

I don’t know our circumstances right now.

I debate whether or not I should answer the door. Perhaps it’s just rock that happened to hit the door of my apartment, and even if it is a person, I’m not aware of anyone so mad to show up in the middle of the night. it’s not worth my time.

...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

So much for ‘Not worth my time’. A groan is all my body can respond with while I gradually stand from the comfort of my bed. I grab the nearest shirt, which was draped over my desk chair, and scramble to put it on. Passing my cramped kitchen, my hands subconsciously flip on the nearest light switches, while my eyes struggle to comprehend the sudden light.

Before I reach the door, I couldn’t help but attempt to fix my hair. Just because someone happens to show up outside unannounced doesn’t mean I can’t present my best rendition of a southern gentleman.

And finally, through my fatigue and irritation, I’m finally urged to grab the doorknob and twist it open in one motion.

“Uh, it’s two a.m. so I hope--”

I nervously scratch the back of my head, attempting to add spice to this awkward encounter. It wasn’t until my eyes caught sight of the blood dripping down her glass skin and the meeting of our eyes did I have any words

“Y/N?!?”

Her cold, pale, and hurt body would’ve hit the concrete floor if I had answered the door any later.

---

And there she layed half colorless on my bed. Her smile was full of embarrassment and gratitude as I sat beside her, tending to the evident cuts and Injured areas of her body. “I hope I’m being a great house guest” she joked, causing her to laugh, yet hurting herself in the process.

“Hey, Hey, Take it easy..” Y/N’s presence usually fills me with carefreeness, or perhaps stability, but for the first time I can’t help but react seriously. Her demeanor changed as she saw my retaliation to her joke.

“I guess…” she looked down to her fragile body, a sigh released, seeming to be an attempt to calm down. “...I owe you an explanation for earlier. And especially for showing up at your place at 2 in the damn morning. ”

Thomas’ hands, full of wipes and hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton balls, froze in their tracks before he looked up at her, eager to listen and visibly confused. Y/N visibly winced as the cotton balls stuck to her cuts for longer than they should’ve, yet with Thomas’ reflexes at their all-time-max, he pulled them away with a worried expression.

“Explanation? You said you got a job, and I’m sorry for not respecting it..” I continued to clean her up, consensually of course, how could I call myself a gentleman if I were to act upon improper motives?

“Again..” I utter quietly “..I didn’t know you felt that way, and I’m ashamed you feel that way”

I attach an ivory-colored band aid to her glass skin, careful not to damage it any further. I look up to her watching, pitiful eyes. “You were saying?” I reciprocate the attention to her, awaiting a so-called answer to come out of her mouth

“I didn’t know where else to run to..” she attempted to sit up, lifting her weight off of my satin-covered sheets, yet quickly stopped when being hit with a wave of pain from her right shoulder

Though my first thought would’ve been ‘Damn it, my darn sheets are ruined’, it was quickly drawn to Y/N and her current problem

“Y’know, I think an apology and explanation can wait, Y/N. you need a little sleep, it’s already three in the mornin’ for god’s sake” a small laugh erupts from her

I sent her an assuring smile, trying to remind her that everything is always going to be okay in a Jefferson household. And surprisingly I received a smile in return, a smile of trust and security that I’ve never felt so glad to see. Of course, I wish I could’ve seen that smile under different circumstances, but I’ll work with what I got.

I stood from my beautiful satin sheets and reached for a hoodie on my swivel chair. (everything but your closet is a closet, change my mind) I braced for a cold night on my apartment couch while Y/N enjoys the warmth of my bed, but Y/N had other plans.

“Wait- Thomas.” She said firmly

I turned tiredly to her direction, my arm already extended for the door, yet frozen in place as I awaited a response

“Can you just..” she scoot herself over, as much as possible with her frail body “..hold me?” She watches me anxiously

“I mean— you don’t have to b—” I didn’t hesitate at all to gently slide under the sheets of the bed. As soon as I turn to her direction, I can’t help but feel scared to touch her in fear of hurting her; my hands don’t know where to reside. “Where do I..” I’m truly perplexed

She giggled at my confusion and shyly grabbed my hand “I’m not so fragile you know”

She brought my hand up to the side of her head, and all I could process was the texture of the bandages under my fingertips. I don’t know what's going on, but I couldn’t just leave her out there.

“..Right..” I wait for her eyes to close before I can even think about closing mine, and soon the texture of the bandages seem to melt onto my fingertips as I’m finally able to return to my slumber.

“See you in the mornin’..”

---

I didn’t wake up until I felt the sun rays kissing my back through my so-called ‘blackout curtains’. Such a scam. The room seemed a little too quiet; I gently turned onto my other side just to find an empty bed. I consider the possibility of last night’s encounter with Y/N was all just some messed up dream, but when I saw the faint stains of blood on my sheets, I knew I was far from dreaming.

My body doesn’t want to move, and I’m stuck sitting up in my bed for another ten minutes. What the heck is going on? One minute she yells at me, then next thing I know she’s outside my apartment at 2 am.

And that explanation.

I guess I was such a fool to think she wouldn’t continue to run away from this matter. My thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone. I know for sure that it’s not Y/N hittin up my phone right about now.

James: Let’s try that new coffee place a few blocks from your apartment?

He really read my mind, or maybe it’s a response made from calculating my failure yesterday. But a distraction sounds tremendous.

Thomas: bet.

I throw on a cleaner, more professional jacket, if such a thing exists, and swiftly get my feet out the door. Everything seems the same, as if nothing had taken place last night. The world still spins and I’m expected to spin with it.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near capable of unraveling your mystery.

Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

#thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson #Daveed Diggs #daveed x reader #thomas x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltonau #Angelica Schuyler #james madison #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette #george washington #washington #John Laurens #hercules mulligan #thomas jefferson x reader

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1000roughdrafts · 3 years

Text

Criminal

DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

A/N: I watched the music video to get an idea for how to go about this, so this fic is similar to that story line :) AND I HAVE A COMPUTER NOW, so I can finally post and write! <3

Warnings: mention of spousal abuse in the beginning, lots of fluff, eludes to sex, some swearing, violence, somewhat of an OOC Dean at the end, you’ll see why

Word Count:2.2k

Something people commonly say about a reason someone might stay with their abusers is that after the bad, the abuser will buy them flowers and jam them into a vase as empty as their apologies. But it's not always flowers. It's surprising them with lunch at their job, or taking them to dinner on a night they least expect, or they clean the house because they just know they've been working extra hard lately.

Y/N hid the bruises well under long sleeve shirts, hooded jackets, and she always wore pants. If eyes really are windows to the soul, how does one hide those kinds of injuries? Luckily these are more difficult to spot than marks on the skin, but sometimes someone will pop up who can read one's eyes like a book they've flipped through so many times the ink is smudged on the edges.

Y/N thanked her lucky stars that both happened in one night. Flowers came in the form of a trip to the bar she initially met Damian in, the man she spent six miserable yet wonderful years of her life with, and the latter came in the form of Dean Winchester.

