#that's a new language I have been congratulated in! Never had polish before!

[breitzbachbea]

Huh? it's your birthday?

Wszystkiego najlepszego!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Oh ... Oh, dankeschön!

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Could you make a fic where Miguel gets the female reader pregnant and they're happy but he's worried about her safety? Maybe have a villain find out? Cause some angst?

Risk Something (You're Losing Me)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language. Spoilers (Miguel's backstory is mentioned). Angst! Alert!, Unplanned pregnancy!Alert.

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Since I had already established some background and emotional intimacy, I thought I could write this as a sort-of-sequel to my previous one-shot Host of a Ghost. I was so excited to write this, especially because I don't usually write angst but I like to push my boundaries and leave my confort zone. Hope that it pays off and, of course dear anon, that you like it <3

Part III

You’d never really believed in long-distance relationships. After being witness to so many unsuccessful ones, you’d cataloged the entire concept into a box labeled “certain failure” and tucked it away in the back of your head. And yet, with an inconsistency worthy of your friend Hobie, you’d gone and gotten yourself involved in no less than an interdimensional relationship.

How? Well, that was a good question.

All it took was five simple steps:

Step one: Live a regular life. Go to school, graduate, and try to go for a Ph.D. that gets you working near genetically modified insects for just the right amount of time for you to become careless enough to let one crawl onto your backpack, take it to your apartment, and let it sting you. Throw in some negligence, forfeit going to the hospital, and go on about your afternoon. Warning, some side effects like loss of consciousness or intense headaches can be expected.

Step two: Congratulations! You’ve now become a super-powered person with abilities that range from climbing walls and performing gravity-challenging parkour to creating a sticky web-like element that helped you swing from one building to another. Toy around with your new talents, and grow comfortable with them before realizing that you can actually use them to be the much-needed help your city needs.

Step three: Turns out you’re not the only one with this kind of ability out there. There’s a whole Spider-Society full of similarly enhanced people who try and do their best to keep their own dimensions safe, and you’ve not only caught their eye but have actually been invited to join them. Let your new guide Jess Drews show you around, and explain all the benefits that come from joining a team such as theirs. If you decline, you can go back home and that’ll be all.

If you’re interested, it’ll be necessary to convince the leader but they could use some extra help so it shouldn’t be particularly hard. It sounds like an amazing chance. Information you wouldn’t have access to otherwise, mind-blowing facilities where you can polish your newly acquired abilities, possible new friends that actually know what you’re going through…Say you’ll think about it. Right as you’re about to leave, the most fucking gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your entire life walks past without paying either of you any mind, busy while speaking to another Spider-Person. You ask who that is, turns out he’s the aforementioned leader, “will I ever have to work with him?”, you ask. “Probably, eventually” Replies Jess. Ask when you can start.

Step four: Do your best to earn your place in this elite group. Successfully improve your fighting skills, read everything available on interdimensional traveling and the multiverse. Understand it almost instantly because that’s how smart you are, kudos to you. Realize that for some reason, despite never actually interacting with you, Spider-Society leader Miguel O’Hara tends to stare. A lot. Is it because you’re progressing as fast as Jessica says or because she’s a complete liar and you’re actually doing it all wrong? No idea. All you know is that even during mundane scenarios like laughing in the hall with all the newest additions to the team or in line at the cafeteria, you feel a certain tingle in the back of your head that makes you turn around. Of course, the moment your eyes meet, he turns around and leaves. An odd one, yes. But you’ve also heard things. Rumors, here and there about his life before creating the Society. Whispers about a lost family and some video archives being the only evidence that they even existed in the first place. And, of course, the fault he had in the destruction of their dimension. You sympathize with him, despite his apathetic attitude towards you. You’ve seen him interact with those he’s closer to, and you know there’s more to him than he lets on. You’d be elated if he ever let you take just one look at the smidge of his old self that sometimes peeked out from behind the iron curtain. Well, not really. One look wouldn’t be enough. If anything, it would only cement your feelings for the man.

Step five: Curiosity killed the cat. We all know that. You know that. And yet, you decided to go snooping around Miguel O’Hara’s computer and personal files until you accidentally switch his computer on for long enough to let the videos he’s always watching start playing. He…his daughter…an entire lost life gone before his eyes. Then, before you could do the right thing and turn the computer off, an eerily familiar voice called at him from behind the camera. So, of course, you had to keep watching. Long story short? All those oddly constant stares, that coldness towards you, unwillingness to look you in the eye, was because of two reasons: first, you were a nearly identical interdimensional variant of the wife he’d lost in the dimension he unwittingly erased from existence. Two, as he’d confessed after realizing you’d found out about the truth, Miguel had come to terms with the fact that he was in love with you, not as a replacement for somebody from his past but as a new presence in his life that he’d been struggling to watch from afar, unwilling to let all his repressed feelings spill out like water from a broken dam. Until that night, of course.

Now, eight months later, you’d come to realize there was actually a sixth step you’d never actually considered until now that you were in this…situationship.

Step six: Uncomfortably avoid every and all circumstances in which interdimensional disparities and canon consistency regarding your relationship could come up. Don’t say anything like “Well, it’s been nice but I’ve got to go back to my own dimension” because that would remind him that his dimension was not yours too. That you were after all still a stranger in a strange land. Which of course also meant never inviting him to stay in your dimension.

Deep inside, you knew that all those details would eventually cause problems, especially regarding the inner conflict Miguel was always dealing with knowing what he was doing…what you were both doing, went against his strongest principle. But by God he was happy. Happier than he’d thought he could ever feel again. More than he deserved. So he just ignored those intrusive thoughts and focused on whatever task was at hand. And you were too. Even after just eight months, life without him already seemed unimaginable. He was your first thought in the morning and your last before you went to sleep, and more than once his presence beside you had been not just a figment of your imagination, but a part of your reality as you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer whenever you strayed too far from him in bed as he groggily whispered, “¿Y a dónde crees que vas, preciosa?”, Or when he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lining it up with soft kisses that sometimes ended up in both of you being late for your assigned tasks. With so much on the line, you were more than happy to avoid those spiky subjects. It seemed like such a small price to pay with all you were getting in return.  

You weren’t sure of where all this was going, but none of that mattered. Right now, you were together. Inside the Spider-Society you were a great team and each one was a valuable asset. Outside, every second spent in your arms was enough to make him forget Spider-Man. To you, he was Miguel and nothing more. And that was all you needed.

Life was good. You were happy with the way things were. Until, as it usually happens, a necessary disruption came quite literally crashing into your life in the shape of a fifteen-year-old that carelessly swung around a corner and crashed into you after you’d been chasing him like the rest of the Spider-People after receiving Miguel’s message.

“Miles?” You asked, recalling his name, which you’d actually been hearing for quite some time since the circumstances of his existence started being a problem for your boyfriend. The boy didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with confusion and fear until you hesitantly took a step aside to leave the escape route open for him. If anything he looked even more baffled, but when the noise of his pursuers reached your ears he rushed down the hall and you lost him after he took a sharp turn.

Before you could be spotted, you ran in the opposite direction and hid around a corner as you tried to call Miguel on your watch. Of course, it was in vain. Well, Plan B. Fortunately, this time you did get a reply.

“(Y/N)?”

“Peter! Yes, it’s me! Where are you?”

“Where do you think? I’m going after him like everybody else. I need to get to him before…sweetie, please just get back in there, Daddy’s on the phone right now…I need to get to him before- “

“He’s already left the headquarters,” You informed him.

“Wait, you saw him?”

“About a minute ago. He was on his way to the North exit.”

“(Y/N), are you sure you should be a part of this chase right now?”

“Why not? Jessica is there, isn’t she?” You replied, smiling to yourself. Good old Peter B., looking out for you like some sort of self-appointed brother figure.

“Well yeah, but she’s not running, kid. Although I don’t think she should be on one of those death machines either, I don’t what she’s…”

While he kept on rambling for a bit, you looked around and wondered if you’d ever seen the building this empty.

Empty.

Your eyes slowly ran along the pearly white walls until they landed on the hallway that led to the room where the Go Home Machine was kept. Practically unchecked, if Spider-Byte had joined the pursuit.

“P.B., I’ll talk to you later,” You absent-mindedly replied, hanging up on him without waiting for an answer as you dashed down the hallway.

You kept thinking about that poor kid’s eyes. After having all that information unloaded onto him, instead being given enough time to somewhat process everything he now had to escape from the very people he was supposed to feel safe amongst. When he sat on the floor right in front of you right after the crash, he was sure you would immediately hand him over. Maybe a few months ago you would’ve done it without hesitation but now…things had changed.

There it was. The Go-Home Machine. You thought you saw a purple blast inside that let you know Byte was still there. However, if your theory was correct, Miles would have to go through that hall and therefore, you. A few minutes later, a sudden voice booming from your watch startled you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Miguel? Where are you? I’ve been trying to…”

“(Y/N), listen to me! Miles lured everybody out on purpose, he’s trying to get to the machine. I can see your location back at the headquarters and he should be coming your way in less than a minute!”

“Alright. I’ll handle it.” You replied, ending the call before he could ask you to elaborate on that.

Sure enough, light footsteps came in your direction shortly after. Right as Miles entered your field of view, an alert issued by your watch made your stomach drop and a dreadful feeling fill your chest. However, you’d made up your mind. There was no going back now.

Mile spotted you at the end of the hall and stopped in his tracks. His eyes were determined, not as afraid as a few moments earlier. If he was there that meant he’d somehow gotten past Miguel. You fought back a smile when you wondered how pissed he’d be about it. Having his ass kicked by a teenager was something that, maybe under different circumstances, you could tease him about.

“He’s a delight, isn’t he?” You finally spoke, trying to somewhat lighten the mood while taking a step toward the kid. However, he got in a defensive stance, furrowing his eyebrows in distrust.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk.” You assured, showing him both your hands, “Miles, listen very carefully. This is exactly what Miguel was talking about a while ago. At this very moment. Right now, I’m supposed to stop you from getting to that machine and handing you over,”

Of course, he took another step back.

“Miles I’m not going to do that,” You assured him.

“Why not?” He immediately asked, constantly looking behind him, wondering if this was just you trying to stall him like, unbeknownst to you, he thought Peter had tried to do a while ago.

“Because I’m sure there’s a better way to go about all this. I love him so much, I do, but he’s so afraid that I don’t think he’s willing to see other possibilities and by the time he does, it might be too late for you. Now go before anybody else gets here.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Miles darted past you as soon as you finished talking, taking a second to look back before reaching the dimly lit room where his ticket home was. His eyes scanned your face and darted down for one second before he looked up at you, a new worry in his eyes that had you wondering whether his spider-sense was strong enough to perceive something you’d just found out yourself.  

“Are you going to be okay?” Miles asked, his eyes looking down for a moment once again. Did he know? Did he mean “you” as in just you or as in…?

“Yes, don’t worry. Now get out of here.” You insisted. With one last hasty “thanks”, he ran into the room as your left in the opposite direction. You weren’t worried about Spider-Byte. She was a good kid, and she’d do the right thing.

The right thing. What did that even mean anymore?

You’d deal with the moral implications later. For now, as you found yourself on the other side of the headquarters, your mind was set on finding Miguel. Maybe you could try and talk some sense into him, make him reconsider whether this was…

“What the hell was that?”

By now you’d gotten used to Miguel’s habit of sneaking up on you. Usually, hearing his voice coming out of nowhere brought a smile to your face. This time, you closed your eyes and winced as you felt his presence behind you.

“Don’t even try lying. I know that voice you used in the call. The one for when you’re about to ignore whatever order I’m about to give you, so I checked the cameras.”

“Miguel, I…” You began to explain yourself just to be harshly cut off.

“(Y/N), what were you thinking? Do you realize what you just did? Do you have the slightest idea of the consequences…?”

“I do realize that you just asked a fifteen-year-old child to stand by and let his father get killed right before calling his existence a mistake, Miguel. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of our safety, and that includes Miles’. You’re right, he’s a kid and that means he’s selfish and immature enough to endanger everything we’ve all been risking our lives to protect for years.”

“Miguel, listen to me,” You insisted, “You’re scared. I know. I am, too, but have you ever considered that maybe there’s another solution? Do we even know for sure that allowing the kid to go and try to save his father is going to cause any real damage?”

“What if it does? Are you just going to tell me “Sorry, Miguel, you were right” and that’s all? (Y/N), Dios mío, piensa. Gwen said the same thing but we couldn’t trust her with being objective because he’s her friend,”

“Wait, what do you mean couldn’t?” You asked. Miguel clenched his jaw and turned away, unable or unwilling to look at you.

“Miguel, please tell me you didn’t send her back. Not with how she left things back there,”

His absolute silence told you everything. Shaken, you took a step back.

“What is wrong with you?” You hissed the disappointed look in your eyes hurting like a sharp dagger to his chest.

“(Y/N), mi amor, I’m just trying to…”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” You angrily spat out, “You go around preaching about how important sticking to your stupid canon is and the delicate balance of the multiverse when you know damn well that what we’re doing goes against every single one of those things,”

“No, no, that’s very different,” Miguel disputed,

“How is it different?” You argued back, boldly moving closer to him wishing you were taller so you could face him, “I’m from another dimension, there is no way that we were supposed to meet from the beginning. You had your world, this world, and when you tried to live another life in a different one, an entire dimension was destroyed. I had my world, and for all I know maybe there was somebody there that I was supposed to meet but thankfully I ended up here first so I could meet you. But you know what? My universe is fine, yours is too and I swear I had never been happier in my entire life.”

“You’re right.” He muttered in deep thought.

“Yes, I am. And maybe…” You started to say, a relieved smile tugging at the edges of your mouth until he looked up and the expression in his eyes made your throat dry up.

“We’ve been messing with fire all this time. There is probably somebody you can be with without endangering your entire dimension. And this…this is the hand I was dealt and I should just accept it and live with it. You’re right. Maybe this was all a mistake from the beginning.”

“No. No, come on, you don’t mean that.” You shook your head in denial, lifting both your hands to cup his face in your hands, to bring him close like he had done the night you finally could let all the love you felt for him escape its confinement in your chest.

Miguel grabbed your hands before you could touch him and moved away from you before releasing them as he finally built up the courage to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious?” You asked, your voice quivering with anger as you felt tears begin to dwell in your eyes, “So that’s it? You’d rather sacrifice us than find a different way to solve this?”

“Well, what did you think was going to happen, (Y/N)? That this would go on forever and we’d keep pretending everything is fine and that you don’t have to wear a fucking machine on your wrist every time you come to see me because even the cells in your body know you were never supposed to be here?”  

“Oh, right, so you expect me to believe that you always knew this was going to be temporary? Then what was this? Something to take the edge off after a rough day until you decided it was time to stop fooling around and just be done with it?”

Deep inside, you knew what his response was going to be, but every inch of your heart silently pleaded for you to be wrong. To pull you into his arms and apologize for trying to send you away and promise that you’d get through this because you loved each other and that was all that mattered.

“I don’t know why you thought it was anything else,”

For a minute, you wondered if this was all actually happening. Maybe this was all a nightmare fueled by all the training simulations you’d gone over lately, and you’d wake up crying just to find Miguel asleep next to you, his wide back slowly rising and sinking with every calm breath he took. Your crying would wake him up and he’d furrow his eyebrows and ask what had happened.

“I had a nightmare, that’s all,” You’d say, wiping your tears off and trying to downplay it. But he knew better. He always knew better. He would pull you close and bury your head in his chest, placing a kiss on top of your head while warning you that he was the only one allowed to have nightmares because otherwise he’d have to start comforting you too and neither would get a full night of rest. And you would laugh softly as you drifted off, lulled by the warmth of his chest and his smell of sage lotion and cheap fabric softener.

But no. You were very much awake, and instead of comforting you with promises and reassurances, he was walking away from you after delivering the final blow to your heart.

Since he had his back turned to you, you felt free to let the repressed tears freely fall down your face as you helplessly watch him go until he disappeared around a corner. All of a sudden, you felt as if the walls of the headquarters had begun to close around you to asphyxiate you, and the sound of the returning Spider-People made you realize you didn’t want to be there for one more second.

Thanks to your watch, you were back “home” in a few seconds.

“Home”. Your empty apartment where you’d lived alone for years. Where he’d never set foot, and at least in that way it was free of his memory. Or so you thought until you looked over your shoulder at the ajar bathroom door. Inside, atop the porcelain sink, still rested the positive pregnancy test you’d left there before having to rush over to the headquarters to help with the latest anomaly.

That memory felt so distant now. As if it had happened years ago, in a different life. You suppose in a way, it did belong to another life. A life that was over now.

Numbly, you made your way toward the ragged sofa, collapsing on top of it as soon as you were close enough. It was only then that the full weight of the last day and a half sank in and, as you gently wrapped your arms around your stomach, you let the tears fall until your throat burned, the dusty cushions muffling your broken sobs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard correctly, you did what?”

The seriousness of the situation was enough for Peter to fasten a small strap in Mayday’s baby carrier to make sure she won’t go anywhere for a few minutes as he waited for his friend’s platform to reach ground level. He couldn’t be chasing his toddler around and ripping Miguel a new one at the same time.

“I did what I had to do. It’s for her own good,”

“Right, because you’re such an arrogant…” He paused to carefully place his hands over Mayday’s tiny ears, “…such an arrogant dick that you think you know what’s best for everyone, including a fully grown, intelligent, woman like (Y/N)”

“Shit, Parker, do you think it was easy for me?” Miguel uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his face against the palm of his hand, “What I said about this being the hand I was dealt…I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to keep myself from showing up at her dimension to try and get her back here the first chance I get.”

“And why would you have to keep yourself from doing that?” Peter asked patiently. It sounded like a better alternative to “Miguel, I love you man but I swear you’ve got the emotional availability of a tree stump. Beats me how (Y/N) was able to get you to admit your feelings without prying your chest open with a jigsaw to see your pounding heart for herself.”

“She was right. We were never supposed to meet in the first place. Not like this. It’s not…”

“Miguel, I swear if I hear the word ‘canon’ even once in this conversation I’m going to drive my head through a wall,”

“Just because you don’t take anything seriously doesn’t mean everybody’s the same,” Miguel hissed back.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Last time I didn’t take something seriously, I ended up just like you will unless you get your priorities sorted out. Alone, and regretting not focusing on what was important,”

“This is important,” Miguel stubbornly argued.

“More important than what you had? Look at yourself. Just forty-eight hours ago you were as happy with (Y/N) as you’d been for the past eight months. And as happy as I’ve been with Mayday and my wife who, by the way, wouldn’t even be with me if it wasn’t for that kid you just called a mistake. And do you see my dimension going up in flames? Or yours? Or hers?”

Unable to find an argument against that, Miguel remained silent, his eyes fixed on an empty spot on the wall in front of him.

“Listen, I know you’re afraid. You don’t want her to get hurt, but if you love her as much as you claim to, then you’re taking the choice of a coward right now. And you can’t afford to be one, especially now.”

“Especially now?” Miguel inquired, turning to look at his friend who, much to his surprise, pressed his lips together as if he’d made a mistake and instead focused on getting Mayday’s hair out of her face.

“My point is; I know you well enough to know you worship that woman. And she thinks you’re pretty decent too. And I can tell you from experience that you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you let this come between you.”

Not knowing what else to add, Peter gently patted Miguel’s shoulder before leaving the room, hoping he’d given him enough to think about. Hopefully, enough to make him change his mind.

Meanwhile, Miguel hadn’t moved since Peter left the room, mulling his words over.

Two, particularly, had stuck with him for some reason.

Especially now.

[thewordswewrite]

do we get to know what happened to the first baby? the one they lost? like from the vibes alone, it seems like either a miscarriage or stillbirth. what happened?

Our Condolences

The Drought of an Ocean Universe

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Original Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Oneshot Summary | Three months after they realize they’re expecting, things take a turn for the worse for Finnick and his girl.

