#the fact that her dog looks like our old dog is a little unnerving though

[sadaveniren]

.

[sweetestlamb]

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple. 

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading! 

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers. 

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet. 

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks.  It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners. 

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved. 

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed. 

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing. 

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket. 

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest. 

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward. 

[brat-tamer69]

Dog House

♡ Summary: Your son Eren wants a dog. Your husband Levi is a bit of a hardass. You have to meet them somewhere in between.

♡ Notable Tags: AU, Married, Parenting, Levi x Fem!Reader

♡ Send requests here!

The late day sunshine of spring provided an excellent spotlight for the imaginary stage created by the window. Its opening into the front yard of the house was picturesque; lively green oak trees surrounded the view as their son, Eren, romped around in the healthy grass, giggling at what Y/N could only presume were the images created by his juvenile imagination. A hint of a smile touched her lips as her eyes fell back down to the sink and as she turned the plates over underneath the stream of water. It wouldn’t be long before her husband would be home from work, and the breakfast dishes would be replaced by ones for supper. With that in mind, Y/N began brainstorming what she would make for the next meal, knowing that the often ravenous child playing outside would be responsible for consuming most of it.

“Eren,” she called, coming from around the doorframe to greet her child outside. She knew better than to step fully into the grassy yard though, fully aware of how much the damp footprints perturbed her husband Levi. “What would you like for dinner?”

Eren promptly sat up, his jade eyes wide and glistening at the sole mention of food. “I want– Hmm…” The toddler cut himself off and placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin to emphasize the difficulty in his decision. “Oh, boy! I want cheesy potatoes! And ham! And- And steamed buns! And—”

“Slow down,” she giggled. “I think you’re answering with your empty stomach and not your head. I didn’t hear anything about a single green vegetable in there.”

“Okay,” he relented in a sulk. “We can have leeks...”

“It doesn’t have to be leeks.”

“Alright!” Eren brightened up again. “Then broccoli!”

“You got it.” She smiled at the toddler then wiped her hands on her apron half. But just as she turned to go back inside, she heard his usually chipper voice only murmur to her.

“Momma, can I also have a dog?”

With her back towards Eren and her hand gripping the splintered wood of the door frame, Y/N took advantage of the unique position to hide the anguish on her face. A dog. An adorable companion for Eren to play with during the day. A four-legged sibling. And to his father Levi, a walking manifestation of sentient filth. Probably grounds for divorce, too. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her appearance as she released a tired sigh from the depths of her body then turned to face her son.

“You want a dog? Did you talk to Dad about it yet?”

Seemingly already aware of the answer to his initial question, Eren’s shoulders fell in dejection and he shook his head. “I don’t wanna ask dad,” he muttered over his protruding lip.

YN’s heart lurched in her chest as she took in the sight of Eren’s dimmed eyes glossing over, his little arms folded as far across his chest as he could manage. It was certainly an effective pout. She knew for a fact that Levi wouldn’t agree to bring a dog into their lives, but she would be damned if she had to be the one to tell her cute baby boy as much.

“Hey,” she said softly, reminding herself to go over the floors later with a rag as she stepped across the yard to chuck him underneath the chin. “Your father lives here, too, you know. And as much as he loves you and wants you to have fun, having a dog here would be a big deal for him.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” Eren cried. “I’d make his food and brush him, and everything!”

Y/N wanted to interject with information about how the dog would be fed, but instead, she filled her cheeks with air to stifle her laughter, watching her son’s impassioned speech and gesticulations. “Still, Eren,” she finally spoke when she composed herself, “that’s a lot of responsibility. You’re gonna have to show Dad you’re responsible enough.”

“Respond-able?” he half-echoed with wide eyes. “How can I do that?”

“Well,” you tsked, “You can start by cleaning up your toys and making your bed.”

Y/N nearly bit her tongue in clashing with her son’s head as he shot up from the grass. But she was more bewildered by the newly determined gleam in his eyes and the way he had one of his tiny fists curled into a tight ball. “I’ll show him, momma!” he proclaimed. “I’ll show him that I can be responding-ble!”

“Responsible!” She had called after him but he was already racing inside the house and toward his bedroom, leaving dewy patterns of his precious little feet along the way.

• • •

Normally, the way Levi’s glower would soften to a more peaceful look upon the sight of her would make Y/N’s heart flutter. But instead, her stomach was performing leaps in anticipation of Eren’s question. It seemed to distract her from her other favorite part about greeting her husband after work. Levi seemed to not have missed her cues of nervousness either as he kissed her chastely on the lips, his hand gripping tighter on the small of her back and his eyes immediately scrutinizing her.

“What?” he both accused and questioned.

“What?”

“I mean, what the hell was that?” Levi’s voice was orotund, as always—deep and luxurious to supplement his charm but intimidating enough to dispel any temptation of dishonesty.

Y/N couldn’t help but to squirm in his hold and avert her eyes to the room down the hall where, no doubt, Eren was rehearsing his speech.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “Just- Eren has something he wants to tell you.”

For a moment, Levi’s piercing stare studied hers in a silent shakedown, and the combination of proximity and intimacy of it made her want to march into Eren’s room and reject the idea herself. But still, through Levi’s glare, she could see his curiosity was piqued, and that was much better than the immediate disdain and shutdown she had been expecting.

“Come with me,” Levi demanded, not giving her time to refuse as he strode in the direction of Eren’s bedroom. Y/N could hear Eren mumbling to himself and his little feet padding across the floor as he paced back in forth. However, his pacing stopped just as abruptly as both his parents appeared in the doorway.

It was more than apparent that Eren was unnerved; his eyes shone like emeralds the size of saucers as he gawked at his father. “D-Dad! You’re home!”

“Yes, I got home a minute ago. What is it you wanted to tell me?” Levi asked, gaping at the for-once, decently clean bedroom nearly as much as his son was staring at him.

Y/N’s eyes did a sweep of the room right along with Levi’s. To both of their surprise, the floor was visible. The toy soldiers that would usually litter the floor were hidden away in the chest that Levi told Eren was the soldier’s “base” many times. The duvet on his bed, albeit full of wrinkles, had a neat four-inch fold at the top. Even his shoes were lined up neatly in his closet.

Eren hesitated, clutching a fist to his chest as if to wind him up. “I want a dog!” He practically shouted the admission, his voice trembling and his eyes glittering with tears. “Momma said that I have to prove I’m respond-able and that you live here, too! But I live here and sometimes, I really want a dog so I can take care of it! And if I can clean my room then I can take care of a dog!”

Silence followed Eren’s speech immediately after, and Y/N’s only clue to Levi’s anxiously awaited reply was a quiet “hmph” and how he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Is that so?” he challenged the child in a voice slicked by sarcasm. “And who is going to shovel all the poop in the yard?”

“I- I will?”

Levi frowned. “Wrong.” At this, Eren jumped with a start, preparing himself for the stern lecture that he knew was to follow. “It’ll have to be me. You’re six years old, Eren. This is the first time you’ve picked up your own toys in months and our shovel is taller than you. A dog is an animal—an animal that’s going to track dirt in the house that you also won’t clean. It has no place here.”

The delivery of the words bit into Y/N as much as they did Eren, and she found herself redirecting her attention from her boy’s quivering lower lip to Levi’s shrewd expression. To hint to him that she wouldn’t be supportive of a further verbal lashing, she took hold of his forearm and pressed her fingertips into it as hard as she could manage. It took no time for Levi to recognize the wordless warning. But the warning came too late. Before either of them could react, Eren’s eyelashes were decorated with droplets as tears fell down his cheeks in streams.

Y/N caught a glimpse of Levi’s remorse while he stood frozen in trepidation at the doorway before she brushed past him and into the middle of the room to gather Eren into her arms. He was red in the face, completely deprived of air from the force of his crying. “Oh, honey…” she whispered, stroking his soft brunette hair rhythmically in an effort to lessen the sobs he choked out. “You’re just too little is all. This doesn’t mean you can never have a dog.”

“But—” Levi stammered with a halting hand extended toward Y/N only for her to quickly shut him up.

“It doesn’t,” she said more pointedly. “It just means you have some growing up to do so we can all be sure that the dog will be safe and happy at home.”

Perhaps after a minute of silence from all parties, and a lot contemplation from Eren amid his sniffles, Y/N finally felt as though there was a resolution. For now. As much as she disliked having to correct Levi, she knew that she would have no peace if his brash manner of speaking to Eren didn’t go unchecked. And she made him aware of it too, making sure to contradict the soft kiss she gave Eren’s cheek with the ice cold eye contact she gave her husband on her way to kitchen.

Dinner went as well as she could have hoped by the grace of a higher power. She thought it would be awkward with a moping toddler on one end and her nettled husband on the other. Fortunately, only Levi appeared to be the one moping with Eren having found just as much joy in cheesy potatoes as he previously did in the idea of having a dog. More concerned with her child’s mood, Y/N went on to clean up and help Eren to bed without paying any attention to Levi, somehow resistant to how sweet the scene of him tucking Eren into bed and kissing his forehead was all the way until it was time to address his behavior.

The comment came when Levi had already settled in bed, a small book balanced between his fingers and his brows furrowed in concentration as he undoubtedly tried to ignore his wife’s annoyance.

“Levi,” she began in a chiding tone. “Did you truly have to say all that to him?”

Levi promptly lowered his reading, his unamused eyes now trained on her. “I told him the truth, Y/N. He’s old enough to know it. He doesn’t need you coddling him and sugarcoating things anymore.”

Y/N’s arms folded across her chest in defense. “Coddling? Levi, he’s six. I don’t expect you to coddle him, but you’re his dad! It’s nice for him to know he can come to you for the harsher truths and vice versa without his feelings getting hurt.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed as they met hers. “Feelings are temporary. The truth isn’t. It surrounds us all day and every day whether we like it or not. It stung for a minute but he got over it. And so should you.”

For whatever reason, the passive aggressive request for Y/N to let the issue go was enough to push her over the edge. She could feel her blood heating as it ran through her and rushed to her face, providing just enough adrenaline for her to snatch the book from Levi’s hand before he could use it to shut her down again. Stunned by the brazen move, Levi’s mouth fell slightly open.

“Do you hear yourself?” she scolded him. “You sound like you’re talking to a damned thirty year old monk! This is a toddler we’re talking about—someone that just started losing his baby teeth. And not only that, this toddler is your son!” Y/N paused before continuing, knowing her next words would be treading sensitive territory. “I know the way you were raised! You didn’t get coddled and nice words, and hugs and kisses all the time. But we agreed when we had Eren that that was something you would change. You said you would work hard to give him the childhood that you didn’t have, and I didn’t see that happen tonight.”

Levi’s eyes fell to his lap, completing a face of guilt as he ruminated. For a soundless moment that felt more like hours, Y/N feared she had driven her point so far that it went to a place of no return. Though despite her worries, he soon spoke up, a more relaxed look about him.

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused through somewhat of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And in that promise, I didn’t realize that Eren would be so smart. Didn’t even get to teach the damn boy how to tie his shoes before he beat me to it. I guess holding him to such a high standard just comes too naturally now.”

“He is really smart, isn’t he?” Y/N agreed, easing herself onto the bed and by Levi’s side. Conscious of not overwhelming him with too much physical affection, she settled for leaning her head against his shoulder, and Levi welcomed it by pressing a kiss to her temple. “He’s also a sweetheart, just like his dad. And he looks up to him so much that it hurts him sometimes.”

“I know,” Levi said with a frown in his voice. “I’m going to make sure it doesn’t anymore.”

“I will, too... And I’ll get him a dog.”

“Y/N,” he grumbled.

“What?” she questioned back innocently. “You said he’s really smart. He can figure a dog out!”

“The kid can’t even wash his ass on his own yet and you expect him to clean up after a dog?”

“No, that’s what you’re for.”

Levi scoffed, his eye roll from beside her nearly palpable. “We’ll get him a fish in the morning. Now go to sleep, brat.”

[ravs6709]

Euneirophrenia- Solinh

Okay, so this is a repost, but only because I was on mobile and tumblr wouldn't let me post the full thing on tumblr (so I just posted a link to ao3), because "there were too many blocks". So this time, I'm posting the actual fic!

Anyways, this fanfic was inspired by A Handmade Scrapbook on ao3 and came across a dreamsharing au. From there I immediately knew I wanted to make a Solinh oneshot

So yeah, you share your dream with someone who will be important to your life. Not necessarily romantic, it can be student and mentor, but in this case it is romantic. Anyways it’s just snapshots of Sophie’s life (mostly of being a child) and interactions with Linh

Warnings- Linh's guilt over the flooding of Atlantis is mentioned a lot, food mention, and I think that's it?

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie always loved hearing the stories that her parents told. She was only four years old, but she was able to picture the scenery, she was able to understand some of the things that were discussed. They were soulmates, with a bond that started at fourteen. Sophie wanted to be just like them.

That changed in the next year.

Sophie had hit her head, and then she was hearing voices everywhere. It took weeks to be able to start figuring out where each voice came from, and another to realize that she recognized those voices. They were from people that she knew.

The world as she knew it changed, harsh thoughts constantly hidden behind- fake- smiles. And with her ability to understand things easier, she knew what the people around her thought. She was able to hear their cruel thoughts, when all she wanted was for them to go away.

She kept herself distanced from her friends, because they were thinking so much and so loud she wanted to cry. No matter how much Emma and William tried to get her to go outside and make new friends, it wouldn't work.

Even if people weren't so loud, how was she supposed to deal with knowing how others truly felt about her?

Sophie knew it was an irrational thought- she was only five years old, but hearing the namecalling that was internally directed towards her hurt. Was the person who she would dreamshare with also going to act the same?

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie was six years old when she found a giant mansion filled with crystals and other sparkly things. It was like the mansions in the TV shows, except way more fancy. There were paintings lined against the hallway.

"Who are you?" A soft voice asked.

Sophie turned around and saw a person with one of the faces from the paintings. They looked to be around her age, maybe a year older. They had a round face framed with long black hair. They had a soft smile which made their silvery blue eyes gleam. They were pretty.

The person's eyes widened. "You... you're hu-" they pressed their lips together, as if to cut themselves off. "You have brown eyes."

"Of course I do!" She said. "Brown eyes are common!"

She ignored the fact that she was the only one with them in her family.

"But..." they narrowed their eyes. "Where I... come from, we all have blue eyes. But I don't understand what's going on. Are you real?"

"I'm real. My name's Sophie Foster. She and her."

But as she spoke, there was no sound when she said the name Foster.

They nodded, still looking confused. "I'm Linh... she and her. I thought the dreamsharing didn't start until you were fourteen."

That was something that Sophie was confused about too. Some people started as early as nine, but that was incredibly rare. But there was another thing that was off about Linh.

"It's quiet," she whispered.

People within dreams didn’t have thoughts- for obvious reasons, but she was usually still able to hear the distant thoughts and dreams of her family. But at the moment, it was quiet. It was almost unnerving.

"What do you mean?"

This isn't a normal thing. Should I tell her? Would she believe me?

"Your mi-" No, she wasn't going to say anything. "Where are we?"

She knew that the place a dream took place would be somewhere that one of the people within the dream would know. And Sophie definitely had no idea where she was.

"It's my home," Linh replied.

"This mansion is yours?"

Linh blinked. "Where were live, we all have... mansions."

"Where do you live?" Sophie was sure that such a place would be well known. "I live in San Diego."

Once again, the words were omitted.

"Oh. I guess that doesn't work."

"Do you want me to take you around the house? I think we can explore."

Sophie smiled. "That sounds like fun!"

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Mom, how did it feel like when you first met dad in your dream again?"

Even if Emma didn't tell her the answer, Sophie was able to see it within her mind.

"I was in a place that felt unknown, yet also familiar. The place was vivid that I didn't think it would be from my imagination."

Sophie thought about it for a moment. Sometimes, it was hard to figure out whether she had a vivid imagination, or if it was just due to her photographic memory. She'd definitely never set a foot in a mansion, let alone one as big as the one in her dream.

"I think I shared a dream with someone," Sophie admitted.

'I think that we need to let her be outside more often. She doesn't have enough friends, so she's dreaming on imaginary friends.'

The thought was loud and clear, and she winced. It was something she wondered about. But she hadn't met anyone like Linh, and talked about her twin, Tam. There were too many details that there was no way that Sophie would be able to come up with it on her own.

"Sophie, you're only six, that wouldn't be possible."

'Maybe she never recovered from her head injury?'

•~•~•~•~•~•

The next dream didn't happen for a while, which led Sophie to believe that maybe her mom was right. It took over a month for it to happen again.

"Hello Sophie," Linh greeted.

Sophie smiled. "Hey Linh! This isn't me imagining things, am I?"

"I thought the same thing. My mother and father didn't believe me when I said I was sharing a dream. I left out the fact that you're a hu-"

Once again, Linh cut herself off. What was she talking about? This is the second time. For once, she wanted to read Linh's mind. But it was a dream, so even if she tried, it would never work.

So instead, she decided to distract herself. They weren't in the mansions this time, they were outside. It was strange though, the shops were huge and there were crystals and blue fires that burned. Sophie also noticed that there seemed to be no sky, there was something above them that was blue, but there were no clouds nor sun.

"We went shopping here today," Linh explained. She sounded a little happier than before. "I wonder if we can go inside."

It turned out that they could go inside, and Sophie wasn't surprised that it was all empty. She expected to see t-shirts or jeans but what she saw were tunics and dresses. Then again, it seemed that Linh wore a dress too.

She looked down at her own clothes, only now realizing that she wasn't in her pjyamas, but an orange shirt that had a dog on it, plus jeans.

"Can I touch the clothes?" Sophie asked.