In the back corner of the bar, at a table with a fake candle, she sat cradling a drink in her hands. Strings of lights hung on the walls and ceilings above five pool tables, four of which were occupied by loud, though respectful, groups of people. Damian droned on about something regarding work, a story he'd told about five times already, but she hadn't the spoons to bring that up.

She kept herself entertained by watching and listening to the people around her, noticing right away as two men walked through the door. The first man's eyes shot straight to the bar, his feet following suit. That's a man with a purpose, she thought. The other let his eyes scan the entire building along with the people in it before he'd even set foot inside. When his eyes ping ponged back to center, they landed on Y/N's, and in an instant, they read her story.

The man smiled, following the tall one to the bar. They ordered and sat to talk for a while, the man's eyes floating from the pool tables to the man in front of him and on occasion, her. She couldn't be sure what Damian was saying, but she was certain about the sneaky glances she shared with the mysterious man in the leather jacket.

"Dean," she heard the other say in an attempt to gain his attention. Dean, she thought, how fitting.

"Are you listening?" Damian hissed, waving a hand so close to her face she thought he might hit her.

Her eyes darted and narrowed at him, body jerking back. "Of course I am," she glared.

Dean's eyes burned like lasers into her until she returned the glance, his brows turned down in worry.

"Bullshit," Damian scoffed. His voice raised, "what did I just say then?"

She looked back to him, "something about work," she said and sighed.

He scooted the chair back, the metal scraping against the floor in a shriek. His shoulder tensed as he mildly shouted, "you know, I was fucking right about you. You have absolutely no respect whatsoever, do you? I oughta teach you a fucking lesson."

Dean, overhearing the conversation, shook his head and gulped down the last of his beer. He let the glass slam against the table on it's way down and when that wasn't enough to get that asshole to step back, he walked over to the vacant pool table, dramatically clearing his throat. He looked overa t her table, and then at the groups around him.

In a tone of authority he attracted the attention of the nearby groups, asking for one brave enough to take him in a bet. Sneaking a glance at her table, he hid his gaze by scratching his jaw as his head turned.

Damian distractedly looked over at the table, making eye contact with Dean before scoffing. Dean nodded at him with a smile, but Damian turned his attention towards Y/N. He relaxed his upper body, leaning his elbows on the table. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "what a tool."

She masked her chuckle in a scoff, uttering a soft, "yeah."

He began talking about something unrelated, as if the last five minutes simply vanished into thin air, but she was just grateful the heat of his words were taken off of her. She looked over at the pool table, Dean's eyes already on her. His eyebrow raised in a question, and she flashed a quick, small smile in response.

He nodded, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot. His eyes remained on hers as he bent down, aiming and missing. The group bellowed a laugh, and Dean's opponent lined up to make quite a few shots, ending the game with a sunken 8-ball. The men cheered, gaining the attention of Dean's main goal for an opponent, Damian.

"Ah, better luck next time," one of the men said to Dean through laughter, patting him on the back.

"Guess so," Dean smiled, looking at his feet.

Damian chuckled smugly, leaning forward to pull his wallet from his pocket. Y/N looked him over as he counted the wad. Stuffing the wallet back into his pocket, he gulped some of his beer, eyebrows hopping as he told her to "watch this", and set the drink down. She jumped a bit, gripping onto his wrist to pull him back into the chair.

She knew a hustler when she saw one. Damian didn’t like to be wrong, and he certainly didn’t like to lose. He ripped his arm away and leaned down.

His pitch was high and voice soft, as if he was talking to a toddler, “this is easy money, baby. Did you not see that guy just get his ass kicked?” he laughed again, licking his lips before looking over at Dean. Looking back at Y/N he spoke even quieter, winking, “drinks are on him tonight.”

“But,” she protested, but he was already halfway to Dean who stood chalking the tip of his pool stick.

“You up for a game?” he asked, "500."

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, patting his wallet. “I just lost a good chunk of change, I-”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand to watch the game.

“Tell you what,” Damian said, a tight, smug grin on his face, “you win, it’s double,” he shrugged, “I win, it’s just 300.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling for a split second, tilting his head while he contemplated the offer. His lips swished from side to side and then he smiled, “deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

By the time solids were wiped out and the 8 ball was left, Dean smiled at Y/N when Damian's back turned, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot.

Eyes moving to Damian, he grinned, “8 ball, corner pocket,” then glanced over at Y/N. Damian just stood with his arms crossed. Dean kept his eyes on her as he bent down to aim and sunk the 8 ball.

He stood slowly, barely concealing his smile. Y/N felt a smile creep onto her face as well, dropping it when Damian threw the pool stick onto the table in a tantrum.

“This is bullshit,” he grunted, flipping around and marching over to Y/N. Stunned, Dean froze until Damian gripped her wrist, digging his nails into her skin as he yanked her so hard she nearly tripped over her own steps.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled, taking his anger out on her wrist as he tugged.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, waving a hand as he shuffled sideways to get out from behind the pool table, “wait!”

Damian’s grip felt like a growing fire the more she tried to wriggle free. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean running up at them just as Damian whirled around.

He yanked her into him. "Stop fighting me,” he said through his teeth, bearing down on each word.

She loosened up, letting him keep his firm grip on her arm, but she was knocked back by Dean shoving Damian. He stood between them. Only surprised by the interaction, he charged at Dean, which only served as more of a pack to the punch Dean threw at him. He was knocked back with another punch, landing on the floor.

Dean shook out his fist, taking a few breaths before turning to face her. With his hand resting on her shoulder, he bowed his head to look into her eyes, “you okay?”

Shocked, she just nodded, her mouth agape as she looked at Damian. She looked back at Dean with next to no expression before running over and falling at Damian’s side.

Dean felt his insides squirm and weaken, like he’d just reached the end of a rollercoaster. He was sickened by the thought of how he treated her, and for her to just run to his side hurt him. But she surprised him when she reached into Damian’s pocket for his wallet, ripping out the 600 in bills before throwing the wallet onto his back. Dean chuckled a bit, but stowed it when she turned around to jog back to him.

"I believe he owes you this,” she shrugged, handing it over.

He laughed, looking down as he grabbed it. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he looked up at her, head tilted. “Dean,” he smiled, holding his hand out.

“Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

Dean rolled over, wrapping his arm around Y/N in the bed of his motel room. She flinched a bit, but hummed when she came to her senses. Smiling, she rotated to face him, tracing the outline of his tattoo with her fingers.

"Nice tat," she cooed, and he couldn't quite tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Thanks," he said, banking on sarcasm being the safest bet, "it's to keep me from being possessed by demons," he said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Her eyes bounced between his before she busted out in a laugh, "right," she played along. Her attention shifted, "and the gun is for?"

Confused, he glanced over to the nightstand, gun placed next to the clock.

He chuckled, "you don't want to know."

She pulled her head back a bit, but half of her lips turned into a smile, "mysterious," she laughed. "What are you, a drifter with a gun collection?"

"Something like that," he smiled, dipping his head to her neck, pecking small, soft kisses.