Chapter Warnings | loss of pregnancy, explicit language

W/C | 1.5k

Taglist | @lem0ns77   @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​   @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​   @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​   @aquawhore420   @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​   @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15   @pavard-leto-girl  

A/N | We're currently making our way through the asks so as they come in we will complete this type of oneshot for them. Please enjoy!!-Smoe

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist|

Again and again, she watched the shadow of a figure cast across the living room from the front window as they had for weeks now. She buried herself deeper in the blanket and tried to fall back into the mindless dirge of whatever was on the TV. From the other part of the house, she could hear Finnick and Mags puttering about and even with the faint movements she knew exactly what room they were in; the room that she hadn’t stepped foot in in weeks, the room whose door Finnick would shut if she even took a step towards. The figure passed by again, blocking the sunlight from bleeding through the window and despite her best interests, she thought she might just go outside. It’d been days since she’d felt fresh air and she’d be in and out before Finnick could say anything. 

Her bare feet hit the polished wood floor, sending a shiver up her spine and she kept the blanket wrapped around her, the end of it trailing behind as she made her way towards the door. It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the sunlight but as they did, she could see the front porch was once again covered with vases of flowers and various ornate gift bags and boxes alike. She filled her arms with as much as she could take in one go, though caution didn’t matter much when every gift was an empty gesture…

“Hey, hey, no. You shouldn’t be lifting that.”

“It’s just a couple of vases. I think I can handle it.” Her protests went unheard as Finnick gathered the gifts in his arms leaving her with a ‘don’t you touch those’ about the rest. They’d hardly accepted the news themselves before it was Capitol official and it didn’t take long for the gifts to come flooding in; they already had a full nursery with enough for a family of ten. Any significant spares they received, like the surplus of bassinets, were donated first to their own District, then to the others.

Finnick had barely let his eyes off her since she told him she was pregnant and despite being terrified, as the gifts multiplied and the entire country buzzed her excitement began to grow. She never thought herself a mother, having decidedly condemned her future to one as a failed career before she met Finnick and then a captive in her own life after. Though now she supposed things had changed, her life, though not entirely hers, was made tolerable by Finnick and now, their child.

A small smile graced her face as she plucked a card from the bouquet of flowers. ‘Congratulations! We are so…’

‘...sorry to hear about your loss, our condolences–’ She was unable to finish reading the note before it was torn from between her fingers, the vase of calla lilies obstructed from her view.

“Finnick, please–”

“You don’t need to keep reading all of these,” His voice soothed, leaving the numerous gifts out on the porch as he closed the door, softly nudging her inside. “I’ll throw those out later.”

“I’m fine,” She tried to reassure him but her stomach clenched at his pained face. “You don’t need to be the one to do everything. I’m okay.” Despite her words, she didn’t expect the grief she felt when they lost the baby. She turned away from him, heading towards the kitchen where...

Their lunch was forgotten in her haze. The memories of intense pain and blood running down her thighs as she yelled for help had left her drained, and nearly unresponsive in bed. The only one around to help had been Mags, Finnick’s elderly mentor. The older woman had rubbed her back and helped her clean herself up before making her lie down in bed.

She must’ve done something; she couldn’t wrap her mind around how it could’ve happened. Maybe Finnick had been right and she should’ve been doing less than she was, maybe she ate something she shouldn't have, maybe she wasn’t meant to be a mother.

Her eyes pricked with tears, salt running down her cheeks at the revelation of what this would mean for her and Finnick. President Snow told them before they left for their honeymoon his expectations from them and not even three months since the official announcement of her pregnancy had she messed it up. She didn’t know how they would be punished but once again she’d dragged Finnick down with her. She was deep in her thoughts when a hand gently laid on her waist, startling her.

“Mags told me that…” She couldn’t bear to look at him when his voice choked up. “That you lost the baby?”

“I’m sorry.”

Finnick circled around the bed and crouched in front of her, his eyes red-rimmed and hair disheveled. “It’s not your fault,” He clutched her hand in both of his. “Not even a little bit.”

“But President Snow–”

“Fuck Snow. He doesn’t matter, you matter.” Finnick’s face was earnest…

…his eyes swirling with worry as he looked across the room at Mags who was already pulling out utensils to start making lunch. Although she found it tough to be taken care of, she knew the woman was happy to have someone to tend to again, especially when it came to Finnick who had l been bending over backward lately to be there for her every waking need. 

He’d done everything he could to help her. Never-ending assurances and thoughtful words were thrown at her constantly, but she worried for him. All he had left was Mags and now her; a baby would’ve expanded his family and she knew he was crushed over it. Selfishly, she’d felt almost a bit relieved to have been released from the responsibility of taking care of a baby. She was eighteen and Finnick only a year older, they hadn’t grown up with much of any sort of role model and she felt ill-equipped to raise a child.

After what happened, they contacted The President before he could decide they were hiding something from him and she was quickly ushered to The Capitol and met by the best doctors in the country. Though, it was too late and they'd confirmed what she already knew: that she’d lost the baby.

“Hey, Mags, could you keep an eye on her while I take care of the rest of this stuff?” Finnick called out from behind her. Mags shook her head, gesturing first to herself and then towards the door, indicating that she’d take care of it and in turn leaving him no choice but to face her. 

As soon as Mags was far enough away, she bit out, “I don’t need someone to babysit me.” 

“Sweetheart, I didn’t–”

She was already walking with only one destination in mind and though she knew it wasn’t something that would be good for either of them, it was something she needed to do. Finnick’s footfalls were quick behind her on the stairs and she felt a pit in her stomach growing at the knowledge that he had already realized what she wanted.

When she reached the door, his hand was already on the handle holding it shut, his strength overwhelming her own. She smacked open palms and then fists against the door to no avail. Snapping her head to look at him, she stilled, letting the look on her face speak for itself as it met his own strained expression. His head fell, the unspoken exchange leaving him with no choice but to let go.

Turning the handle she opened the door…

…to see Finnick in deep concentration, trying to assemble the bassinet that they had been gifted from Sagan when they heard the news. Despite Sagan’s flare for the dramatics, the bassinet was sweet and simple, a classic cream color with a sea-themed mobile to accompany it. 

She didn’t want to say anything as she leaned in the doorway, watching her husband hard at work. While it was hard to get used to the idea of being a mother, it didn’t take much to imagine Finnick as a doting father. She must’ve made some noise as she thought for Finnick jumped, the paper detailing the instructions falling out of his mouth and onto the floor.

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise you,” Finnick blushed as he stood. She couldn’t help but grin and she turned back for the door.

“Well, I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything,” She called as she closed the door…

…and was met with Finnick’s grim face, her own likely mirroring his. Her heart was pounding at the sudden memory of a happier time and she felt sick. Their lives had been so strained recently that she worried for them.

She sighed walking past him towards their room. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

A beat passed before Finnick spoke. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

The Olive Branch

Author's note: Here is a modern AU one-shot I wrote for @maggiescarborough 400 follower challenge. My prompt was breaking up. Congratulations hun and thanks for letting me take part! It was something completely different for me to write and I hope everyone enjoys!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Fem:reader

Word count: 3400

Warnings: Angst, language

Your relationship with Ivar had run its course. You had known it was over the moment you overheard him talking about you in his office to his brother. What had begun as a sweet gesture to surprise your boyfriend for lunch had ended with you sneaking back out the building before he could find out you had been there. You still didn't remember most of that escape, as you had been too busy forcing yourself not to cry or scream from hurt.

It was a Tuesday, and you were fortunate enough to have a day off from work. You decided to be spontaneous, picking up soup from your favorite deli to surprise Ivar with for lunch. His job didn't always allow him the time or luxury to stop to eat, but today you would make sure he was looked after.

You and Ivar had been seeing each other for nearly six months, and you felt that in that stretch of time you had made it past any difficult hurdles that could turn a relationship sour. It wasn't perfect, but little arguments and disagreements had to be weathered in any relationship, and you got to a point where you were both comfortable with each other's faults and tendencies. When you had met one another's families without hassle, you figured that was as good a sign as any that this was something special.

You didn't go to his place of work often, but you knew your way around well enough to find his office. He worked for his family's exporting company, a numbers game that consisted of suits and ties, and corporate gatherings. Ivar had once described them to you as ass-kissing at the highest level, and after attending a few black-tie affairs by his side you understood his point.

You made your way down the brightly lit corridor that was all freshly polished floors and heavy oak doors with gold inlaid nameplates. The designer of the office had spared no expense on the finishes, and you felt underdressed compared to the expensive attire of the workers.

As you rounded the corner to Ivar's office you could see his door was ajar. He was speaking with someone, and as you neared you recognized Ubbe's voice. It didn't sound like work talk, it sounded more like Ubbe was discussing his family. You were about to walk in to interrupt when your name was suddenly brought up.

"So, how are things going with (Y/N)?" Ubbe asked.

There was a long pause before Ivar answered, and that filled you with dread. "Okay, I guess."

"You guess? I thought things were going great."

You understood Ubbe's point. You thought things were working out well between you two.

"I don't know. Recently I've been feeling that it's run its course between us. I don't think there's a future there."

Your heart was in your throat, and you thought you were going to be sick. Ivar could be distant, but you had no idea he was at the end of his rope when it came to your relationship.

"Really? Ubbe sounded as confused as you felt. "What brought this on?"

"It's whenever we do something in a social setting. She's not a bad girlfriend, but she's too shy for any of my work functions, and she isn't spontaneous enough."

"Right, as opposed to Freydis?" You heard the crunch of leather as Ubbe took a seat. "You're still hung up on her."

"I can't help it," Ivar shot back. "She was perfect for me. She fit in with my lifestyle. (Y/N)'s a good person, but she's too simple. I'm...bored when I'm with her."

A good person. Those were the only kind words he had to say about you, after dating for months. You knew about his relationship with Freydis in little detail, and only that they had broken up because she moved away for work. Maybe he should have gone with her. You were feeling bitter and used, and you couldn't listen to any more of the disparagement. You even felt guilty about eavesdropping, but you wondered how much longer he planned on keeping this from you if he was so miserable.

Your feet started in the opposite direction, reaching the elevator with your head down and the lunch you had brought hanging loosely in your grasp. Your breathing had turned labored in your attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you kept pressing the button to shut the double doors before you were forced to endure a long ride down to the lobby in the company of one of Ivar's coworkers.

The moment you were on the ground floor you began fast walking to get outside, and you threw away the lunch in the first trash bin you passed. Your eyes stun when the chilly wind brushed your face, and you knew the tears you had struggled to hold in were beginning to fall. You hoped to God people weren't staring, and you kept at a brisk pace in the direction of anywhere. You and Ivar didn't live together, so you at least had your own space to hide.

As you approached the train station, your phone buzzed with a message. It was from Ivar. You wondered what words Ubbe had plied him with to get him to reach out. Usually, a message from him when you knew he was at work would have been a delight, but now you were already into second-guessing. It was a simple invite to dinner, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sit in a restaurant and pretend everything was alright. You replied with an excuse.

Sorry, I'm not feeling well today. Raincheck

Ivar's reply was quick and to the point with a simple 'okay, feel better'. But you wouldn't feel better. Your relationship was over, he just wasn't privy to the fact yet, and you didn't want to end it with the embarrassment and disappointment still so fresh…

ooOOoo

And that's how it was for the next two weeks. You distanced yourself from Ivar while gaining clarity about the situation. The hurt turned into a dull throb, but you also accepted that it wasn't his fault for feeling the way he did, even if that was cold comfort to you. It was best for you both if you ended it and moved on.

"I think we should break up," You finished saying to Ivar as he had tried to gift you a diamond bracelet. He had dropped in unannounced again, a habit that had started after you blew off the dinner. Your visits consisted of sitting in silence on opposite sides of the sofa, and you could barely bring yourself to kiss him when he would leave.

He must have sensed something was off the past few times you had seen each other, and the bracelet was his way of trying to bridge this new gap. Now he was giving you a blank stare, trying to play catch up on whatever details he had missed that led to this behavior from you.

"Alright," He started slowly. "Can I ask why?"

Because you're bored with me, your mind shouted, but you swallowed the bitterness and forced a smile. "We've been growing apart for a little while now. You must have felt it too."

"I've felt that you've been brushing me off," Ivar said as he fell back into the armchair across from you on the sofa.

"What do you mean?" You tried to act surprised by the accusation, but your voice raised a tick. You had never been a good liar.

"Well, just now when I tried to give you the bracelet, you looked disgusted. I might as well have been giving you a can of surströmming."

"That's not--" You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Not true? No, I think it is. And what about that dinner last week? Were you even sick?"

You felt small under his strong gaze, but you weren't about to let him spin this whole thing back on you when you knew the truth. "No, I wasn't sick. I guess I just didn't want to go to dinner with you because I felt it was pointless."

"Pointless? If you'd decided that, then why did you wait until now to break up with me?"

"I've never broken up with someone before," You admitted, the first truthful thing to come out of the conversation. It was always you getting left behind, and it felt strange to do it to someone else. You still had feelings for Ivar, which didn't make it any easier knowing he didn't feel the same, and possibly never had. "I thought you'd be relieved anyways. You must have felt the same, that we were drifting apart."

"I didn't realize you felt that way," Ivar replied, frowning at his lap. "Ubbe didn't say anything to you, did he?"

You tried not to react, but your blood froze in your veins and your heart trembled. "No, why would he?"

And then you realized Ivar suspected you knew about the private conversation with his brother, only he mistakenly thought Ubbe had blabbed to you about it.

"It makes sense now, why you've been pulling away. He told you, didn't he?"

"About how I'm a good person, but that I'm too shy to fit in with your social circle," You blurted out, your anger rising.

Ivar was stunned by your abrupt attitude change. You never raised your voice for anything, even when you'd argued. "So he did tell you."

"No Ivar, Ubbe didn't tell me anything." You rose from the sofa and turned your back on him to stare out the window. It was a beautiful day. You let out a mournful sigh. Too bad you wouldn't get to enjoy it. "I came to see you that day, to surprise you with lunch. I guess you wouldn't consider that spontaneous enough though."

"(Y/N)," Ivar started and over your shoulder, you could see him pushing himself up from the chair with his cane.

"I don't want to hear it," You interjected with your hand up. "This is why I didn't want you to know I knew about that. I didn't want to hear your excuses."

"That was a private conversation you weren't supposed to hear."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Ivar frowned, and he seemed annoyed with you as if you learning the truth had inconvenienced him. "No, but I should be the one upset with you for trying to break up with me without telling the truth."

"I'm not trying to break up with you, I'm done with you, Ivar," You told him, and your blunt tone caused his face to fall. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened to that conversation, but I'm glad I did. It spares me from being in a relationship with someone miserable and bored when they're with me. Did you expect me just to not say anything and carry on as if nothing had happened?"

"We could still talk this through." His voice sounded timid, and you didn't think he meant it.

"Talk through what? You're still in love with someone else, and I won't be your poor replacement." You strode to your apartment door and held it wide open. "Please leave."

You half expected Ivar to stay put and want to argue this through further. He was nothing if not confrontational, and while you admired his inner strength, you did not want to find yourself on the receiving end of Ivar Lothbrok's ire. But in the end, he didn't say anything. His cane thumped down the hallway to the door, and as he strode by you, you kept your head down holding your breath. You don't know if you were hoping he would do something to change your mind, let you know that it had all been a misunderstanding, but that wasn't the case. Ivar left, and you found yourself closing the door long after he had gone.

Now that it was final, you didn't know how to feel. The past few weeks you had been preoccupied with internalizing your heartbreak. You had held it in for so long, that now your well was empty. Your relationship was over, and if you were going to move forward you would have to cleanse your life of Ivar. Grabbing a box from your closet, you began to pack away anything he had ever given you.

ooOOoo

It was such a cliche, the expression about missing something after it was gone, but it was currently how Ivar was feeling. A month had passed by since your break-up, and time had slowed to a crawl. He hadn't seen or heard from you since he had left your apartment that day. You had returned a box of his things when he had been away at work. Hvitserk had been home to retrieve them, and Ivar had asked how you seemed. His answer; fine.

At the top of the box was the bracelet he had bought you in a last-ditch effort to try and save the relationship. You hadn't even worn it. He didn't know why he had put in the effort to save the relationship since at that time he had convinced himself it was no longer something he was invested in. Perhaps Ubbe had gotten through to him, but by then it was already too late. You had heard everything, and it had led to a devastating end.

Ivar knew why he had second-guessed being with you. He knew from the moment you met that you were the complete opposite of Freydis. You were timid, and your interests lied in things you could do independently as opposed to a social setting. Not like him at all. After growing up different from his disability, Ivar made sure he thrived in large groups as an adult, no longer wanting to be the one isolated in the corner of the room. Being with you had reminded him that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and he never thought you were weak as a result.

But then he had seen Freydis' engagement announcement online, and he was suddenly mourning the loss of his past. Never follow an ex on social media, that was Hvitserk's advice, and he should have listened. He and Freydis had said their goodbyes two years ago, though more reluctantly on his part. She was everything no one thought he would ever have in a partner. The beautiful blonde had chosen the cripple, and his ego had soared to new heights.

Food tasted better, the air was cleaner, everything was different from his supposed view from the top. Ubbe had reminded him that it hadn't been as perfect as the memories he clung to. During that time with Freydis, he had abandoned much of his ties to his family, and he had picked up the bad habit of spending money to the point of debt. When she had left him for new career goals, he had gradually returned to earth with the other mortals and realized he had been an asshole.

He had a momentary lapse back into that spell all because of one picture online, and unfortunately, it had bled on to you. Now all he could think about was how much he had hurt you, and with no real excuse good enough to justify such atrocious behavior.

A knock on his door came, and he threw the bracelet back into the box of his belongings that had made their way from your home and now back to his.

"Hey, you want dinner?" Hvitserk asked, poking his head in.

"Not hungry."

"Still feeling sorry for yourself, huh," Hvitserk said as he leaned upon the doorjamb.

"If I didn't, nobody else would," Ivar grumbled petulantly.

"And how do you think (Y/N)'s feeling?"

"I don't know, you said she was fine."

Hvitserk ran a hand down his face. "I was covering. If anything she looked...disappointed."

Disappointed in him more likely. He was a disappointment, and not because of his legs as he always feared. When the news of his break-up with you had spread through the family, they all were annoyed with him for making that choice. None more so than his mother. She had been vocal over the years of her dislike for Freydis, and while Ivar knew his mother would have a difficult time accepting any woman he brought home, she had come to reluctantly welcome you into the fold. The rest of his brothers didn't hold back on hurtling their own brand of criticism, each as unique and harsh as they were creative.

"What should I do," He asked aloud, and Hvitserk looked startled by the question. He was the last one in the family anyone looked to for advice, but Ivar already regretted not taking the bit about exs and social media to heart.

"Apologize. That's the only thing left, even if it won't be enough to remove the hurt right away. She needs to know you regret what you've said."

For the first time in a month, Ivar felt a smidgen of hope. "Do you think there's a chance we could start over?"

"I don't know about that. If she holds onto those things you've said as the truth, then she might have a hard time trusting you again. Those relationships never work out," Hvitserk said with a shrug.

"Maybe I should go over there and talk to her," Ivar said, already rising from his bed.

"I wouldn't," Hvitserk replied looking guilty. "Thora's over there now, and she's still pissed at you for hurting (Y/N). If you don't want to end up in grievous harm, I'd stay away for now. Sorry."

Ivar sighed as he plopped back down. "No, I get it."

"Try reaching out slowly, and work your way from there," Hvitserk suggested.

"You're surprisingly not as dumb as you look," Ivar taunted, and the first grin broke out on his face. It felt good to use those muscles again.

"I know, I'm brimming with knowledge and ready to impart wisdom," Hvitserk said with a laugh. He stood up from the door and looked ready to return to the sitting room. "You sure you aren't hungry? I haven't ordered yet."

"I think I could eat. Just give me a moment, I need to finish putting this stuff away." He indicated to the box, and Hvitserk nodded in understanding before closing the door behind him.

Ivar pulled out his phone and searched for your name. All of the things he had to say couldn't be composed of one text message, but he could extend an olive branch and hope it didn't come back as ashes.

I know this is probably coming too late, but I need you to know I'm sorry and I miss you. If you want to, I'd like a chance to meet and explain things, that's it -- Ivar

He hit send before he started to ramble or worse chicken out entirely and not send the thing. He didn't know if you would reach out right away, and he didn't want to know. Getting up from his bed, Ivar hobbled on his crutch, leaving his phone behind in his room to join his brother for dinner. Hvitserk must have sensed his change in mood, but he embraced it rather than asking, and they didn't bring you up again. It was the first time in a month he felt like himself, no heartache over Freydis and no self-pity over losing you. After a late-night of buffoonery, and pizza and beer, the brothers returned to their rooms.