She didn't go shopping often, especially after she started hearing the thoughts of others. The big malls were always filled with people, and she couldn't stand to be there for long periods of time. She had to rely on distractions such as music, or focusing on textures. It didn't always work out though, as her parents would always forbid her from poking around.

"I don't think what happens in our dreams will affect the outside world," Linh said, which probably meant a yes.

Slowly, Sophie walked around, trailing her finger across every piece of clothing. Everything was usually soft, she'd never felt anything like it before. She picked up one of the tunics to see what it was made of, but didn't find the material label at the back.

"What are they made of?" She asked.

Linh hummed. "I don't know. They don't tell us."

"Isn't there supposed to be a label that says that?" She checked again, then found something. There were lines joined together, but she couldn't understand any of it.

"It's a different language," Linh explained. "Wait." Her voice took on a different tone. "I'm sorry, I need to leave now, I'll see you later Sophie."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Amy was growing into an age where she was starting to make more sense of things, but was still really hyperactive. It wouldn't have been too bad, if it weren't for the fact that her mind was screaming at all times. And then she would scream too.

She still had no answers as to why Linh had left so abruptly, or why she sounded panicked. Did something happen to her family?

There was another thing that was weird though. Sometimes, she felt like Mr. Forkle- her neighbour- would he watching her. In a way, she understood why, he was the one who had found her when she hit her head. So he probably had some kind of sense of responsibility of looking after her. But his gaze felt like it was piercing her sometimes.

It was during those times when she would start feeling bad. She felt the need to doubt his intentions when she was very much able to read his thoughts.

With the combination of Amy and school, Sophie was starting to get better at ignoring the voices. They were still there, and they still hurt, but if she could just ignore it, it wouldn't hurt as much. It was a good thing she had her photographic memory, otherwise she'd probably struggle at school.

That was another thing. She'd skipped two grades, which was very clearly not normal. Her teacher was both impressed and annoyed by the quality of her work.

It's so tiring having to deal with this.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie woke up and she was in school. The classrooms were empty, the the chalkboard had writing from the math that was being taught in class.

Did I fall asleep during school?

There was no teacher in the room, which only made her panic. Where did everyone go? She looked around again, and saw someone sitting at a desk in the back corner (Sophie sat in the other corner). It took a few moments to realize that it was Linh sitting there.

"This is a dream again, isn't it?" Sophie asked.

Linh nodded, but something about her looked uneasy. "This is a dream."

"Is everything okay?"

She bit her lips, her eyes flicking everywhere, then landing on the chalkboard. "I don't understand. You're not supposed to know my language."

"I don't?" She remembered trying to read the label last time, but it never worked.

"No, I mean speaking. Where we live, we have our own special language. You shouldn't be able to communicate with me."

That was weird. Sophie would have remembered learning another language. "Maybe that's a side effect of the dream? So we can talk to each other?"

"Maybe," Linh didn't sound convinced about it. "But I don't understand why I'm dreamsharing with you. There'd be no reason for me to ever meet you. I'm not leaving where I live, and there would be no way for you to come here."

"Why not?"

It couldn't be that hard to meet Linh. All one of them had to do is be able to dream of an area with a landmark, or something that would reveal the location. Besides, they were still children, they'd have the money to travel around in the future.

"It's... a long explanation," Linh admitted. "How about you tell me about this place?"

"It's my school. Do you not go to school?"

"We get taught at home, and then when we get a little older we go to a school. But I think at the schools here, there's usually one mentor per prodigy."

Prodigy ? Is that what they call students ? And mentors for teachers?

"We definitely don't have enough teachers to do that," Sophie said with a laugh.

Linh laughed too, and her body began to visibly relax. She no longer sat up straight, and the frown that she wore disappeared.

"There's... twenty-five desks in this class? How does a teacher manage to deal with this many children at once?"

Sophie laughed. "I have no idea."

"What have you been learning about in school?"

"We've been learning about multiplying numbers and all that. I wasn't actually supposed to be in this class. I'm supposed to be in the class two grades lower than me, but I'm apparently really good at school."

She wasn't sure of what kind of expression she expected to see on Linh's face, but it wasn't one that was more thoughtful.

"What is it?" Was it one of those things that Linh couldn't bring herself to talk about?

"It's nothing."

Maybe one day, if we meet up early, I could ask her.

•~•~•~•~•~•

They were in Sophie's living room his time, and Sophie was in a good mood. The walls were decorated with streamers and the cake that she'd eaten was sitting on the table in front of her, the candles burning.

She looked around and saw Linh sitting beside her on the couch, staring at the birthday cake in awe.

"What's going on here?" Linh asked.

"It's my birthday. Or, the end of it, I guess."

"You celebrate the date of your birth?"

Sophie blinked. "You don't?"

"I think I'm nine years old, but I'm not really sure."

"I turned seven today."

"Happy... birthday?"

Sophie laughed. "Yeah, that's what you say. Thank you."

To be honest, Linh didn't look like she was nine. She looked der than Sophie, but it didn't feel like she was a whole two years older.

"Did you do anything for your birthday?"

Sophie grinned. "We used to go out, but after I started getting headaches, we've taken to staying inside. We stayed inside and had fun and played games. It was great."

With only the four of them, there weren't as many thoughts to bombard her mind with either.

"That sounds like fun."

There was something off about her tone... envy?

"Is something wrong?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin the mood."

"Linh," she reached over and took her hand. "You can tell me. You don't have to tell me everything, but you can let it out, and then we can do something as a distraction."

"My parents don't like me and my brother. We're twins, and our society doesn't like twins."

"That's stupid!" Sophie exclaimed. "I know a few sets of twins, and they seem great! It's normal!"

"It's tiring," Linh sighed. "It's really tiring."

"I'm sorry you have to go through that. Would you like a distraction? We can try eating the cake."

"What's it made of? Is there any meat?"

"Meat..? My dad's allergic to eggs, so it's completely vegetarian. Is there another concern?"

Linh's eyes widened, but then she seemed to recover. "No, I'm a vegetarian, that's all."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Sophie went to the kitchen and brought out some plates and cutlery. She came back and saw Linh staring at the cake in awe again.

"You look like you've never seen a birthday cake before," Sophie remarked.

"I haven't," Linh whispered.

"Okay, come sit next to me. You're gonna blow out the candles."

"Isn't that something you would do? Since it's your birthday?" But still, Linh moved to sit next to her.

"I mean, yeah, but I already did it. I don't know if you'll get another chance anytime soon, though when we meet up I'm definitely gonna bake you cakes. So come on, make a wish, then blow out the candles."

"Okay. Do I tell you what I wish for?"

"I think it's better kept a secret."

"Okay."

Linh closed her eyes and Sophie thought that her eyelashes were way too pretty for her own good. When she blew the candles out, she looked so happy, and Sophie wished to see Linh like that more often.

After that, Sophie set the candles aside and then cut the cake. They sat on the couches, and ate.

"Ooh, this is delicious!" Linh exclaimed. "I didn't think this cake would taste so good!"

"Yeah, it's great," Sophie agreed. "Y'know, I didn't even think of whether the dreamsharing would allow for taste, but it does."

"Oh, ew, imagine eating but with no taste at all."

"Ew, gross."

They both laughed at that.

•~•~•~•~•~•

The more and more that Sophie shared her dreams with Linh, the more she thought that Linh wasn't a normal child. Their cultures were so different, it was unlike anything she had ever seen. She tried looking up certain things, but it didn't seem to work.

The things that they did were different too. It seemed like Linh was homeschooled, but while she knew concepts, she didn't know any famous people. The food they ate was different too. They'd done a few taste tests, and Sophie learned that mallowmelt was her new favourite thing to eat. She also learned what eating something with no taste was.

"I've never had it before," Linh had told her. "I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to taste like this."

"Maybe that's why. Maybe like how the environment is somewhere where one of us has gone to, the same applies with taste. So if neither of us have tried something, it doesn't know how to register taste."

"That makes sense."

They also played video games once, and it looked like Linh never even seen an electronic before. They played Mario Kart, a classic, and one that Sophie loved playing with her family.

She knew that Linh seemed to be East Asian, but she had no clue about the specifics. Probably Vietnamese, based on the name. But still, that didn't really help in finding out where exactly Linh was, or why she seemed so out of touch with the world. She lived in a mansion, so it wasn't like money was an issue for her.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Okay, so..." Sophie began hesitantly. "I haven't told anyone this, but I have a question."

"I'll try my best to be accepting of whatever this is," Linh said.

Sophie sighed in relief. "Okay... so... what are your viewpoints on gender?"

"As in how the society treats people?"

"I mean..." Does she not know what I'm talking about? "Gender identity."

Linh looked confused. "What do you mean? We're both girls, that's our gender?"

At Sophie's dismayed look, she continued. "I genuinely don't understand, do you think you can explain? I'd like to know."

"Do you ever have a moment where you feel like you're not a girl?"

"Do you feel like a boy then?"

"No, not a boy. But not quite a girl either. Sometimes I feel like I'm just... something else. I don't really have words to explain it."

"I've never thought about it before," Linh admitted. "I don't think anyone where I live has ever thought that. But now that I think of it, I did find it... different that you told me your pronouns. I just said the same as I didn't know how to react."

"Oh. I see. You know how my pronouns were she/her before, right?" Sophie asked. "Can you use they/them pronouns for me instead?"

Linh nodded. "I'll do my best!"

They smiled. "That's the best I can ask for."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie remembered the shopping district that Linh had taken them too a while back. It only took a second for them to realize that something was wrong. The shop's were destroyed, and their was water everywhere.

"Linh! Where are you?" Again, Sophie wished that they could sense her with their telepathy.

There was silence, except for the sound of crying.

"Linh!" They followed the sound and saw Linh curled into a ball. "Linh, what happened?"

She turned to them with red eyes. "I did this."

It looked like a flood happened. There was no way a single child would cause a flood. "I'm sure you didn't do this."

There was a sob. "No, I'm not exaggerating. Everything here, the water destroying and ruining everything, I caused it. It was all my fault!"

Something this large didn't seem like it happened due to her, but it seemed like there was no point in trying to convince her otherwise.

"How did it happen?"

"I... it all peaceful... and then- I can't say, I'm sorry."

She's stuck in this place, having to relive her trauma. That can't be good for her mentally.

"It was an accident though, right? Nothing bad will happen to you, right?"

"They won't forgive me. Mh mother and father hate me right now, they think I'm a failure. The... leaders already know, and they're going to have a meeting as to what will happen to me."

Sophie didn't know much about law, but this sounded a lot like a court meeting. "They can't do that! You're what, ten? Eleven? You're just a child!"

"They might kick me out," she whispered. "And Tam..."

"Does he blame you too?" They asked.

She shook her head. "No. But... I fear that if I get kicked out, he'll do something that gets him kicked out with me. He might put himself through lots of unnecessary pain just to stay with me."

"Do you want him to stay with you?"

"I... I do. I love him more than anyone in the world. But I can't have him go through so much pain."

"I wish I could help," they murmured. "I can't do anything physically, but I wish I could change the dream or something, and we can do something as a distraction."

"Can I hold you? I think that would help. Usually when I hold Tam, I'll feel a little better."

They scooted closer to her. She patted her lap, so Sophie moved and sat there. It was nice being held actually, but they wished that this could have happened in a more positive context.

"I don't think you're a bad person, Linh," they told her. It seemed like it was something that needed to be said. "If everyone in the world ends up hating you, I won't."

The arms around them squeezed tightly. "Thank you, Sophie."

•~•~•~•~•~•

The gaps between dreamsharing were often a little long. A few days at minimum, but there have been moments where over a month would pass by. Despite that, Sophie wasn't surprised that they were sharing a a dream the very next day.

The room was large and mostly empty. It reminded them of a movie theater, except all the seats were empty, and everything was bright. Also the seats were long rows of benches. At the centre of it all, Linh was standing there. Her hair now had silver on the tips, but they chose not to mention it.

"This is where the meeting happened," Linh said. "I'm being banished from my home. And well, Tam did what I thought he would. He's letting himself be banished so he could stay with me."

"Will you be okay?" Sophie knew that if they were to get kicked out of the house, it wouldn't go well. They'd have to get a job and find some place to stay. It'd be hard to get food. And someone like Linh- who was rich- wouldn't fare too well.

"We won't actually be all by ourselves," Linh admitted. "Our official 'home' is just for the two of us, but we'll be interacting with people who'll provide us food."

"That's not as bad as it can be, then."

"I wouldn't say that. The... place we go to, it's for people like me who did things that caused harm."

"They know that you weren't being malicious, right?" Sophie asked. "Are all those people innocent? Or are there some that might genuinely be bad?"

"I don't think all of them will be innocent. But the leaders have made their decision, and I can't disobey them. Thank you though, for caring."

"I'll always care."

•~•~•~•~•~•

The dreamsharing began to happen less often, which scared Sophie at first. They also noticed that the scenery was almost always somewhere that they'd gone to, not Linh. But that was fine with them, because it meant that Linh wasn't forced to look at the area that had been flooded.

On days when the dreams were far apart, Sophie wondered if something happened to Linh. This time, they were in Sophie's room. They were more relaxed, and while she didn't look tired, she was out of breath.

"It's tough over there, isn't it?" Sophie asked.

"Yeah, a lot of exercise and training. It's what we do everyday, and its exhausting." She flopped down on to the bed. "Oh, this feels nice."

Sophie vaguely remembered how the beds felt like in Linh's home, and if she was calling their bed nice, it meant that the living conditions wherever Linh was couldn't be that good.

"Also, Sophie?"

"Yeah?"

"What other pronouns are there?"

They hummed. "There's so many, I wouldn't be able to name them all. I can look some up on my phone and we can look at them, if you want."

That's what they ended up doing, Sophie would look at some pronouns and then say them aloud, because Linh couldn't read English.

"Wait, say that one again," Linh said.

"Ve, vem, vis, verself?"

Linh nodded, and was murmuring something under her breath. "Is there a variation of it?"

"Uh. I found ve, ver, vis, verself."

"Hmm, is there one that changes up the vis?"

"Most of them do seem to but... okay, I think I've got one. Ve, ver, ver, vers, verself."

"I like the sound of that one. But also, I still like my current pronouns."

"You don't have to give them up, you know? You could use both she and ver. You could use both at the same time, or use one at a time. It's your pronouns, you get to pick."

"I'll think about it. It's a little sudden, you know?"

"I get how you feel."

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Okay, so I have an answer."

"Ooh, what is it?'

"She/ve. Mix them up. If there's a change, I'll let you know."

"Okay!" Sophie smiled at ver. "You wanna play some video games now?"

She picked up a controller. "Of course."

•~•~•~•~•~•

"So, this is new."

They were outside this time, a large open environment. There were hundreds of trees, some bent over unnaturally. Sophie swore they'd seen something like that on the Internet before, but what was Linh doing there?

"It's been a while since we came somewhere that I was, right?" Ve said. "Just some more training here."

"Is it going okay?" They asked.

She shrugged. "It's alright, most of the time. They tried to get us to swim, but it's not going well."

Sophie remembered the image of the aftermath from that flood. Being surrounded by so much water must be difficult.

"I'm just glad you're doing okay," they murmured.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sometimes, Sophie wondered if they had a crush on Linh. They were able to admit that ve was pretty, and the silver tipped hair of vers looked really good with her silver-blue eyes. She was also kind too, something that Sophie desperately needed from someone.

But other moments, they wondered if it would have been someone else. If they only liked Linh so much because it was quiet. If it was someone else whose was quiet, would they have crushed on them instead?

Surprisingly, they got an answer to that (the answer being no). Sophie was on a field trip at a museum when someone came up to them and was confused that they had brown eyes.

"You have brown eyes." Linh had told them, one of the very first things that she'd ever said to them.

"Well... I do. Also, the news article misgenders me, I use they/them pronouns."

They weren't sure why they felt the need to say that, especially since they were likely never going to see that person again.

"Oh," they said. "Interesting. I'm just a boy."

Then he went and pointed towards the figure of the Albertosaurus and said some weird things. He turned to leave, but then a group of kindergarteners came screaming, their mental voices even louder.

It was weird to see him with the same pained expression they bore. He must have noticed it too. Then Sophie realized something. His mind was silent. And somehow, he knew that they were a telepath. Because Fitz- that was the boy's name- was too.

It was a blur after that, they panicked and a lantern almost killed them, and then there was the revelation that Sophie wasn't human.

"Where I... come from, we all have blue eyes." Linh had said.

There was something strange, but Sophie wasn't able to put it together.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie was given some time to think thing over. They weren't surprised to see that another shared dream was happening. They were considering the idea of telling Linh this, seeing how someone else would react. It would be a good way to figure out their own feelings towards all of what was going on.

"Okay, so..." Sophie began, because how did you tell someone that you weren't human?

"You look nervous, did something happen?"

"Okay, how familiar are you with... more unnatural things?"

Linh blinked, but her face was carefully blank. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if I said that it's not just humans out there, would you believe me?"

"I believe you, but can you explain some more?"

All the tension was just coming from them, Sophie knew it. Just say it!

"So I'm a telepath, and well, I have been for years, since before we met and all. But today I met someone else who was one and he told me that I'm an elf. This sounds ridiculous, right?"

To their surprise, Linh shook their head. "You're not the only one who kept secrets."

And then ver hands were moving, and there was water swirling in the air. "I'm one too. But I'm a hydrokinetic."

"Wait... you're an elf too?"

There were so many questions, like why didn't you tell me?, but they'd be a hypocrite if they actually asked that. But also, it made sense. The blue eyes. The giant crystals and mansions.

"Yeah, I am. You said you were a telepath since you were five?"

"Fitz was surprised too."

"Fitz?"