She'd never felt like she was the focus of another's attention until her time with Dean, and perhaps that was dangerous, but in the moment it was everything to her. He kissed her like he'd been kissing her for years, like he knew just how to get her going. She didn't want the night to come to an end, but with the sun bleeding through the curtains of his motel room, she knew she'd have to say goodbye soon.

"Are you a criminal?" she blurted out. In a laugh, she added, "I just can't take the suspense anymore."

He laughed, "in some states," with a small nod before rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed.

It was hard to keep up with him, to tell when he was being serious and when he was being sarcastic. She just smiled, sitting up to gather her clothes.

When dressed, she found a pen. Reaching for his arm, she rolled up the sleeve to his flannel, smiling before writing her name and phone number on his forearm.

"When you're in town next, or not too far away, call me."

---

Dean had never done this for anyone before, but something with this connection was different. It was like she saw him for what he really is under everything on the outside. They'd met up at least fifteen times since the first night, and he had yet to figure out what exactly drew him to her.

She knew exactly what she liked about him, though. The bad boy, criminal type that treated her like she should be treated, even if they were just hooking up. The kind with a soft side that bled from him in moments he least expected it to, moments where he was really trying to show just how ‘bad’ of a guy he is.

"Let me come with you," she said in a rushed breath, gripping onto his arm before he could turn for the car, "whatever you do, I want to join. I don't have a life here," she relaxed her arms, letting her hand fall from his and back to her side. "Not anymore, at least," she said, softly shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's not safe," he said softly. Taking her with him meant confessing to all the lies he's told her, unraveling the truth about what he does; saving people, hunting things, the family business. He rolled his eyes at himself.

She gripped onto his arm again, "I'm serious, Dean," she said firmly, her eyes piercing into his, "please."

Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a look she could only translate to meaning ‘no’, but then it softened, and he looked at her. Dean just nodded, opening the door for her. Dean knew that she would learn soon enough why tagging along was a bad idea, and she’d leave when she knew what was good for her. He’d learn to never let anyone in the way he let her in, but until then he’d enjoy the company of anyone other than Sam. Y/N was just excited for a new adventure, whatever that may come with. Her mama would be disappointed, but all reason aside, she just loved the guy.

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#supernatural #dean winchester #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean x yn #supernatural fan fic #spn #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural fan fiction #song fic #dean winchester fic

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 3 years

Text

Damstache - Stay the Night

(Sometimes... You just gotta be self-indulgent and write a rarepair. Bonus if you finish the fic and completely forget about it)

Damien and Wilford have been taking it slow since their first meeting. This looks at their first night together.

Word count: 1,460

Wilford was sure he was the luckiest man in the world. Somehow, despite his associations with violence and his reputation of actively seeking people in committed relationships he had a chance encounter with a beautiful man who was willing to overlook all that for a promise of honesty. All Damien had to do was smile, and Wilford knew he was doomed from the start. He couldn’t bear to consider the possibility of breaking the young mayor’s heart!

But as they started going on dates to quiet locations that Damien wouldn’t be recognised, Wilford learned something interesting. Damien had been so focused on wanting to do good for others that he had never taken time to look for a romantic partner of any sort and enjoy life beyond work. Anyone else who asked him out had been rejected. Wilford wasn’t sure how he avoided the cut, but he promised himself that he’d make the most of it and show Damien the joys of being in a relationship.

Date night on this occasion was a Friday evening in Wilford’s home. Dinner was ordered to enjoy while they watched a movie. They sat on the couch together, Damien’s head resting on Wilford’s shoulder, hands loosely interlocked. The reporter wasn’t at all surprised when he glanced down to ask Damien something and noticed Damien had dozed off. Being a mayor was exhausting, Wilford had quickly learned, which was why many of their dates were ‘low-energy’. Not that Wilford minded. It was a nice change from his normal approach of ‘fast, frantic and intense’, which in turn allowed him to better appreciate the here and now. Maybe that was why he was able to remember more of their dates.

A door slamming on the TV startled Damien awake, who immediately began apologising for ‘ruining the night'.

“Whoa, angel, it’s okay. Yer exhausted. We can watch it another time. I don’t remember what happened.” Wilford had been a little too preoccupied with doting over his sleeping beauty.

“It might be for the best. I should be able to get a taxi at this time…” Damien slowly stood up so he could start the search for his phone.

“Why don’t ya stay th’ night?” Wilford’s question had Damien freeze.

“I-I don’t think that’s appropriate. You’re a good man, Wilford, but we’ve only been dating three months.” Both men shared an equally confused look.

“Sure it’s appropriate. I wanna share my bed with ya.”

“W-what?” Damien’s face quickly flushed as he scrambled to grab his phone off the coffee table like it was an act of self-defense. “I thought we had agreed to take this slow.”

“I don’t see how…. Ohhhh.” At last, the penny dropped and Wilford laughed in embarrassment. “I wasn’t askin’ if y’d sleep with me. I wanted ta know if y’d sleep with me!”

“That’s the same thing?”

“Noooo! No, no! I mean, like, a sleepover! I give ya some sorta pyjamas, an’ we fall asleep together in my bed! It’d be like cuddlin’ on th’ couch except, y’know, not on a couch. An' we'd have a blanket.” The blathering explanation helped lift the stress off Damien’s shoulders. He glanced down to his phone and, with a wistful smile, put it down on the table.

“I think I’d quite like that.”

He wouldn’t tell Damien, but Wilford went out of his way to make the preparation for bed as goofy and light-hearted as possible. Even if they were simply sharing a bed, the miscommunication had made poor Damien’s nerves jump, and that wasn’t fair at all! It was why they spent a solid twenty minutes going through the contents of Wilford’s wardrobe to decide which pyjamas Damien should wear. According to Wilford, it needed to be ‘as cute as possible’, so not just anything would do. It was also a chance to show off his clothes, like the tank top with a cartoon pair of sneakers wearing matching sunglasses, or his pink bear onesie. The sillier, the better, all to make Damien smile.

“Wait! This oughta do!” A pale grey hoodie was pulled out from a shelf, and Damien was quick to grab the rest of the bundle before it toppled to the floor and return it to the rightful place. “This is a lounge hoodie. It’s made from fluffy pj material so ya can cuddle an’ be all soft in it!” He offered a sleeve to Damien, who couldn’t help but agree that it was exactly as described. It was hastily placed in Damien’s arms as inspiration struck. “Oh! An’ it’d look so cute with these pants! They’re comfy an' stylish.” The pants - black with pink moustaches dotted around them - were held out on full display with such bravado that Damien snorted.

“You really do buy everything that has a moustache theme, don’t you?”

“Bonus points if it’s pink,” Wilford winked.

The pair took turns in the bathroom to perform their night time routines. While waiting for Damien, Wilford began quickly tidying around to make sure everything looked perfect. He made the bed twice, and fluffed the pillows as hard as possible to make them super soft. Then, as he debated whether to grab a teddy bear to give Damien, out came the Mayor.

Damien was not as large as Wilford, which meant the hoodie turned into a glorified night gown. So much so, the end of the sleeves needed to be rolled up to reveal his hands. The pyjama pants had elastic at the waist, so at least they could safely stay in place. With his hair loose and casually brushed to the side, Wilford couldn't ignore the reality that he was dating the cutest man in the entire world. He would gladly kill for Damien.