Ivar ignored the phone sitting in the middle of the bed, avoiding it as if it was some cursed thing. He went about his nightly routine, all the while he felt the pull to check if you had replied. He hoped you had. Even if it was just to tell him to fuck off, something was better than no answer. After getting his legs settled beneath the covers, he lied down in bed and shut off the lamp on his side table. Before going to sleep it was time to check if you had seen his olive branch. The glow of his phone lit up his face, and his breath hitched. You had replied. His eyes flitted back and forth, tracing your words to make sure they were real.

I miss you too. Let's talk soon.

Ivar fell asleep right after, with renewed vigor in his heart. He would work to earn your trust back. Whether that meant as a couple or just as friends would be up to you, and Ivar would respect what you decided. So long as you were still in his life, everything would be alright.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood @siren-queen03 @peachyboneless @didiintheblog @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @strangunddurm @shannygoatgruff @1950schick @tgrrose @castielsangelsx @rose1729 @ladynightshade30 @mlchael-guerin @dangerouspsychicgardenflower @ritual-unions-gotme @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @poisonous00 @alytavzla

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Off to the Races | AU: Gangsters/Casino | Russel Adler x fem!reader

Summary: You were born for the stage. A natural dancer with all of your youth used for experience, you now find yourself as a showgirl in one of Vegas' top casinos, the SunDowner. Owned by, Russell Adler, a notorious gangster in the underworld who remains undercover to the public eye, business is booming. Doubly so when a mysterious promotion comes your way, launching you to the top stage...

Just when you thought your life couldn't get more interesting, just how crazy will things get when the old gangster handpicks you from one crazy life to another, to keep for himself?

Tags: Gangster Au, age difference

Warnings: This fic has no explicit smut or anything, but WILL contain some overtly sexual themes and suggestive content, strong language, and age difference bc y'all know me 😪 So reader beware!

Y'all thought I was joking with this post huh lol

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You’d be surprised how much that little mantra has gotten you through.

Tonight, it comes in handy once more.

You scurry into place on stage, surrounded by an array of women around your age in exactly similar costumes. Glittering, skin tight leotards, sky high heels to pop out some ass, sheer mesh sections to show a little skin, and long, billowing feather accents mounted on your back and head for God knows what.

It’s your first night doing a showgirl routine at the infamous SunDowner casino, right here in shiny, shimmering Sin City itself. You’re one of three acts going on at the same time, all on different floors of the building. Your performance is taking place in the middle floor stage where the least amount of people are likely to see you, just in case you turn out to be a waste of a contract.

You take a look around you. The other women seem so confident… That, or they’re damn good at pretending. Makes sense, you think to yourself, everyone and their mother is a damn actor in this town. It’s all an act... When Shakespeare said “All the world’s a stage”, you doubt this is what he had in mind.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker booms, announcing the start of the show. The lights power on over head, blindingly bright as some oldie style song starts up. Something for the oldsters, no doubt. But then again… aren’t you too?

The curtains shoot to the side on the beat and you can feel yourself pulled into auto pilot. You’ve practiced this dance so many times, it’s like second nature by now. So you dance. You parade around, covered in glitter and somehow managing to not break your neck in these heels while you strut around and roll your hips and shake your ass for some drunk old men with all fourteen of the other women beside you doing exactly the same thing.

And while you preform... Somewhere, way way up on the top floor, Russell Adler, owner of this whole joint and a couple city blocks to boot, returns to his office after taking a walk through the gambling pits. He’s caught two hustlers tonight alone, both of which were dealt with… severely.

The Sundowner doesn’t take kindly to thieves, and neither does he.

He dips into a side room within the office space behind a covertly placed door into a soundproof room. Adler switches on the lights and takes a seat in front of a huge stack of tv monitors. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, and watches the live feed from his many surveillance cameras. These are to keep an eye on his dealers and pit bosses rather than the customers, contrary to what most may think.

Can’t be too careful in this line of business, after all.

The room is silent except for the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the large oak desk. He’s not one for glitz and garish glamour, but he is never without his four favorite rings.

They adorn his right hand, all made of polished platinum. Three are made in the shape of a thin, wound coil with some decorative knurling along the surface in a trapezoidal pattern, getting slightly thicker in size right up to the crown piece on his index finger. The largest ring features the hissing head of a viper with inset eyes made of two black diamonds.

Each ring is easily worth several thousand dollars, and not even close to the most expensive item on his person tonight, let alone in his wardrobe.

His eyes shift from left to right, scanning each screen quickly and judiciously as he taps and sips. For a moment, he lands on the showgirl performance. The quality of entertainment and the establishment itself is every bit as important as making sure everyone else stays in line and on their side of the house rules.

Adler checks the camera marker and notes that these are the new hires. Whatever he sees, he’ll make sure to cut them some slack.

Some.

One girl stumbles a bit, right there on stage. She’s out. Another girl brushes against the one beside her. Out. Then, towards the finale, two girls jump out of sync with the rest. He shakes his head and sighs. Where the fuck are his people getting these girls from?

He takes note of the ones he wants gone, then manages to swallow his frustration and watch the wrap up. Things end to light applause and before the curtain closes he taps a key on his board of switches to pause the feed. He counts up the dancers and take notes of each girl personally.

You know… Throughout that entire shit show, if memory serves, there was only one girl who hit all the marks.

Adler rewinds the feed and focuses on you in particular. He follows your every step and leap. Watching every move, studying every turn…

He was right. Perfect, throughout the whole routine. He reaches for his red phone and calls up the man in charge of the girl shows.

“Who’s the one in position seven, middle stage show?”

There’s a moment of silence and a rustling of paper before the other man replies with your full name, a little bit of your credentials, and the date of your hiring. “Something wrong sir?”

“Yes, send positions three, ten, eight, and twelve home. We have standards, for God’s sake”

“Of course sir-”

“And as for seven… I want her performing top stage next time”

More silence, and then a tentative, “...Yes sir”

Adler clicks the phone into the receiver and takes the last sip of his drink. Hmp, lucky number seven… His gaze lingers on you and your supple body only a moment longer. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip... then goes back to the rest of his cameras.

He’ll be interested to see if you can rise to the task he’s gifted to you.

When the last of your shows ends, you and the rest of the girls head back to the dressing room one more time tonight to get changed out of these contraptions they have you wearing. A stern looking man bursts into the room unannounced, he calls out four girls and sends them packing with no explanation given. His beady eyes scan the room and land on you, nearly giving you a heart attack as you brace to be cut as well.

“And you, seven… You’re performing in the VIP lounge next week. Don’t fuck this up”

And just like that, he leaves as quickly as he came, slamming the door behind him. The other girls turn to congratulate you, some bitterly, while you’re left reeling.

Playing the top floor, the “VIP lounge” is… huge.

Some girls perform here their whole lives and never get to see it. You’ve even heard that they hire foreign professionals, just to meet up to their standards. Up there you can make tips on top of your salary. Well, only for... private dances or pole shows, but still…

You go home that night wondering how such a thing is even possible, but soon decide to shake it off. Who cares how, all that matters is that the chance has come.

And you plan to rise to the occasion.

You spend your next two days off practicing and limbering up both with the other VIP dancers and on your own. Most of the women keep to themselves and you can tell they’re a bit resentful of your presence.

There’s no question about it, you’re the youngest one here and by default the least experienced. What gives you the right to be instantly promoted like that? If only you yourself knew.

Regardless, your first performance on the top floor is here before you know it. And things go… Fairly well, to be honest.

The routine is complex, but you can tell it’s been slowed down to give you a chance. The stage is bigger, the makeup more colorful, the costumes more revealing, and the lights brighter, and yet... you feel right at home. The nervousness has worn off by now and you’re a rising star on the stage.

After a few nights of proving yourself, you’re even hired for some private dances and given a chance on the pole.

The cash pool you take home gets bigger and bigger every night, and so does your audience.

But, for all the eyes on you, there’s one strange pair that bothers you the most…

You’re working a routine with the other girls tonight. The leading girl is out with a sprained ankle, so tonight you were given the honor to dance as the Primadona, front and center on the stage. You twirl and strut up to the front, the women behind you backing you up and mirroring your moves. They continue to spin and clear space in a geometric formation to give you room as you perform the finishing stunt.

With a deep breath of air, you perform an impressive high kick on the crescendo beat that transitions into a backwards somersault and ends in a split at center stage.

A roar of applause and whistles comes from the crowd of wealthy men and women watching you.

All except one.

You lock eyes with a lone gentleman sitting front and center at a round booth table in the dimly lit room. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and even behind his dark aviators you can feel his eyes on you. As though to confirm your suspicions, he lowers the glasses to the bridge of his nose, exhaling a plume of smoke as he stares directly into your irises.

He brings his cigarette back for another hit, the small flame highlighting a horrible looking scar that goes the length of his cheek, and as the curtain falls, his creased, glowing blue eyes are the last you see of him.

The truth is… Adler’s had his eyes on you ever since that first night on the cameras. Tonight, he came down just to see your show in person. You’re just as good as you are on camera. Perhaps, even better.

No... definitely better.

He’s been reviewing your track record as of late. You took ballet lessons ever since you were just four years old. Won several awards for dances and even some state level beauty pageants. Joined the dance club at your highschool and got a scholarship from it to put you through college. You’re trained classically, but it would appear the only jobs you’ve ever gotten are clubs, bars, and casinos just like this one.

Adler smirks to himself, thinking of your pretty young face as he takes another drag. Maybe you're not as innocent as you seem.

He can work with that...

[writingletterstothefire]

right where you left me

A/N: So here it is, a full 3 days after I said I’d post it. Things have been pretty crappy, so I apologize if there was anyone out there who actually cared about this fic. The idea came to me while listening to right where you left me by Taylor Swift. I had this image of like, okay, we know about Lorraine, but what if there was someone back in Texas still waiting for Javi, after all this time? And from that thought, came this. it’s not beta-read in the slightest, so I’m so sorry if there’s any typos or sentences that don’t sound right. Thanks, y’all. Enjoy.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: maybe some language?? abandonment, Javier Peña

Prom night was supposed to be the best night of your high school career. And at first, it really felt like it might be. Your best friend Javier Peña was taking you, and you had picked the perfect dress. You and Javi were going as friends, but you really thought that this might finally be the night that you worked up the courage to tell him how you felt. You’d been dancing around each other for months, and tonight was the night that you’d finally take your friendship to a new level.

At 8pm sharp, there was a knock on your door. Javi was always right on time. You walked down the stairs slowly, like you’d seen girls do in movies, but Javi just smiled up at you and went, “Hey, you actually look like a human instead of a troll today!”

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly ecstatic at the start of the night. By the time you got to the prom, though, you had calmed down and reminded yourself that Javi was prone to sticking his foot in his mouth. He was probably just not used to seeing you dressed up.

“You alright, squirt?” Javi asked as he helped you out of his truck and started to lead you into the school. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

“No, I’m fine!” You smiled up at him, determined to have a good night. “Ready to force you to dance with me all night.”

Javi laughed at that. “I’ll give you three dances, alright squirt?”

“Deal!” You beamed up at him. Javi’s heart skipped a beat, like it always did when you smiled at him like that.

In the end, you got four and a half dances out of him. He wasn’t happy about it, but he would do anything you asked him to.

After the prom, you both ended up at the diner you worked at part-time, sharing a milkshake and a plate of fries. That was when the bomb dropped.

“I’m leaving,” he suddenly blurted out, halfway through the milkshake.

“Oh, okay, I’ll go get us a box—” you started to offer helpfully.

“No, I…” he grabbed your hand to stop you getting up, “I, uh, I’m going to Quantico. After graduation.”

Quantico was a conversation that had been looming over the two of you for the last three months. Javi wanted to go, and he wanted you to go up to Virginia with him. He begged you to at least apply to the schools in the area. He needed his best friend.

You’d been denied financial aid from the schools that you applied to.You would be staying in Texas. Eventually, with his father’s health declining after catching a bad bit of pneumonia, it had started to look like Javi might be staying in Texas too. But Chucho ended up making a full recovery, and insisted Javi went to Quantico to advance his career.

It seemed he would be taking his father’s advice. He would be leaving you.

But, you realized, the way Javi was telling you, the way his eyes were pleading with you now… It was almost as if he was waiting for you to ask him not to go. Javi would do anything you asked him to. But you couldn’t ask him to give up his future.

“I’m happy for you, Javi,” you managed to get out, tears collecting in your eyes as you smiled. “You’ve worked so hard to get there, you’re going to be amazing.”

Javi looked almost heartbroken. He had been so sure that you were going to yell and scream at him, beg him to please just stay. Yet, here you were, encouraging him to do the one thing he simultaneously wanted more than anything and didn’t want at all.

He just nodded silently and waited for you to finish the milkshake before taking you back home. You had both been anxious on the ride home. You knew it was now or never, because he was leaving in a week. The problem was that you weren’t going with him. Could you do it, knowing you’d be giving him a taste of what would never be?

You didn’t have time to think too hard about it before Javi had your face in his hands and was planting the sweetest kiss on your lips.

Before you could stop yourself, you whispered, “But, you’re leaving…”

The both of you stayed frozen for a few moments, before the tears in your eyes spilled over and you were rushing inside. Javi didn’t chase you, even though he wanted to.

The two of you avoided each other at school the following Monday. And then, a week later, he left.

Five years passed without much more than a few phone calls and a handful of letters passed between the two of you. You both chose to ignore the way that prom night ended. You needed each other too much. Even if it was a distanced friendship now, you chalked it up to growing up. Of course you weren’t going to be best friends forever, and it was foolish of you to consider that the distance wouldn’t change things.

But then, Javi walked into the diner. The same diner where he told you he was leaving. The same diner you still worked at every night, noon to close.

You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him and grabbing him in a tight hug. He hugged you back, of course, squeezing you tightly and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear about how much he missed you.

“Javi, what are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be working for the DEA!” You squeezed him tighter, despite questioning his presence.

“What, I can’t visit home every once in a while, squirt?” He smirked that trademark smirk of his. You finally pulled back, crossing your arms over your chest and quirking an eyebrow.

“We haven’t seen you here since Christmas four years ago. And even then, only your dad saw you because you were only here for a night.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, I need to visit more,” he grumbled. His energy shifted into a nervous one. “You know, I’m actually here to, uh, give you this. I wanted to give it to you in person.”

He pulled a small slip of paper from his jacket, and you felt the blood leaving your head. You’d seen so many of these in the past two years, but you supposed you were getting to that age now.

“I wanted you to hear it from me,” he said gently, “because you mean more to me than anything. There’s a plus-one, if you, uh, need it.”

His brow furrowed as he said it, as though he was upset at the idea of you having a plus-one, and you were so confused by his expression that you almost forgot to take the paper from him. The invitation. A wedding invitation. Javi, your Javi, was getting married. You could hear a pin drop in the silence of the diner, mostly empty now, save for a few tables quietly eating amongst themselves.

“Congratulations, oh my god,” you finally exclaimed, quickly hugging him quickly so that he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to overflow. You hoped you sounded excited enough to throw off suspicion.

The two of you caught up over a milkshake and a plate of fries, and for a moment you could almost forget that five years had passed. You could almost forget the wedding invitation burning a hole into your apron.

When he asked you about your relationships, you were embarrassed to tell the truth. But you did, because you couldn’t exactly lie to Javi. He was still your best friend, distance and time spent away aside. You told him the truth, that none of the guys you met were the right fit. It was hard to find a good guy in this small town, you had jested. It was true. The best one had left.

Eventually, Javi left with a slip of, “Lorraine’s waiting for me—,” and you cut him off with a pained smile and a, “It’s fine, no it’s totally fine, I have to finish my shift anyways!”

In the end, you couldn’t make yourself go to the wedding. You picked up an extra shift that night, and focused on polishing each piece of silverware until it sparkled.

You’d learn two days later that Javi left her at the altar. Well, that is to say, he never even made it to the altar. He didn’t arrive to the church at all. He simply turned around, and booked a flight back to Quantico, tux and all. He was on the first plane out.

You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. You figured that it didn’t matter. You’d never get the chance to do either one.

———————————————————————

Ten years passed after that. You saw Javi at some Christmases, and you were sure to give him hell for leaving a woman at the altar, but for the better half of ten years, you didn’t see him. When he went down to Columbia, he didn’t come home for holidays. He didn’t want to bring any trouble back up to Texas. It was understandable, but your heart ached every day.

You tried to move on. You’d been trying for fifteen years. But, if you were honest with yourself, there was just no one for you like Javi. No one could compare to him.

You were still working at the diner, but you’d been promoted. The old owner, when he passed away, left the entire thing in your name. He requested that his estate pay off the rest of the mortgage and overdue bills, and you were gifted the diner, completely debt free. You refused to just accept the free money, though. Along with your new duties as the owner, you still worked at the diner five nights per week. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t really have anything else to do. Your cat had food and water, your plants were watered in the morning, and you didn’t have anyone waiting for you at home. So, every night you helped serve tables, run food, and even bus if it was busy enough. You were happy to work. It kept your mind off of how lonely you were.

You were working on closing up one cold, rainy night, when you heard the door open. You never got any patrons after 11pm, so you immediately grew suspicious. You subtly reached for the baseball bat you kept behind the counter.

“We’re closing up, can I help—,” you froze. Javi was standing in the diner soaking wet and shivering. “Oh my god, Javi?”

“H-Hey squirt,” he managed to get out through his chattering teeth.

You hurried over to him, shoving his jean jacket off his shoulders. “You’re going to make yourself sick in these wet clothes! Come on, I’ve got some stuff in the employee lost and found that might work.”

You quickly locked up the front and ushered a shaking Javi to the back room, shoving the first clothes you found that might fit him into his arms. He started stripping his shirt off before you could turn around, and you felt yourself going bright red. After an embarrassingly long moment of you being frozen in shock, you managed to spin around and hurry out to the front with a, “I’m gonna make you something warm to drink!”

Your shaky hands somehow threw two mugs of tea together, and you set them on a table just as Javi came out of the back dressed in oversized sweats and a tie dye hoodie. You offered a small smile and sat at the booth, before realizing it was the booth that you’d sat at together so many times. This was the booth that you’d sat at the night he told you he was leaving. And the night he’d invited you to his wedding.

He sat at the other side of the booth, his ears a bit pink as he bashfully avoided your eyes.

“T-Thanks for the clothes. I don’t know why I didn’t grab an umbrella as I left,” he ducked his head.

You just gently pushed the mug of tea closer to him. “So, what brings you here? What did I do to be graced with your presence on this fine night?”

You didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so snarky, but you saw Javi flinch at your words. His hands wrapped around the warm mug as he stared into the tea.

“I’m, uh… I’m back from Columbia. For good.”

That wasn’t what you’d expected. In your surprised state, you took a moment to examine Javi. This Javi was rugged and worn out. He had permanent bags under his eyes, worry lines in his forehead, a thick, prominent mustache on his lip where there used to be only peach fuzz. His shoulders were hunched over and tense, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them. And he was, you realized.

The man in front of you was not the boy you graduated high school with. He wasn’t even the man who left his wife at the altar. This man was seasoned and hard, well aware of the darkest horrors that the world possessed.

“What happened down there, Javi?” You had to ask. You knew from the way his jaw clenched that he didn’t want to talk about it, but you also knew that if he didn’t talk about it with you, then there was no one else who stood a chance.

And so, he told you. He recounted his struggles finding Escobar, and then Escobar’s escape. He told you about Escobar’s death, and then the rise of the Calí cartel. The things he’d thought he had to do for the cause. The things he would never repeat to anyone else for years to come. The nightmares that plagued his mind every night. And you listened to him. You didn’t interrupt, except to reach across the table and grab his hand, squeezing tightly every so often to remind him that you were here.You’d always be here, and you both knew that. Javi left and came back and then left again, and you stayed planted to the spot he left you in, waiting patiently for him to come back.

Javi finally finished recounting the stories from Columbia around two in the morning. You’d sat there, holding hands across the table for nearly three hours. You knew, in your heart, that it was time to tell Javi. If he accepted you, you’d go from there. If he rejected you, it was time to move on and try to find some semblance of happiness while you still had time.