"He's the one who found me. The telepath. Do you know him?"

"No, I don't. Kind of got banished for years, remember?"

That was another thing. Fitz mentioned how Tribunals didn't happen often, because the laws weren't broken often. But Linh, ve was banished, a decision made by the leaders. The elvin leaders. And that, with the image of the flood...

It always did seem weird that there seemed to be no sky. What if it wasn't a sky? What if it was water? And Linh said that she had caused it...

"You lost control in that place, didn't you." It wasn't a question, it was a confirmation.

"You figured that out faster than I thought. So what are you going to do now? You're an elf now."

"I don't know," they whispered. "I don't know."

"I can answer more questions about you being an elf, if you'd like?"

"That would be nice."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Adjusting to Elvin life wasn't as hard as Sophie thought it was going to be. Maybe it was because they had friends, Dex, Fitz, Biana and Keefe. And not to mention Linh.

But then there were the secret organizations, and Sophie's life was quickly becoming more and more unusual. There were the kidnappings, there was Exile and the Everblaze fires. Getting through all those ordeals was a disaster, especially when things would go wrong, when people would get hurt or even killed.

Sophie was starting to realize just how flawed the Lost Cities could be, the subtle discrimination that went on, despite the claims of being inclusive. Innocents were being harmed. Seeing how the world worked made Sophie feel even more angry for what Linh was going through.

When they got a chance to join the Black Swan, they took it. They gladly took the chance to rescue Prentice. It didn't go how it was expected, and now Sophie was going to Exillium.

There was something about the area that seemed familiar. The trees were bent over. Where did I see this before? The Internet?

The test to be divided into the hemispheres was difficult, and Sophie resorted to using fire to get out. It could have gone worse, except a hydrokinetic had saved them.

I wonder how Linh will react knowing that I'm at Exillium. Training.

•~•~•~•~•~•

The activities that needed to be done were awful. Appetite suppression was by far one of the harder ones.

There was a shade who kept talking to them, he was wondering who Sophie was exactly. And why they'd thank the hydrokinetic. There wasn't anything to it though, Sophie just wanted to thank her.

Then there was the activity for swimming. The water was a cold torrent, and it was difficult. There was someone else who was struggling- the hydrokinetic. Sophie went up to her, they wanted to help, but it was best to ask for permission first.

The hydrokinetic seemed strangely relaxed after that, as if overcoming that trial was that important to her.

The shade went up to them, asking if they wanted to know what he knew about the woods. Sophie took that chance and leapt with them.

"And you're sure I can trust you, right?" He asked, once they were alone.

"Tam... I know we can trust them."

The hydrokinetic had been silent, but then she took a step forward.

... Tam?

The hydrokinetic took off her mask. "Sophie, it's me, Linh."

Linh. Linh!

Tam turned towards ver. "That's Sophie? The person you're sharing your dream with?"

Ve nodded. "I didn't realize until they were transmitting and helping me with the water."

Sophie stood for a few more seconds, shocked. Once their brain finally processed everything, they went in and gave her a hug.

"I knew that we would meet one day," they whispered. "I'm here now."

They could see Tam looking at them with a thoughtful expression. "You helped Linh during ver toughest times. I don't know how I could thank you."

"You can help me... us."

"I can trust you," he replied. "But can I trust your friends?"

"We'll see," Linh said, finally pulling away from the hug. "What I do know is that they're going to be a big part of our lives. We've gone though a lot now, but we'll go through more together. We'll tell you what we know."

Sophie nodded. "Thank you."

•~•~•~•~•~•

"You met with the two of them by yourself?" Keefe asked.

"I needed to get the information."

"But how did you know they could he tru-"

"Keefe... I've known Linh for almost eight years, I know for a fact that I can trust her."

"Linh," Mr Forkle questioned. "Linh Song?"

They turned towards him. "How do you know who that is?"

"It's hard not to have heard of the one who accidentally flooded Atlantis," he said. "She's the one you dreamshare with, right?"

"Wait," Fitz said. "You've been dreamsharing? For eight years? How come we never knew about this?"

Sophie shrugged. "I guess I just never bothered mentioning it."

"It changes a lot," Mr Forkle added. "If ve wasn't someone trustworthy, they'd be able to utilize a lot of information about Sophie, and possible harm them more. But I also know she can be trusted."

"Did you look into my dreams?"

The dreams they shared was a private space for Sophie. For it to be intruded upon-

"I had no intention. But you do know that I was the one who would teach you things in your sleep. I wasn't able to do it during the days you dreamshared."

Oh, that made more sense.

"Linh's just like us. Children who had wrong things done to them. Ve's just trying to survive."

"If you trust ver, so do I," Biana declared.

The others nodded. "Us too."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Not once did Sophie ever think it was a mistake to trust Linh. They worked together and saved the gnomes. Ve comforted them when Keefe left for the Neverseen. They helped each other. They helped her gain better control over ver hydrokinesis, and saved Atlantis in the process. They comforted her when Tam was taken by the Neverseen.

They interacted with the natural ease that came from knowing someone for a long period of time. And Sophie knew for sure that they had a crush on Linh, and they wouldn't want to have it any other way.

Together, they all managed to defeat the Neverseen, and restore some normality to the world. With a lot of the stress gone, they found it easier to think about their feelings.

"Hey Linh?"

"Yeah?"

"I like you romantically."

She scooted closer to them, then wrapped an arm around them. "I like you too. Does that mean we date now?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

And just because Sophie felt like it, they leaned in, and smiled when ve closed the gap between them. It took all of those years for things to get this far, and Sophie knew that there were only more things in store. But for now, they revelled in the moment.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Not adding a taglist because I did already post this before, but if you wanna be added/removed, just let me know!

[patrickswayzeme]

Happy Holidays everybody! Sorry this is a bit late! This is my Secret Santa gift as part of @secret-santa-klaus

My gift is for @skull-w-cigarette , I hope you like it!

Note: this takes places in some kind of alternate timeline where the Hargreeves meet up on a less of an urgent timeline in the 60s. Around the same time but maybe a few weeks later, closer to Christmas. I apologize for the plot not being better thought out, I just thought of the idea and ran with it. Hope you like it! (I also apologize for the lack of a cut, I’m on mobile, I will fix it as soon as I get to a computer)

Allison had almost forgotten her alibi. She grimaced as she looked down at the shopping bags on her arm, filled with hurriedly bought presents. Whatever size shoe that was, she did not think it was actually her husbands. She hadn’t actually went out to go shopping on a Saturday afternoon. She had been having lunch with her sister, which she knew she didn’t have to hide from her husband, but the truth was she wasn’t ready to explain it all. Yes, she had one sister but no her sister didn’t remember who she was and yes they were all adopted. Once she got to that point, she would have to explain who had adopted them, and it was going to keep getting more and more complicated after that. He had already been spooked by two of her brothers and she was going to get to explaining everything, she promised herself, but she just needed a little more time. She let out a deep breath before opening her front door. She smiled as soon as she did and noticed that Ray had decorated while she was gone. The Christmas tree was up and covered with tinsel and there were already presents wrapped under the tree. “Awww” she couldn’t help murmur audibly. He was so sweet. She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach when she thought of the poorly chosen shoes and the half-baked lie he would never suspect.

“Ray?” She called, the smile could be heard in her voice “don’t worry about hanging the mistletoe. You don’t need the help.” She joked in a sing song voice, peaking around corners in search of her husband.“Honey!” Rays’ familiar voice exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen, his arms wide open ready for a hug which Allison immediately excepted. Hey!” She playfully smacked his hand when he tried to look in the bag. “No peaking!” She scolded. Ray chucked and backed away “sorry sweetheart, I just can’t help it!”Allison quickly stuffed the bags in the coat closet, promising herself she would buy better gifts later. Ray excitedly grabbed her hands and started gently pulling her to the kitchen. “Now follow me, I got something to show you!” “Did you decorate the kitchen too?” Allison asked excitedly.“Not quite” Ray winked as he slipped behind her and covered her eyes. “No peaking” he repeated, laughing. Allison smiles impatiently. She heard some kind of scraping sound? No, it was more like a slobbering and a scraping sound and then heavy breathing. “What on earth do you have in here, Ray?” She asked, still amused but growing skeptical. “Surprise!” Ray exclaimed when lifted his hands over her eyes to reveal a small golden colored dog happily eating from a brand-new doggy dish in the kitchen floor. “A dog, Ray? It’s a bit early for Christmas...l” she began slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings but I little surprised he had never asked her about pets before making this decision. She rationalized that perhaps pet buying wasn’t considered as series of a decision as it was in the future and resisted the urge to get upset. Ray put a calming hand on her shoulder, noticing the worry creases on his wife’s forehead. “Now don’t worry!” He calmed “He’s not for us, he’s for your brother!”

Allison’s eyes went wide. “My brother?! Ray, which brother of mine do you think would be capable of this kind of responsibility…Klaus can barely take care of himself, and I think Luther would like a dog, and could probably take care of one, but I don’t really know where he’s living right now, and his current job is kind of unpredictable…and a pet could be used as leverage…” Ray took Allison’s hands in his own and gently pulled her closer to him. “Baby, slow down. He’s for your little brother! How old is he 11? 13? Where have you been hiding him?” Allison took a deep breath as she realized which brother he must have met. “Five?” She asked. “Pardon?” Ray asked, obviously confused. “He’s…five…years…old?” He asked, slowly. “I mean I know he’s young, but he definitely seemed older than ten….is he a leap year baby or something?” Allison waved her hands in a criss-cross motion. Even though she had regained her voice, she still used motioned with her hands more than she used to. “No, sorry…that’s his…nick-name. Five…” She backed up to lean against the counter. “I’m sorry, when did you meet me ‘little’ brother?” “This morning actually. It was a little scary at first. I came down a little late for breakfast and he a was just sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. It was kind of cute though, after you know, the fear of an intruder wore off.”

Allison nodded. “Okay...what did she say?” “He just asked where you were and I said you were out but he could stay or I could drive him home but he said it was fine and he would stop by later, downed the coffee in the cup and left. I don’t think I’ve ever met a kid that...sophisticated before if that’s even the right word.” Allison laughed “theres a lot of word you could use to describe my brother.”

Alison felt hot breath on her ankles and looked down to see the puppy jumping on her legs, desperately trying to jump up closer to her face. She had almost forgotten about him. He had finished devouring his food and now wanted attention. She scooped him up in her arms and scratched his head.

“Aw, Ray you really shouldn’t have, but he is adorable...” she nuzzled the puppy’s head with her chin and pouted. “can we keep him?”Ray laughed “if your brother doesn’t want him then, sure.” He said warmly. “I guess we should ask his..your...parents?” He said slowly and unsure, hoping Allison would jump in with some more enlightening information. She didn’t. She took a few moments before putting down the wriggly puppy in her arms back on the floor. “Let’s go sit down and talk.”

Ray’s biggest take away from Allison’s limited explanation of her siblings seemed to be that Five was living somewhere alone. Or at least somewhere unknown. She had tried to explain that wasn’t really as alarming as it seemed, he could take care of himself. “He spent years alone” she explained. That only made Ray more concerned. “He’s staying with us.” He kept saying definitively. “At least for a little while.” Allison tried to explain that it was probably impossible to convince him of this and that he might be staying with her brother, but he was insistent. “Won’t people ask questions if we..?” “Have a little white boy living with us?” Ray finished “yes they will. But we’re going to figure it out. He is your brother and even the simplest of minds are going to have to accept that.”

When Five came back the next day, Ray found him in the kitchen again, sipping coffee out of the same mug. “Is she here?” He asked politely but matter of fact, looking up from his coffee to briefly flash a polite smile before looking a way again. There was something so unusual yet familiar about his demeanor that Ray found a bit unnerving but also kind of amusing.

“She is...but before she comes down, there’s something I want to show you.”

Five cocked an eyebrow. “Okay...” he looked at Ray for a a minute, sighed then got up.

“Wait one second!” Ray said excitedly, holding up a finger before dashing into the other rooms

Five sighed again and sat back down to finish his coffee. He thought he might just sneak upstairs to talk to his sister or better yet, leave through the kitchen window. He decided against it if not just for curiosity’s sake. Although he didn’t think that Allison would be able to stay with her husband since they had to go back home and fix the timeline, he did want to at least make sure he was as nice and as well meaning as he seemed.

“Okay you can come into the living room now!” Ray called. He was sitting on the floor, under the Christmas tree holding a box, that seemed be struggling out of his grasp. He had been gently holding down the lose fitting lid and let go as soon as he saw his brother-in-law. Out a sprang a little golden brown puppy right towards Five. Five took a step back and cocked his head at Ray in confusion. “A..dog?”

“Uhh yeah...he’s for you..” Ray was suddenly a bit flustered. This wasn’t the reaction he expected. Did he just buy this boy a dog because he had never got one as a boy, he briefly wondered. “Allison and I..well we were hoping..”. “We wanted to let you know you could stay here.” Allison’s voice cut in. Ray turned to see his wife smiling in the doorway.

“The lady of the house has spoken!” Ray said as he walked over the to her and kissed her forehead. “Good morning, dear.” He murmured.

Five looked at the couple incredulously.

“I won’t be doing that. I’m staying with our brothers and another guy. It’s all good.”

Ray started protesting, Allison just looked at her brother with a thin lipped smile, totally unsurprised. She touched Rays shoulder, to let him know it was okay.

Five got up and dusted himself off “Allison, let’s catch up some other time. This address.” He handed her a card with small neat handwriting. “I will be taking Mr. Pennycrumb though.” He said matter of factly, reaching to shake Ray’s hand. “Thank you, Raymond.” He said before scooping up the puppy and going out the front door.

Raymond looked dumbfounded at his wife who just shrugged. Ray laughed, leading Allison to laugh. “Let’s go get some breakfast, sweetie.”

He said taking her hand.

Allison’s eyes went wide. “My brother?! Ray, which brother of mine do you think would be capable of this kind of responsibility…Klaus can barely take care of himself, and I think Luther would like a dog, and could probably take care of one, but I don’t really know where he’s living right now, and his current job is kind of unpredictable…and a pet could be used as leverage…” Ray took Allison’s hands in his own and gently pulled her closer to him. “Baby, slow down. He’s for your little brother! How old is he 11? 13? Where have you been hiding him?” Allison took a deep breath as she realized which brother he must have met. “Five?” She asked. “Pardon?” Ray asked, obviously confused. “He’s…five…years…old?” He asked, slowly. “I mean I know he’s young, but he definitely seemed older than ten….is he a leap year baby or something?” Allison waved her hands in a criss-cross motion. Even though she had regained her voice, she still used motioned with her hands more than she used to. “No, sorry…that’s his…nick-name. Five…” She backed up to lean against the counter. “I’m sorry, when did you meet me ‘little’ brother?”

“This morning actually. It was a little scary at first. I came down a little late for breakfast and he a was just sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. It was kind of cute though, after you know, the fear of an intruder wore off.”

Allison nodded. “Okay...what did he say?” “He just asked where you were and I said you were out but he could stay or I could drive him home but he just said it was fine and he would stop by later, downed the coffee in the cup and left. I don’t think I’ve ever met a kid that...sophisticated before if that’s even the right word.” Allison laughed “theres a lot of word you could use to describe my brother.”

Alison felt hot breath on her ankles and looked down to see the puppy jumping on her legs, desperately trying to jump up closer to her face. She had almost forgotten about him. He had finished devouring his food and now wanted attention. She scooped him up in her arms and scratched his head.

“Aw, Ray you really shouldn’t have, but he is adorable...” she nuzzled the puppy’s head with her chin and pouted. “can we keep him?”

Ray laughed “if your brother doesn’t want him then, sure.” He said warmly. “I guess we should ask his..your...parents?” He said slowly and unsure, hoping Allison would jump in with some more enlightening information. She didn’t. She took a few moments before putting down the wriggly puppy in her arms back on the floor. “Let’s go sit down and talk.”

Ray’s biggest take away from Allison’s limited explanation of her siblings seemed to be that Five was living somewhere alone. Or at least somewhere unknown. She had tried to explain that wasn’t really as alarming as it seemed, he could take care of himself. “He spent years alone” she explained. That only made Ray more concerned. “He’s staying with us.” He kept saying definitively. “At least for a little while.” Allison tried to explain that it was probably impossible to convince him of this and that he might be staying with her brother, but he was insistent. “Won’t people ask questions if we..?” “Have a little white boy living with us?” Ray finished “yes they will. But we’re going to figure it out. He is your brother and even the simplest of minds are going to have to accept that.”

When Five came back the next day, Ray found him in the kitchen again, sipping coffee out of the same mug. “Is she here?” He asked politely but matter of fact, looking up from his coffee to briefly flash a polite smile before looking a way again.

There was something so unusual yet familiar about his demeanor that Ray found a bit unnerving but also kind of amusing.

“She is...but before she comes down, there’s something I want to show you.”

Five cocked an eyebrow. “Okay...” he looked at Ray for a a minute, sighed then got up.

“Wait one second!” Ray said excitedly, holding up a finger before dashing into the other rooms

Five sighed again and sat back down to finish his coffee. He thought he might just sneak upstairs to talk to his sister or better yet, leave through the kitchen window. He decided against it if not just for curiosity’s sake. Although he didn’t think that Allison would be able to stay with her husband since they had to go back home and fix the timeline, he did want to at least make sure he was as nice and as well meaning as he seemed.

“Okay you can come into the living room now!” Ray called.

He was sitting on the floor, under the Christmas tree holding a box, that seemed be struggling out of his grasp. He had been gently holding down the lose fitting lid and let go as soon as he saw his brother-in-law. Out a sprang a little golden brown puppy right towards Five. Five took a step back and cocked his head at Ray in confusion. “A..dog?”