"It doesn't look too ridiculous, does it?" Damien wrung his hands in a familiar act of nervousness. Wilford hurried over, pulled Damien close, and kissed both cheeks.

"Yer too fuckin' cute, angel."

The couple enjoyed cuddling on the couch, so it was a natural progression once Damien gained a little more confidence about sharing a bed. At first, they sat together like they would on the couch and chatted casually. Then, once Damien grew tired, they settled to sleep, opting to take a half of the bed each. Wilford did find himself staying awake a little longer to make sure Damien was sound asleep, before rolling over and dozing off.

Just as the sun began to rise, Wilford was yanked out of sleep with the sensation of something pressing against his stomach. His eyes shot open in case that blasted librarian in his dream had gone through with their idea of using the ivy from a garden store to put people into giant empty books, only to instead see someone curled up against his side with an arm draped across the reporter’s stomach and their head against his chest. For an instant, he couldn't remember what happened last night, but relief quickly swamped him as the memories came back to him.

“Mornin’, Damien.” Wilford lifted a hand to rest on Damien’s shoulder and rub small circles with his thumb.

“Mmrgh,” the eloquent mayor murmured against Wilford’s chest. He took a long breath in to give himself the energy to move, but only went as far as leaning more against Wilford to look up at him. “Sorry… I felt warmth beside me." His hair was a mess and his eyes were heavy with sleep, but Wilford couldn't shake the fact that Damien was utterly adorable. As though aware of the thoughts bouncing around Wilford's mind, he smiled as he quietly added, "Plus, I've never woken up beside someone before… It's a nice feeling."

"Isn't it? Lyin' in bed, feelin' all relaxed with yer lover beside ya… It's like th' rest of th' world doesn't exist."

Damien hummed in agreement, settling back against Wilford. "I should have believed you last night. I'm sorry if I made things awkw-" Wilford interrupted with a shush and a quick squeeze.

"I should've asked th' question better. I'm sorry for scarin' ya. But I'm glad ya decided ta stay. It's Saturday, an' we're not workin' today…" Wilford trailed off with a raised eyebrow. Damien, with a brain that refused to wake up, squinted at Wilford with a frown as he tried to figure out what was supposed to finish that sentence. Fortunately, Wilford could see the struggle. "It means we can go back ta sleep. Th' world's not lookin' fer us right now."

Now that sounded like a plan Damien could work with. He gave a content hum as he nestled against Wilford again. This time, he felt Wilford's arm keeping him close. As he quickly surrendered to sleep, the thought crossed his mind as to whether this was what 'home' meant.

#writersofmark #Wilford Warfstache #mayor damien #modern au #fanfic #fluff #(read-more is for tidiness! :D )

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criticofallthings · 3 years

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Hi it’s 4:43 AM and I’m back with another t h i ng. AKA apparently I write Destiny 2 fan fics at at the pre ass crack of dawn now.

Presage mission + “another one for the trauma jar D2 meme” + a love for all things Drifter related bc this poor insufferable soft man is a total fucking gem and I will never, NEVER EVER forget about those tapes that he made for our guardian to find = this stuff below

no beta, so don’t come at me for grammar issues unless you’re gonna be nice about it.

WARMTH

Drifter saw the flashing notification before he heard it, the chime muted beneath the Gambit livestream. His ghost had marked it as a priority message, something important to get at. On screen a massive Taken ogre quivers into existence. Nice. Team A was doing great and unless Team B pulled off one Hell of an invade two times over he doubted they’d catch up in time to challenge Team A. His hand hovers over the message, but his eyes flick back up to the stream. Team A’s coordination has been top notch all match and now was no exception. Drifter watched as two of them casted their supers on the Primeval ogre and it’s envoys. Orbs of power litter the field. Moments later Team A’s titan flies from off-screen in one of the most electrifying thundercrashes he’s ever seen. Globs of exploded ogre cover his hidden cams, soon to dissolve into nothingness. Gambit sirens wail and Team B’s Taken are reigned back into their cages. “Alright alright alright, last match of the day and it was a good one for Team A. Team B? Not so much.” Drifter pauses speaking into the mic, a little drama, before continuing in his showman’s tone. “Ay, but that’s what tomorrow’s for! Come on back and queue right in. Drifter’s always hungry.” He ends with a chuckle that doesn’t rise to his eyes and as soon as the guardians transmat to their ships he closes everything down. A message alert pops up on his console again, marked red for priority and sent almost half an hour ago. Damn, he thinks to himself and runs a weary hand over his face. Drifter’s other hand is on the edge of the console, index finger tapping it anxiously. Fuck it, how bad can it be? Drifter opens the message, tension rising to his shoulders, but then he freezes and his shoulders drop. He traces a few words of the message, forlorn sadness easing the laugh lines and crinkles at his eyes away. A few taps and the console goes dark. Drifter turns away and stands for a moment at the door. He lets out a sigh before starting again, yanking off his gloves before trudging towards his cargo container room.

There’s a lantern hung on the hook outside of his cargo container, the interior dark. Across the snow that never seemed to leave the Derelict, he sees whispered hints of someone carefully walking or rather, half-gliding over it. Through the gloom he spies a small pile of stuff he doesn’t remember making and an obvious lump in his bed. As he draws closer Drifter sees that the pile is actually carefully stacked warlock armor and the sleeping lump in his bed, is The Guardian. Yet again. Drifter’s lost count how many times it has been since he first offered the Guardian refuge aboard the Derelict. The first time they took him up on his offer he found them later, sleeping in a corridor standing against a bulkhead. He let them be since it was an out of the way spot. Eventually he showed them his bed, the Derelict’s only functional bed and told them to make use of it. Until now they hadn’t and he would still find them sleeping in various places aboard his ship. Sometimes with or without some pieces of armor, but also never like this. In plain clothes, more or less, sleeping bag haphazardly pulled over them. So vulnerable. And so tortured.

In sleep, Drifter found that the Guardian was an almost entirely open book. Nightmares haunted them more often than not. Sometimes so strongly that the Guardian would thrash about while asleep, murmuring feverdly, occasionally coherently about what they relived in their dreams. Tonight seemed to be one of the Guardian’s more silent nightmares. No thrashing, no murmuring, but the tight grimace of their lips and furrowing of their brow betrayed the Guardian's silence, showed their distress. Drifter steps to the cot, gently pulling the sleeping bag over to cover them better. Task done, he sits at their side and tentatively brushes a few stray strands of hair from their face. As he does so, the Guardian visibly relaxes, some tension dispelled from their face. It pulls at him more than he thought, making his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Don’t take your armor off around me, kid...I’m not someone you oughta get comfortable around.” Drifter can’t help but let the whispered words fall from his lips at the sight before him. It was all too tragic. Too fucked up. So much pinned upon one guardian. One person. His hand moves before he realizes it and softly he cups their face, thumb tracing their jawline. Beneath his hand he can feel the muscles twitch and then slowly relax from the strained clenching of their jaw. Another measure of stress slips from their sleeping face. Drifter lets out a breath he was unconsciously holding. For a moment he thought the Guardian was going to wake up. Another trace over their jawline and Drifter takes his hand from their face. Quietly he murmurs, “why are you here…” as the tips of his fingertips trail over their cheek. He pauses, feeling impulsive and...something else...when he glances at their lips. Drifter lets his fingers ghost over their skin, tenderly coming to a rest below the Guardian’s cupid’s bow. He lightly traces the shape of their lips, feeling it out. Soft and a bit dry. There’s a thin crease of dried blood where they must’ve split their lip during combat. Or maybe bit it open themself on a previous restless night. He’s seen it happen before. Once even their tongue.