“Javi, I—”

“I love you, squirt.”

You must have been looking at him like he’d just told you he was growing a third leg, because he burst out laughing. You couldn’t form a coherent thought. All that came out was a broken, “W-What?”

Javi just tilted his head at you. “Well… you can’t be all that surprised, can you? After all this time, you don’t know?”

“Javi… Javi, we’ve been friends for thirty years, but I’ve barely seen you for half of them. You were… You almost got married, Javi! To someone who wasn’t me! And you have the nerve to say I can’t be all that surprised?!” You knew the volume of your voice had risen substantially, but you didn’t care. He had no right to come into your diner and act like, after fifteen years, he had any right to spring this on you.

“Squirt, I…” Javi sighed, getting up and coming around to your side of the table. He sat next to you and picked up your hands, clasping them tightly in his own. “I messed up. I know. I thought you were better off without me, that you were going to go on to do bigger and better things, and you have, but I… I’m going to be selfish, squirt, for one more time. I’m going to be selfish and tell you that I love you, and I need you. With Lorraine… I proposed because she expected it. We didn’t even really get along that well. A month after I proposed…,” his head dropped, ashamed as he spoke his next words, “I said your name in bed.”

If you hadn’t already been frozen to your seat with shock, you’re sure you would’ve fallen over.

“I know it was unfair to her. I wish I’d never asked her to marry me. I should have come back for you, told you how much I loved you and how much I needed you. You’ve been so patient with me, I know you have. You’ve been nothing but amazing, even when I was a shitty friend to you. I wanted you to come to Quantico with me, and when you couldn’t, I thought… I thought that it was the universe telling me that it wouldn’t work. But fuck the universe. I am so sorry that I ever left you, squirt. I love you. And, if you’ll have me, I want to be with you. I want to marry you, if you’ll let me.” He kissed the backs of your hands.

You stayed frozen for a moment. You knew that none of this was easy for Javi. Admitting his true feelings, owning up to his mistakes, apologizing. He was coming to you, with his heart on his sleeve, and begging you not to turn him away. And how could you, if you were honest? You’d stayed in this state, in this town, in this diner, all for him. You told yourself it was just stability and familiarity that kept you there, but deep down you had always known that you were waiting for Javi. Staying put, right where he left you, just in case he ever decided to come back. And here he was, asking you to love him.

“Javi, I love you, too.”

You’d never seen Javier cry. The day he left, he came close. When his arms wrapped around you, you’d felt him shudder, just once. When you pulled back, his eyes stayed averted, and he didn’t look at you again. Except when he left, about to board his flight, and his eyes were just a tad shinier than usual.

Now, Javi allowed full tears to stream down his cheeks, as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him. He spoke no words, he just held you. He never truly thought that he would get to.

You slowly pulled back, reaching up to cup his cheeks and wipe away his tears. “I love you, Javi. And I… I’ll marry you, one day. Let’s see how this goes? I don’t want to spook you by us moving too fast, I can’t lose you.”

Javi shook his head frantically. “No, you’ll never lose me. I’m never leaving you again, I was a fool to have left for all these years.”

You wiped at his cheeks one more time, before leaning up to kiss him. And he kissed you back.

You supposed that, if you finally got to have him, then all of the pain you went through while he was gone was worth it. Your waiting hadn’t been for nothing, you finally had your Javi. He was holding you, right here, right now, in the same place he’d left you. Only, this time, he was here to stay. He was here with you.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 54

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45 | Chapter 46 | Chapter 47 | Chapter 48 & Chapter 49 | Chapter 50 | Chapter 51 | Chapter 52 | Chapter 53

It is past midday by the time the grand hall doors can be opened.

Wei Ying had intended to hold the meeting in the early morning, to spend the midday meal with A-Yuan, to perhaps have an evening alone with Lan Zhan. He had planned the day’s events with his old body in mind, counting on his old resilience and boundless energy. Instead, it had taken nearly two hours just to dress him, the majority of the work accomplished by A-Sang and shijie, while Wei Ying struggled with the simple task of remaining upright. It is astounding, how many mindless, day-to-day tasks, he had taken for granted in the past. Meaningless actions, such as putting on his own robes, securing his own belt, standing on a single foot to slide into his own shoes. Each one so straightforward and undemanding, each one suddenly transformed into an arduous undertaking, requiring many hands, frequent periods of rest, and more than one muttered curse by everyone involved in the process.

Running over the rooftops seems a distant dream. The act of walking, supported by both A-Sang and Lan Zhan, to the grand hall dais, settles a trembling ache into every one of his muscles. By the time he is seated on the throne, his robes adjusted, his sleeves pulled down to cover the splint on his wrist, he is tired enough to sleep the rest of the day away.

Patience has never been his strong suit, and the inability to force his body into obedience fills him with frustration that can find no outlet. Lan Zhan’s eyes settle on his broken wrist so often, that Wei Ying can practically hear the unspoken string of self-recriminations. In the wake of his earlier confession, A-Sang has been mostly silent and subdued. It is impossible to be angry with shijie, whose patience can rival the Immortal Mountain itself.

Jiang FengMian is admitted to the grand hall before any of the others, and Wei Ying, irritable and exhausted, snaps at the man without thinking. It does not lessen his discomfort, and the reproachful look he receives in response only sours his mood further.

At the root of this frustration, there is a fear he cannot voice. His body will recover. His current weakness will not last forever. But will he ever again belong to himself alone? Will he ever again be able to view his own anger as justified? Or will he be forced to forever question the root cause?

Any descendants that posses the affinity, Xue ChengMei had told A-Sang.

The words have replayed in Wei Ying’s mind countless times, invading every thought, tainting every past decision. He wonders if the boy knew the terror that his words would carve into Wei Ying’s bones. Is there another YanLing DaoRen waiting somewhere inside of Wei Ying? How deep does the affinity run? What will it take, to bring it out into the open?  

If these were questions that Wei Ying had never considered before, he would find Xue ChengMei’s revelations easier to bear. But they are not new; somewhere, in the murky depths of Wei Ying’s belief that he had never truly been suited to the throne, these questions have reared their ugly head each time his confidence had faltered. He had never executed a man without wondering if YanLing DaoRen would have done the same, without wondering if his mother would have offered a pardon instead. Now, even his simple frustrations are no longer just his own, forever tainted by the blood that he shares.

Can he ever again trust any decisions he makes? Can he ever again be certain that they came from a righteous place?

Fingers brush his hand, mindful of the injured wrist. Lan Zhan’s gaze is focused on the entry of the hall, on the task ahead. His face is cool and collected, any emotion that is concealed beneath the surface impossible to read. But his fingers are a gentle reassurance, a promise and a pledge, spoken in a language Wei Ying is finally beginning to understand.

The touch does not take away the anxiety, but it muffles it into something bearable, something Wei Ying can push down, back into the dark recesses from which it came. If he cannot trust himself, he can trust Lan Zhan. He can trust A-Sang and shijie, Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing.

“They may enter,” he says.

It is immediately obvious that there have been some slight changes in the hierarchy. The Jiang and the Nie are the first to be admitted, as they always have been, but the place traditionally taken by the Jin is now filled by Lan XiChen and a small number of Lan disciples. The Jin Sect is next, but instead of MeiShan Yu, the Fan Sect follows immediately behind, Fan XiaoHu striding proudly at her father’s shoulder, and making no effort to conceal her contempt for Jin GuangShan. This arrangement has, of course, pushed some sects further to the back. Wei Ying notices Sect Leader Yao’s disgruntled gaze measuring the new distance between himself and the dais.

Any arrangement that keeps the man further away from Wei Ying is a good one, regardless of the circumstances. He thinks, if only he had known that nearly dying would have such an unexpected benefit, he may have risked his life sooner.

It takes some time, as it always does, for all to settle in their respective places, for the shuffling of the feet to cease, for the murmurs to grow silent. On Wei Ying’s left, Lan Zhan had refused the pillow, opting to stand. On his right, A-Sang had settled in his usual place, his easy posture concealing nerves that are just as brittle as Wei Ying’s own. The weight of the dragon crown is pushing down on Wei Ying’s neck, a dull pain radiating through his shoulders. His ribs ache, resentful of his stiff posture. His wrist, a minor pain compared to some of the others, is beginning to throb with greater frequency. He does not know how long he will be capable of keeping his spine fixed in a straight line, how long before his weakness becomes apparent to men who have always known exactly where to look.  

He does not have the time for diplomacy. The thing he must do, which would have taken a great deal of finesse and caution in the past, must be done through crude and forceful tactics instead.

“There will be no war with the Wen,” he says, his words cutting through the murmurs.

Before any of the Sect Leaders can gather their thoughts to voice opposition, Wei Ying signals to Jiang Cheng.

A group of Jiang disciples carry forward an object wrapped in a red silk cloth, setting it down in front of the dais. Unwrapped, the parcel reveals a set of armor, the steel polished and shining, an intricate dragon with milky jade eyes depicted on the chest plate.

“This is the gift from Wen RuoHan,” Wei Ying says coldly, “The gift that was delivered by the Wen Sect disciples, and later replaced by a cursed object in time for the Gifting Ceremony.”

He does not mention the fact that the gift had come with a message, Wen RuoHan’s decisive hand easy to read in each ruthless stroke. Wei Ying had been right to assume that the man had been ready for war when the gift was sent. The note had offered the Emperor sincere congratulations on managing to reach the age of eighteen. It had also expressed a hope that this set of armor may actually make Wei Ying a worthy opponent in the upcoming war, as well as an offhanded assurance that, at the very least, the armor will guarantee a dignified appearance to his corpse.

The others, especially Lan Zhan, had been deeply offended on his behalf. Wei Ying, relieved to not be suiting up for battle, could muster up very little resentment. He had always found Wen RuoHan’s arrogance amusing, rather than disrespectful, but he is fairly certain that none of the others would understand his forbearance.

The note is currently tucked in his qiankun pouch, where it will remain, unread by both the General and the High Councilor.

“Your Majesty,” the High Councilor says, “Are you certain this is not some trick by Wen RuoHan?”

“The Royal Companion had inspected each gift the day before the Ceremony. Between the inspection and the Ceremony itself, the Wen Sect gift was replaced. Wen RuoHan may be untrustworthy, but the Royal Companion is beyond reproach.”

“I wonder why,” Jin GuangShan says carefully, “the Royal Companion did not set our minds at ease sooner? It certainly would have been a grave offense, to have attacked a blameless Sect due to a misunderstanding.”

“An attack?” Wei Ying says, his voice dangerously low, “How can there be an attack without a declaration of war? Who, other than the Divine Ruler, would dare declare war in His name? Surely, the Jin Sect Leader did not mean to use those words.”

“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan stutters, “Forgive me, I misspoke--”

“The Royal Companion,” Wei Ying interrupts, “has behaved in a manner befitting his position. Those who have overreached during my absence will find that my tolerance has limits. The Sect Leaders may prepare to extend their stay in the Immortal Mountain until these matters have been resolved to the Divine Ruler’s satisfaction.”

The silence that greets his words is thick and indignant.

Wei Ying believes he may have very little time left before his spine gives up on the tedious task of keeping him upright.

“You are dismissed,” he says.

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

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

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

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

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

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

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

[ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover]

Good Looking Stranger

Summary: A handsome stranger finally stops by the café where you work after weeks just walking by.

Warnings: Language

Word count: 1,6k+

A/N: This is my submission to @browngirlmagic 1k Writing Challenge, congratulations Ayesha!

Thank you always @shellbilee for helping me, and making sure I didn’t write anything unintelligible. I love you girl!

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

It was a quiet night, and with finals behind your lucky regulars, it would probably remain like that for the rest of the month.

Your hope for better tips rested on the increasing temperature and tourists seeking refuge and refreshments in the small café where you worked.

You had the evening shift and it was almost time for the handsome stranger to cross the street and pass by the window.

Tall, dark haired, and if there was any more light, you’d have been able to see the color of his eyes, but your bet was on blue.

Like clockwork, he exited the subway station, crossed the street and, to your amazement and slight panic, entered the café.

You held your smile as best as you could while you served a steaming cup of cappuccino and a slice of carrot cake to an old man sitting at the table closest to the window.

As if drawing your eyes like a magnet, his figure strutting through the room made you slowly turn. He chose the very last stool by the counter, sitting sideways with his back to the wall and facing the door.

Before his eyes could reach yours on his sweep of the room, you swiftly turned back.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” you asked the older gentleman, and his full-mouthed ‘no’ was enough to get you moving.

“Good evening and welcome!” you greeted the newcomer with what you hoped was a warm smile, doing your best to hide your anxiety. “What can I get you?”

His head, buried in his phone until you spoke, snapped up. His eyes met yours, their surprising shade, a steely, deep sky blue in the dim lights, took your breath away.

After a moment of mutual gawking, he blinked and cleared his throat.

“Uhm, I’ll have a…” he paused, frowning at the menu written on the wall. “Uh, a latte.”

Uncertainty clear in his tone, his eyes swiveled back to yours and a frown mirrored the one you unwittingly displayed.

“Sure thing. It’ll only take a sec.” you replied, shaking off the odd impression you had, and moved away to prepare his order, making sure to always keep an eye on him.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes were again glued to the screen and undiluted tension colored his features.  

Between preparing coffee and evaporating the milk, he had started typing.

You couldn’t help noticing he was wearing gloves when you were almost in summer, and weirder still, that he’d wear them inside.

You finished making his latte, and stood opposite the oddly mysterious man who apparently was in another galaxy.

“Here you go!” you announced, and once more his attention was seized abruptly. “Would you like anything to eat?” you insisted to his clear annoyance.

“No, thanks.” he answered, turning his focus immediately back to the device in his hands.

“Trouble in paradise?” you tried to get his attention, and rolled your eyes internally at your lame choice of words.

He sighed and put the phone in the pocket of his jeans.

“Kinda.” he started, with visible reluctance. “Are you like the bartender of this coffee shop?”

The tilt of his head was really cute, and it was your turn to hold back a sigh for an entirely different reason.

“Kinda.” you threw back at him, quirking your brow.

The smile he rewarded you with was something to die for. Never had you seen something so spontaneous and genuine from a complete stranger. It disarmed you of any annoyance you may have harbored.

“Tell me all about it. I promise it dies with me.” you prodded.

Crossing your arms over the counter, you settled in a somewhat comfortable position and gave him your undivided attention.

“Well, there’s this woman…” he began.

“Oooh!” you interrupted smiling, and earning another heart-stopping smile in return.

“She works for a company that…” he paused, looking away for a second and brought his beautiful eyes back to yours. “Well, her company competes with mine, kinda. Like industrial espionage, you know?”

“Oh, the plot thickens. And you like her?” you half asked, half guessed.

“She’s gorgeous, but I haven’t really had a chance. A chance to get to know her better, I mean.” he looked at his full glass of latte and took a sip.

“And is it impossible to do that?” you asked, more engrossed in the story than you had intended.

“Not impossible. But it would go against a lot of rules and…”

“Do you believe she is worth it?” you interrupted him.

“I believe she can be, yeah. I want to get her out of trouble. That company of hers… it’s bad news.” he shook his head and his jaw twitched. “I would have to make sure my moves were well planned, and that I didn’t screw up.” he replied, lost in his thoughts.

“You know, the Second Law of Thermodynamics states that everything goes from order to disorder.” you said, casually. “If you think you can control chaos, you’re setting yourself up for failure. And whenever you think you have control, that’s when things blow in your face.”

He studied you for a second longer than you were comfortable with, and as soon as you busied yourself with the over polished counter surface, he opened his mouth.

“You studied Physics?” he asked quietly.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“I read a lot.” you replied matter-of-factly. “Don’t sleep much.”

Your shrug dismissing it caused him to squint minutely. You pretended not to see, moving instead closer to the client who had just come in and sat much closer to the door and the other man.

You held a finger, signaling you’d be back in a minute.

While you took the order you saw the gloved fingers back at their previous activity.

A chai latte and a blueberry banana muffin later, you were in front of blue eyes again.

“I changed my mind. Do you have turnovers?” he asked.

“Made this afternoon. Apple, cranberry and walnuts.” you replied with a smile.

“I’ll take twelve of those.” he said, eyeing you expectantly. “To go, please.”

“I’m sorry. Twelve?” you exclaimed, baffled.

“Sweet tooth.” he explained with a shrug. “Thank you for the talk. It helped a lot!”

You nodded, taking the money he owed you and feeling very confused about the whole exchange.

“Do come back!” you called after him when he was a few stools away from you.

“If these taste as good as they smell, you bet I will!” he replied with a smirk, lifting the bag with the turnovers.

After he left, the older gentleman paid for his cake and drink and left as well, but not before winking at you and fake whispering “If you don’t pounce on that hunk the next time, I will!”.

As he disappeared from sight, the man sitting closer to the door got up and locked it.

“Finally alone.” he declared in a heavy accent. “So, no useful intel from this first contact?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” you replied patiently. “Do not rush me. I haven’t been busting my ass here for the past six months for you to just show up and undermine my entire operation.”

“They sent me. They want a report.” he told you. “Do not shoot the messenger.”

His chuckling was grating, and much like your shift, your patience with him was coming to an end.

“I have to lock up. Pay up and make your way out. Please.”

“I’ll be around. Don’t look at me like that! Orders!” he barked at you upon seeing your scowl. “I’m redundancy!”

“Fine!” you said through your teeth. “Now leave. I’ve got shit to do.”

“Hail Hydra!” he whispered, not waiting for you to reciprocate. Spinning on his heels he left hurriedly.

“Yeah, yeah.” you grumbled.

So now you had a guard dog to watch your every step. Now, that he had finally entered the café.

You had a bad feeling about that.

Whatever you were expecting from Sargent James B. Barnes, former Hydra operative known as Winter Soldier, was not what you found.

Bringing him back in would be a task much more complicated than you had anticipated.

***

Two blocks away.

“Seriously? No coffee for me?” Sam asked outraged, rubbing his hands together while eyeing the bag in Bucky’s hand while he was still getting into the car. “So, what’s she like?”

“She’s been very well trained.” Bucky replied, his lips pursing in the familiar way that told Sam he wasn’t telling the whole story.

“Spit it out tinman, it’ll do you good.” he said,  while gesturing to the bag which Bucky still clutched.

“I think I trained her.” he confessed, handing an agape Sam the bag. “Close your mouth bird boy.” Bucky continued, serious.

“You mean the soldier trained her.” Sam replied, already expecting the old-timer to talk back.

“What’s the difference?” he countered, morose. “Back in Siberia I may have spent most of the time as the Soldier, but there were moments of consciousness.”

Sam chose not to reply. The bitterness was still there, despite all the work with Shuri.

He was beginning to regret accepting a Hydra linked mission from Hill, so soon after Bucky got his head back in shape. It would be devastating to watch the organization take all that progress away from him; to watch him be a prisoner of his own mind again.

“Those moments weren’t enough for Sargent Barnes to train anyone.” Sam told him, opening the bag, taking a turnover with a napkin and humming in appreciation before continuing. “She’ll be waiting for the Soldier, you’ll show her Bucky.”

Bucky looked at him baffled at his speech, and shook his head at the sizable bite Sam took out of the pastry.

“Steve was so much better at pep talks than you are.”

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Hows about finger in the mail with Patton receiving the finger? ((& if you feel particularly bold, perhaps it's Roman’s?))

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

Thanks for the request I hope you like it!

The Perfect Manicure

Summary: Roman hasn't answered anyone's calls in a week. Patton wants to know why.

Warnings: gore, severed finger, vomiting, missing person, panic

Prompt: Finger in the Mail, requested from tumblr

Ships: platonic Royality (Patton and Roman), background Intrulogical (Logan x Remus)

WC: 2750

“If I never see another goddamn bubble sheet again I would be the happiest man alive.Can you believe they still have us using those even if the thing to check them is broken?”

Patton smiled over at Roman who was currently gesturing wildly with his hands as he ranted. “Language please. But yeah, I don’t know why they couldn’t just get a cheap light box to replace it.”

“Because all the school's funds go into sports! Which is great but teachers have no respect as it is and then they go and rub it in our faces with not enough pencils and a broken grading machine and damn bubble tests.” 