“Uhh yeah...he’s for you..” Ray was suddenly a bit flustered. This wasn’t the reaction he expected. Did he just buy this boy a dog because he had never got one as a boy, he briefly wondered. “Allison and I..well we were hoping..”

“We wanted to let you know you could stay here.” Allison’s voice cut in. Ray turned to see his wife smiling in the doorway.

“The lady of the house has spoken!” Ray said as he walked over the to her and kissed her forehead. “Good morning, dear.” He murmured.

Five looked at the couple incredulously, absent minded petting the puppy that was climbing all over me.

“I won’t be doing that. I’m staying with our brothers and another guy. It’s all good.”

Ray started protesting, Allison just looked at her brother with a thin lipped smile, totally unsurprised. She touched Rays shoulder, to let him know it was okay.

Five got up and dusted himself off “Allison, let’s catch up some other time. This address.” He handed her a card with small neat handwriting. “I will be taking Mr. Pennycrumb though.” He said matter of factly, reaching to shake Ray’s hand. “Thank you, Raymond.” He said before scooping up the puppy and going out the front door.

Raymond looked dumbfounded at his wife who just shrugged. Ray laughed, leading Allison to laugh. “Let’s go get some breakfast, sweetie.”

He said taking her hand.

[deans-baby-momma]

Seeking Mercy-Chapter 9

A/N: This is the next to last chapter of Seeking Mercy. The epilogue to the Falling saga, Resolutions, will be posted on Monday, August 10. So in 7 days this story will be over. Just in time for my new one, Mommy’s (Not So) Good Girl to start on August 12. If you want tagged for the new story or any of my others, just send an ask HERE

A/N2: One warning, two words. Micheal!Dean.

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice frenzy as he screams through the phone. “Get the kids and get out! NOW!”

“What, why?” The panic and terror of her brother-in-law’s voice rushing through her.

“He said yes. The asshole said yes and let Micheal take over. Now we don’t know where he is or what he is up to. So take the kids and go to Bobby’s cabin in Whitefish.”

Y/N feels like ice water is pumping through her veins as she listens to Sam. Dean promised! He promised he wouldn’t do something stupid. But now here she is running around trying to pack up enough stuff for two babies and get away. Get out of town before Micheal finds her. God only knows what he would do to her or the kids, just to hurt the Winchesters.

Strapping Mavelin into her carseat and then placing the infant carrier into its base is difficult with the shaking Y/N is doing. She’s got to get her family to safety. The cabin is almost a whole day’s drive away and she knows she isn’t going to be able to do it, not with kids in tow.

As she finishes putting the last of the bags in the trunk of her Charger, she opens up the internet app on her phone and looks for hotels on the way. She slides in behind the wheel and inputs the coordinates for a hotel in Casper WY into the GPS. 

The Budget Inn is almost 9 hours away but she hopes it’s far enough for an overnight stop, praying Micheal doesn’t somehow track her and the kids down. 

Pulling out of the garage, Y/N watches as the Bunker gets smaller and smaller and then disappears in her rearview. ‘Life on the run with two kids under the age of 2,’ she thinks to herself. ‘Fun times ahead.’

A week. One whole week since she left the Bunker in a desperation to keep their children and herself safe. Seven days since Sam called and told her that her husband had welcomed in the archangel Micheal to try and save the world.

Damn him! Damn him to hell! He promised he wouldn’t do something rash. He swore to her he would stay cautious and not bow down to anything. He lied. He fucking lied! And now here she is, over a thousand miles away without any idea of what is going on back at home.

Thankfully Micheal has yet to try to seek her out. Y/N bought a prepaid cellphone as soon as she arrived and had destroyed her old one.  She texted Mary from the new number but has not heard hide nor hair from anyone. She wonders if they even got the text.

Maddox has just went down for the night; Mavelin has been out for hours when there is a knock on the cabin’s door. Grabbing her Glock from its hiding spot, she tiptoes to the front and looks out the window.

Standing at the door is her husband. Well, it’s her husband’s vessel anyway. This body is too rigid, standing too straight. Dean would never stand with his shoulders that stiff, what with the weight of the world on them for so long. 

And the outfit! Although her husband looks mighty fine in the stylish ensemble, it is an outdated look. A fashion popular back in the 1920s in England maybe, but in 2018 it is just antiquated.

“Y/N,” her husband’s voice calls out. “I know you are in there. Open up.”

Hearing his voice makes her heart ache. She hasn’t heard his voice for almost 2 weeks, with the last thing he said to her was that he loved her. Tears emerge out of nowhere and she steels herself. She isn’t going to cry. She isn’t going to let him see just how affected she is.

“What do you want, Micheal?” She asks as she props her back against the door frame, out of his view.

“Don’t worry darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”

“Why? I have nothing to do with anything. I have no dog in this fight.”

“Oh but you do,” Micheal says. “You hold the key to everything. Just let me in and we can discuss it.”

Hoping and praying that she is making the right decision and that Dean has enough of a hold on his conscience to keep their family safe, Y/N reaches out and unlocks the door. The tick of each tumbler clicking open seems amplified in the room.

Micheal sits in the chair and watches as Y/N paces back and forth. It’s unnerving to her how he is commandeering the room. Sitting there with his legs crossed at the knees, his arms bent and flat against the cushions on the chair, palms flat and unmoving. 

But the look on his face….the look he gives her everytime she chances a glance at him is daunting. He is complaisant and placating; a menacing smile gracing his lips. 

“What do you mean, I hold the key to everything? I haven’t hunted in over 2 years. I know almost nothing when it comes to what is going on. I’ve been busy raising mine and Dean’s children.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Micheal tsked. “Don’t you mean Dean’s daughter and his nephew?” 

Y/N feels like she is going to puke! This fucking angel just confirmed her greatest fear. But instead of caving, she denies his claim.

“No, Dean is the father to both my kids.”

“Ah, yes. He plays the proud poppa card well. But we both, you and I, know that that little boy sleeping just in the next room-” Micheal nods his head toward where Maddox is sleeping. “-belongs to Adam, the son John hid.”

“No,” Y/N whispers as the tears she had for so long held in begin to make their way down her face. 

“Yes,” Micheal says. “The boy belongs to Adam. And now Dean knows it too. He’s awake in here you know. Yes, he is inside here-” he points to his head. “-listening, hearing our discussion. He now knows you lied all those months ago. And he also knows that it wasn’t just while he was injured.”

Y/N’s eyes snap to Micheal. “Ye-yes it was,” she defends herself but knows deep down it is no use. The angel knows already.

“Now Y/N why must you continue this charade. I have been watching you for a while now. I have seen it all. And now Dean has too. He has seen you and Adam going at it behind his back for months-MONTHS- before the accident. He has heard all the filthy words said between the two of you and how you wanted Adam to impregnate you. How you begged for his seed to load you up, to fill your womb.

“I have almost successfully broken Dean with that, but I do need your help to complete my mission,” Micheal says as he stands and approaches Y/N. “I need you to leave him. He already knows you’ve cheated, he already knows the youngest Winchester is not his son. So, leave him. Do not let anyone know where you are, where you end up. 

“Not Sam. Not Mary. Not Adam. Pick a place and go there, change your identity, your kids’ identities. I promise not to bother you. I need Dean broken and crushed to fulfill my destiny,” Micheal pauses and stares down at Y/N. “So what do you say, Y/N. Ready to become someone else?”

Two days later Y/N finds herself laying in bed at the cabin with Mavelin and Maddox by her side. She has cried all she can cry at this point. The proposition Micheal gave her tumbling through her mind. 

Leave Dean and become someone new, go someplace none of the Winchesters will be able to find or Dean dies. Micheal described in vivid detail how he would gradually and leisurely kill Dean and it almost broke her. 

The alternative was to wait out Sam and the rest of the family in hopes that they could figure out how to overtake Micheal and get him out of Dean and bring Dean back home in one piece.

Micheal’s taunts kept haunting her though. Did Dean know now? Did he know she lied? That Maddox wasn’t his son, although at the time she told him the baby was his, she hadn’t been  sure. Thanks to Micheal though, she now knows that Adam Milligan-Winchester did in fact impregnate her. 

But that was something that could be worked out, right? People raise other people’s kids all the time, right? So it isn’t that big of a deal that Adam fathered the boy Dean has been raising. 

Although, that aspect was resolvable, the fact that Dean also now knows that she and Adam had been going at it for longer than she portrayed was something she didn’t know could be fixed. That right there was a big FUCK YOU. Not only had she slept with his brother but she lied and let him assume that it was only while he was injured.

Dean, knowing that Y/N and Adam had been going at it behind his back, was going to be a hurdle she wasn’t sure she could clear.

It was just easier to disappear, right? Just fall off the face of the planet and let Dean move on. He’d find love again, she’s sure. Although it took a lot of hard work on her part to get him to open up, Y/N is confident Dean could find another woman to be loyal and true to him; possibly even give him more children. Kids that were truly his.

The idea of Dean with someone else, though, breaks her heart and Y/N starts sobbing into the pillow once again.

Another month passes before Y/N finally hears a ping from her cellphone. It’s a message from Mary.

Mary: We did it Y/N. We saved Dean. It is safe to come home.

That night, Y/N and the kids are on the road heading toward the Bunker when her formerly silent phone rings.

“Hello?”

“How far out are you?” It’s Dean’s voice and she can tell it is her husband, not the man who once enraptured his body. The tone and cadence of it is what she is used to.

“I’m in Bridgeport, so about 5 hours. Give or take,” she answers. “How are you?”

Instead of answering, Dean sighs through the phone. “I’ve arranged a place for you and the kids to live comfortably. It’s across town but we all worked together and have warded it against everything possible. You’ll be safe. I’ll send you the address. All I ask is that you allow me to see Mavelin.”

Y/N’s heart breaks in her chest as she hears his words. He doesn’t want her to come to the Bunker. He doesn’t want her anymore. The tears she thought she had all cried out came back with a vengeance; enough that Y/N had to pull over to compose herself.

“Dean, no. Please? Can we talk when I get back to the Bunker?”

There is silence on the other end and she takes the mobile device away to see that the call has  ended. He had hung up on her. While staring at the screen a text comes through.

 “134 Chestnut Street.”

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​​ @squirrelnotsam​​ @sandlee44​​  @internationalmusicteacher​​ @kricketc29​ @natura1phenomenon​​ @blacktithe7​​ @spnbaby-67​​ @travelingriversideblues-x​​  @keymology​​ @tftumblin​​ @markofdean79​​ @thevelvetseries​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @winchester-fantasies​ @akshi8278​ @michellethetvaddict​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid​ @hoboal87​ @atc74​ @maddiepants​ @delightfullykrispypeach​

[cosmicoceanfic]

This might not be of any interest but I know you've been catching up on Doctor Who lately- if you fancy it, how about something about Dirk and Thirteen meeting/being buds? I think they would just adore one another

post DW series 11, post DGHDA season two

Todd’s learned to get used to lots of things being friends with Dirk, but he’s come to assume there’s some form of nonsensical pattern to it. Some weird shit will happen, and then some weird shit will follow. He’s gotten pretty good at understanding the level of weirdness, too. They’ll be minding their own business, and suddenly a dog will come into the office and ask them if they have the time, on account of the fact they’re a dog, and don’t have a watch. That kind of weird shit.

Some weirdness, of course, just comes from Dirk, and his way of being. That’s usually vaguely predictable too, though. Dirk will tell them strange things that probably aren’t true, or he’ll only eat sandwiches cut into thirds on Tuesdays. It’s just the kinda thing you get used to.

It’s why Todd is ultimately not that surprised when he, Dirk, and Farah are walking down the street and Dirk sees someone walking on the opposite sidewalk, screams, and starts jumping up and down and waving. He is surprised, though, when that stranger starts jumping up and down and waving and screaming back. Usually if Dirk attracts someone’s attention, they stare at him like a crazy person, unless he asks if they’ve experienced accelerated strangeness or maybe their goat has gone missing, or maybe if they’re gained a goat, and then they’re usually a surprise client.

This person doesn’t seem like a client, though. This person is waving her arms wildly and dashing across the street as several cars honk at her, three people trailing behind her looking suitably embarrassed and awkward as they wave at the cars apologetically. She collides with Dirk in a hug.

“Oh, you’re huggy this time!” Dirk says cheerfully, leaning back a bit with the force of the hug. “Look at that!”

“Sorry, is that alright?” The woman pulls back, beaming. She’s English, Todd can tell that much. She’s got short blond hair, a long grayish silver coat, a blue shirt with stripes on it, and mustard yellow suspenders holding up blue pants. It is, admittedly, a lot less ridiculous outfit than Todd would’ve anticipated from someone that Dirk might be friends with. He realizes this reflects on him, too, and looks down at his own outfit in concern. “You are huggy, aren’t you? I feel like I remember being annoyed about that a few times before.”

“Yes, very much so!” He beams back. “Look at you! Love the ear cuff.”

“Thank you!” She flicks it. “You should get one. Love an ear cuff. I think I might’ve invented them on a few planets. Hey, how d’you think you always recognize me on sight, no matter the, y’know-“ she gestures down herself.

“Oh, you know.” He wibbles a hand back and forth. “This is a new one, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. Gender, you know how it is.” It’s her turn to wibble a hand back and forth. “Bit of a shot in the dark at the best of times. I like this one, though! Hair’s a nice color. Haven’t been blond since, oh, eight go rounds back or so? Not sure.”

Dirk nods sympathetically. “Math.”

She smiles at Todd and Farah. “Hullo, Todd, Farah, lovely to see you, as always.”

The three behind her wave and there’s a choruses of “hellos” and “alright, then?”.

“Hi…..?” Todd says uncertainly. Farah says nothing, but she squints at all of them in the way she does when she’s not sure what’s going on, and is assessing the situation to determine whether or not the situation calls for trouble.

Dirk perks up. “Oh, do we see you a few times this go round? That’s nice, you never know with you.”

The woman looks at Dirk. Then she looks at Farah. Then she looks back at Dirk. Then at Todd. Then, bizarrely, at Dirk’s hand resting at his side, and thenTodd’s hand resting at his side, and then the distance between them.

“Ah,” she says, eyes flicking up to Dirk. “Sorry. Timelines. Never know how it’s going to be. Are we meeting, then, am I doing introductions?” She wheels on Todd and Farah. “This is Graham, Ryan, and Yaz, I’m-“

“The Doctor,” Farah cuts in.

Todd stares. Dirk stares. The woman, who must be the Doctor, stares.

“Hi,” she says. “Sorry. Have I met you before? I don’t remember meeting you before I met you all at once, but-“

Farah shifts a little under the scrutiny, but lifts her chin. “The CIA, FBI, and MI6 all have lengthy files on the Doctor that I’ve been able to gain some access to.” She gives her a vaguely defiant look. “If we’re starting to deal with weird shit, I should be able to research weird shit.”

The Doctor does not look at all fazed. In fact, she looks thrilled. “Farah Black! You get more brilliant every time I see you, do I not say she’s brilliant, guys-“ she turns back to Graham, Ryan, and Yaz. “Don’t I talk about how brilliant Farah is?”

“Don’t think not meeting me yet’s gonna get you out of that four quid you owe me, mate,” Graham says, pointing at Todd. Ryan reaches out and gives him a light thwack on the arm. “What? He never paid me back, fair’s fair.”

“I don’t know what a quid is,” Todd says, nonplussed by this whole situation. “Sorry, are you time travelers? As a… habit?”

“To be fair.” Dirk turns to him. “We’re time travelers, Todd.”

“Yeah, but that was like… a one time thing. Past tense.”

“Ah,” the Doctor says. “Don’t expect that to last.”

“Oi.” Yaz walks up to her and giving her a sharp poke. “Aren’t you the one always going on about meddling-“

“Ow, no, listen, it’s fine, s’not that much, and Dirk’s used to it anyhow-“

Dirk nods. “It’s true. She’s very bad at keeping a secret. Do we time travel to anyplace interesting?”

The Doctor opens her mouth.

“Hey,” Ryan says.

“Better not, Doc,” Graham adds.

Yaz just gives her a poke again.

“Fuck,” Todd says, feeling a little out of depth. “So we’re gonna-“

“Oh, they let you say that one?” The Doctor looks disappointed. “I always want to say that one, but then these three yell at me if I ever get close.”

“S’weird,” Ryan says. “It’s like your nan swearing.”

Graham snorts. “Your nan swore fairly regularly, son, and more than once round you, if I recall.”

“Like someone’s nan swearing,” Ryan amends.

“What, nine hundred someodd years and I’ve never sworn before? I invented swearing on some planets, I’ll have you know.”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “You’re always saying you invented things on other planets and I think most of the time you’re taking the piss.”

“Nine hundred years of what?” Farah asks, looking distinctly unnerved.

“Oh, did you have a birthday I missed?” Dirk asks. “I mean, I assume I’ve missed quite a few, but still, I’ll have to get you something. Do you like jars with little bits of string in them? I’ve been collecting them.”

“Please,” Todd says, distracted from the fact they may have a thousand year old woman in their presence by the possibility of finally getting rid of the string jar. “God, take the string jar, he’ll just be shoving pieces of string in it in front of clients and it’s decreasing our credibility.”

“I love little bits of string,” the Doctor says fervently, and Todd can 100% believe her. “Hang on, though.” She leans in. “Are you guys solving a mystery?”

Dirk leans in, looking intrigued. “Not yet,” he says conspiratorially. “But that’s how life goes, isn’t it, one minute you’re not solving a mystery and the next you are. Why, are you solving a mystery?”

“I dunno, but we’ve got to be here for a reason.” She straightens, beaming. “Come on! Let’s wander around and see what happens to us, eh, if the two of us are in the same place at the time something odd’s bound to happen. Maybe we can get you an ear cuff along the way.”