Drifter closes his eyes at that memory, a faint tremble visible only in his hands. He just about had a heart attack when he saw the Guardian slouched over with blood streaming from their mouth, sitting just outside the Gambit transmat room. He had shaken them awake, and his shock only grew when he saw them open bleary eyes and wipe the blood off of their chin as if it was normal and summon Ghost. The usually talkative bot didn’t say anything, but the way it healed them instantly and then bumped their forehead before leaving —he knew. Drifter knew that this must have happened several times before. “Mind if I...sleep s’more...here?” Their sleep-heavy voice caught his attention again and Drifter lifted his hands from their shoulders. “Nah, kid.” Drifter stood up and half turned, waiting for them to do the same. “C’mon, hurry up! I ain’t so mean to not lend you a spot to sleep.” The Guardian rose slowly to their feet, eyes unfocused and mind miles away from here. Something in him stabs at the sight and Drifter can’t face them looking so...worn. He turns away. Shoving hands deep into his pockets he starts walking, pausing only once to confirm the Guardian was shuffling along behind him. He shows them how to get to the sole cot on the Derelict.

A hand on his wrist snaps Drifter out of the memory. He looks down to see the Guardian awake, eyes somewhat clear. There’s confusion in their expression and he feels their lips move beneath his fingertips. Ah. Hastily, he pulls his hand away, clearing his throat. “ ‘m, sorry...about that.” Heat flushes his face as he turns to avoid eye contact. It’s silent for a while. Drifter stares at the rivets holding a seam of the cargo container together when he hears the crinkle of the sleeping bag being moved. He does his best to look discreetly out of the corner of his eye, but is caught. Drifter holds the Guardian’s gaze until they break off to shift towards the wall. Lifting the sleeping bag they look at him directly and motion for him to lie down. “It’s too cold.”

Drifter freezes. His mind hitting a brick wall too thick to just power through. He’s stunned into a very rare silence. Uncertainty and confusion write themselves out upon his face. Seeing him be so still, the Guardian drops the sleeping bag to place a hand on his knee. “You asked...why I come here.” They speak slowly, as if unsure about what they’re saying and are figuring it out as they say it. “You...you don’t use me like everyone else.” They look away from him, cheeks faintly pink. “Zavala, Ikora, the Vanguard...they mean well, but...they don’t get to treat everyone as people. They need a killer? I kill. Answers? I seek. Someone who might survive the impossible? I survive. Unconditionally. Righteous things and unspeakable things... Because I am a guardian. I don’t have a name. Many ghosts just go by Ghost...I’m the only guardian without a name. There was just...never time for one, and…always so much to do. Lives to save. Futures to fight for…” They trail off, eyes slightly unfocused, perhaps lost in nightmares they haven’t escaped yet. “You bring Gambit, but it’s never a real pressure to join.” Their hand slips from his knee, becoming a loose fist on the cot.

The coiling thing in Drifter’s chest squeezes painfully. He shifts, almost stands, but then changes his mind. To Hell with it all. Shucking off his pauldrons, he shrugs out of his duster and kicks off his boots. Awkwardly, Drifter lays down on the cot —it’s made only for one after all— but gives up on trying to leave space between him and the Guardian. Laying on his side, he shoves an arm under the pillow and motions for the Guardian to come closer. They move over slowly, a little unsure now. Drifter grabs the sleeping bag and covers them both with it. He’s left that arm out, unsure on how much contact would be wanted. When he feels the Guardian shivering, Drifter almost stops himself from draping that arm over them. But he doesn’t stop himself. Instead he gently pulls them close to him until their back presses against his chest. They feel oddly cold despite being recently asleep. Drifter summons a measure of solar light over his skin, just enough to let soothing heat roll off. He feels the Guardian relax, shoulders dropping the tension that had remained.

Minutes pass and just as Drifter thinks they’ve fallen asleep, the Guardian quietly speaks. “It was so cold there...and twisted…” His arm around them tightens protectively for a moment. “Where did you go? Recent mission?” The Guardian nods slowly, voice a little louder, but twice as worn out as before. “Presage...the Glykon.” Drifter hums a short acknowledgement, turning over their words in his head. He was aware of the Vanguard operation, already heard snippets of Osiris live on comms reporting tidbits back to the Vanguard. The Cabal ship was a house of horrors. Thinking on what he knew of it, Drifter came to a sudden, sinking thought. “Did you…?” He isn’t able to finish his question, half knowing what the answer would likely be. Again, the Guardian slowly nods. The tightness in his chest returned with a sting before the Guardian spoke their confirmation, a small tremor rolling through them at the memory. “...alone.” Drifter holds them close, knowing no words could ease the turmoil in the Guardian’s mind. He holds them and keeps his Light near and solar-filled to stave off the Derelict’s iciness. Eventually the Guardian’s breathing levels out and Drifter can tell they’re sleeping. Several hours later he drifts off to sleep as well. When he wakes in the early morning, Drifter opens his eyes to see the Guardian’s face next to his, still asleep. It’s the first time he’s seen them look so at peace.

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shoichee · 3 years

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Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Hizaki Shogo X F!reader fic where Hizaki walks into his s/o holding onto a picture frame of them both and singing "Love Like you" and maybe a soft fluffy ending?🥺💕 Reader is usually hyper and happy go lucky but at that moment reader is calm and just so soft that they look at the picture frame with the softest eyes and that makes Hizaki feel warm? Hope you have a Nice Day/Night! Thank you!!

i spy a haizaki fan over here~ okay, i am very very sorry it took very long to get this out, but i hope i wrote him well D: to be honest, he’s the most complicated guy to write for by far and while i dont think its crazy toothrotting fluffy compared to my other scenarios, i hope you enjoy this too!

Haizaki x Reader

Word Count: 1990

Note: swearing, and is a LITTLE BIT risque? i mean, this is haizaki

»»—————　☼　—————««

You two were only supposed to be friends with benefits.

You definitely weren’t his type. Nope, you definitely weren’t. Not when you endlessly made so much clamoring in the hallways with your friends or bounced around like a kid on sugar. It definitely leaves a sour taste in his mouth when you are a literal carbon-copy of Kise Ryouta, someone who he absolutely despised.