“Language.” Patton chided again but he was largely ignored. Roman had been an English teacher for a couple years now, his love of writing being something he wanted to share with growing minds. His bright outlook had been somewhat dashed however as he learned just how important sticking to a curriculum was and teachers etiquette and preparing students more for state tests than learning how to nurture their creativity. It hadn’t stopped him though, instead making him push for a creative writing club which he poured most of his free hours into to make sure the kids that were a part of it got as much direction and encouragement as he could give them.

He was a great teacher and an even better friend. Patton had known him since college and since then they were inseparable, boisterous but genuinely caring personality making him a perfect match for Patton who liked to nearly smother his loved ones with attention that Roman practically lived off of. From there he had met his brother Remus who acted just like him except more...demented, and his husband Logan which Patton was surprised about until he saw how well the more logic based man reeled the chaos in when it got to be too much and Remus knowing just how to push the others boundaries to remind him to have fun. Meeting Virgil who’s anxiety brought some much needed caution to the often very impulsive group had created an incredibly tight bond that Patton could sincerely say he wouldn't know what to do without.

An idea struck him suddenly as he looked at Roman’s hands, a bit dry and without their usual coating of colorful polish since he had been so busy lately. Patton looked down at his own ragged hands from always chewing on them, never quite breaking the habit even if he did set a terrible example for any of his own students who might catch him in the act. Decision made he interrupted Roman mid rant, feeling slightly bad for not paying attention for at least five minutes but pushing on excitedly nonetheless.

“We have a week off for winter break don’t we? Why don’t we go get a manicure for the holidays, something to relax and feel pretty.”

Roman grinned back at him, thankfully not seeming to care that he had been cut off. “Patton that’s perfect! We can actually hang out together properly instead of only catching each other over lunch. Oh! I just got that new polish from Virgil too that I can bring in!”

They set a time to meet and went off in their own directions, warmth pooling in Patton’s chest at the thought of finally being able to properly talk to Roman rather than stealing whatever time he could in between classes. He loved his job and he knew at the end of the day Roman did too, it was just you had to try so much harder at friendships as an adult with a job than you did when you lived in the same dorm in college. He shook his head. It didn’t matter; they had a relaxing date set and short of Remus and Logan blowing up their kitchen again and calling him and Roman to help clean up before the landlord noticed nothing was going to ruin it.

----

Patton was worried.

Winter break had been just what they all needed to unwind. The whole gang had gotten together at Logan and Remus’ house to celebrate the holidays, Virgil hiding a smile as Roman had shown off his bright red and sparkly nails to anyone who would pay attention, which was everyone considering how loud Roman could get when he really wanted to. They had all exchanged gifts and everyone had been overjoyed that the gift they chose had been received with excited happiness. Movie night had then gone off without a hitch with all of them being too tired and comfortable to go back to their own homes for the night so it had ended up turning into an impromptu sleepover where everyone scrambled to find something to wear as pajamas...unless you were Remus in which case you just stripped, wrapped yourself up in a blanket and faceplanted on the floor. Patton’s mouth twitched up a bit from his worried frown; no amount of yelling from Roman had reversed that decision and eventually they had all settled down and accepted the late morning in store for them the next day. 

And now a few days had passed- a week to be exact. Patton had sent out a text or two to the usually talkative man to see how the rest of his break was going and if he wanted to hang out again before their holiday ended, not receiving any response. He had tried not to be hurt about it since as little time they had to spend with each other they also had just as little alone time, so Patton just took the lack of response as Roman needing to decompress a bit before coming back to classrooms full of students and meetings full of teachers, silently congratulating him for setting his own boundaries and taking the time he needed even if he wished Roman would have said something first. But now Patton was at school, teaching his class, while Roman was not. A sub had had to be called in when it became clear Roman wouldn’t be showing up and didn’t answer the call the office had sent out to see if maybe he was just running late. Patton had sent a couple of texts himself with no response, the ones he had sent before break ended left unread.

So Patton was worried, and he was going to go to Roman’s small apartment directly after school and see what was wrong or at the very least why he seemed resolute not to answer anyone’s calls or texts or voicemails or- Patton shook his head a bit. He had a full day to get through and he truly could not afford a meltdown in front of his students. He made a vague gesture towards the board saying something about due dates and homework before he flopped heavily onto his chair and tried not to look at the clock too much as a small courtesy to his students. Instead he busied himself organizing random files in his computer until the bell rang, making sure to tell everyone goodbye just like always while packing up faster than he ever had to get out the door as quickly as possible. Driving to Roman’s apartment building was a blur- he had done it so many times he was startled when he realized he had made it there without even noticing. Logan and Remus lived in this building too in a slightly bigger apartment since they were still saving up for something better. Patton and Virgil lived in a building not too far away where the rent was just slightly cheaper but the apartments a little more lived in as a result. Quickly sending a text to Virgil, Logan and Remus letting them know what he was doing he got out of the car and made his way up, Virgil shooting back a text that he’d be there in ten and was bringing their mail with him.

He hurried up the steps as he sent another text to Roman telling him he was coming up, hoping that maybe he’d finally answer but as he stood in front of the silent doorway with no answer his mind was made up. He only hesitated a moment before knocking loud enough the neighbors could probably hear, opening the noise would scare Roman into answering.

“Roman, open up this prank isn’t funny!” Fishing the spare key out of his pocket he quickly fit it into the lock and pushed his way inside. Politeness be damned he wasn’t going another second without knowing what was going on. 

The apartment was dark, curtains drawn and the lights off making it look like he had just gone on an extended holiday rather than what was supposed to be a short winter break. Flicking on the light revealed a thin layer of dust covering everything and absolutely no sign of Roman, even as Patton searched more and more frantically through the small space in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, that could point towards where he had gone. The bed was made neatly with clothes draped over a chair like he was going to change into his teacher’s attire the very next morning, coming in late to twist some dramatic speel about why he hadn’t been in and what adventure he had found himself sucked into. But there was nothing. Hallway to closet to living room to kitchen to bathroom to bedroom. Over and over and over again until Patton was thoroughly sick with worry turned up not a hint.

Patton sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands. Should he call the police? File for missing person’s? He’d call Logan first; Logan would bring Remus and Remus could try and find something and Logan would know what to do. That was fine. Shakily he opened his phone to find he was still in Roman’s messages, blinking back tears as he sent out one last “Where are you?” before exiting and finding Logan’s contact info.

And froze as a sharp buzz cut through the silent apartment.

Snapping his head he looked around in confusion. Surely not- he opened up Roman’s messages again and typed out a quick “Hello?” hearing that same sound a few seconds later coming from the living room. Standing on wobbly legs he typed out a quick “Come up.” to Logan before stumbling into the adjacent room to search for the phone. Said phone was sitting upside down on the coffee table, overlooked in his panic from earlier. He sat heavily on the couch and reached for it, numb fingers fumbling until he finally got a firm hold of it and typed in the password. They all knew each other’s phone passwords in case of emergencies, Virgil and Remus had insisted on it when it became clear they were a unit, and Patton had never been more grateful to both of them.

So many message notifications- all from him and Logan and Remus and Virgil; all of them simply assuming he needed his space since he did sometimes disappear for a day or two for self care. It annoyed them all but they had learned to respect it, staying out of the way until he showed up again more energized than usual and up to his normal idiocy and flamboyance. But this time...this time something had actually happened, and Patton had done nothing for a week. He had been worried and had done nothing and now Roman was gone with no way of knowing where he was or what had happened and-

“Patton.” Patton looked up to see Logan, Remus and Virgil all standing in the still open doorway, all of them glancing around in concern.He shook his head and weakly held the phone up for them to see, Remus’ eyes blowing wide as he took large strides across the room to snatch it from his hand to start scrolling through it, trying to find some kind of indicator as to what had happened. Virgil walked over as well but chose to sit next to Patton, setting the mail down on the dusty table and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. 

“Your thoughts are really loud, Pat. This isn’t your fault, we'll find him.” Patton bit his lip to keep from crying, instead glancing over at what the other had brought up only to sit up suddenly to get a closer look at the lone package sitting on top. It was addressed to him but he didn’t recognize who it was from, the return address from some town he had never heard of. He picked it up as Remus threw the phone back down to the table and stalked into the kitchen where he and Logan began whispering. Patton paid it no attention, transfixed as he peeled up the tape and opened the box. In it was a sealed box, small and sitting innocently surrounded by paper packing for padding. He carefully dug it out as Virgil stood and he numbly followed, peeling up the tape of the smaller box intending to throw the other one away. Carefully he folded back the flaps and picked away the paper, frowning as some of it stuck together with what looked almost like rust. Which he knew it couldn’t be... since paper doesn't rust. 

He blinked as he stared at what was underneath the paper, brain having to work double time to catch up to what his eyes were telling him was there. Pale, solid and very real, laid a perfectly intact finger. 

Patton was fond of pranks. As much as he loathed spiders, the occasional plastic one being hidden somewhere he’d find it was a classic. Canned snakes and a dumb joke were always a sure way to make him laugh. Even a dumb Halloween prop could get a rise out of him in the right context. But looking at the finger didn’t make him laugh. Nothing about the crusted blood flaking off the severed stump made him want to giggle. The scar on the second knuckle he knew to be from a stick sword fight earned as a six year old couldn’t make him smile. And the slightly chipped, glittery red nail polish coating the neatly filed nail failed to even make him smile. Instead he dropped the box, rusty paper and neat package slipping through his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

He barely registered his friends looking over to him before he turned to the side and spilled the contents of his stomach over the tiled floor. His brain shut down as his throat burned, clutching his stomach like a lifeline as he faintly heard a gasp and then one of the others gagging as well while Remus outright screamed, the sound barely cutting through the fog that settled over Patton’s thoughts. If he had just come sooner, had called more, if they had checked on him  after a couple of days instead of simply assuming- who had even done it? Why would someone- he couldn’t finish  the thought, his stomach and brain both rejecting it as he dry heaved through mounting panic. 

He didn’t know who it was that took him out of the building and sat him on the curb. He barely saw the police lights and definitely didn’t hear any questions directed towards him, shock settled so deeply that it was a chore to simply move from the curb to a car to an office and sat down in an uncomfortable creaking chair. His hand was squeezed tightly but he did nothing in return, simply staring at a file in front of him as various people made their way in and out of the room they were in. He was numb and cold and wanted more than anything else for this to be an elaborately cruel prank that would end any second now. Roman would come through the door and hug him and apologize and Patton would never, ever forgive him for making it go on so long but eventually they’d be fine because they always were. And Patton could wave at him in the mornings and laugh with him about Logan yelling at him for breaking into their apartment again to jump on Remus to wake him up.And they’d smile and sort paperwork until their classes came and everything would turn out fine.

Everything would turn out fine in the morning.

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[mamichigo]

Title: at the bottom (where the eyes can't see)

Pairing: Kokichi/Shuichi

Rating: G

Word count: 2,1k

Tags: Hope's Peak AU, Post Hope's Peak, Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship, Aged-up characters

Summary: "Because, one year ago, Kokichi disappeared without a trace before he could even attend the graduation ceremony."

Shuichi meets Kokichi again.

Notes: Gift for participant #32 in the @kokichigiftexchange

*

"Ouma-kun?"

It's too early in the morning to encounter anyone; the only sound at the beach is the quiet murmur of the waves. A lone person stands where the waves come to lap at their bare feet, and the person shivers in what he can only presume is freezing water. Shuichi is compelled to attribute it to a Christmas phantom, a hallucination born out of wishful thinking.

But he recognizes that messy head of hair, the diminutive stature. Kokichi Ouma looks like he hasn't changed at all, just like he stepped out of one of Shuichi's restless dreams.

His feet crunch on the sand, and it's that rather than the whispered name that alerts Kokichi to his presence. He turns with eyes narrowed, but suspicion melts into recognition when he spots Shuichi. To his surprise, that look morphs into horror almost immediately. Kokichi takes a step back and looks around.

"You don't need to run away," Shuichi hurries to reassure him. "If you don't want to talk, that's… That's okay."

It isn't. Just insinuating it is makes him nauseous. Kokichi smiles in a cynic way that tells him he's still just as good at spotting lies. But, right now, as long as he can make Kokichi stay, Shuichi will tell as many white lies as necessary.

Because, one year ago, Kokichi disappeared without a trace before he could even attend the graduation ceremony.

"It's been awhile," Shuichi whispered.

Kokichi's shoulders hunch. Shuichi is sure that if he could, Kokichi would be putting up a physical barrier between the two of them. In the absence of that, he keeps his body language closed off, not even bothering to fully face Shuichi.

"It would've been much longer if I had my way," Kokichi snaps back. There's none of the joking, childish tone that used to always be in his voice.

"Your plan was to never see any of us again, wasn't it?" Shuichi muses to himself. He watches Kokichi's tense form. "Then, why are you here?"

Kokichi scoffs. "It's a big city, as if I ever planned to just accidentally bump into you. Or anyone, for that matter."

"No, but why would you still be in the city at all? It's not what you'd do, if you wanted to disappear."

Kokichi raises his eyebrows at him in challenge. Shuichi tries to tell himself he isn't trembling as well.

"I'd know. I looked for you."

Kokichi's eyes widen, and just for a moment, there's a crack in his mask. He bites at his bottom lip and a pained twitch appears at the corners of his eyes. Kokichi turns his head down and away, staring at something. Shuichi only now realizes Kokichi is clutching something in his hands.

"I wouldn't expect any less from the Ultimate Detective! Ah, you must be an active detective now, so I'm sure you have all kinds of resources at your disposal now. It wouldn't be hard to look for little ol' me, right?" Kokichi swirls to look at him. The smile on his face looks like it hurts his cheeks. "That's what it means to be an Ultimate, right?"

Shuichi shifts his weight, and realizes he has nothing to say to that. Kokichi was right. It was frighteningly easy to look into Kokichi's whereabouts, and even more terrifying to realize even then he couldn't find his missing ex-classmate.

Everywhere he goes, he sees his other classmates, even the ones he is no longer in contact with. On TV, billboards, online forums, on the news. Every single one of them, except Kokichi.

"What have you been up to all this time?" Shuichi asks, like he has done so many times to the silent copy of Kokichi that appears to him whenever he closes his eyes.

"This," Kokichi deadpans. "But that's not really the question you want to ask, is it, Saihara-chan?"

Shuichi looks to Kokichi's shoes, lying on the sand. To his clenched toes, dipped in water. To his fingers, almost purple at the tips where they clutch some mysterious box. Finally, he looks into Kokichi's eyes, and finds nothing but guarded apathy. Shuichi has gotten no better at reading Kokichi than he used to be when they were both attending Hope's Peak.

"What question do you think I want to ask?"

"Oh, please." Kokichi rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. "I'm not in the mood for the charades."

"That used to be all you were in the mood for."

"But we're not at Hope's Peak anymore, are we?"

Shuichi opens and closes his mouth a few times, but can't settle on an answer. Shuichi swallows.

"But you're still you."

"Don't act like you know me."

"Ouma-kun…"

Shuichi tries to touch his arm, if only for the comfort of knowing this Kokichi is not an illusion, but Kokichi knocks his hand away before he can get close enough to do it. Kokichi pins him with an angry look.

"Is it just me, or have you gotten bolder, Saihara-chan? Assertive, even!" Every word drips with sarcasm. "My sincere congratulations!"

Shuichi presses his lips into a straight line. He looks away for a moment, and is reminded of how cold it truly is when a gust of wind makes goosebumps raise on his flesh. Shuichi watches Kokichi's still trembling figure.

"What are you doing here, Ouma-kun?" Shuichi asks again, dread at the back of his throat.

Kokichi hums in thought. He kicks at the water half-heartedly and winces when droplets of it fall on himself. He shakes the box in his hand, and it rattles.

"To dispose of useless things," Kokichi says.

"On a Christmas morning, in the middle of Winter?"

"What can I say, it's a little symbolic this way."

"What's inside the box?"

They look at each other for a moment that's a few eternities too long. Slowly, slowly, a smile tugs at Kokichi's lips. It's small and secretive; it's the same smile Kokichi had given him the last time they talked, framed by pouring rain and dark clouds. Shuichi's breath catches in his throat.

"Nothing worth remembering."

Perhaps it's the shock of the sudden memory that makes him stand there and watch as Kokichi raises his hands above his head and throws the box into the ocean. Kokichi turns like he means to leave, and the box falls into the water with a wet plop. Shuichi looks from one to the other, and chases after the sinking box.

He manages to see Kokichi whip his head back to look at him, but he doesn't have the time to think about that.

"Saihara-chan!" Kokichi yells when his body hits the water.

Shuichi takes a deep breath and dives. The freezing cold shocks him into almost inhaling the water, but Shuichi slaps a hand to his mouth and swallows the urge to gasp for breath. The seawater stings at his open eyes, but he has enough visibility to see the dark polish of the wooden box. Shuichi grabs for it and resurfaces with a gasp.

He doesn't get out of the water immediately, floating there and breathing with his eyes closed. His fingers are slippery, but he cradles the box to his chest and doesn't let go.

"Saihara-chan!" Kokichi yells again. 

Shuichi raises his head slowly. Numbly, he waves to Kokichi. It takes some effort to drag himself out the water with his clothes weighing him down, but Shuichi manages to get back to shore. 

Shuichi never imagined he'd spend his morning diving into the ocean, with a fuming Kokichi glaring at him. He almost laughs. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Kokichi hisses. He gets into Shuichi's personal space, raised to the tip of his toes to grab Shuichi by the lapels of his coat. The seawater in his hair drips onto Kokichi's cheeks. "I know you can be stupid, but this is a new low!"

Shuichi nods numbly. "A-At least…" His teeth chatter. "At least I got it. The box."

Kokichi stares incredulously at the wooden box. Shuichi can nearly see it when the thread that holds him together snaps.

"You think I care?! I was here to throw that away, you idiot! This was supposed to be the last of— Of all this!" Kokichi shook him roughly.

"Wait, Ouma-kun, that hurts—"

"That stupid school, this city, this useless thing they called a talent. I'm getting rid of all of it."

Kokichi continues his barrage, and Shuichi has to step back when Kokichi gets too close. In the frenzy, they end up tangled in each other's feet, and they both fall painfully. Shuichi winces, but Kokichi isn't deterred. If anything, he looks all the more furious.

"You can't stop me from doing it, Saihara-chan," Kokichi says in a fervent whisper.

"You were trying to say goodbye," Shuichi realizes.

For a tense moment, neither of them speak. Kokichi is still furious above him, expression twisted. Shuichi has a feeling that, if he was capable of doing it sincerely, Kokichi would be crying. Shuichi wants to hug him.

He chuckles quietly.

"What are you laughing about?"

"That's the first time you've ever been this sincere with me," Shuichi says with a smile he knows is too soft.

Kokichi sighs exasperatedly and hangs his head. He ends up with his forehead to Shuichi's collarbone. He's still clutching Shuichi's coat tightly.

"I hate you," Kokichi says.

"I missed you," Shuichi answers.

He dares lay a hand on Kokichi's head, and though he flinches, he doesn't say anything about it. Shuichi runs his fingers from his scalp to the tip of his hair. He gently plays with the tips like he so starkly remembers Kokichi doing whenever he was focused on whatever thoughts were on his mind. Shuichi can see it, in his mind's eyes: Kokichi sitting on the table, legs crossed, grinning as he lies through his teeth about one thing or another.

He doesn't have the time to dwell on the memory, as Kokichi grows antsy in the prolonged contact. He pushes himself away and sits on the sand next to Shuichi. He's still within arm's reach, Shuichi notes as he sits up as well.

Kokichi forces him to remove his outer layer and offers his own coat in exchange.

"Thank you."

"Whatever."

Kokichi rests his cheek on his knee and doesn't bother looking at Shuichi again. Shuichi frowns, just a little bit, but concedes that at least Kokichi has yet to leave.

"Why did you disappear?" Shuichi asks.

"There it is, the million dollar question," Kokichi deadpans with a huff. He draws on the sand with his finger, and Shuichi can see he's pouting too. "Does it really matter?"

"I spent the last year searching for any clues of what might have happened to you." Shuichi allows for just a hint of steel to appear in his voice. "It matters."