“Oustanding idea.” Dirk pats her arm affectionately. Todd feels vaguely jealous, until it occurs to him that’s a stupid thing to be, and attempts to quash the feeling. “You’re so friendly this time.”

“Careful letting the Doc pick anything out for buying,” Graham tells him. “She’s never got a wallet on her.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am extremely familiar with the Doctor’s propensity to travel like some outer space inner time hobo.”

The Doctor pulls a face. “Not extremely nice but accurate.” She gestures. “Come on, fam! Dirk’s fam!”

“I know we vetoed fam,” Ryan mutters.

“Yeah, I don’t like that, either,” Farah agrees.

“You never do!” She cheerfully leads the charge with Dirk, and the rest of them follow, because apparently this is their morning now. Todd sees her lean into him and whisper what she probably thinks is quietly. “He’s very nice, you know. I approve.”

Dirk, from what Todd can see, goes a little red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hisses back, a little tartly.

“Oof, you’re never any fun when you get all shirty. Say, do you have a fun hat? I’ve been thinking about giving hats a go again, although it will disguise the ear cuff, so maybe we’ll have to see.”

Thank you for this prompt, darlin! This was so much fun. It hit a sizable enough length that I may even post it to AO3.

prompts call and fandoms here! come keep me busy and sane during strange times

[horrorkingdom]

Promises

I was one of those frail, sickly children for the vast majority of my early years. I was constantly being shuffled from physician to physician with one ailment or another; asthma, perpetual tonsillitis, severe allergies to everything. You name it I dealt with it at one point or another growing up. This meant that I spent a great deal of my formative years at home, in bed, miserably sick and more than a bit morose. There was an upside to this however, my father would often take time out of work to sit in my bedroom and read to me.

Some of my fondest memories as a child involved my father sitting in a chair next to my bed with one science fiction novel or another spread across his lap. I can’t count how many days were spent in such a fashion. I look back on it now and can’t help but smile when I picture that large man with his bushy beard, reading those thick novels to take my mind away from whatever was ailing me at the time. I was fortunate to come from a very loving home. My mother and father were extremely doting and focused all of their collective time and energy on raising their only son. I was particularly close to my father. We’ve all heard the old adage about Daddy’s girls and Momma’s boys, but that simply wasn’t the case in my experience.

Of course, every boy views his father as some larger than life, lantern jawed superhero, and I was no exception. My father was an enormous man, maybe six foot two and well over 250 pounds. He was an intimidating figure, and my childhood friends would often remark on just how large he was. He had very intense grayish blue eyes, brown hair that was slowly receding, and a thick red beard. But as intimidating as he may have appeared his demeanor, especially towards me, was always so calm and relaxed. He never once raised his voice within earshot, nor did I ever witness him use that great bulk of his to bully or intimidate. He was a kind soul, and spent all of his time letting his only son know just how much he was loved. He’d spend hours of his evenings after work in my room, sitting on the floor playing with my toys. I can’t help but chuckle when I picture that large man sitting cross legged on the floor with whatever superhero or mutant turtle I was interested in at that point. He even kept a small journal of all the funny little things I’d say and do, with some of his own musings remarking on just how quickly I was growing. I recall years later, when I was a man myself, reading that journal and being moved to tears by how deeply this man loved me.

Now my father was not a particularly religious man, in fact, if I had to peg his beliefs I’d say he was atheistic now that I have a grasp of such things. This was in direct conflict with how he was raised. He’d grown up in a very small town in North Carolina and was brought up in a very strict southern Baptist family. He remarked in the journal, just days after my birth, about how he found the Bible to be even more preposterous now that he had a child of his own. In particular the story of Isaac and Abraham did not sit well with my father. He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which he’d be willing to sacrifice his only son to some voice in his head. He was a very straightforward “logic and reason” type of guy. In addition to religion he absolutely abhorred superstitions and myths he made several comments about being leery of anyone that claimed to believe in aliens or ghost stories. Now he never made these statements to me directly he wanted me to come to my own conclusions regarding religion, superstition and the paranormal. But he did jot down all of these thoughts in that journal of his with the intention of giving me this book when I became a man myself. Unfortunately he never did get that opportunity.

As you can imagine, his death had a devastating impact on the course of my life. I remember vividly my mother coming into my room with tears and makeup streaming down her face. She cradled me in her arms and for the longest time simply rocked back and forth while sobbing silently to herself. Eventually she pulled herself together enough to tell me that my father’s small pickup truck had been struck on his drive home from work. The other vehicle involved was a semi, being driven by a man with too little sleep and too much alcohol in his system. He didn’t even know that he’d been involved in an accident until the officer responding to the crash pulled him from the wreckage of his own vehicle.

I was in shock, I was beyond consoling and honestly, I was furious. I was only five or six when my father passed, and in my mind all I could focus on was the fact that my dad had broken his promise. He would say to me, as he tucked me in at night, that I was his favorite thing in the world and he would always be there to make certain I was safe. It was repeated so often, night after night, that it almost became a mantra of his. But he made that promise and now he wouldn’t be around to keep it.

After my father’s death my mother was unable to afford the small three bedroom home nestled in the foothills of the mountains that I’d grown up in. We were forced to move to an older, run down part of town and needless to say it was just another factor contributing to the overwhelming sense of loss I was dealing with at the time. I hated the town, I hated the new school that I was required to attend when my health permitted, but most of all I hated our new home and the empty feeling it seemed to exude without my father’s presence. He’d never lived in that house, those walls had never heard that big guttural laugh of his, or sat idly by as he read to me during one of my many tilts with sickness. The house was a source of anxiety for me in those days. It was old, built sometime in the 1920’s my mother had told me. It was ancient, it was cold and everything about it seemed to be in a constant state of disrepair. The white paint was chipping in numerous spots on the exterior; the hardwood floors were warped and pockmarked throughout, even the grass outside remained a dismal brown year round.

The house only had two small bedrooms, a bathroom, a tiny dated kitchen and a musty little living room that seemed to be an afterthought in the builder’s original designs. I loathed that house; the floors creaked as everything settled at night, the windows were so old and grimy that they permitted very little light. My room was situated in the very back of the home and was so small that I had just enough room for my twin bed and a little dresser.

We’d been in the house for about six weeks when I started noticing some odd things happening, especially at night. I would come home from school to find that my bed, which had been made that morning, was in complete disarray. The clothes in my closet would sometimes be strewn across my room, much to my mother’s disapproval, and other small things like doors and windows seemingly opening and closing of their own volition. But the first truly unnerving occurrence that I can recall was just after my mom had tucked me in one night. I was staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if the water stain above my bed resembled a dog or something a bit more equestrian. I was beginning to nod off, catching myself closing my eye lids for a bit longer than was required to blink. My thoughts were slowly spiraling towards something that were closer to dreams when I heard a small scratching sound coming from the foot of my bed. At that time my bed was nestled in the corner of the room parallel to the doorway on one side and opposite my small closet that was a few feet from the foot board of the bed. I dismissed the sound as one of the many unexplained noises the house emitted at night and began drifting once more when I heard the noise again. This time it was louder and unmistakable as scratching, it was with a bit more purpose it seemed. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused all of my attention on deciphering that sound.

This time when it happened it was definitely louder and seemed to have a rhythm to it that just couldn’t be naturally occurring. It was almost like Morse code, like the scratching was meant to convey some kind of message. I got the feeling that it wasn’t trying to say “Ship in distress” or anything as mundane or typical as that. I can’t explain why, but the sound began to make me very uneasy as though it were malevolent in nature. The hair on the back of my neck began to rise without prompting and I found myself pulling the cover closer and closer to my chin. It would stop sporadically and then begin again with more fervor each time and always that same rhythm, scratch, scratch, scratch followed by a short pause and then scratch, scratch. I was frozen, completely fixated on this noise, but unable to call out to my mother whose bedroom was on the other side of the wall.

My mouth was dry and I was constantly moving my tongue around, swallowing to force something resembling moisture back into my mouth. Suddenly the scratching stopped, mid-sequence this time, and was replaced by the rattling of the closet doors. The closet was that old accordion style sliding type, with the wooden slats. I was amazed that the sound hadn’t prompted my mother to come in and see why I was out of bed. The rattling became more insistent, violent even, and that’s when I rediscovered the ability to scream. I yelled at the capacity my little lungs would permit until my room was flooded with light and I could make out my mother’s silhouette in the doorway.

“What’s wrong honey, what is it?” concern evident in my mother’s sleepy voice. I sat up in bed never taking my eyes off of the closet doors. “There’s someone in there mommy, in…in the closet”. She blinked a few times to clear the remaining fuzziness that sleep offers from her eyes and walked over to the closet. She flung the doors apart with a horrid screeching sound, and when it was clear that no boogeyman was immediately apparent, began shuffling the clothes hanging from the rod to show me there was no occupant. “See sweetheart, there’s no one in here it was just a bad dream”.

She closed the doors again crossed the hardwood floor and arranged herself at the foot of my bed. “It’s no surprise that you’re having nightmares son, considering…considering all that’s happened recently.” She patted my leg, and then reached up to smooth my disheveled hair. “I promise you, there’s no one in there”, she said. I was finally able to peel my attention away from the closet and meet her eyes, “I know there was” I said “there were some weird scratching noises and then the doors started to shake.” She stifled a yawn behind her fist and then patted my cheek as she rose from the edge of my bed. “Just a dream son, there’s no one in there, and there’s no one in the house but us.” “Now please, try to get some sleep, you have to go to school tomorrow and you don’t want to be nodding off in class.” She crossed the room and told me she loved me before she turned my bedroom light back off. I heard her mattress springs sigh as she got back into her bed and I laid down again myself.

I maneuvered myself as close to the wall and headboard as I could manage, pulled the cover up to my nose, and shut my eyes with such force that they squeezed tears down my cheeks. I tried to control my breathing and focus everything my sense of hearing had to offer for that sound. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I barely heard the first scratch when the noise came again. I stopped breathing all together and waited for the next series of scratches to begin again. The minutes dragged by but the sound did not come again and at some point I fell into a rather fitful stage of sleep that was accompanied by nightmares.

Over the coming weeks the sound would come and go. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to it at all. There would be several nights in a row with absolutely nothing unusual occurring and then there would come a night when the scratching would start up as soon as I began to drift off and last until I screamed for my mother. This became something of a pattern, I wouldn’t say I became accustomed to it, but I knew that on those nights when the scratching started that all I had to do was yell for my mom and after she came in to take a look around I’d finally be able to sleep.

It had been three or four nights since the last time I’d heard the rhythmic scratching. I’d managed to fall asleep that night without event, maybe I’d been lulled into some false sense of security as it’d been several nights since the last “closet incident”. It was about 1 or so in the morning when I awoke with a start. I had fallen asleep on top of my covers and as soon as I became aware of being conscious I wrestled with trying to crawl underneath them. After much effort, I was finally able to get underneath the comfort and security of my sheets when I began to wonder what exactly had stirred me from the throngs of sleep. It was a cloudy night, so the limited amount of light permitted through my bedroom window was at an absolute minimum that night. I controlled my breathing, listening for that ominous sound and forced my eyes to scan the bedroom. And that’s when I saw it. Standing at the foot of my bed, in front of my slowly deteriorating closet doors was a very large form. It was so dark that I couldn’t make out whether this thing, this being, was facing my direction or not.

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I could barely even draw breath. All of my attention was on that form at the foot of my bed, I couldn’t look away, it’s as if my eye lids were taped open and I was forced that look in that direction. The form never moved, never even shifted from foot to foot. It simply stood there, massive and dark and seeming to fill the whole room. There was no scratching sound, no rattling of the closet doors, just this form standing stoically in the middle of my room. Amazingly I fell asleep. I can’t begin to imagine how that came to be. I just know that one minute I’m fixated with every fiber of my being on this figure in my room, and the next minute I’m opening my eyes to sunlight trickling in through my window and birds chirping outside as they went about their daily activities. What’s even more amazing is that I didn’t awake with that sense of terror that I’d grown accustomed to after a run in with the scratching sound, I even felt rested for the first time in months. This same thing happened again several times over the next couple of nights. I found myself waking in the middle of the night only to be confronted by the image of that large silent form at the foot of my bed. Again there was no scratching sound or rattling closet doors, just this figure standing there a few feet away. I never worked up the courage to yell for my mother or try to get a closer look at this shadow like form. I still wasn’t even certain if it was facing in my direction on the nights this occurred. I even began to wonder if perhaps this thing standing in my room at night had simply tired of causing a ruckus in my closet and accepted my presence in the house.

The next few weeks went by without anything of note occurring. I ate breakfast, went to school, came home and then went to bed. My health had hit a relative high point during that period of time and I was attending school on a regular basis for the first time in memory. At some point I even befriended one of the boys a few houses down and spent my evenings playing video games and the like at his house. I went to bed absolutely exhausted each night and woke the next morning well rested and looking forward to what the day might hold. I began to discount those terrifying events that had occurred in my room in the weeks prior as nothing more than my imagination.

My mother had taken on more hours at the furniture factory where she worked to help pay off some of the debt that accrued after my father’s death. On the nights she worked late I was to spend my evenings over at my new friend Ryan’s house until she returned home. I didn’t like to see my mother so tired from all of the extra work she was putting in, but I did enjoy getting to hang out with my friend and his rather expansive collection of video games (a luxury my mother simply couldn’t provide for me at the time). This routine of staying with Ryan’s family until my mother got off of work lasted for several weeks until my mother had an accident at work. She broke several bones in her right hand and wrist and was unable to work at all for the next few months, let alone pick up extra hours. She was obviously dismayed because just as it seemed our lives had begun to take on the normalcy that everyone expects, some unforeseen event once again caused that pattern to veer off course. She received some pretty heavy duty pain medication along with the cast on her arm and retired to bed early the night of her accident. I was permitted to watch television after I’d completed my homework, and then I went to bed myself after my favorite cartoons went off,

I’d been in bed for about half an hour, listening to the unusual sounds of my mother’s snoring from the next room when I thought I heard that all too familiar scratching sound from my closet. Initially I tried to ignore it, going so far as to covering my head with my pillow and forcing myself to sleep. After a few minutes I realized that this wasn’t working, the scratching sound never abated and only seemed to increase in tempo as the minutes passed. I was more angry than frightened at this point. It had been many weeks since the last time I’d had to deal with this and I’d begun to hope that it had stopped altogether.

After a few more minutes I finally came to the decision that I would open the closet door myself and finally put my mind at ease. It had to be a rat or something, there had to be some explanation and I was determined to find out. I pushed the cover towards the foot of my bed and began moving my feet towards the floor. As soon as my bare feet made contact with the cold hardwood the scratching sound ceased all together and was replaced with the violent shaking of the closet door. I let out an involuntary yelp as it had been a long time since I’d heard that sound, and I’d never seen it be so violent. The closet doors were rattling around with such force that I was afraid they would tear loose from their hinges. I lifted my feet back into bed and worked up the courage to begin yelling for my mother. “Mom…Mom please come here” I yelled with as much volume as I could muster. No response, not even the slightest break in her snoring, she was out cold. I yelled again and again, but to no avail. The moment I began yelling the shaking of the closet doors had ceased, as they usually do in this situation.

But my yelling wasn’t followed by the sound of my mother’s footsteps this time, and the doors began shaking once again. I didn’t know what to do, I was far too scared to get up and make a mad dash for my mother’s room, but my fearful screams seemed to have no effect. I began to sob, I’d reached a breaking point and I couldn’t help but pull my knees up to my chest and whimper. Suddenly the doors quit their frantic dance, they just stopped shaking altogether. I managed to lift my face from the protection of my knees and to my horror I saw the closet doors begin to slide apart. No more scratching, no more rattling, I was finally going to come face to face with my tormentor.

The doors finally opened all the way and I could see now that my clothes and the darkness within were shifting. I could just make out a hand part the clothes on the rack and felt bile rise in my stomach as I realized the skin on that hand was absolutely putrid. Gray and mottled and I now became aware of the most horrific stench I’d ever encountered. I wanted to spring from my bed and through my window, or pull the cover over my head and will this nightmare away. But I was completely transfixed, rooted in place, I couldn’t budge a muscle. I could now make out a torso in the space that my clothes once occupied it was covered in that same rotting flesh as the hand of course. Next, and most terrifying, I could make out two pools of absolute darkness that constituted the eyes on this nightmare. They were sunk down deep into the sockets of its face and were completely void of any emotion that I could discern. Just two black pits of emptiness. The creature had finally emerged from behind my shirts and jackets hanging from my closet rack.

It paused for a moment at the entrance to the closet, and seemed to size up the room. It was tall and impossibly skinny, almost to the point of being emaciated. The fingers and toes ended in long black ragged nails, nails that were almost talon like. Bits and pieces of flesh were missing over various parts of the creature’s body. I could clearly make out what appeared to be ribs in its torso, and the yellowing bone of one elbow. It had a few tufts of jet black hair protruding from its grotesque and bulbous head. Its mouth was wide and filled with small rows of teeth that came to points so sharp they looked like they’d been filed. Its nose was two little slits with absolutely no protrusion that I could discern.

It just stood in the doorway of my closet, smiling at me with those little sharp teeth and that unnaturally wide mouth. It stared at me as if it was trying to convey that it had all the time in the world and intended to drag out whatever horror was about to visit me. Suddenly the creature jerked its head to the side and seemed to sniff the air with that horrible little nose. The sniffing became more frantic and the creature kept jerking its head from side to side as if it’d caught a scent it wasn’t fond of and was trying to ascertain exactly where this odor was originating. That’s when I noticed movement from my peripheral, I was able to tear my eyes away from this monstrosity long enough to look to the corner of my room where I’d seen the sudden movement. And there, standing just feet away from me was that large dark ominous form.