Yet, it’s probably how he can render you to a completely different side of soft whimpers and gasps in every tryst for the past two months that made it all worth the effort of chasing after you. Besides, he knows you reciprocate the same level of desire for him, and it gives him a massive boost of an ego. Especially when you actually use your annoying voice for something more worthwhile than socializing with your classmates… especially when you rasp out his name in desperation in such vulnerable moments. He constantly feeds on your vulnerability like it’s his lifeline, but he will never admit that.

So why is it that he’s so taken aback when he sees, yet, another different side to you, the usual sickenly energetic side he’s secretly grown accustomed to?

“If I could begin to be… half of what you think of me…”

He doesn’t know whether to be disgusted about the fact that he feels bad for intruding on something that feels so intimate and pure or the fact that he’s craving more of this side of you, the side that he’s afraid is all an illusion in his mind that he’s somehow concocted in a fever dream. The gentle lullaby you were humming irritates him all the more, yet he’s glued in his spot, so torn about whether to rudely interrupt you to demand for another escapade or relish in the lulls that is undoubtedly soothing him.

“I could do about anything… I could even learn to love…”

Somehow, the lyrics affected him on a personal level, and he grits his teeth, hating the fact that he relates to it so deeply. Here you are, humming the soft jazz as a smile of absolute adoration spreads across your lips. Lips that he’s all too familiar with yet a complete stranger to. He doesn’t know whether to feel smug or remorse when he sees that you're admiring the selfie you took of the both of you the other day on a whim. Smug because at least he knows you’re completely whipped for him. Remorse… because it almost makes the two of you look like an actual couple… something that he’s not too keen on, yet he’s been toying with that idea recently whenever he meets up with you. It feels so wrong that someone like you is so heavily entangled with someone like him, but he wants to monopolize all of that for himself all the same.

“I always thought I might be bad…

Now I'm sure that it's true…

'Cause I think you're so good…

And I'm nothing like you…”

It was just a song, he knew it, yet it feels like you truly felt that about yourself. He never understood you even after all those times you’ve met up, all those times he’s stripped you to your most defenseless state. He thought he can figure you out like the past girls he’s been with… their games, their desires, their motives. He hates it; your entire being pisses him off and intrigues him all the same, and he wants more of you. He doesn’t understand… don’t you know what he’s capable of doing to you? Have you not heard of what he’s done to others? Why do you still treat him so… normally?

“... I wish that I knew…

What makes you think I'm so special…”

Does he think you’re special? He doesn’t know, but he can admit that you’re the longest fling he’s had so far. He scoffs and spits to ward off a stray thought that crossed his mind, the intrusive thought that you emanate the same inviting warmth like his single mother. The only warmth he’s ever sought out was the body heat of another girl in the heat of passion; such a want of intimate warmth, like the one he was experiencing right now, has always been so foreign and uncomfortable.

“E-Eek!! H-How long have you been here?!” Haizaki snaps out of his thoughts to face a mortified you clutching your phone close to your chest. There was the side of you he’s always known.

“Hah? Do you think so highly of yourself that you think anyone would fucking waste their time to eavesdrop on you?” he sneers, watching you only roll your eyes at him. You only walk closer to him while Haizaki watches your every move like a hawk with his narrow eyes.

“You’re the only one who would spit so damn loudly,” you say. “You really oughta stop doing that. It’s gross.” He only rudely scoffs at you before he turns his back on you.

“I just came to look for you for a quickie,” Haizaki says, licking his thumb like he usually does. “7 p.m. if we’re doing it.”

“Ah, before you leave!” you call out to him. “What do you want for your bento?”

“What.” Haizaki slightly halts in his place before he turns his face to you with a condescending sneer, but you can see the slight confusion swirling in his eyes. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

“No, I’m absolutely not!” you loudly huff. “I’m actually serious! You picked such a later time than usual, and I’m not gonna go starve myself just for sex. So do potato wedges sound good?” Haizaki only narrows his eyes at you, wondering why you go through such lengths for such a short-term relationship. He gives a mirthless chuckle.

“Whatever you’re doing won’t make me stick by your side like a loyal dog, I hope you realize that,” he says. “Don’t go crying off when you see me having fun with another girl.” In truth, he hasn’t really thought about flirting off to another female for months since he’s met you, but at least he wants to put it out on the table that if you were indeed looking for something serious… then he wasn’t the right guy for you.

“I know,” you say shrugging casually. “Everyone knows who you are after all. I figured you’d be hungry if I am too.”

“No one’s a glutton like you.”

“Yeah? Well you still find me attractive enough despite that.” You give a satisfied smirk of your own when Haizaki merely turns away to walk. “What, Haizaki? No comeback for this one?”

He stops to give a hard glare. “All your yapping made me not want to fuck you anymore. I’m gonna chill at the arcade.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” you hoot excitedly, stars shining in your eyes. It seems that his other comment completely unphased you. “Let me come too! Please?” Even despite his rebukes, you hold your own against him and even make them backfire against him. Even despite him knowing that he’s a terrible influence, you still shine so brightly.

“... You’re paying for your own tokens. Don’t expect me to give you a single dime.”

“You really think I’m a freeloader?!”

“I might just take some of your coins, too,” he leers, again licking his thumb. “Don’t go crying either if you get left behind like a dolt.”

“If you do that,” you threaten, crossing your arms, “I’m gonna steal your coins too! Plus, you stick out like a sore thumb! I can easily find you anywhere, y’know!”

Haizaki doesn’t bother to reply and keeps on walking further before you gasp and chase after him.

“H-H-Hey!! We’re going now?! I thought we're still meeting at 7?” He merely tunes you out, but you knew he slowed down his pace for you to catch up, albeit slightly. “W-Wait! But like… I won’t have time to make the bento, and—”

“Shut up, (y/n),” he says. “Fast food exists for a reason.” Why would someone like you go through so much effort to make homemade food for someone like him? He feels somewhat better that at least he wouldn’t feel the tiny guilt of taking your bento off your hands. You widen your eyes like you just realized that restaurants existed.

“Oh yeah, huh!”

“You’re paying for your own shit, too.”

“Well, duh!”

Haizaki continues to stroll with his bag slung over his shoulder, not even remotely sparing you a glance, but he knows you’re right behind him when you’re skipping around so excitedly. Was being with him that enjoyable to you? He hasn’t done anything remotely kind to you.

“Hey, hey, Haizaki!” He continues to ignore you. “Doesn’t this feel like a date to you?”

“Keep dreaming, wench.”

“You’re a royal asshole, you know that?” you sigh, still trying to match his stride. Haizaki is very much aware of who he is. What he doesn’t know is why you still keep sticking to him like a remoraid.

“Why are you so annoying?”

Translation: Why are you persistent in being with me?

You seem to know the hidden meaning of his throwaway question, and Haizaki frowns harshly at how sharp you were.

“I don’t know. You’re the more obnoxious person in everyone’s eyes anyways,” you snicker. “Still, don’t you ever get tired of hearing people talk shit about you?”

Translation: Why do you act like this?

“You really know how to get on my nerves. Shut up if you know what’s good for you. I don’t know who’s gonna break it to you, but I’m not the guy who you think so highly of.”

“I never said that about you though,” you frown. “Unless… you really did eavesdrop on me after all?!”