Kokichi pauses for a moment. Then, he's right back to doodling. Shuichi can identify what looks like the hat he used to wear.

"There's only so much time you can spend on a farce. Every game has an ending. That's part of the fun too. You could say I got bored."

Shuichi observes him. He wonders if taking Kokichi's coat was a good idea, as he's shaking now more than ever. What he can see of his face is pale, with the exception of the underside of his eyes. He looks shockingly smaller. Shuichi realizes it's because his personality is so muted, a stark difference to how he presented himself so loudly before, impossible to ignore.

"Rather than bored, you just sound tired," Shuichi gently says.

"Thanks, Mr. Detective."

There is more to it than Kokichi is saying, but this is already more personal information than Kokichi would ever reveal about himself. They have time, enough for Shuichi to prod at his motivation, to peel the layers of what happened to Kokichi. He can only hope that's true.

"What are you going to do now?" 

"Same thing I've been doing. Which is to say, nothing." Kokichi seems to remember something. He shifts a little to point at the box Shuichi is holding. "Ah, you can keep that. You went through the trouble of throwing yourself into the ocean for it, so you win."

"I didn't know we were playing," Shuichi jokes.

"Aren't we always."

Carefully, Shuichi undoes the clasp that holds the lid closed. Inside the box, they are a number of little trinkets that he doesn't recognize, and a few he does. He sees a star pin he had won for Kokichi in a festival.

At the bottom of it all, there are a couple of pictures. The one at the top had his own face smiling up at him, with a laughing Kokichi clinging to him by the neck, half raised off the floor.

Shuichi turns a fond smile at Kokichi, but he's still resolutely avoiding eye contact. Shuichi keeps that secret to himself, and reaches for his friend's hand instead. Just a touch of his pinky to Kokichi's. Kokichi twitches, but his hand stays right where it is. 

"I'm glad I didn't let you throw it away."

[sons-of-the-morning-star]

This is part 2 of Chapter/Episode 1.

If you haven't read part 1, you can read it here:

I will do a recap when I get to Chapter/Episode 2; best to start off the first episode or chapter with a bang, am I right?😉

With that out of the way, let's continue!!!

Crowley joins Lucius in drinking before he starts explaining:

"My friend and I have this kid we've been watching over for a while. He's... different, like you amd that photographer guy I talked to earlier."

Lucius nods and writes Crowley a message. 'You want me to join you two as you "watch over" him?'

Crowley shakes his head and rests one leg iver the other. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Not exactly, at least."

Lucius raises an eyebrow. 'Not exactly?'

The doorbell rings and Lucius answers to get a warm, loving, brotherly embrace from Damien...

Through a quarterback level tackle. That sends Lucius to the floor and gasping for air both because he got the wind knocked out of him, and because Damien has his hands on Lucius's throat.

"You son of a bitch!" Damien screams. "Killing criminals isn't enough already!? You just had to take it to another level!? You couldn't help yourself, could you!?"

Lucius uses his telekinesis to throw Damien off of him, thankfully not breaking anything, and into a wall, kicking him pretty weakly because of that tackle.

The expression on Lucius's face doesn't say 'I had nothing to do with any of that,' it ACTUALLY says, 'YOU MADE ME CONCUSS, YOU ASS!'

"Boys, boys," Crowley chides as he watches and finishes his drink. "Don't play rough in the house OR swear in front of me."

Damien stands up, but Lucius backs away, making very weak gestures that finally mean something when he points to his eyes, then a window. He doesn't know a lot of sign yet, but he is learning.

'Stalker.'

"I don't stalk you, Senator Wagner." Damien says that part in a very mocking way, which does not sit well with Lucius.

"Before you two tear each other apart," Crowley calls, "mind if I remind you that you don't have a choice?"

Lucius folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. 'What if I don't?'

Crowley shouts, "AZIRAPHALE!" and dices to the ground.

Our angel friend comes out from behind a wall and holds a cross in his hand, right way up.

Even though it's far away, it still has "bad" effects on Lucius, making him groan and fall to the ground. Imagine if you had one of those headaches that don't hurt, but make your head feel heavy and weird, like you need to sleep, BUT IT'S IN YOUR ENTIRE BODY.

Damien has a similar reaction as Aziraphale steps closer.

"So sorry, boys, but you need to listen!"

"Like I said earlier," Crowley cuts in, "it takes a demon to know a demon. The same goes for you two and your brothers."

Lucius coughs and nods his head, agreeing with what the pair are saying as long as they put the cross away.

Aziraphale puts it down and nods back. "Good. Thank you. He'll be here tomorrow."

With a nod, both Aziraphale and Crowley leave, Crowley leaving them some custady papers.

Once the two are a good distance away, Damien speaks up, though neither he or Lucius stand; an angel wielding a cross is enough to weaken them ten fold.

"Congratulations. You're a father."

Lucius pulls himself up and smacks Damien before standing up.

I should probably mention that Lucius's house is bigger than we're first seeing. I kinda forgot to mention this in part 1, but Lucius lives in a multi leveled house. There have been instances of "co-workers" needing to stat the night so they don't get into ant accidents, die, or get arrested. Co-workers like political allies that were not brainwashed and anyone in Lucius's party with a good political rank.

Back to the story, Lucius throws away the empty bottle Crowley had and puts his back in the fridge before starting a pot of coffee.

Damien joins him in the kitchen and leans against the counter.

"So, we have brothers to look after."

Lucius groans and shrugs as he nods. 'Seems like it.'

"I already have an apartment, by the way."

'Then live there. Just don't squat here with our so-called brother.'

Damien narrows his eyes. "I have some bad news, then. I can't exactly afford to have an emergency flight back home. And I can't bail on my company when they want to know what Future Senator of the United States has planned once he's in office."

Lucius leans and tips his head back as he groans, rolling his eyes.

"How do you like tricking all those people, huh? About killing and manipulating anyone in your way? Doesn't it bother you?"

Lucius eyes Damien and then holds his hands out before writing a message.

'Pretty good if they deserve it.'

The two stare each other down before Lucius sighs.

Note here, whenever Lucius "talks" just assume the more cohesive sentences are either written out or a gesture that's easy to read, while ones that are chunkier are his signing. Like, 'I don't think that's a good idea to do,' is his writing or gesturing, while 'not good,' is his signing.

Back to Lucius. 'Fine. You can stay for the night. Don't get comfortable here.'

"Trust me, I won't."

With one last good night glare, the two part ways, Lucius in his own room and Damien on the couch.

CUT TO THE NEXT MORNING!!!

Lucius is in his office building doing some work, a little cranky from having to share his house with Damien.

He isn't exactly busy long, because he gets a knock on his door.

"Mr. Wagner? You have some visitors who really want to see you."

Lucius nods and waves his hand in a gesture of, 'Fine, fine, fine. Just let them in.'

In walk three boys, two more grown up and one adolescent with a dog. The two young men from the interview, but Lucius has never seen the red haired/brown haired child with them.

Adam looks very upset, like he's been crying a lot, and Jack keeps ruffling his hair and giving him side-hugs.

"Mr. Lucius Wagner, I'm Jack," says the taller brunette as he gestures to himeslf before waving to the blond, "this is Michael," he says before side-hugging Adam again, "And this is Adam."

"Jack Kline, Michael Langdon, and Adam Young," Michael snaps. "We're the three boys you have custody over, the ones given to you by the demon Crawley."

"Crowley," Adam barks. "His name is Crowley."

Lucius's eye twitches. 'There's THREE of you?'

Jack tilts his head. "You didn't read those custody papers all the way, did you?" He tilts his head back and chuckles as Lucius digs in his briefcase for the custody papers. "There's fine print. There's always fine print. Dean was never good with that either."

Lucius doesn't repeat Dean's mistake again and reads the papers thoroughly enough to see that, yes, he is now the legal guardian of Adam, Jack, and Michael.

AND HE IS THE GUARDIAN PARTNER OF DAMIEN.

The sight of those words make Lucius slam down the papers and dial his phone.

Michael rolls his eyes as Adam takes a seat, Dog hopping up to comfort his master.

"Told you he wouldn't take it well."

Jack shrugs, a small smile on his face. "I think he's taking it just fine."

Lucius snaps his fingers and points between Jack and his phone.

"See? He wants me to talk to our brother for him!"

Lucius lets out a, "TSS! TSS!" and holds up a note. 'READ THESE OUT LOUD INTO THE DAMN PHONE!!!'

"You should watch your language in front of a near teenage boy."

"JUST TALK!" Michael yells as Lucius slams his fist and phone against the table, the speaker on.

Jack shakes his head and mutters, "Such a poor example we're all setting." As the phone is anwered by Damien.

"Yes, brother dear?"

"Hello, Damien! Nice to finally talk to you!"

Lucius holds up a piece of paper for Jack to read.

"Oh! Lucius wants me to tell you, 'I am not your partner,' in all capital letters and with an exclamation point."

From where he is, Damien chuckles and shrugs. "Well, that was the agreement with us and Aziraphale and Crowley. We can't back out unless we want to get baptized."

Lucius scribbles another message for Jack to read.

"He wrote, 'They said there'd only be one brother,' and one is in all capital letters."

"They said brothers-suh. With an S at the end. And we can't orphan the other two."

Lucius gives Jack a look that says, 'No, this isn't happening!' and groans loudly as he smashes his head into his desk.

"See you guys back home!" Damien laughs before hanging up.

Everyone is in silence as Lucius groans as he hids his head against his desk.

Jack looks at Adam as he hugs Dog close to him and then to Lucius, who holds his head down with his hands.

"I'd say that went well."

Cut to when Lucius's day is over and he's walking with Michael, Jack, Adam, and Dog behind him, specifically in that order as Jack keeps quacking and saying the three of them are Lucius's and Damien's ducklings.

A figure watches them walk, though he smiles as they get to the parking garage.

"Nicely done, you two," he admits. "Good luck, Senator Lucius."

Lucius turns his head as Aziraphale waves at him.

Aziraphale looks to see another angel watching the brothers as they drive away and bristles.

Cut to Lucius in the car, Michael in shotgun and Jack, Adam, and Dog in the backseat.

"Look at us. A family, at last. Isn't this nice?" Jack asks as he looks to each of his brothers and holds Adam's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets," Michael states matter-of-factly. "Five sons of the devil, but one throne that needs an ass to polish it." He and Lucius exchange glares, both their eyes going black for Michael and red for Lucius. "Wonder who'll win?"

Adam looks to them both, annoyed. "No one's fighting for anything."

Both Lucius and Michael turn to Adam, who holds on to Jack and Dog tighter.

"I want to go home."

Jack nods. "Adam's right. Let's all go home."

Lucius starts the car and leaves the parking garage, turning on the radio to get a LITERAL SHOCK.

"Michael, that was rude."

Jack and Michael glare at each other as Lucius gets the news bulletin that shocks him worse than what Michael gave him:

"We interrupt this broadcast to give you incredible news! England and the southwestern states have miraculously been restored!"

Lucius and Michael both stare wide eyed at each other and the radio as Jack sighs and hugs Adam.

Back with Aziraphale, our angel friend has just arrived on the roof of the parking garage, where we find the angel waiting for him.

Or rather, FALLEN angel.

"I hope you don't intend on ruining this for them."

"After what that little brat did to the armageddon!?" Gabriel shouts. "Almost a millennium of preparation for nothing, but you and that demon to frolic around and watch that kid like a lamb, and you still call yourself an angel!?"

Aziraphale straightens himself and stares Gabriel in the eyes. "I'm more of angel than ypu, apparently."

Before Gabriel can snap back, Aziraphale continues.

"It is The Almighty's plan for them to be together. Throne or not, they will not leave each other."

Gabriel recomposes himself and glares at Aziraphale with narrow eyes. "You're really that sure?"

"Absolutely," Aziraphale replies with a nod.

Gabriel smirks and turns his heel. "We'll see about that."

Aziraphale watches Gabriel fly away with grey wings, as opposed to the white ones he used to have, and turns his head to watch Damien get in his own car and drive back to Lucius's house; his company heard a rumor and want him to investigate personally.

AND THAT'S IT FOR PART 2!!!!!

Tension, tension, tension already, am I right!?

I'll be back with Chapter/Episode 2 possibly sometime after the holidays, since we are leaving off on a pretty big note here.

I really hope you enjoyed Chapter/Episode 1, stay safe, and HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!

[dameronsgalaxygal]

I’ve Been Waiting For You - Chapter 3: Voulez Vous

series masterlist

Pairing: modern!poe x reader

Warnings: language, drinking, mentions and implications of past abusive relationship, light angst, things get steamy.

Word Count: 3176

Song Link: Voulez Vous

A/N: this took a really long time!! @rewritingstarrs and I filled the doc with notes/comments/suggestions and I still feel meh about it but hopefully it doesn’t disappoint!! don’t worry, things will be fine. don't forget to listen to the song! as always, feedback and comments are appreciated! taglist is open!

Summary: A night out in the city with your friends leads to the unexpected with Poe. 

The first few weeks in Florida had been pretty good. Your things were completely unpacked, your room decorated to your liking, and to your surprise, not one missed call from Kyle. Rey and Rose had toured you around Miami Beach, and as promised, Poe sent you the information for his aunt’s bookstore down at the shore.

You were walking down the beach with your roommates when you saw the little store across the street named “Solo Reads”.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later. I’m gonna go look inside this bookstore” You pointed across the street.

“Sounds good, text me when you’re done.” Rey said before trailing off with Rose.

The bookstore was small and antique-style. It looked as though it had been in this location for hundreds of years, the walls slowly starting to fall apart, but it added to the aesthetic. The smell of polished wood and coffee flooded the room and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved it.

You walked around in admiration until a short older woman peeked from behind an aisle. “Hello, dear. Can I help you find anything?”

Smiling gently, you approached her. “Hi, I was actually wondering if you were hiring. Your nephew is a good friend of my cousins and he referred me to you.”

She smiled back. “Ah, yes. Y/N, is it? Just moved from New York?” You nodded.

“I’m Leia.”

“Pleased to meet you, Leia.” You stuck out your hand to shake hers and she took it, grabbing your hand with both hers, squeezing tightly.

“You as well, Y/N”, she let go of your hand before walking behind the small checkout desk. “So when can you start?”.

“Start?” You were confused. You had just met the woman and you hadn’t even been interviewed yet.

“You know, start working. I need someone to care for the books more than I can. These babies, they’re old. I’d like to make sure they live as long as possible. Some customers aren’t so gentle in handling them. You were an English major, right? I know you’d appreciate all of these as much as I do.” She brushed dust off of a couple books that were stacked on the counter.

You completely understood. You had collected old novels and magazines since you were a child. Your favorite book being Pride and Prejudice. The idea of someone disrespecting a piece of work that an author put so much dedication into made you sad. You looked around the store before turning to face Leia.

“Absolutely. I will make sure that this place and these books are in great shape all the time”. It was true. You loved and adored all forms of literature, so you would work so hard to keep the place organized.

She smiled. “I know we just met, and that I didn’t give you a proper interview, but my nephew has great judgement in people. He told me you were a sweetheart, and I could tell that he was right the moment you introduced yourself. I know you’ll be good here”.

You blushed slightly. Poe called me a sweetheart?

Suddenly a girl, around the same age as you, burst through the door quickly taking off her jacket. “Sorry I’m late, Leia. I got distracted on the bus by this family who had never been to Miami before and their kid was amazed by the beach, so I missed my stop. But it was the cutest thing! You had to be there.” She made her way behind the desk and put her jacket down.

“Yeah, yeah. Tallie, this is Y/N. She’ll be working here soon.”

“Oh thank goodness. It gets lonely around here.” She chuckled.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to provide some sort of company” You smiled before your phone vibrated in your back pocket. You pulled it out to check the message. It was from Poe.

I’m down at the shore right now if you wanted to meet me and I can introduce you to my Aunt Leia!

You smiled before responding quickly:

I’m actually with her now! I got the job:)

You looked back up at Leia and Tallie who were talking and continuing to dust off the old books. “I can start working tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

Leia nodded. “Wonderful! We can discuss a proper work schedule later, but how does 11am work for you?”

“That’s perfect” Your smile widened. “Thank you so much, Leia. Nice to meet you Tallie!”

The two women said their goodbyes as you left the store with the same feeling you had after leaving Finn’s party a few weeks ago. So far, everything seemed to be going well, and you hoped that this was the start to the kind of life you had always wanted.  

You pulled out your phone to call Rey, but just as you were about to dial her number, Poe called you.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Congrats on the job. I mean, I knew she’d hire you, but still!” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Thank you. For both congratulating me and for putting in a good word.” You, once again, were blushing.

“Of course. Thought I’d help you get a kick start here in the city. You got plans right now?” He asked.

You bit your lip nervously before responding. “Not really.”

Suddenly his voice through the phone sounded closer. “Good. Then can I treat you to lunch?” You jumped to turn around and see him laughing, his phone still pressed to his ear. A sense of deja vu ran over you as you remembered this was the same way Poe approached you at Finn’s party.

You hung up the phone and scoffed playfully. “You need to stop doing that.”

“I’ve only done it twice,” He laughed, putting his phone in his pocket.

You chuckled lightly before looking around. “So where are we going?”

“There’s a nice deli a couple blocks down. You up for sandwiches?”

Your mouth nearly watered at the thought. You hadn’t eaten since early this morning and it was only a couple slices of toast. “That sounds fantastic.”

The afternoon you spent with Poe was familiar. Just how you two talked for hours on his couch at Finns party, you two spent hours in the Deli talking about almost everything under the sun. He told you about his childhood growing up in South Miami, and he also revealed that his mother had passed away due to cancer when he was 18. You appreciated him sharing something so personal with you, and you wish you could do the same and talk to him about your past. But you had met him not too long ago. If you could hardly tell Rey who you have known your entire life, there was no way you could open up to your new friend right away. You had to admit though, every moment you spent time with Poe felt natural. It felt easy.

Over the next few weeks, your friendship with Poe skyrocketed. You had been working at the bookstore, and sometimes Poe would stop by to see Leia. Leia had mentioned that he had never visited this often, which made your heart flutter. You brushed it off though. You were enjoying your friendship with Poe and have someone brand new in your life. A blank slate.

You were sitting on the couch watching a movie with Rey and Rose when your phone buzzed. You smiled when you saw it was a text from Poe.

Hey! Just landed back to Miami and was thinking about going to the club with Finn tonight. We were wondering if you and the girls wanted to join.

“Poe wants to know if we want to go out tonight with him and Finn,” You asked your roommates, who didn’t take their faces off the TV.

“Yeah, I’m down. What time?” Rey asked and Rose nodded in agreement.

Yeah that sounds fun! What time were you thinking?

How bout 8? We can pick you up!

Sounds good. See ya then, Dameron.

Can’t wait :)

Smiling, you put your phone down. “Eight. They’ll pick us up” You reached for a chip from the bowl on the coffee table before returning to watching the movie.

Rose checked her phone. “That’s two and a half hours from now! I need to go get ready.” She stood up and headed to the bathroom to shower.

You laughed. You had gotten used to Rose spending at least an hour in the bathroom making sure she looked, as she liked to call it, “photogenic enough”.

Just as you were about to continue watching the film, Rey pressed pause and looked at you.

You cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“What’s going on with you and Poe?” She asked with a smirk.

“What are you talking about? He’s my friend.” You chuckled before munching on another chip.

“Oh come on. When he’s not working, you’re with him. You smile every time he texts you. Him and Finn used to come over a lot, but since you’ve moved in, Poe has started coming over without Finn. Even Finn has noticed. He talks to me about it at work. Are you two-”

“No! No, Rey, it’s not like that.” You said sharply. You sighed when she didn’t reply at first, taken aback by your tone. “Look, I like Poe. He’s the first friend I’ve made after moving here. We get along really well and I enjoy being around him. Nothing’s happening between us. Okay?” You were saying this to Rey, but really you were trying to remind yourself of these things. You did like Poe. You were starting to like him in the way you had thought you liked Kyle, and it scared you. From what you had witnessed from the weeks you had spent being around him, you knew Poe wasn’t anything like your ex, but feeling something towards him meant feeling vulnerable. Were you ready for that?

“Besides, I don’t want to jump into anything right now. Not after everything with Kyle. I’m..” You paused to take a breath, your memories rushing back. “I’m still trying to get over that”.