It seemed even more massive than it had in previous encounters, and it also seemed to be radiating an intense anger. To my amazement this anger did not seem to be directed towards me, but at the creature now standing in front of my closet. The creature let out a hiss and then a sound akin to a whimper and took a step back when it noticed the large form standing in the corner of the room. I looked back at this dark figure standing so very close now, and for the first time I could make out distinguishing features. I realized that before this form had stood with its back to me on those nights it had appeared in my room, because now I could clearly make out a face, a face that was covered in course red hair. I could now see that this figure was a very large man with pale white skin and a receding hair line. But the most noticeable feature were the intense grayish blue eyes that I could make out even in the darkness of my room. Those eyes left the monster in my closet for just a moment and made contact with my own. This great big man standing in the center of my room, this great big man that I thought I would never see again, he smiled and then winked at me.

And with a burst of movement that my eyes could barely track he dove into the beast, driving it back into the depths of my closet, while the doors closed on them both. I sat on the edge of my bed, with tears in my eyes, and my mind racing to process what it had just witnessed. I finally broke my stupor long enough to race to my mother’s room and wake her. After a few moments of frantic shaking on my part, she finally swam to the surface of consciousness. When my face came into focus she immediately sat up out of bed and took me in her arms. “What is it sweetheart, what’s going on?” At this point I had begun to sob uncontrollably as she rocked me back and forth in her arms. I pulled myself together long enough to say “He kept his promise…he said he would always be there for me and he meant it”. My mother tried to get me to explain, but I just continued to cry into her shoulder as she rocked me back and forth. At some point I managed to fall asleep with my mother whispering words of comfort until I drifted off.

I never did hear another odd sound from my closet after that night, or any other part of the house for that matter. From that point forward things returned to normal and I felt as though a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, I’d received some form of closure from the events that took place that night. I also knew that no matter what obstacles I might face in the years ahead, I would always have someone looking over my shoulder, ever ready to fulfill a promise made to a small sickly child.

Credit – lastofthefreecompanies@yahoo.

[writerwrites]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Introduction: October 2016

--- BANNER SCIENCE TECHNOLOGIES (BST); MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

“Anything? Anything at all? Bueller?” Rosemarie looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to spot some sort of subtle difference in her appearance. Though she had been searching for a job in her field for months, the ‘spooky’ elevator music chirping through the bathroom was an indication that she was just shy of that November 1st tuition payment start up. Her May graduation felt like a distant memory and all the years of hard work and applications to various schools, and even scholarships for being gifted and a minority hardly made a dent in the mountain of debt that came with attaining a doctoral degree. So, the prodigy looked, hoping for even a crinkle in the corner of your twenty-two year old eyes or a crease in her forehead. A little guilty knot formed in her stomach, as she thought no one ever wanted to ‘grow up’ faster than she did.

Rosemarie had been an intern for Stark Industries during her undergrad and worked a part-time research position for Stark while she looked for the right fit. It had been the CEO and his wife, Pepper, who had tipped you off about Dr. Banner’s small new company, Banner Science Technologies. No amount of ass kissing or overtime seemed to get the young woman a chat with Tony Stark, who was providing significant financial support to his friend and her boss’ endeavor, and she had all but given up until three weeks ago. That fateful email felt more like an unexpected termination. The fear of going ‘upstairs’ for that meeting amused Tony, he’d told her so much when he cackled that he had watched her self-talking on the journey up.

Now at BST, Rosemarie was leading a medical research team that rivaled Elon Musk and every major university in neuroscience. But there she was, leaning into the mirror on Day One, wishing she felt like she knew what she was doing, like she didn’t look like a dork in your square black rimmed glasses, or that she would look older than she was because she wanted to be taken seriously. The young doctor hadn’t realized that her accomplishments had already done that for her because almost no one ever blew through a public education, let alone Yale, like she had. The emotions tied to repeated social rejection; however, began to bubble in her chest like poison before her badge glimmered on her hip and snapped her out of the trance.

Oddly, in that interview for BST, Banner didn’t ask the doctor about her research. He asked Rosemarie about her mental health, how she balanced work and life, and what her definition of world peace was. It had somehow never occurred to her that both Banner and Stark shared the unnatural gift of intellect since they were young too and that, at least to some degree, could relate to her experiences. There was a steady and natural intimidation that came with working for an Avenger like Bruce, but seeing the rest of them in passing at the lab in Stark Industry’s famous tower made the young woman slowly catch glimpses of their humanity, taking off the rose colored glasses placed on every stranger’s face by the media’s interpretation of them. Nevertheless, Rosemarie was a nobody, a lab rat, scientist, doctor, dork, and perpetually invisible to everyone at work. In fact, she had been her whole life, special but not special enough to warrant connecting with on a personal level. She told herself you’ll learn to appreciate the anonymity, but after being an academic shining star in college and spending a half a year looking for a job in the field, any semblance of confidence left in her small frame had certainly faltered.

Before Rosemarie could hit the ‘wallow in self pity’ button on her emotional circuit board, the bathroom door opened. Quickly straightening up and without looking at who came, she turned on the water to wash her hands and only upon reaching for the air dryer did she realize that the woman was the curvy redhead Avenger known for her skills in espionage, linguistics, weaponry, and combat; Black Widow. Rosemarie blinked, making a mental note to not call her that if she managed to speak at all. She looked at the young doctor curiously, her eyebrows slowly drawing together in confusion. “Are you really going to the party dressed up as Bruce? We try not to do ‘the Avengers’ at this thing every year.”

Whether it was from Agent Romanoff’s use of air quotes or the fact that she was speaking to a person that saw themselves as invisible, Rosemarie’s mouth bobbed open and closed, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Party? Bruce?” Please, Rosemarie, save yourself from chronic rambling, she mentally monologued, only showing she was in her head through the pursing of her lips and a fleeting nod of acknowledgement; both of which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the spy.

“Bruce really forgot to invite his top dog? Typical. I swear I told him three times this week alone.” She walked around toward Rosemarie with speed and grace. Her gaze was analytical of the body in front of her, despite the majority of it being tucked underneath a pristine new lab coat, as she kept talking, “The annual Halloween costume party is tonight and you and the other two department leads…” she waved her hand when she realized she’d forgotten their names. “Anyways, it’s a party Tony throws every year and it’s always been Stark Industries, Rand Corp., and some other companies in Stark’s pocket that get all the big faces together for a few drinks, laughs, and a good time. Banner Sci. Tech. has Tony at the table and Bruce in bright lights. You’ve got to be there,” Just as a protest was about to pass the girl’s lips a finger went to them, “No excuses, Rosemarie. Consider it a part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ clause on your employment agreement.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, but there the lab rat stood, utterly dumbfounded. A new question was on her mind: What could she possibly add to a conversation with a bunch of brilliant wealthy CEOs and superheroes? “Soooo, naturally, the people that are the glue of this place should come and rub shoulders. You know, show ‘em why you’re so fantastic. Get to know the people your tech will likely be used by, little like that.”

“But, I’m… me?” The words were quiet, disjointed, and felt like you had more confidence giving your first valedictorian speech to a crowd of Seniors that had bullied you for walking with them at the age of twelve.

“Exactly, Dr. Smarypants. You’re you, which is why we’re going to mine and getting you some costume that doesn’t make you the laughing stock of introductions. How old are you, anyway?” Natasha opened the bathroom door and the doctor walked out feeling like she was about to get the Princess Diaries treatment with some sort of Nightmare on Elm Street plot twist.

“I turned twenty-two last February.” The answer was offered up in the tone of an apology but she disregarded the awkward timbre and stuck to the facts, making Rosemarie’s shoulders relax just a little.

“Well thank God for that,” The Avenger’s laugh echoed through the hall. “I was half worried you wouldn’t be able to drink and then you’d be both bored and silent at the party.”

With a finger up she skipped over to the main lab’s window where Bruce was squinting at four screens and banging on a tablet. When he finally looked over at the redhead, everyone in the vicinity noticed his expression quickly melting, something Rosemarie had certainly never seen. Natasha pointed to her watch, to Rosemarie, and gestured little walking legs with her fingers. Dr. Banner acknowledged her with what looked like a mouthed ‘I love you’ but before Rosemarie could even smile at the site he offered her an apologetic nod, unnerving her once more. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was dragging her out of the office, arm in arm, and out of midtown Manhattan.

--- BRUCE AND NATASHA’S LIMESTONE; UPPER EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN, NY ---

Despite asking a few times over what she had in store, Nat, as she asked to be called, gave her little to go on. Sitting on a bench at the foot of her boss’ California King bed, she watched Natasha rummaging through the walk-in closet. “Clint’s daughter dragged me to Disney a few months back. She insisted we go ‘Disneybounding’ and I have more wigs than I’ll ever need.” She was processing her choices and more than once Rosemarie picked up something that flew out of the walk-in closet at her head. A shimmering ruby red dress landed to the left and her mouth fell open in horror at the plunging neckline and thigh extra-high slit. Nat came out with a few things on her arm and laughed at the look of pure exasperation, “Don’t worry, babe, that’s mine… and this,” She plopped the garments into her victim’s arms, “Is your get up. There’s a bathroom down the hall, the only door on the left. I’ll be over in a bit to help with your makeup.”

Rosemarie wasn’t sure if she should take offense to the fact that it wasn’t a question, but remained too intimidated to say anything. Once in the bathroom with her back to the mirror she took off her white lab coat and untucked the seafoam green tie-neck satin blouse and skinny black slacks. As she folded the discarded clothes, she sighed at how proud of the outfit she’d been just this morning and how it now felt like a bland choice by the time she saw half of the spy’s closet. Like the pang of emotions set off a bomb, Rosemarie was self-talking about how nice Nat was being to her and to see this as a professional opportunity rather than a terrifying obligation. The mental chatter was enough to get her into the outfit which, surprisingly, required no sucking in, tucking, or wiggling to get on. It wasn’t until she turned to the mirror that Rosemarie registered what ‘Disney bounding’ was, immediately placing the character the ensemble was meant to resemble.

The high-waisted yellow shorts with their two panels of brassy buttons hugged Rosemarie's hips and made her see the curves of a defined hourglass frame for the first time in clothing other than yoga pants. The off the shoulder royal blue crop top had enough draping and a built-in bra to make her comfortable about wearing this around other professionals, just the tiniest hint of the tan skin of her upper stomach when she raised her hands or posed, neither of which she planned to do tonight. The red bow against black hair was the perfect final touch to make it obvious the outfit was a modern Snow White. Before Rosemarie could overanalyze going to a work event in the getup, there was a rhythmic knock on the door and, even though she thought she’d locked it, Nat was walking in, items in hand. At first she whistled, taking Rosemarie’s hand in hers and spinning her around. Nat smiled when she saw the heat rise up the bashful doctor’s neck and color flooded her cheeks. “I have one last thing.”

Until Nat pulled black heels from behind her back Rosemarie hadn’t even noticed Natasha had changed, but when she did her mouth went dry. “You look…” With a knowing smirk, she put her hands on Rosemarie’s hips and spun her back toward the mirror, her chest pressed to the doctor’s back as she studied her features, the pouted lips and high cheekbones, the long eyelashes underneath the ridiculously hipster glasses. Rosemarie felt naked in front of her, no one having ever really looked at her that way before and her body naturally reacted with a shiver that caused her hips to roll back into her host. As Rosemarie was about to apologize, Nat simply smiled and shook her head no, getting to work on their makeup with both expertise and speed.

Rosemarie thought she had gotten away with the embarrassing and obvious moment of unrequited attraction when the Avenger popped the lipstick into a wristlet purse that looked like an apple. Then she leaned in like a panther pouncing on her prey and, somehow, the doctor didn’t cower back. Nat was intrigued by that, a little curve found its way to the corner of her crimson lips, two shades darker and glossed compared to Rosemarie’s, “Let’s have a good time tonight, Snow. Something tells me it’s going to get very interesting.” She bit her lip, noticing that Rosemarie was holding your breath and assumed that it was a combination of her looking great and being the girlfriend of the girl’s boss, she wasn’t wrong. Nat still dipped down between her legs and slipped the heels onto the young woman’s feet, letting her fingertips tickle her ankle before they were holding hands and heading to the party.

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

The closer they got to Tony Stark’s ‘Tower’ the more Rosemarie wanted the stroke of midnight to hit so she could get out of dodge. Nat worried, even if she hid it well. She’d playfully asked her a few casual questions about her time at Yale, what the parties were like, and what the doctor liked to do for fun. She quickly and accurately surmised that the twenty two year old had been in love once and upon some bad sex and the dropping of the ‘L’ word, she’d been dropped like a fly. The pity never reached Natasha’s face, but it was there. It reminded her of more than one person that would be at the Tower tonight, and as she cooed compliments to the anxious new girl in town, she hoped that offering the invitation was the right thing. Rosemarie nodded and blushed, hoping accepting was the right choice too, though she didn’t hide it well at all.

As Natasha entertained that young woman with pleasant little stories about how harmless everyone was, she couldn’t help but think that, with the tension of the Sokovia Accords, you might not be up for the mental olympics the attendees would undoubtedly be going through. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Rosemarie didn’t notice how worried Nat was and instead tried to calm herself down in the bustling room. Her matte dusty rose lips pressed into a closed mouth smile as she tried to remember little details about the people in front of her, people that she had only heard about on television or seen through a lab window. “Here we go,” Nat spoke with surprising pep and with a sigh, Rosemarie followed. She was glad Natasha let her walk down the stairs behind her as the crowd funneled in both in front and behind them. You can do this. You’re smart, a good person, you can do this. This is totally normal. Just smile and nod, fake it to the bar, fake it ‘til you make it. The doctor’s gaze brushed across the room after Natasha moved away toward Bruce. Immediately Rosemarie froze, a few heads that had turned to greet Nat now turned toward her. Well, shit.

CHAPTER 1

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes​

[bambigoose]

Doing Just Fine

An: This has been edited after posting. Thank you to those that reached out to help me correct the ranking changes throughout the story.

Hanscom Air Force Base, Massachusetts 2013

Staff Sergeant Jessica Ham exited the executive office of Command, Control, Communications, Intelligence and Networks located on base completely unsure how to tell her airmen deployment was inevitable. The 66th Air Force Group would be oversees shortly after the New Year. Locking eyes with her fellow Staff Sergeant, Andrews, before placing her head into her hands with a sigh, “Give them the next few hours. If we tell them before this visit it’ll hang over everything and ruin everyone’s time.”

Sergeant Andrews nodded along with Jessica’s call, “I’m going to send out word about a meeting before we all head out for the day. You want me to schedule the other room for you and your boys?”

“Yeah.” Jessica nodded at him before they went their separate ways. Three years ago, at eighteen, Jessica graduated high school. With no idea what to do with the rest of her life, and a lack of financial means to go to college while attempting to figure it out, Jessie as her friends call her attended a military interest conference at her school.  The Air Force was never something she had previously considered, but after a discussion with an intelligence officer her interest was piqued. The rest as one might say was history. In the course of the past four years she’d busted her ass to prove she could handle it and the rank recognition followed. Clearly her superiors trusted her; Jessica was in charge of one of the largest groups of airmen of any Sergeant. Trust among her men however was a little harder to earn, but once she had it Jessica quickly came to the realization there were plenty of men she was now stuck with for the rest of her life.

Moving quickly through the base, nodding quickly but politely at those who acknowledged her, Jessica rushed to the base entrance. Generals didn’t care what news you were given, you showed up when expected or your ass is reamed. After the previous news of the day so far, that would officially send her into a tailspin pulled by currents. Approaching the group and falling into line Jessica took a moment to observe their guests.

The 2012-2013 Boston Bruins were a formidable team, growing up in Southie rooting for the black and gold was a fact of life. Jessica was pretty sure she knew how to explain the offsides rule before she could do simple addition. An electric energy surged through the base when knowledge of their visit began to spread. The veterans, Patrice Bergeron, Andrew Ference, Shawn Thornton, and Milan Lucic would thrill the long term fans. Young guns Brad Marchand and Tyler Seguin would flirt through half of the medical division before the day was out she was sure and rookie Dougie Hamilton was making quite a name for himself at nineteen as a solid defenseman.

“Is he always doom and glow like that?”

Jessica heard behind her. Turning she was meet with the six foot six frame of Dougie Hamilton. Years ago the hairs on the back of her neck would have been standing up, now she yelled at men twice his size half the day and knew for a fact she threw a better punch then  every member of the team. Smirking Jessica couldn’t resist the urge to chirp, she’ll forever blame it on being surrounded by guys day in and day out, “I imagine he and coach Julien would get along, I mean he screamed at you for how long after fanning on that shot last game.”

“Ouch Dougie, not impressing the pretty girl.” Seguin chirped with a smug smirk a head of them.

“I don’t know Mr. Seguin, at least Dougie here knows what an alarm clock is.” Jessica snapped back almost immediately after watching Dougie deflate as Tyler attempted to pull him down. Seguin’s eyes widened as Jessica dead stared at him; a move those under her have repeatedly said is increasingly unnerving. He turned quickly, shoulders pulled up to his ears while Jessica nudged Hamilton next to her.

He stood just a little straighter after her quip. Leaning in quietly, “I know you’re a rookie kid, but there’s a difference between being a doormat and becoming one of the guys.”

“And I suppose pretty girl is an expert?” Hamilton responded smiling, eyes crinkling, and an eyebrow raised.

“Pretty girl has name. Staff Sergeant Jessica Ham. Besides, do you really think there’s that much of a difference between military barracks and hockey locker rooms?” She responded in similar fashion.  

Laughing he responded “Probably not.”