“Tch.” He only walks faster to try to leave you behind, and you immediately run in a panic to catch up.

“Okay, okay! I’m kidding, alright?!” you say, but both of you knew that you were secretly smug about it. He’s starting to regret bringing you along, but deep down, he thinks it’s the best decision he’s made in a long time. Still, he’s more irked when you begin to shamelessly hum the same song, the one you sung moments before, to gleefully tick him off.

Even through his nasty attitude, for the first time, you had a taste of different sides to Haizaki in the arcade. The side of him that genuinely enjoyed being competitive with you during various rounds, even with his usual jeers… the side of him who always puts himself on the outside of the sidewalks when it got dark… the side of him who tried to teach you the workings of some of the games, albeit in a condescending way… the side of him who waited for you to finish your food at the tables, even if he kept making unnecessary comments on your appetite. Haizaki doesn’t know why he’s doing these things… perhaps he wanted to feel what it’s like to be in a committed relationship? Perhaps he wanted another taste of the same feeling he had felt when he first heard you sing?

There was something so innocent about this entire “date,” that both of you couldn’t help but wanted to learn more about each other. For the first time, Haizaki lets his guard down around you, and when he's so entertained in your presence, he suddenly doesn’t care as much about it. Your relationship was far from perfect, but between the two of you being a complete mismatch, there was a spark of something undeniably genuine and pure… the intimate warmth that Haizaki had lacked and craved for so long.

Even just for now… he wants to hold the fantasy of being in a committed relationship with you close to his heart for as long as he can. He sometimes wishes he could hear you sing again, only for him, to feel the gentle lulls again.

#knb #knb x reader #kuroko no basket #knb scenarios #knb fics #knb fic #haizaki shougo #haizaki #haizaki shogo #haizaki shougo x reader #haizaki x reader #knb fluff #fluff if you squint #REALLY SQUINT

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edie-k · 2 years

Text

2021: Fanfic Year in Review

Thanks to everyone that tagged me!

BEHIND THE NUMBERS:

words written: Probably close to 100k

words published (AO3): 73k

# of published one-shots: 20

# of completed multi-chaps: 1 (Four Times Hermione Felt Guilty Kissing Ron and One Time She Didn’t At All)

# of fics in progress: 4; one published (Legally Ginger) and 3 unpublished

# of ongoing multi-chaps: Same 4 as above!

# of fic ideas waiting their turn: 2

longest work: Legally Ginger 21,936 words

shortest work: The Blanket, 654 words

most chapters in a fic: Legally Ginger, 8

highest # of kudos: The Second of June (a story I almost didn’t write inspired by an episode of a show I feel lukewarm about. Inspiration strikes and you should follow!)

highest # of hits: Legally Ginger

top 3 fics by kudos: The Second June, Legally Ginger, Cost Nothing

top 3 fics by hits: Legally Ginger, Four Times, and Looking Out

most challenging fic to write: Absolutely Legally Ginger. It’s my first true WIP and writing it was a 2021 goal. It’s unfortunately not complete yet and given my disorganized mind and desire to write something crazy for the Romione Trope Fest, it might be awhile. But I’ve really enjoyed doing it and the response!

fic that came easiest to write: Well Deserved. I had no plans to write that when someone first asked for it and then it just hit me and was written in two hours. Also, my weird Hinny fic What’s New Pussycat? That one was a commentary on the John Mulaney/Olivia Munn news of the moment although to be clear, this writer follows Anna Marie on TikTok and made the breakup guidelines in that fanfiction VERY clear as to not slander Hinny. (By the way, that story did not get many comments but a fair number of kudos so I am dying to know if people got the Mulaney reference)

most true-to-the-outline fic: I write mostly one-shots so not a ton of variation but Family Tradition was one that stayed the same from the moment I thought it up in the shower to the moment I put it on paper.

most unlike-its-outline fic: Looking Out. I knew I wanted to write a story where Harry was appalled by the concept of Hermione as a sexual being but I revised that one SO many times.

favorite reader freak-out: I loved the reaction I got from @reallybeth9 and my beta @adenei to the reveal of Lavender’s flirting partner in Greener Pastures. RB said she went back to read it again once she knew who it was which was SUCH a compliment and adenei basically just responded with my name lol. On the flipside, someone said they knew who it was pretty quickly which made me feel like I gave good clues!

Additionally, the many readers that reacted to Legally Ginger’s Harry reveal. Gave me a lot of motivation in the early days of that story!

most controversial scene: Nothing crazy controversial but some disappointment in Legally Ginger Harry. Redemption is coming.

hottest ask box topic of the year: None! Let’s change that! Prompts can be found here and my asks are open!

most loved OC: Not really much in the way of OCs for me. Does OoC Harry from Harry Potter:Agent of Change count? Because him.

most hated OC: It was Umbridge’s Muggle twin in Half of What I Oughta.

favorite villain to write: ^^ same!

favorite character to write: Is it going to be weird if I say Lavender? I really like writing Lavender. I identify with her a lot from my teen years.In my trope fest entry, we’re going to see that even more but warning… I wasn’t always a likable teen, especially when competing for male attention.

most i've cried while writing a scene: I haven’t. I write more humor than anything and I’m sort of a robot. I only cry at sporting events and essays written by professional athletes (this is not an exaggeration - I had to stop reading a Robert Tonyan essay three times last year because I was crying so much and my husband was genuinely concerned about me until I told him why I was crying. Then he rolled his eyes and left the room).

most i've laughed while writing a scene: Harry Potter: Agent of Change because it was so silly and everything I wanted in the books but (rightfully) did not get.

smuttiest smut scene: *ahem* unpublished as of now

favorite kiss i wrote: The kiss in the hallway after Potions in Four Times. I liked that idea of being so wrapped up that they forgot how messed up it was to allow it to happen.

hardest trope/thing to write: Ron and Hermione as parents. I think it’s because writing is my escape from my everyday life where I spend a lot of time being a parent. Although, I am writing a Corporate AU fic and corporate is the other thing I try to escape from so… idk. I don’t like kids other than mine maybe.

easiest trope/thing to write: Third wheel Harry. Even when I don’t plan to.

proudest fic moment: Two fests and a Secret Santa exchange! I really struggle with timelines and finishing things (do I have ADHD or am I just on TikTok a lot? I do suspect it’s the former, mostly because I can’t force myself to call a doctor to start the diagnosis process but I digress) so I was happy to do it this time!

any fic regrets? Not finishing Legally Ginger yet!

2021 fic habits to break: Not for my writing but I want to be a better commenter. I always think no one is going to GAF about what I think but I thrive off comments. Silly.

2022 fic habits to make: Finishing LG, publishing my next WIP, and starting my elopement fic series!

#fandom #romione fanfic #writer things #year in review #fanfic writing

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Text

Humble Pie

None of the prompts in my inbox are currently speaking to me, so I decided to fill in a gap in my fic continuity and write something non-shippy. So here’s McCree’s recruitment into Blackwatch!