She nodded, knowing that you hated bringing him up. “I’m sorry”.

“It’s okay” You reassured her. “Let’s finish the movie.”

The movie ended about half an hour later, giving you and Rey still enough time to get ready for your night out. You had been to a few bars with Rey since you had gotten to Florida, but not a club, and not with Poe.

You checked the temperature on the weather app, seeing it was going to be 80 degrees and humid. You changed into a pair of shorts and a crop top with a pair of white converse and gold earrings. You curled your hair and put on some light makeup. Your first time at a club, might as well look cute, right? Or were you subconsciously trying to impress Poe?

A few minutes after you had finished getting ready, there was a knock on the front door. “Coming!” You said as you headed towards the door, opening it.

Poe and Finn stood before you, smiling. “You look nice.” Poe smirked.

Your cheeks heated up once again, a familiar feeling around him. “Thanks”.

Finn rolled his eyes before chuckling softly. “You girls ready?”

Both Rey and Rose emerged from their rooms, “Yep!”

You all headed to the car after locking your apartment. You asked if it would be better to uber, but Rey wasn’t a big drinker and was always the designated driver. You trusted her to call an uber to take you all back home if she wasn’t feeling sober.

The club was huge. It was crowded and hot, bright and colorful LED lights that flashed through the entire room. The music was so loud that you could hardly hear your friends talking to you. But after a few drinks in, there was really no talking necessary.

You, Rey and Rose were on the dance floor allowing yourself to let loose. This was the first time you had actually felt a sense of joy. Yes, you were slightly intoxicated, but you had your friends, good music, a job that you enjoyed, and you were in Miami. You had seemed to forget about your past, and it felt so good.

Poe and Finn were getting more drinks at the bar, Poe unable to take his eyes off of you.

“You like her?” Finn yelled over the music for Poe to hear.

Keeping his eyes on you, Poe replied, “Fuck, man. I think so.” He laughed softly.

“Then go get her!” He nudged him, in which Poe smirked before heading to the dance floor.

You smiled as he approached you, reaching your arms out to grab him and pulling him to you. If you were sober, there was a likely chance you wouldn’t have allowed him to be as close as he was right now. But again, your past had seemed to leave you in the moment, and it was Poe.  

You danced together, jumping and spinning each other around until his chest was pressed against your back, hands on your hips. One of your hands was placed on his, the other snaked up to reach around his neck and run through his hair.

You could feel his hot breath on your neck as you grinded your hips against his. There was no denying that the man was getting very, very excited. Your breathing started to pick up, what with the humidity in the club and the alcohol in your system, not to mention the fact that your ass was pressed against the crotch of the guy you were starting to develop a crush for.

You felt Poes lips press against your neck and you gasped at the feeling. They were soft and warm and they provided a sense of comfort even in such an intimate setting. He continued to trace kisses up your neck until he spun you around to face him. You looked up at him to see dark eyes. You bit your lip before wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging on his dark curls as he pulled you closer. Lips nearly brushing over each other, you two continued to dance against one another.

At that moment, nothing else seemed to exist. Your foreheads pressed together, both of you smiling nervously, he leaned in to kiss you. Hesitant at first, you kissed him back. You swore you could hear fireworks going off in the background as you pulled away, music still pounding through your ears. You looked up at Poe as he jerked his head toward the door and whispered in your ear loud enough for you to hear, “Do you want to get out of here?”

With hardly any hesitation, you nodded. “Yes.” You had been drinking, but you were consciously able to respond verbally and process what he was really asking you. Everything you had mentioned to Rey earlier completely left your mind. You wanted Poe.

Poe smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the crowd. You looked around nervously to see Rey, Rose and Finn glancing at you and Poe as they continued to dance. Rey shot you a look and you nodded, letting her know that it was okay, and she winked at you.

Surprisingly unlocked, Poe opened the back door to his car and pulled you in, immediately latching his lips to yours as you shut it behind you. The kiss was rough and hot, but his lips fit perfectly against yours and you moaned slightly into the kiss as his tongue traced your bottom lip. His hands trailed from your waist up to your stomach and you pulled away for a breath.

Poes hands reached up to cup your cheeks, holding your face close. He leaned up and kissed the corner of your lips. Instantly, it all came back to you.

You were lying on the bed as Kyle hovered over you. Tears in your eyes, you stared at the wall. He leaned down to kiss the corner of your lips.

You had completely sobered up as the memories of Kyle came flooding back. Kyle used to kiss the corner of your mouth. The small gesture had brought back so many terrible memories and you decided that you couldn’t keep going, not tonight. You let out a breath, “Stop, Poe.”

Still in the heat of the moment, Poe responded without thinking. “No, no, no, hey baby, it’s okay.” his voice was calm as he brushed hair out of your face before leaning up to kiss you again.

“No, Poe. Stop!” Your voice was louder than you had intended. He pulled back immediately. “I’m sorry,” you avoided making eye contact, getting off of his lap and sitting in the seat next to him. “I want this. I really do….but I’m just not ready.” You looked down, hands fidgeting. “Uh, I think I’m going to go. Thank you for tonight, Poe….I’ll call you.”

You quickly got out of the car, walking through the parking lot as you opened your phone to call an uber.

“Y/N, wait! I’m sorry!” Poe called after you, but you kept walking. Poe leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He let out a sigh, completely sobering up. “Fuck.”

You texted Rey as your Uber approached.

Got an uber home. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you when you get home.

It wasn’t a long ride back, but each second felt like hours. You started to wonder if you had just ruined what you had with Poe. If you did, it would mean losing the spark that you felt with him, losing a good friend, and that was the last thing you wanted. You weren’t angry at Poe. He had no idea. You were angry at yourself.

After what seemed like forever, you were home. You thanked and tipped your driver, walking into your apartment. Feeling exhausted, you went to bed right away, or at least tried to. It was difficult to sleep with so many thoughts running through your head. Memories of Kyle, walking away from Poe. Dancing with Poe. Kissing Poe.  

You are pulled from your thoughts when your phone that was resting on your bedside table buzzed.

Hey Y/N. I’m really sorry about earlier. I never intended to make you uncomfortable. I hope this doesn’t affect anything. Let me know if you want to talk. I’ll have my phone next to me all night. If not, no worries and I hope you sleep well.  -Poe

It gave you some relief knowing that Poe wasn’t freaked out by your outburst and that he wanted to talk. You wanted to reply to him, let him know everything would be okay, but you needed to allow yourself to calm down. The night may not have ended the way you intended it to, but there was still a huge chunk of you that still needed to be healed. Poe didn’t deserve to be treated like a rebound. You liked him a lot. You wanted to do this right, but you needed to be ready.

You let out a deep breath before putting your phone back down on the table, closing your eyes before you drifted off.

taglist <open> @twomoonstwosuns​ @rewritingstarrs​ @darksideofclarke​ @writingforhoursonend​ @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @lanatheawesome​ @fanfiction-trashpile​ @fantasticcopeaglepasta​ @softly-sad​ @aidela​ @yeeintensifies​ @the-cry-of-youth​

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 27

Portia in the room beside yours once in the hall smiled taking your side saying, “Hey there Bunny.”

In a giggle you replied, “Hey Portia. Where are you off to?”

“Art History, you?”

“Same,”

“Ooh, goody, we can sit together and head to lunch after. They do have a cafeteria here and on the Men’s Campus, but I know there’s a nice little diner nearby that my driver can take us to.”

“Sounds good.” You replied noticing her looking you over curiously.

“Do you have a driver?”

“No, took the subway.”

“Alone?!”

You shook your head, “No, James and his brother Victor came with me. But I’ve taken the subway alone before.”

“Some ladies have bikes, would that be easier?”

“For me? No. I live in Brooklyn. It’s half an hour on the subway.”

“That far? You can’t move closer?”

“I grew up in Brooklyn, plus for what it cost to buy my old home we couldn’t afford half the space in Manhattan.”

“How big is your place? We have a penthouse apartment with five bedrooms and the most incredible view from the second floor.”

“Five story brownstone, James and Victor bought the building we remodeled over the summer.”

“The whole building?!”

You nodded, “I was a bit stunned but the whole block was up for sale nearly and we used to have an apartment in the building growing up but they really wanted to give me a good home while I study with room for all of us.”

“We are just going to have to plan a dinner to have you all over so Daddy can meet you all and Preston can come out to meet up with you again.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Her hand tapped yours saying, “And when your home is ready do let us know.”

“It is ready. Had our Priest over on Sunday, first in town outside of Eddie’s family. Starting to build up a sort of competition to see who can get invited first.”

A giggle escaped her and she said in rounding another corner drawing your eyes to the groups of ladies looking between the two of you wondering why you were again speaking to the woman in the bright yellow dress and white cardigan beside you, bright and sunny with pearls around her neck and on studs in her ears. “In no time we’ll have steady teas and dinners around our study groups, because I know one of the only ways I am getting through my language course, and I have no clue what is up with that History Professor.”

You giggled again, “Did you sign the contract?”

“Yes, Daddy didn’t raise a quitter.”

“Well if you need a museum buddy I practically live there and I know the half off days and free days by heart.”

At the doors she paused looking at you when you pulled it open for the both of you, “Why would you know the free days?”

“Oh honey, my parents came here from Ireland. First generation American, free days and coupons are a second language to me. Practically lived in the Public Library before the war.” You looked her over stepping with her through the door, “I have some investments now, much better off. New to having money, part of why the guys wanted to keep me back in my hometown.”

“Where do you like to sit?” Together you compromised to five steps up near to the aisle in the far right section of the tiered seating below the projector. Once there she said, “Well I can’t wait to have somebody from New York show me what I might have missed out on.” Her eyes dropped to your bag as she said showing you her own sunflower coated carpet bag, “Would you look at that. Great minds and all that,” she smiled at you making you giggle to yourself pulling out a fresh notepad.

“Victor surprised me with it yesterday.”

All through the seating that was barely half filled the other ladies filled their seats and your head tilted to shift your braided ponytail off your shoulder hearing whispers of others commenting on your choice of a friend. Once the Professor began to speak one of the upper classmen claimed the slide box and it was straight to work with almost every student around you giving an answer while you gained glances from others wondering if you had known the answers at all. Only Portia however could see that you were writing out the names of each and their origins and dates moments after the image had popped up.

Out of nowhere silence came with a surrealist painting to throw off the other ladies with something not on the syllabus. Wetting your lips you raised your hand drawing the eyes of the formerly smirking Professor’s eyes to you in the lowering of your hand again. “La persistencia de la memoria,” parting her lips, “Also known as, The Persistence of Memory, Painted by Salvador Dalí in 1931.”

Shifting on her feet she asked, “How-?”

“It’s been hanging in the MoMA since 1934. One of the most recognizable works of Surrealism.”

“Do you prefer Surrealism?”

“Depends on the piece and subject. I do enjoy the imagination behind it. I would rather have that on my wall over paint splatters or Picasso, but that’s just me.”

With a nod she took a second glance your way and had the slide switched over with scattered naming of the next row of paintings that when others couldn’t again you were looked to showing that you’d studied up well outside what was expected to be covered. The last thing she said was, “For your first assignment I want each of you to sit down and write me four pages on a piece of artwork that was in your house growing up. What the subject was, style and most importantly what the piece meant to you and affected your family each day. Due in our next class.”

Tilting your head in a hushed sigh you copied the assignment in your daily planner you added to your bag with everything else. Portia stood first with you to follow her to the aisle as she said, “The car should be by that lovely tulip garden for us.”

“You don’t approve of my assignment?” The Professor asked when you were passing her by low enough to not cause a scene with only you two to hear it.

Smiling at her you replied, “I will have it for you on Thursday. Have a nice day, Professor.” Her eyes followed you to the door curious about your reaction and what it meant.

Waiting on the other side of the door a group of ladies you remembered with a few clubs trying to recruit you smiled asking, “Bunny, were you heading to the cafeteria?”

“Actually we were heading to a diner nearby campus if you wanted to come.”

Timid shakes of heads came and another in the group said, “We brought our lunches, maybe another time.”

You nodded and returned their waves as they walked away. Portia in your continued path onwards sighed saying, “I don’t think I’m going to make many friends here.”

“Well you’ll do better than me no doubt. I tend to be unpopular in school. They’ll see how bubbly and sweet you are and snatch you up.”

“Everyone knows your name, you are in the papers. You met the President and a King who are both invited to your wedding.” She fired back playfully.

“Doesn’t make me fun enough to entertain hundreds of people expecting to be friends with me for hopes of getting closer to some imaginary famous group of friends I might have for having met a President and a King. Up in Canada I work in a diner, you are the closest person I could count to some elite list of connections I could boast on.”

Her arm eased through yours and she squeaked out, “That is so sweet of you to say,” making you giggle and watch the path she led you on to memorize, “Have you picked any clubs yet?”

“No, not yet. No doubt they will be circling this week.”

“I have a synchronized swimming tryout after my last class at two.”

“Sounds like fun for you.”

Smiling at you she said, “You don’t want to try it?”

“I’m not the best swimmer. Nearly drowned a couple times in the public pool when I was little. I swim up in the ponds up in Canada on their land.”

Looking you over she asked, “Have you, lived with James long?”

“Well we lost our apartment in Canada when Eddie got drafted, we moved on base, so when we discharged we didn’t have a home to go to.”

“Oh,”

“And for years through the war they had said we could move in with James and Victor. I know living together is sort of a timid subject for some people.”

Shaking her head she said, “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I would never assume anything improper. Eddie lives with you too?”

“Yes, him, his wife Dawn and son Teddy have their own floor in our place.”

She gasped, “You’re an auntie?! Congratulations!”

You giggled again, “Thank you, he’s crawling already and getting onto solid food. Absolutely love him.”

Black and polished a car was waiting and to the shock of people looking on you were seen climbing into the car after Portia. All over campus the elite of the North seemed to be holding a common thought that the Southern money Heiress was to be kept at arms length while you were to be drawn into the fold as per the alumni’s orders. A thought clearly needing to be adjusted if you continued your interest in getting to know the social outcast.

Quaint and open the diner sat with more students who waved to you luring you both to them, or more precisely the half booth table beside theirs. In a try to help her gain some friends you bubbled out your personality to do so, politely to the waitress you spoke ordering and made sure to tip well through the conversation centering around classes you had and Professors who seemed to be difficult or up to trying for adding the most work to the course load as possible.

“How are you taking 14 courses?” One of the most diligent on recruiting you for her club asked bewildered at her nine that seemed to be stressful for her third year.

“Not all of them are every day. Some are one semester.”

“What do you have next?”

“Um, Philosophy on the Men’s Campus. Then back to Barnard for Mythology.”

“That’s a jump.”

You giggled saying, “Possibly. I have my other two Columbia courses tomorrow.”

Portia, “Three classes with the men?” Portia asked making you smirk and slice off another piece of your meal.

One of the other ladies said tapping her finger to her bare ring finger, “She already has her fella.”

Her friend next to her said, “But could always put in a good word for us single ladies.”

Giggling again you said lifting your fork, “If I hear any guys wanting a dame I’ll tell them about the diner for lunch.” Earning giggles and squeals in easing the food between your lips.

“Any thoughts on clubs yet?” Luring eyes to you again.

“Um, not exactly. I know Portia is trying for synchronized swimming.” Moods slightly deflated a moment until you said, “My future brother in law, Victor, taught me how to develop film, and I have my brother Steve’s camera, so maybe a photography course, but I think they only have that for Columbia guys.”

The head club lady shook her head, “No, no, we have one. They work with the paper and yearbooks mostly, however their instructor is out until tomorrow. What sort of camera is it?”

“An old Kodiak Vigilant Junior. Over ten years old, but Victor helped me to clean it up maintain the hinge and everything. Unless they require a newer one, then no doubt he’ll go and buy me the biggest best one out there.”

“Oh how sweet.”

“Well I started my job at the diner in Canada and they bought me a purse, started my ged course and they bought me a new typewriter. Start here they bought me my bag. If they had their way there would be a line of presents to circle the block for me when I get home.”

Portia patted your arm, “You picked a great man to marry.” Gaining agreeing nods from the group.

More clubs came up in conversation until the time was checked and on your feet the head of the group said in a pat on your arm, “I’ll check with Julie and send her your way about the photography club she’ll give you the basics.”

Her friend said, “And for an art club we do have a comic section in the paper that we lost our artist for last year, also handles the portraits added to stories for Professors and locations and such. I’ll let Amber know to add your name to the list. Might need some sketches to see what your skill level is if she’s found some more names to go against.”

“Thank you.” You said splitting from the others and joining Portia to her car again.

“That was fun,” she said on the drive back where you saw she had the driver drop you at the men’s campus.

“Yes, maybe that might calm things a bit.”

“Who knows we might get on the paper together. Had an article back home on ours. Handy tips for ladies around the house. Had all the girls wanting to build their own shoe cubbies.”

“One way to do it,” making her giggle and turn her head subtly primping seeing curious guys stealing glances at the car. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Any time. Hopefully I can run into you again after school.”

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

You said with a wave sliding to the door you opened to climb out seeing a nearby guy peer inside and once you were up at Portia’s statement of, “Just dropping my friend Bunny. But thank you,”

“Timothy,” Offering his hand that she shook.

Nodding her head saying, “Well thank you, Timothy.” Waving at him as he closed the door smiling at her while you passed through parting groups of guys looking you over wondering where you were headed.

Passing by Professor Crane’s class you found your way to another tiered set of seating with long tables you sat on the aisle in the second row of the first section of desks you reached hopefully ensuring nobody absurdly tall would block your view. Packed to the brim this class seemed to be with the other ladies choosing to sit in your row and the one in front of yours filling those five seats with the men taking up the rest of the space. The Professor knew this might not be one of the most female populated courses but even sticking to his stern teaching methods he tried to encourage the few females who would sign up to possibly encourage others to sign up the next year.

Right off the bat he stirred up a debate that got heated to the point one of the guys headed to the rows of books along the walls to find his proof for his opponent only to glance your way ending his huffing battle trying to flip through the hefty book when you gave him the page and paragraph number. Carrying it to the one he was arguing he asked you, “How’d you do that?”

Meeting his eye you replied, “I remember everything I read.”

“Everything?” He asked.

And you repeated, “Everything.”

“Must come in handy.” Another guy said.

To which you replied, “No, it would be handy if you could do it, it’s just a trick when I do it, like a bear on a unicycle.”

The Professor said, “Gender topics will be head on next semester.” He grinned at you, “But fair point all the same Miss Pear.”

“Miss Pear,” another male student said, “Bunny Pear? Who won the Medal of Honor, that Bunny Pear?”

Another guy said, “I read about you, said you tore Nazi planes out of the air. How’d you do it?”

“Magnets.”

Another guy scoffed saying, “Impossible.”

“So were airplanes not so long ago until the Wright Brothers got it to work.”

“And you didn’t have any help? None at all?”

Another glance back had your eyes on the doubter who scoffed at your smirk, “There goes that bear on a unicycle again. Couldn’t possibly have a brain and wear dresses, must have stolen the credit,”

He murmured again, “Took more than credit-,”

“Oh yes, must have spent years on my back too to get home safely,” that had the guy paling when your eyes caught him in a harsh cold gaze, “Heard that one too. For men with fragile egos like yours who couldn’t possibly exist in a world where a woman could accomplish anything on her own it’d be easier to find a jellyfish in the ocean than an intelligent successful woman who hasn’t been called a whore.” That had the rest of the guys jeering and ladies blushing through their muffled giggles looking away as you kept your eyes fixed on his until he turned away.

Chuckling the Professor said clapping to help lull the students down again saying, “Looping around again.” Bringing the discussion back to another topic he wished to cover starting off what he hoped to be a good year of thorough open discussions and healthy debates. This was one class you knew you would take a bit part in verbally and for once you didn’t feel concerned about possibly doing that, feeling fully welcomed to do so by the Professor and cheerful students passing you on the way out. “Brilliant point.”

Breathily you chuckled lifting your books and bag saying, “Thank you, and sorry, I’m not certain if my wording was out of bounds.”

He chuckled again shaking his head, “When used academically no. Very well said. If I may, any plans on what field you might try for? Or a degree?”

“I know I want a Masters,” spreading his smile, “No clue on the subject yet.”