Smiling while shoving him forward, “Go entertain my men rookie.”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Jessica watched her men and the Bruins interact. Spirits we high and she could feel the weight of this afternoon's meeting beginning to feel like a physical pressure on her chest. Inhaling deeply but still feeling like she couldn’t breathe Jessica headed toward the doors before her panic attack could start. Never realizing there were concerned eyes following her progression across the room, before he rose to follow her.  

Briskly moving out the door and around the building, Jessica sank down against the wall. Pulling her knees up to her chest and gasping for air. Jumping as someone sank down into a squat in front of her, Jessica looked up at Dougie, concern shining in his eyes. “Hey pretty girl, breathe.” Attempting to match her breath to his, the pressure on her chest finally felt like it was loosening. Dougie smiled, rubbing up his hands up and down her upper arms. “There we go.”

Rubbing her face, Jessica visibly flinched before lowly spilling everything to a relative stranger. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell them. This excitement and good spirits you all brought to base will be erased before they all go home. We’re shipping out in February. I know we all joined the military but it never seemed like this was going to happen.”

Dougie’s eyes went wide, practically bulging out of his head. “I’m sorry.” Instinctively left his mouth, “There’s nothing I can say that’ll make this better I don’t think.”

Sighing, Jessica rose back to her feet. “No there’s not but I appreciate the attempt.” Pulling his elbow and heading back towards the rec hall, “Better get back in there while I can still pass this off has taking a phone call.”

Dougie planted his feet and pulled them to a stop right outside the door. “I can’t make it better, but I could take you out for a distraction this weekend.”

“You do remember the shipping out in a few months part of our conversation, right.” She replied, waving her finger around in a circle between them like it was going to rewind his memory.

“Well, I figure I’d be pretty stupid to let that stop me from asking out the pretty lady Sergeant.”

“I can meet you at Faneuil Hall, Friday at seven? We can go from there Rookie.” She says, throwing her hip into his like a mini check.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, taking a chance and dropping a kiss on her cheek he hoped would be well received. “Sounds like a plan, Jessica.”

Over her shoulder while walking through the door, “Friends and cute boys taking me on a date can call me Jessie.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

Saddledome, Calgary Alberta Canada 2017

Sergeant Jessica Ham smiled walking through the under belly of the Saddledome. Granted a short furlough she came to surprise her boyfriend of almost three years after his game versus the Bruins. As luck would have it, she remained close with many members of the Bruins and their wives after Dougie signed with Calgary and during her deployment. When her furlough back at Hanscom came up she took it immediately, the fact that the Bruins were heading to Calgary at the same time. Coach Cassidy had graciously allowed her to tag along with the boys on the plane, though she suspected it might have something to do with Stephanie badgering Patrice to make it happen. It was nice to see some of the boys again and meeting some of the newbies.

Feeling stares on her, Jessica just continued on with a smile. The pass Zdeno presented her with before the game wrapped around her neck, clinking every step against her dog tags. Pulling up outside of the locker room she leaned against the wall anxiously waiting for Dougie to appear. She didn’t have to wait long. Dougie was the next person out of the locker room, “Jessie.” Gasped out of him in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

 Eyebrows furrowed, Jessica was surprised. That was his reaction? They hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. Writing it off as maybe just shock, she stepped forward to hug him. His arms barley wrapped back around her. “I was granted furlough for a few days, figured I’d come out for a surprise. They boys let me tag along on the team plane.”

“Babe!” A voice explained from behind Jessica. A blonde little bit of a thing, in sky high heels with make-up caked on her face brushed past Jessica before throwing herself into Dougie’s arms and laying a kiss on him. Separating the definition of puck bunny asked Dougie who this was.  

Jessica smirked at Dougie, laughing harshly. “I’m an old friend for Boston. Figured since the boys were out here I’d tag along to see mister big shoot, but it was nice to see you Douglas. I better get going so I don’t miss the bus.” Turning on her heel and all but sprinting down the hall Jessica ignored all calls of her name while losing Dougie in the after game commotion. Crashing into the Bruins newbies Sean Kuraly and Jake DeBrusk while staring at the ground, she looked out at them as they both went white. Yells left them both for Z, Bergy, and Marchy. It was the longest plane ride of the season for the bruins and to this day the only one where the unassigned assigned seats were blatantly ignored as the veterans crowded the Lieutenant in the back.  

 —————————————————————————————————————————---

2019 PNC Arena Raleigh North Carolina

Dougie Hamilton was furious, down four to nil in the third period he could feel his teams Stanley Cups hopes exiting them. Coming to the realization that there run was over it became apparent that they would do everything they could to rough up the Bruins instead. Not all that difficult of a task for him. The resentment he felt for the team grew every time they played each other. He blamed them for the disaster end of his relationship with Jessie, added on to the pitiful offer they made him to resign the anger was real. Scrumming with Sean Kuraly in front of the net was a natural progression. The refs separated them while Chris Wagner braced Kuraly to make sure he didn’t hit the ice, not that Dougie saw. He was to focused on the silver rectangles that popped out of Kuraly’s jersey before he quickly removed his glove and made sure they were secured underneath it again.

Dougie saw white, “Are you serious dude!” he exclaimed trying to puss Jordan Staal out of his way to jump Kuraly.

Kuraly’s eyes light up at the chance, “She’s doing great man!” he yelled out taking his seat on the bench.

The laughter of some of the Bruins ringing in his ears, Dougie’s eyes cut to where some of the Bruins wags were seated that he noticed earlier. His eyes were met by the infamous dead stare. Dougie gulped before she disconnected their eyes as the buzzer rang. Instead she was smiling as Stephanie Bergeron through her arms around her. Blowing a kiss out towards the ice, Dougie was forced to watch as Sean Kuraly laughed and waved back at her.

Master Sergeant Jessica Hamm, the future Mrs. Sean Kuraly if the shine the light of the arena caught coming from her left hand wasn’t just his imagination, was doing just fine.   

[edream93]

I’m Hooked On All These Feelings (Harry of Auradon AU) Part 11

Hey everyone! Sorry that I haven’t updated since July. Grad school has been rough but I’m getting through it. Anyway, this is also posted on on AO3 or FF.net. Here’s the link for Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6 ,  Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 , and Part 10 of the story so far.

I hope you all like this chapter. It’s not 100% where I would like it to be but I didn’t want to keep it on my drive any longer without publishing it. I hope you’re still able to enjoy.

It would be a lie to say that he had expected Mal to go down without a fight. Mal’s stubbornness was as much of a fact as Jay’s own sticky fingers.

Mal was like Lady Tremaine’s grouchy old cat, Lucifer.

Grouchy. Standoffish. Untrusting.

A persistent little piece of shit with claws and fangs.

Even in the rare occasions that the odds were stacked against her, Mal wouldn’t go down without a little hissing and a little scratching and a whole lot of hell for anyone who dared to get in her way to pay. Therefore, he knew that Mal had been scheming before Harry had even been found unconscious, ever since Uma and Gil had ran off, and especially since Fairy Godmother’s tone deaf attempt at trying to connect them with their parents via video call just before the disaster that was Family Day. (Forty thieves. Jay still felt bad for Evie and wanted to punch Chad Charming in his pretty boy face.)

What Jay hadn’t expected was a glassy eyed Jane to grab her mother’s wand, wrestling it out of the shocked woman’s manicured hand just as Fairy Godmother was about to bless Ben and proclaim him the new King of Auradon.

Sparks of wild uncontrollable magic shot angrily from the wand and into the air, punching holes into the ceiling.

“This must be it,” Jay thought, instantly ushering Carlos and Evie through the stunned crowd to where Mal already stood, snatching the wand that Jane wordlessly handed her. A wide grin pulled at Mal’s lips, at Jane’s squeak of surprise as the spell broke.

“This is where I would say ‘Thank you’, isn't that right?” Mal chuckled briefly glancing over at Fairy Godmother who had pulled a fearful Jane protectively to her side, the crowd going from stunned silence to growing panic as Mal turned her attention to delicately caress the wand in her hands.

Finally. After months of laying low and kissing up to these heroes, they finally had the wand.

Jay was ecstatic.

Mostly...

Kinda....

Ugh, why did it feel like dread was settling into his stomach like heavy stones?

Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten Dude’s dog biscuits earlier. But he had unintentionally overslept so Jay missed breakfast and the last few nights he had spent tossing and turning, waiting for some ominous sign that the Auradon search team had found and imprisoned Uma and Gil. Or worst, the Mal had found the two.

But that sign never came and he mostly just wound up with a halfhearted pillow thrown vaguely in his direction by his pup of a roommate. (Let it be known that Carlos De Vil was even more uptight about his beauty sleep than even Evie was.)

Shoving his uncertainty away, Jay grabbed the back of Carlos’s jacket when the crowd became difficult to move through, only glancing back briefly to make sure that Evie had grabbed onto Carlos’s hand. He pushed against the crowd of princes and princesses and heroes that were already rushing in their fancy silks and skirts for the exits.

“This is it,” he kept telling himself, feeling his face twist into something that felt like a weak attempt at a grin as Mal made eye contact with him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but all the words seemed to struggle to come out, his silver tongue failing him.

An ominous cracking sound like glass shattering resounded from somewhere outside was the only herald of the Mistress’s of Evil arrival.

Jay choked on the thick cloud of dark energy that surrounded the older fairy, the scent of brimstone and hellfire settled thickly in his lungs. His skin burned with the razor sharp sensation of being surrounded by too much concentrated magic, like millions of needles placed into his skin.

“I’m back!” Maleficent cackled, her once torn robes of the Isle now pristine and dark and oozing with evil, in a way that even the almost wax life model in the museum never quite captured.

And she was truly terrifying. (Jay hoped she didn’t remember that one time he stole one of her horned hats for his father.)

“Where shall we begin?” Maleficent pondered, eyes filled with glee and venom.

Carlos squawked in fear hiding behind Jay, Evie gasped, and Jay bit his lip as they all watched Maleficent raise her scepter. It’s green ominous glow highlighted her too wide grin and the room once again filled with gasps and screams of fear of the unlucky ones who hadn’t escaped quick enough. The older generation remembered the dark fairy’s days of cruelty and the younger generation remembered the bedtime stories their parents would tell them of this wicked sorceress. With a dramatic flourish of her scepter, a spell was casted that froze everyone in the room except for herself, Mal, Jay, Carlos, and Evie. Though Jay had to wonder if he, Carlos, and Evie not being frozen was mostly thanks to an oversight.

“I see a little bit of a firm hand motivated you to focus,” Maleficent smirked at her daughter. And then her gaze was on Jay and it was like she was looking through him, breaking him down atom by atom until it felt like nothing remained of the insignificant little Isle street rat that he was. Like he was nothing, only granted to be in her presence because he was Mal’s (for now at least).

Jay held his breath, fighting the urge to throw Carlos and Evie over his shoulders and run away. Thankfully, Maleficent turned away, her attention caught by something else. (Jay doubted that he could have actually gotten away if he made a run for it.)

“I think I nearly peed my pants,” Carlos squeaked, his whole body shaking.

“I think,” Evie began softly, her eyes never leaving the sorceresses back, “I think I get why mother didn’t put up much of a fight when Maleficent exiled us to our castle.”

Jay merely grunted in response.

Mal turned towards them, a delighted look on her face. She let out an excited squeal that was very unnerving. “It’s happening!” she laughed, sounding slightly still in disbelief as she looked at the varying states of distress that were frozen on all the spelled guest as if she had stepped into a candy story. “All of Auradon will be forced to kneel before us. We’ll be the ones in charge.”

Jay clenched his jaw, unconsciously stepping further in front of Evie and Carlos. A part of him still didn’t want to admit that it was very clear that Mal wasn’t talking about the Rotten Four when she said “us” and “we”.

Everything felt wrong. He didn’t feel that expected thrill he thought he would feel at this moment. Just dread and fear.

“Hm...I recognize you.”

Jay looked to see Maleficent circling the unmoving figures of Ben and Harry with predatory grace. Harry had been frozen, stepping defensively in front of Ben, a move that Jay had become somewhat familiar with during their time on the Tourney team. A determined frown was frozen on his place, one hand on the hilt of a sword that had been concealed under his red leather jacket’s long length while the other hand was outstretched to the side to hold back Ben, concern frozen on the new king’s soft features.

But it wasn’t the boy king that had caught Maleficent’s attention, though she did briefly tip over his crown. No. The Mistress’s of Evil attention was fully on Harry.

“Ah yes! I do know that ratty old red jacket well. You wouldn’t happen to be the son of Hook and the Chosen Knight, would you?”

Maleficent reached out, a bruising grip on

Harry’s chin as she turned his face stiffly on his neck, inspecting it. A cruel smile crept onto her lips. “You are!” she cooed. “Oh how perfect this is! Mal! Look!” she called towards her daughter, eyes never leaving Harry’s. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my wings?”

Caught off guard by the taboo topic, Mal’s brow wrinkled. She shifted anxiously on her feet, hand idly playing with the wand in a way that Jay recognized the uncertainty in her stance. After all, no one, unless they had a death wish, mentioned Maleficent’s wings. “Well y-”

Maleficent cut her off as if Mal hadn’t even spoken.

“I’d bet you’d like to hear it, wouldn’t you, dear?” she directed towards Harry. “Of course you would. I bet you love hearing stories about your heroic parents.”

The grip that Jay still maintained on Carlos’s jacket tightened further, as if he was the one being scrutinized by the most fearsome villain in history. He was only vaguely aware that Carlos had managed to slip out jacket, taking quiet steps backwards as Jay stood rooted to the spot. He wouldn’t blame the pup if he tried to take off running. Maleficent prowling around Harry was like a predator sizing up her prey.

“Your mother did it of course,” Maleficent addressed Harry casual, as if discussing the weather. “Came right up behind me in my own domain and sliced through my wings with an iron blade, leaving twisted and gnarled things to grow in their shadow. Did your daddy ever tell you that?” she asked conversationally. “About how it had been a nearly impossible task given to your mother just because of how impossible it should have been? How your father had hoped she would get the message that he wasn’t interested in a nameless orphan born that talked of worlds and people that didn’t exist but spoke so clearly to her in her dreams? About how in one life, in another world, they were each other's true love.”

Maleficent paused staring into his eyes.

“Ah," she sighed, feigning sadness. "They didn't. Oh you poor dear! And you have the dreams too, just like her.” She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Dreams that will slowly drag you into madness. Just like they did with her. The joy of being magically intolerant. Too much magic and your bound to lose your mind."

He couldn’t respond, but Jay could feel the waves of anger and rage that rolled off of Harry.

“Where was I dear?" she turned dramatically towards Mal, snapping her fingers before Mal could even open her mouth.

The dog biscuits in Jay's stomach felt like lead, watching the twisted motherly expression on Maleficent's face.

"Oh that's right. After my wings were taken, I escaped but not without the greatest lost of my life,” Maleficent continued as if she had never stopped her story, long held mourning in her stance as she briefly stared off to the side, “my beautiful, strong wings...Everything seemed to all go to hell. Perhaps that’s why that damn Sleeping Beauty’s prince was able to defeat me with the help of those scatterbrained pixies,” Maleficent’s eyes sparkled dangerously with barely contained rage as she faced him again. The smile that stretched her lips oozed with vengeance and promise of the worst kind of pain beyond imagine. “That day I made a promise to myself that if I could - if the opportunity should ever present itself in front of me - I would grab it and repay the Knighted Savior tenfold the pain she caused me. Sad how she’s not here to take the repayment,” she sighed, as if she were truly saddened, raising her scepter up towards Harry, its glow menacing. “I suppose you’ll just have to do.”

Of course Jay had known, to some extent what releasing the villains, what releasing Maleficent from the Isle, meant. He wasn’t innocent. None of them were. His hands were stained with blood from having to survive on the Isle but he always imagined the Auradonians would be fighting back. That though the villains would win in the end, it would be a fair fight, or at least fair in the sense that the Auradon folks would at least try to fight back.

He didn’t imagine...this

Jay’s traitorous stomach twisted again and he could no longer pretend to ignore how wrong this all felt as the shadow of the glow of the evil fairy’s scepter covered the room in an eerie green glow as it prepared to fire off a spell at its holder’s command.

And then an arrow whizzed through the air.

Maleficent spun and used her scepter to deflect it off its straight course towards her. The arrow embedded itself barely a breath away from the Queen Leah’s foot, the frozen queen’s eyes widened just a fraction to indicate that she was aware enough of what was going on.

“You,” Maleficent spat as her gaze fell onto the youngest son of Gaston. Gil raised his crossbow again, arrow loaded and aimed at her. “I thought I smelled vermin.”

“What the forty thieves?” Jay found himself swearing under his breath. Gil wasn’t supposed to be here! He was supposed to be wherever with Uma, hiding for as long as possible from Mal and her obsession. Jay hadn’t distracted Mal during the jailbreak just for them to come back and step right in the dragons’ den!

Were they idiots? Did they want to die?

“You!” Mal shoved past Jay, eyes frantically searching to see behind Gil. When she didn’t see what she wanted, her eyes glowed. Her hands, human shaped but unnaturally claw like, shook at her sides. “Where. Is. Uma?”

“Uh, I don’t think I’m supposed to say,” Gil frowned honestly though his crossbow never lowered from where it was aimed at Maleficent.

Maleficent rolled her eyes. She flicked her wrist, an invisible force ripping the crossbow out of the startled boy’s hand and crashing above some still frozen royals’ heads.

“Really?” the sorceress snorted unimpressed. “I knew you Gaston boys were bullheaded but even your father knew when to step down in my presence.” The long sleeves of her robes brushed against the floor as she curled her fingers towards her.