-----

It was the most crowded the Panorama Diner had been in god-knew-how-long. Overwatch agents and local law enforcement mingled in a mix of blue and beige, some clustered around table booths hasty laptop and holo-comm stations, some pacing about the floor, talking on their own comms and headpieces with officers back at Watchpoint Grand Mesa or even as far as Zurich. The most crowded Panorama had been, and no one was eating.

Well... almost no one.

“You sure you don’t want any?” said Gabe, pressing the side of his fork into the slice of apple pie, sectioning off the flaky crust and gooey filling.

Jesse McCree frowned sullenly at his own plate, his own slice of pie already in a puddle of melting vanilla ice cream. He moved to pick up his fork and the chain of his handcuffs clinked with the movement. He glared up at Reyes from beneath the brim of his hat, but Reyes kept calmly eating.

“It’s good pie,” Gabe said with a slight shrug. The corners of McCree’s mouth pulled inward in a repulsed little scowl.

“Ain’t you got anything better to do?” McCree growled. There was a pitchiness in his voice that spoke to the last miserable ekes of puberty in all their acne-speckling glory still clinging to his scrappy form.

“Oh we’ve got all the time in the world,” said Gabe with another forkful of pie.

“Where’s Ashe?” said McCree.

“Her folks posted her bail, and I have a stack of forms from her family legal team roughly as thick as your head that forbid me from saying anything further on her involvement in this incident.”

“Oh,” McCree huffed a little and eased back in his seat, “Guess that means they’re coming for me next,” A smug smile eased onto his features, but Reyes didn’t seem to respond to that, just let McCree’s words sit in the air between them as his fork scraped across his plate, gathering bits of pastry and melted ice cream dappled with cinnamon.

McCree first basked in the silence as victory, but as he noted the lack of reaction in Reyes, doubt crept in slowly. Reyes gently set his fork down on the side of his plate and looked up at Jesse. The calm eye contact from Reyes was all it took for Jesse’s nerves to bubble up in his throat.

“I mean... “ a short nervous laugh rippled out of him, “Th-that’s what they said, right? They’d be representin’ me, too?”

Reyes said nothing, just gave him a steady look.

“Right?” that pitchiness sharpened in his voice, nearly making it crack.

“...it’s a tough truth of this world, kid,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat slightly, “Don’t get involved with rich kids. They can buy their way out of trouble, but you...”

“No--” McCree interrupted him, “No--there’s--there’s been a mistake. Ashe said--she said---”

“Maybe there was honor amongst thieves out here, under an open sky,” said Reyes with a weary shrug, “But I can’t say the same in the US legal system. And it’s a story jurors would love to hear: the pretty, oil tycoon princess just wants adventure, just wants attention, she gets mixed up with the dastardly local trash... falls in with a bad crowd... oh but she can change, she just needs another chance--it was Jesse McCree doing all the work, anyway, it was all his idea. Is that even his real name? Oh but don’t worry, 12 years in a maximum security cell oughta straighten him right up.”

All color had drained from McCree’s face. The look in those eyes would have been heartbreaking if Reyes wasn’t well aware he was a little shit.

“So that’s the stick,” said Reyes, picking up his fork, “Do you want to hear about the carrot, now?”

McCree tried to bring some hardness back to his expression, but his brow was still crinkling, realizing just how easy it was for Ashe’s family to throw him under the bus and how he had refused to see it for so long.

“...I ain’t a rat,” said McCree, staring down at the pie, “’sides, not like I can give you anything useful anyway.”

“I’m not looking for information,” said Reyes, “I’m looking for insight. A sharp eye. A steady hand.”

“Fresh blood,” McCree tilted his head up a little. Reyes gave a small single nod.

A small scoff escaped McCree. “You can forget it. I ain’t a narc and I ain’t cannon fodder.”

“Did I say I was looking for a narc or cannon fodder?” Reyes pointed a fork at him, “Overwatch has plenty of those in our ranks already, rebuilding after the crisis is going to take more than bright-eyed button-up dumbasses star-struck by propaganda,” Reyes set the fork on his plate again and pushed it aside, now picking up a binder that had been on the seat next to him and flipping it open to CCTV photos of McCree. One was of him fixing up a dilapidated hover bike, another was of him carrying groceries in both arms for an old woman, and there were several photos of non-lethal gun wounds, “We had to do months of research to pull off this sting operation, and you know what I saw? Guts. Resourcefulness. Resilience. The ability to defuse high-tension situations. The ability to convince other people towards your own goals. The marks of a man who lives by a code... or at least is starting to. You wanted to be the goddamn Robin Hood of Route 66, but you’re young, you’re cocky, and you’re sloppy, and now you’re here.”

“You know how many ‘you have so much potential’ weepy speeches I’ve had to sit through?” McCree muttered.

“I don’t know, but I can guarantee you that whether you say yes or no, this is the last one,” said Reyes.

McCree’s glance fell down to his handcuffs. “It’s like that, then?”

“It’s like that,” said Reyes.

McCree was silent for a long time.

“I can give you the usual spiel--three square meals a day, roof over your head, travel the world and meet new and interesting people, top notch combat training--but you’ve heard all that shit before, and that didn’t convince you then, so there’s no reason it’ll convince you now,” Reyes went on, “You had fuck-all to do around here, but it wasn’t like you were going to join Overwatch or the army just to get out of here--you didn’t want to get out by fitting into someone else’s mold.”

McCree made a near-scoffing “hm” noise that hinted at a smile.

“Did I read you right?” said Reyes.

“Fuck you,” the words came almost warmly out of McCree and his eyes were fixed on Reyes with a pensive curiosity that made Reyes wonder how interesting the conversation got out here in the middle of nowhere. McCree rubbed his chin, with one hand, the cuffs forcing his other hand to lift and hang lazily with the motion. “...y’know, I saw you in all those Crisis propaganda movies... thought you’d be more like Morrison.”

“Morrison can have all the clean-scrubbed soldiers he wants,” said Gabe with a shrug, leaning back in his seat, “Me? I want the survivors. I want the cockroach motherfuckers.”

McCree snorted at this.

“Dying for a cause you believe in,” Reyes followed up, “That’s easy. I saw loads of people do it... doing what needs to be done though... being willing to live with that shit afterward because there’s more shit to be done... It takes a certain kind of person to do that. And I’d rather have that person on my team than rotting away in a cell.”

“On your team,” McCree repeated, squinting skeptically.

“After the proper training of course. And there’s medical care. Dental. You get dental with the whole outlaw thing?”

McCree’s lips self-consciously closed over his teeth on instinct.

“And for what it’s worth, we’ll let you keep the hat,” said Reyes.

That smile tugged at the corner of McCree’s mouth. He resettled in his seat slightly, picked up his fork and sectioned off a bit of his own pie, now a virtual pile of pastry and apple mush beneath the melted remnants of its vanilla ice cream.

“Cockroach motherfuckers, huh?” said McCree, taking a bite of the pie.

“Working team name. Jack’s been pushing me toward ‘Blackwatch’ but what the hell does he know?”

“What does he know?” said McCree with a smile, taking another bite.

#overwatch #jesse mccree #gabriel reyes

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