“Why Masters, you do know-,”

“That the percentage of women who earn one is 3.5% out of female college graduates, two percent lower than it is for men. Only two women have earned a Medal of Honor, one had it revoked because she wasn’t a woman in uniform. I’m the first female officer in Canadian Forces. My Dad wanted big things for me, I will settle for a Doctorate, but I am aiming for a Masters Degree.”

“Once you get to graduate school level I’ll keep my eyes peeled and you’ll have a vote from me in your favor to be accepted to Columbia.”

“I could go here full time?”

“For graduate courses, if you win a majority vote they would allow your transfer. Not common, but it is possible.”

“Thank you, thought I might have to triple my train time for Yale.” He shook his head as you eyed the next class coming in, “See you tomorrow, Professor.”

“See you tomorrow Miss Pear.” Nods from him welcomed his entering female students and in the hall you smiled rejoining your fellow female students who had lingered a few moments hoping to walk together assuming you were all headed back to the female campus.

“What are you off to?” You asked getting a varied set of answers.

One of them asked once you were out of the cramped halls to the open walkways again, “Did you get in trouble?”

Shaking your head you answered, “No, he merely asked what sort of degree I might be hoping for. I haven’t picked yet but I do know I want to go to graduate school.”

One of the women said, “Me as well. I was hoping for a counselor for children, maybe at a camp or a school.”

Another said, “Fifteen generations of men in my family were lawyers or judges, I have no brothers, I hoped to keep the tradition alive.”

A third said, “I read librarians require graduate courses, always wanted to work with books. Spent last summer helping to clean up at our library back home my grandmother is the librarian there.”

“I practically lived in the Public Library growing up. Such a lovely job.”

Back at the entrance the group split up and between streams of giggling women off to their dorms after their final class you paused at a peach clad woman smiling at you widely, “Kimmy told me you were interested in Photography club.”

“Yes, Julie, right?”

“Yes,” from the books pinned to her chest she brought out a sheet she passed you, “Tomorrow is our first meeting, at three, don’t forget your camera so our instructor can give it a once over. That has the room number and everything.”

“Okay, thank you.”

She hurried off to join her friends and you kept on going to your class pausing again to reach out for a paper a running redhead passed to you, “School paper meeting on Thursday at 3.”

“Thank you.”

“Bring some sketches.” Wetting your lower lip again towards your class slipping the paper against the books to your chest you hurried. Wide open the door sat and flashing a grin to Professor Randolph who was readying a set of papers he was to pass out to all of you.

Tiered desks waited in the oddly cramped theater style room with decorations of objects from various myths and cultures spread around the room with what turned out to be filled two thirds of the way. Around you in your chosen row more ladies from clubs settled hoping to make friends with you. Pages were handed back and in the lights turning off Professor Randolph walked to the lit up projector on a table a few feet from his desk aimed at the blank screen on the wall showing the Great Sphynx in Egypt.

“Ancient Egypt,” he began, “For the next few weeks we will be delving into this world and culture to explore the Gods that the people shaped their lives to please and serve to their dying breaths.” Mainly talking through the class he stole glances of various students taking notes throughout with sheets forgotten. Until the final few minutes when he turned the lights on and stated, “And for those of you who have not forgotten the sheets I passed out kindly fill those out as much as you can, we have nine minutes, no books I would like to see what you point of view is on the subject.”

Putting your notepad away you looked over the sheet and smirked at the first question, ‘Which Greek God would you prefer to leave your wife with while you stepped out to the shop; Zeus, Narcissus, Hephaestus, Dionysus?’

‘One traded his eye for knowledge, One gave birth to a six legged horse and other beasts tied to Ragnarok, One guards a rainbow bridge. Which name does not apply?

Loki, Njord, Heimdall, Odin.’

This question earned some scoffs for how simple it seemed only to be followed by another seemingly odd question.

‘Who would win in a poker game?

Bragi, Hod, Forseti?’

You barely got to fill out your answer when he said, “That is our class, I will take your pages on your way out.”

Before you could stand groups already planning their post school day plans hurried out nodding to the grinning Professor accepting each taking notice that you were merely waiting out the rest of the herd to leave to not be in the way. Back in your hold your books and bag settled post subtle shift of your skirt over your thighs to straighten it with sheet in hand you made your way down to the Professor now at his desk. “Thank you,” he said turning as you arrived to accept the sheet you held out for him, taking notice of your eyes dropping to the familiar pendant around his neck draped on top of his tie.

“Sorry, Professor, but where did you get that pendant?”

Settling your sheet on top of the others he added to his bag he grinned to say, “My father was given this by a Queen from a, far away land you probably haven’t heard of.”

His eyes fixed on yours eyeing the pear tree centered on the pendant with runes all around it hinting to markings in one of your dreams of your former life with James. The same pendant your father used to keep with him at all times only showing it to you before he died. “My Dad had one. Do they sell them? He was buried with his.”

“No, no one sells them. However I would love to share about the land sometime if you would agree?”

You nodded and said, “That would be nice, thank you.”

Motioning his hand to the side he said, “Shall I walk you out?”

“Sure,”

“Already packed up, thought I would stop for something to eat. My lunch was interrupted.”

“That’s no fun. I got poached for mine.” He glanced at you curiously and you giggled out, “Clubs are determined to claim me. Tomorrow Photography and I have to do some sketches to give to the paper to see if I’ll fit for their comics and illustrations. Doubt I would.”

“I would not bet on that, the last one was quite ghastly from what I have looked up, did a rendering of the Dean ended up nearly suspended.” Making you giggle to yourself in his soft chuckle. Passing through the emptying hall he asked, “If I might ask, Pear is an interesting surname, do you know where it originates from?”

“Oh, um, when Eddie took custody of me we picked to change our names to Pear. From the medallion actually. Dad used to say he was born under the pear tree in the center of it, that it was unlike any other pear tree on the planet. Somehow alive.”

Tapping his medallion he said, “The Queen of that land was the source of this tree. It sprouted in her first breath, and after each battle she and her children fought those would sprout up in the battle field.”

Smirking at him you said, “Is that culture on our syllabus?”

“No, in fact no one believes those lands to even exist.”

“Then where did the medallions come from?”

He pointed at you, “Exactly.”

Smiling as you did not noticing one of the other female Professors watching you pass by her classroom having watched from your tours and enrolling how fixed on befriending you he seemed to be. Just like the club members tasked to poach you to their elite numbers. “Do you give many exams?”

“No, not many. One a month most likely, small quizzes in between with mini essays. I have to admit I am not overly fond of grading compared to delving into mythologies, though Egyptian culture has the most quizzes merely on the glyphs and other details.”

“Sounds good, haven’t gotten to Egyptian culture yet so I am learning a great deal.”

Avoiding students you answered questions about your other classes you had around his the following day for the rest of the way to the front entrance, where just across from you on a bench James and Victor stood catching sight of you exiting the school. Their grins spread in your approach and Professor Randolph nodded his head, “James, Victor, lovely to see you. Since you two are here I shall leave her to your watch I am off to eat before I am drug back for another meeting on simple politics, which I simply abhor, everything is always politics at those things.” Tottering off down the walkway behind Victor’s back to avoid the sight of another Professor to reach his car the three of you chuckled and turned homewards.

Victor grinning said, “So, how did it go?”

“Not bad. History will be strict, we had a lovely discussion on the gold rush and the crossing of mountain ranges and the effects on everything from social status to clothes and market values, distribution both medical and otherwise. Leading to the jump in crime and of course the rising profiteering of the funeral business.”

“Of course,” James chuckled out. “She bring that up or did you?”

“Me, she asked me what my opinion was on the gold rush, I asked which part and then elaborated at her continued confusion.”

Victor nodded, “Italian and Latin then? Since you insist on both this year.”

“Well I need both so I can load up on Lit courses for my second semester courses and next year as well. Technically I don’t need two languages for credits, but the Italian for the language and the Latin can go for another credit for my Lit Masters.”

James beamed at you, “Full Masters degree, I’m glad to hear you’ve decided.” Accepting hold of your books finally subtly eyeing the sheets with notes of times and locations for your club meetings.

His eyes shifted to you again as you said, “Italian should be fine but I hear my Latin Professor likes to be friendly, but he seems to enjoy drawing out excitement from students in class.” You wet your lower lip and said, “Art History was next, everyone seemed to know everything on the slides until she got to the Surrealist genre not on the syllabus. Which I knew, and she seemed stunned I knew. Asked me about my preference on Surrealist paintings and I said they seem more imaginative than paint splatters and I prefer them to Picasso’s.”

Victor, “Agreed.” Earning a nod from James. “How was Miss Portia?”

“Good, she’s in the class too, finally got to the topic of me not being from money and possibly being more boring than others give me credit for when I mentioned free days and half off days to museums and such. But she’s set on tea visits at her place and study groups and possibly dinners ahead. They have a five bedroom penthouse in Manhattan, her brother’s name is Preston, still don’t recall the name. I’ll have to see him.”

James, “I’m still putting my money on Mr Biscuits.”

Victor, “Did she have that rough a time in Art History?”

“No, mainly her language course she said she’d need help in. Nothing hard so far except our first assignment.”

James, “How so?”

“We have to write four pages on a piece of artwork that was in our homes growing up and how it touched our lives and families.”

They both said, “Oh,”

“I think I can work something up about my mural of stars. She said it doesn’t have to be a big name to count.”

Victor, “I’m certain it will be a wonderful paper.”

“Well, it was either that or the wallpaper design Steve sketched on the wall.” You let out a breath and said, “Anyways, lunch was fine, Portia had us driven to a diner where a group of girls were there, sat by them to push the inevitable, and to try and help her get some friends, two different worlds of money don’t mix it seems. We get to talking and they bring up clubs and Portia is joining sync swimming, I told her I’ve had rough history with water or I’d try it. Then the head club girl seemed about in tears so I mentioned your dark room and that I thought the only photography club was for the guys,”

Victor, “Ooh, nice choice.”

“But she said they have one and it mainly works with the paper and yearbook,”

James, “Very nice.”

“The instructor is out, can’t recall why right now, but they meet tomorrow so she said she would inform a Julie to inform me about the club. Then it gets brought up Eddie is on the paper and I might do some cartoons, which led into those little illustrations for the paper, which is meeting on Thursday. So I have to sketch some things up and bring them on Thursday so they can go over them against some list of other possible applicants for the job.”

The pair said, “You’ll get it.”

You rolled your eyes and Victor asked, “So, photography club,”

“Before you say buy me a camera I’ll just take Steve’s. Should be fine. Poor thing has been in a box for ages.”

James, “Yearbook, paper, photography club, great mix to your credits.”

Victor, “Not to mention your Masters.”

“Ooh, I talked to my Philosophy Professor after class and he said that for my graduate courses they can vote as the staff to accept my transfer to Columbia graduate courses. Said I’d have his vote.”

James, “On the first day?”

Victor, “Must have left a mark on him. How did class go?”

“Rather well actually. He brought up some topics and let us debate, my memory came up in helping a student find the quote he wanted and he said that was handy, I said for a man it’s handy for me it’s more along the lines of a trick, like a bear on a unicycle.”

Victor, “Hmm,”

“Anyways, Professor says we’ll cover gender later on but compliments me, another student recognizes my name asks how I managed to tear planes out of the sky I said magnets.”

James, “This can only go well.”

“He said impossible, I said so were planes until the Wright Brothers made them.”

Victor, “Well done.”

You giggled adding, “Another mumbled something after I said that I managed it on my own that I had another sort of help to get through the war-,”

James and Victor paused, “Who am I hitting?”

Patting their arms you said, “It gets better,”

Victor, “Please tell me he’s dead or bleeding.”

“I told him that for a man with such a fragile ego as his not to believe a woman could manage on her own it would be easier to find a jellyfish in the ocean than to find an intelligent successful woman who hasn’t been called a whore.”

Unable to help it the pair chortles and smoothed their hands over their mouths to hide their proud grins, “Even the Professor said my argument was brilliant and the guys in class lost it jeering at him. Of course I clarified I was uncertain on the use of the term whore in class to the Professor afterwards but he said academically it is acceptable, just not in a slur hurled at another student. Then we talked about my plans going forward. He did try to let me know how few women do get above a four year degree.”

Victor, “3.5%, that I remember from when you brought it up,”

“Which I pointed out to him as it’s only 2% below men, and the other achievements I have gotten, said I would settle for a Doctorate.”

They stepped forward along with you chuckling with James easing his arm around your back, “There’s the vote,”

Victor, “You are going to be stunning. Now, what are you sketching once your paper is done?”

“Not sure, thought I might be able to catch you and the puppies napping again.”

Victor chuckled resting his hand on your back in a stolen kiss to your forehead once James had leaned back from kissing your cheek, “That can be arranged, Pipsqueak.”

Pt 28

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 3- Access Denied

Hey, guys! Really short chapter but the future ones will be much longer. Already at work for Year 4! Nothing much to say except I hope you enjoy! Bigger things are yet to come!

‘Work’ proved to be an understatement during the month of September.

With the addition of two electives, school work suddenly became much more difficult to manage. Of the ones David took, Care of Magical Creatures turned out to be quite wild. He didn’t really have much interest in animals but having Charlie in the class certainly helped him get along (though he remained hopeful about possibly seeing a dragon). The class was run by a rather eccentric man by the name of Silvanus Kettleburn, who had been at Hogwarts since the 1940s. That longevity was evidenced by the sheer number of injuries he had sustained during his time spent with creatures which included but was not limited too- a fake prosthetic leg, an eyepatch over his left eye, and a metal claw for a hand. Though Professor Kettleburn preached safety and caution, he himself did not always live up to such standards, as he constantly was being healed by Madam Pomfrey. Case and point was the first day when he received severe burns from fire salamanders. 

“This is nothing,” Charlie told him afterwards. “Legend has it that he was ten times more energetic than this back in the day. The previous Headmaster Armando Dippet placed him on probation sixty two times!”

Such a comforting thought.

There was no immediate risk of injury in Ancient Runes though David could tell right away that the class would not be easy. Professor Octavius was an extremely competent man at his subject but deciphering and learning ancient languages, codes, and other magical artifacts was not for the faint of heart. Bill Weasley told him that it was useful for curse breaking and one of the main reasons he took it was the focus on Ancient Egypt. He would hold off making a judgement just yet. Either way, it meant more homework for all of them.

Adding on to this was his own personal popularity. As he was reminded by Rowan, any secret at Hogwarts didn’t remain one for long. As returning students recovered from the shock of the previous year, rumors spread quicker than wildfire about his involvement in the cursed ice vault. Far from being seen as mad or miniature version of his brother, most regarded him as a hero who saved the school. The Slytherins weren’t too keen on congratulating him but aside from Merula and her squad he didn’t face much trouble from them either. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but David couldn’t deny it felt good.

Combining all of these factors, and the possibility of learning more about his brother at Hogsmeade, he was becoming increasingly distracted which would later come back to bite him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks before Hogsmeade, Professor McGonagall made an appearance in the Gryffindor common room to collect all the permission slips.

“All third years please line up with your written signatures from your parents. The first Hogsmeade weekend will be October 14th on Saturday,” she announced.

David, Charlie, Rowan wasted no time in dashing upstairs with Ben in tow. Even Jae seemed eager to stamp his ticket to the all wizarding village. 

“Is Hogsmeade really all it’s cracked up to be?” Ben asked. “My parents couldn’t understand the appeal, but they allowed me to go anyway.”

“Trust me, mate. You’re going to have your mind blown by how amazing Hogsmeade is,” David told him enthusiastically. He’d personally never been but his parents and brother had regaled him many times about it…before the dark times.

“Bill’s gone loads of times,” Charlie added. “Says the experience never gets old. Even as you get older.”

“Especially since it will allow me to meet with contacts a lot more,” Jae said, giving a shifty grin. No one bothered to ask him what that meant. Sometimes with Jae it was better not to know.

By the time they reached Professor McGonagall, the girls had already turned theirs in (Olivia Miller was already giggling about a new brand of nail polish). However, when David approached his head of house she frowned.

“Mr. Grant please step to one side.”

He obeyed but did not like the way she looked at him when she said. Any time Minerva McGonagall used that tone it meant nothing positive.

“I’m sorry, Grant but I cannot allow you to visit Hogsmeade.”

David picked at his ear and strained in order to ensure he heard her correctly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me, Mr. Grant.”

He began sputtering like an old worn out automobile.

“But-but…why?”

“Unfortunately, I am under specific instructions to forbid you to leave school grounds even with a permission slip.”

Instant indignation crept into his bones as he tried to resist giving a trademark sardonic remark.

“My parents, of all people, signed this slip. Now all of a sudden for no apparent reason I’m not allowed to go? How the hell is that fair?”

For a second he feared going too far with McGonagall, but thankfully she did not take away points.

“You seem to forget why you are at Hogwarts in the first place. Given your disregard for school rules, endangerment of others, and lack of self control, I have plenty of reason to prevent you from going to Hogsmeade.”

“I promised I’d meet Hagrid and meet Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks,” David continued to complain. “Professor, she knows more about my brother.”

He thought a family appeal might soften her heart, but he thought wrong as the Transfiguration master held firm and her posture was as uptight as ever.

“You are demonstrating my point. Like your brother you are too focused on trivial matters as opposed to your grades and schoolwork. Do not think I haven’t noticed the slip in your marks.”

“Oh, come on, I always get top marks in your class.”

“It is not my class that the concern stems from,” Professor McGonagall huffed, and David swore he saw the steam coming out of her nostrils. “Professor Flitwick has informed me that your charm work has suffered considerably since last year. If you want to earn Hogsmeade privileges, you will need to earn them Mr. Grant. And nothing you say will change my mind until I see evidence of that fact.”

David wanted to scream, shout, stomp his foot, do anything to show he wasn’t going to take this lying down. That he was not being held to the same standard as everyone else. How many poor marks had Jae received in his time at Hogwarts. He knew that either his parents or Dumbledore was behind this. Yet, there was little choice but to take her words in stride.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.”

As she walked away, no one looked him in eye (Charlie began whistling), not even the older students. David began muttering under his breath before a familiar voice began chastising him.

“Grant, don’t blame McGonagall. I know she’s tough, but she also has a point.”

He saw it was Angelica Cole and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh boy what a shocker. The person who enforces the rules supports the person who also enforces the rules. What a coincidence.”

“I’m well versed to your quips by now,” his prefect told him. He was almost as tall as her by now yet her stern gaze did not waver. “And you need to approach this differently.”

“Don’t pretend you’re any more objective than she was,” he shot back. “I know I lose as many house points as I gain but can you not point out my every flaw for once?”

“I’m not telling you this because I want to kick you while you’re down, Grant. Do as she says: study hard, improve in charms and she will treat you fairly. You know this as well as I do.”

There was something odd about the way she was speaking to him. In the previous two years, she would have been either condescending or lecturing. But ever since the incident with Ammon Lucian and helping Blishwick defend his sister’s honor her attitude towards him had noticeably changed. 

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I’m trying to help you. You’re more than just Jacob Grant’s little brother and you’ve shown that time and again. Now it’s time for you to show you’re also more than wisecracks and causing trouble.”

If he didn’t know better David could have sworn he saw an uptick in Angelica’s mouth as she walked away. Almost as though she were humoring him in her own unique way. He almost didn’t notice Rowan come up behind him.

“I’m sorry that happened, Dave,” he said. “In front of everyone no less.”

“It’s alright,” he said shrugging. 

“For the record I don’t agree with Professor McGonagall banning you from going to Hogsmeade. But there is a bright side to this.”

“Which is?”

“You still have a couple weeks to raise your grades in order to come with the rest of us. And I’m not going without you.”

David gave a reluctant grin. He also knew that Rowan despite his misgivings was also ensuring he met with Madam Rosmerta in order to learn more about Jacob. He was also being a good friend.

“Well then, guess we better hit the books.”

“I’ve studied in nearly one hundred places all across Hogwarts and I can safely conclude that the library is the most efficient place to improve one’s marks in a subject in two weeks’ time.”

Thinking back to what Angelica told him, David gave an affirming nod. He wasn’t going to let a minor inconvenience like a bad charms grade stop him from going to Hogsmeade. 

“Then that’s where we’re going next. Let’s go.”