Gil let out a yelp as he was dragged down the hall by an invisible force. He let out a slight yelp when he stopped suddenly in front of Maleficent.

“Now, where’s Ursula’s unfortunate daughter?” Maleficent growled. “What does she have planned?”

“Ye know, I think the question ye should be asking is what do I have planned?”

Gil was dropped to the ground as Maleficent spun, using her scepter to block the swift swipe of a sword being wielded by one very moving Harry.

“HOW!?!” Maleficent fumed. Jay wanted to know that answer too.

Harry didn’t respond but Jay could see, could feel Uma’s shelled necklace glowing steadily with golden magic that rolled off it like soothing waves. A cool balm washing over and cleansing Maleficent’s needle prickly magic.

Maleficent must have also realized the shell’s effects because her frown turned murderous, the shadows near her turning dark and threatening like black flames.

“Ursula’s necklace. She was a fool for giving her little beast something so powerful! Should have killed that fishy welp a long time ago,” she hissed preparing to push back and strike at the boy.

With her and Mal’s and Jay’s attention on Harry, only Carlos and Evie noticed a small ball of light fly into the room, dropping a shield blessed with fairy magic from three particular fairies that matched Harry’s sword into Gil’s hands. Gil gave a bright “Thanks!” before the small ball of light flew back out one of the windows that Carlos not so coincidentally stood by. (It hadn’t been opened earlier and could only be opened from the inside…)

Even if Jay had been paying attention, there was no way he could ever describe the look of complete and utter shock on Maleficent’s face with any justice as Harry grunted, pushing with all his strength, and perhaps a little aid from the still glowing shell necklace, until Maleficent lost her balance and fell backwards. She flipped gracelessly over Gil who had been waiting behind her, newly acquired shield strapped to his arm.

Jay felt Mal violently tense next to him as Maleficent fell to the ground. Before she could reach for her dropped scepter, just out of reach, or before Mal could come to her senses, the sharp tip of the sword was pressed against Maleficent’s throat.

“Well, you may take after your father in looks,” the old fae growled up at him, “but you’re exactly like your mother.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. I hope you like the poetic-ness of using these specific weapons,” Harry grinned tilting his head in a mocking manner as Gil stepped next to him,  shield raised. “Gilly-boy here went through all the trouble of getting the same shield and sword that put you six feet under the first time. Just for you."

An inhuman hissed escaped Maleficent’s lips.

“Don’t worry,” Gil spoke up with a pleased grin. “It wasn’t that hard with the museum only having the one guard and all.” He paused thoughtfully before looking to gaze over at gawking Mal. “I think that sleeping spell you cast on him when we were there before gave him heartburn though. It’s been making it hard for him to sleep.”

He paused, frown deepening further in thought.

“Or that’s what I think he said. I had to tie him up because he kept wanting to play this game where he tried to stop me from taking the sword and shield. Wow, being a museum guard seems pretty cool!” He grinned at Harry who couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Aye perhaps,” Harry nodded, sword still pointed at Maleficent. “But a life on the waves is more for me.”

“Oh!” Gil grinned with excitement. “Wait until you see the sh-”

“ENOUGH!” Mal screamed, sending sparks of angry magic at Harry and Gil. Both boys dodged out of the way but the banners behind them burned quickly in flames. “Where is Uma? WHERE IS SHE!?!?!”

Whether Harry or Gil had a response, Jay wouldn’t know. In one moment’s time, Maleficent was engulfed by dark green smoke, reemerging as a large deadly dragon with smoke and hellfire escaping her giant snout. The two boys scrambled out of the way as the dragon roared before she huffed a large fireball at them.

The ball of flames narrowly missed where Audrey, Chad, and Lonnie stood frozen in various stages of shock. A single flame did attempt to catch the prince’s jacket on fire. Jay distractedly wondered if it would necessarily be so bad if all of Chad’s clothing went on fire but just as quickly as the fire began to grow the fire alarm and sprinklers went off.

“NO! My makeup! My hair!” Evie moaned, pulling Carlos’s discarded blazer out from Jay’s hands and covering her head with it.

“Shut up!” Mal hissed pushing wet bangs from her face, eyes searching through the spray frantically. Jay didn’t have to ask to know that she was looking for any sign of teal. “If you’re going to be useless then just get out of my way, princess.” She let out a curse as she gathered the inhibiting layers of her dress, stomping forward through quickly growing puddles to aid her mother.

Cries of horror and fear returned to the room, like someone had unpaused and unmuted the world around them as the once frozen bystanders gained movement once again, rushing towards the exits. Guards immediately swarmed around King Adam, Queen Belle, Fairy Godmother, and Jane, moving them towards a side exit.

“Enchanted lake water,” the menacing dragon’s voice echoed throughout the hall, water running down dark purple and black scales.

“It’s Uma!” Mal shouted, frustration growing every time she had to push her wet hair away from her face.

Maleficent roared. “Find her!”

Jay stood in the middle of it, slightly stunned and for once lacking his usual confidence as things seemed to spiral around him. A hand gripped his arm tightly, turning him around. He turned to see Evie, all worries about her water drenched hair and running makeup (though she still managed to look the “fairest of them all” even when disheveled) absent as she gave him an indescribable look from beneath the cover of Carlos’s blazer.

Jay felt like he was at the edge of something.

“Are you with us?” was all Evie said, voice firm. Waiting. Expectant.

A crossroad.

Pick left or right.

Choose a side.

Villain or hero.

(A memory of the smell of shrimp mixed with tears, expecting green eyes, and guilt that hurt worse than any hunger pains on the Isle.)

“Wh-what? Us?” he forced a laugh out of his mouth. Jay shook his head, reaching up to play with his beanie only to remember his hair was pulled up into a tight bun that Evie had done herself only hours earlier. (That felt like days ago.) “What are you talking about? Mal has the wand.”

Evie didn’t say anything but continued to stare at him expectantly. Jay glanced over at Carlos. The smaller boy was standing behind Evie and despite the way his frame seemed to shake, his eyes never left Jay’s as he watched the thief look from the remote like device Carlos was clutching in his hands up to the sprinklers that were still raining down magic lake water.

“I’m tired of being afraid of my mom,” Carlos explained with a sad smile. “This...this may not work but…” he trailed off, shrugging with a small smile at Jay’s shocked expression. “Gotta try.”

So many things ran through his Jay’s head. He wanted to pause everything and just run. Run away from Mal and her twisted obsession. Run away from his father and his expectations. Run until the energy that crackled under his skin burned him out until nothing was left. Run away from the question that seemed to take up all of the space in his mind: Could he live with what was to happen next?

Across the room, Harry narrowly rolled out of the way of long breath of dragon fire.

He gripped his sword, thrumming with fairy magic in his hand. It gave him a slight migraine but his movements were sharper and more wild. The sword was also slightly heavier than he was used to, but he had figured a dragon would be involved in some way (though admittedly he thought said dragon would be more Mal shaped than actual dragon) and what better way to fight a fae-dragon than with the same sword and shield that had initially slayed one?

But the shell necklace around his neck continued to steadily thrum, a tethering weight around his neck, pulling his thoughts back with a gentle but firm tug when they threatened to grow too chaotic. Keeping him focused. Keeping him anchored.

“Harry!”

He was suddenly tackled to the floor, said dragon slaying sword clattering several yards across the wet floor. The weight on his back quickly moved, pulling him to his feet.

Ben.

Oh Davey Jones.

“What are you still doing here?” Harry hissed, eyes already searching for a way out for the new king, his oldest friend, his brother in everything that mattered.

“Maybe we can talk to them,” Ben said with that damn spark of hopefulness and goodness in his eyes that Harry knew most of the people in this kingdom couldn’t even fake.  “To Mal and her mother. If we could just get them to listen, things can be different this time and-” the rest of Ben’s sentence was cut off, muffled noises coming from sealed lips. He also noticed that the sprinklers were smoldering and melted, the water no longer able to spray out.

“Evil, he never shuts up does he?”

Gil, who had just seconds ago been trying to distract Maleficent was tossed towards Harry and Ben. All three boys were knocked to the ground into an awkward pile of wet limbs. Mal stood over them, her hair wild and untamed and thick streaks of makeup ran down her face in a truly terrifying way as if all of it decided to just melt off. (And perhaps it did if the steam that rolled off her shoulders was any indication.)

“Now that I have your attention,” she grounded out, wand pointed dangerously at Ben, sparks of green threatening to jump from its tip. “Tell me where that little shrimp is.”

“Not telling ye, anything,”

Mal frowned. “Your death wish th-”. Mal abruptly stopped and Maleficent growled above them.

“Drop the wand, Mal.”

The half fae slowly turned, careful of the sword that was now pointing at her heart, glare deepening as angry glowing green eyes fell on Jay.

“Trying to play a knight now, Jay? Got tired of being a little street rat?”

“Just got tired of not even knowing if I could trust the person I was supposed to be following.”

Mal’s jaw dropped before quickly turning into a scowl. “I knew you were weak. Always looking for validation. From me. From your dad. From the stupid little team of princelings that you’ve joined. You’ve always needed someone to validate you Jay. To tell you that you’re valuable and precious,” she said with a mocking pout. “But you know what?” she snapped, ignoring the warning growl Maleficent directed towards her. “I bet you can’t even do it. I bet you can’t even slay the big bad dragons. That you aren’t good enough.”

Harry watched cautiously as Jay shrugged. The thief had always been a wild card for this plan but Evie and Carlos stood behind Jay and that was enough to tell Harry which side this wild card of a boy had finally fallen on.

“You’re right. I’m not good enough,” he lowered the sword. Mal smirked smugly reaching for the sword. “But maybe she is.” And then Jay threw the sword into the air.

Everything seemed to move slowly and yet all at once. A scene that had been building up for years finally coming into play.

Jay tackled Mal to the ground, the wand flying from her hand. Carlos used Jay’s back as leverage to jump into the air and catch the wand. He landed, feet slipping on the wet floor but Ben and Evie quickly helped him to his feet and off to the side.

Meanwhile, Maleficent quickly gained her bearings and seemingly without even a thought for her own daughter, breathed fire at them. Jay rolled Mal just barely out of the line of fire but Gil stepped in front of Harry, shield raised.

Gil grunted under the unrelenting force as Maleficent continued to breath fire, against the shield. But he kept his hold steady as Harry pressed his back against his, zipping up his jacket all the way up.

Seven seas, he hoped this worked.

“Now!” Evie shouted. She stepped forward, her magic mirror shining a blinding light into Maleficent’s eyes. The fire stopped as the dragon floundered back with a screeching yell.  

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Now he thought, stomach fluttering with anticipation as he and Gil, with the skill only acquired when two people are desperate enough to do something crazy, spun and dropped to their knees so that Harry faced the dragon.

Blinking through the temporary blindness, Harry saw Maleficent prepare to spit another lung full of flames at him, wicked glee in her reptilian eyes. He hoped the stories of his mother’s jacket being dragon fire-proof were true...

The sea shell necklace around his neck thrummed with power and instead of focusing on Maleficent, he looked towards the puddles on the ground.

To an inattentive eye, it just looked like the puddles were shaking due to the vibrations caused by the fight. Anyone else would have missed the way that small droplets of water floated up from the floor’s puddles, hovering for a moment just above the ground. Harry was sure that if he squinted hard enough, he could see a reflection of grinning lips that he desperately wanted to reacquaint himself with.

The water droplets then shot up high into the air, merging together in long tentacle like tendrils that reached up and dragged Maleficent down. The dark sorceress fought against her watery bonds but she was forced to push her large body against the floor, pinned.

Maleficent roared. Maleficent fought but the water hardened, forming ice bonds. Most of the dragon was pinned down but she was able to raise her head just enough to see a large collection of water drops merge together, forming a humanoid shape that solidified into a familiar teal clad sea witch’s daughter, using a combo of the Gil’s propped and angled shield and his own strength as a jumping board.

Excess golden pixie dust surrounded her in an ethereal glow and the sword that Jay had thrown into the air now in her hands, Harry was certain that he would never see a more beautiful sight.  

“Uma,” he said, half encouragement, half praise, and all devotion tied all together in just one word.

“NO! MOTHER!” Mal screamed from where Jay was restraining her against the ground but it was too late.

The world seemed to stop breathing.

All eyes on Uma and the sword raised above her head.

And then...there was a crash like thunder and waves against the rocks, and then…

And then Maleficent was no more.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Hello, hello, here’s my piece for the Halloween minibang organized in courtesy of the Chicken Tendies and Bacon Bits DabiHawks server~ and have the link to a more sensible reading experience (as t gets rid of formatting, too, and I’m lazy to put it all back in, at least for now): ao3

I was paired up with pineapple hair boy (dunno his url still rip) and our promt was haunted maze! \o/ I kinda included the other two we were gunning for, devil deal and ghost stories, so... multitasking, yo. Also put in my suggested fog, because as time passed, I realized how good it was even though I just put something into the box lmao

I’ll link pineapple’s accompanying piece as soon as they’re done with it, right here, in this line!! AND HERE IT IS!!!  👀

(Some of you may note... that I was supposed to be the artist. Well, it’s a long story, and likely on me tbh; I spent p much the entire week working on my piece, but I also started writing this one, and suggested doubling down on content, but unfortunately timetables are evil, and pineapple got mobbed enough as to likely run out of time if he also wanted to finish writing, so, um... yeah. This is not to say that we won’t do our original project, though, so stay tuned for the bonus round, hopefully soon! \[T]/)

(... also, I may or may not be considering to make this a full story, so there’s that)

Keigo trips for what feels like the millionth time on this way through the undergrowth- by day, the manor labyrinth is fairly easy to navigate, the kids frequenting it has kept it threadable. Nobody has legitimately tended to it for years, though. Or rather a decade, actually, it’s been a while he was here. Honestly, who cares, because--- oh, for fuck’s sake, more rose or blackberry or whatever vines to untangle his legs from. Great. Just… great.

He squints at his watch; still on time. Catching his breath after getting free surprisingly fast this time around, he takes a look at his surroundings. Not that he sees much, bear you. It’s near midnight and pitch dark. To top it off, the thick-ass fog often present, source: right damn here, has also crept into town. In fact, this is the worst it has gotten this year yet. There’s also barely anything he can hear from the dying-off autumn festival two streets and half an estate over.

It’s only him, his phone's flashlight, and the camera around his neck that also keeps getting caught in shit. That, and his own breathing that's getting his lungs numb from all the cool, wet air they are being exposed to.

Fooling around for so long has made him feel… antsy. Just a bit. The fact that his goal, that is to say the family crypt of the moneybags who used to live here is so close doesn’t help, either.

The entire plot is the stuff of local legends. The mansion is-was infamous for its… flammability, so to speak. Every few years, at least one room got totalled. Some believed that the last master had been a pyromaniac, up till the umpteenth house fire snuffed his line, and himself at the age of 60-something, out for good. But old folk said that the building had been ablaze just as frequently before his time- and truth to be told, there had been two more fires ever since, although those could have been the aforementioned kids or the occasional squatter. Two fires in about ten years is pretty normal in an abandoned place like this.

A few of those old people said the mansion had been built on hallowed grounds in their parents’ time, and the fires were punishment for disturbing the church ruins and the dead it used to house. Even fewer said the church must have been built on the very gates of hell and the ruins had kept the flames at bay.

And old geezer Giran in particular said that you could see the devil himself on the night when spirits roam free, around where the isolated belfry’s foundation stands still with walls crumbling- the place around which the crypts were erected on top of upturned graves. To be frank, the dude himself looked as if he escaped from hell, so what better myths to bust as an aspiring photographer? And even if the devil won't drag his ass outside, this will still make one hella Halloween photoshoot. He has loads of candles and some lampions in a backpack to get the mood right as well.

If anything remotely threatening pops up, though, like a mean stray dog… or a horde of drunk homeless, he's so ready to run for the hills, you have no idea.

He’s pricking his ears good as he closes in on the center of the once-upon large cemetery. One has to acknowledge the effort those rich bastards put into this dumb maze layout just to hide their own dead. It’s as if they feared a zombie apocalypse and concluded that they wouldn’t be able to get out if the hedges grow in a pattern, like, seriously. Then again, if the ‘horde of drunk homeless’ situation comes true, it will feel and work just the same, so who’s he to judge.

The scenery, too, is something to behold still. The entire area is surprisingly… not very foggy. One can see just as far as there is anything relevant to see, nothing more, nothing less. The waning moon even came out to play for a bit, shedding some decent light on his surroundings.

What catches his attention is not the excellent lighting to make photos, though, but rather someone sitting on the ruins of the old belfry, right under where the plump planet is working her magic.

He checks the display of his watch again- two past midnight. He’s late. Well, bummer… maybe next time.

That… guy, though? He doesn't look like any devil he knows of, but rather a human figure. One he also doesn't know of, actually. Which is remotely more interesting than Satan himself, because… that’s a goth silhouette if he’s ever seen one, and he’s seen all in town. All three of them.

They are a chill bunch, so he figures he might as well go up to this one. May be an acquaintance of Tokoyami and company’s who was also told about this spooky deal.

"Hey. Have you seen the midnight devil, or did he not get the memo this year?" He lifts a hand over his eyes to let him have a clearer look.

Just the way the other looks over to him, even while slouching quite a bit, is in a manner that’s nothing bar… uh… majestic, should be the word? Sublime? Yeah. That's peak cinematography. He’s… a bit at a loss of words here, because? People have waxed lyrical about the positively blessed relationship between him and sunlight, but this guy?? Has legitimately the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, period???

Before he could get too entranced by the sight of the sky blue pins of the overshadowed figure sitting between a moonlit sky and milky deep sea of mist, he notices that said eyes skim over him. Slowly, creeping down, and then up. Um…

Did… did he just check him out?

A hardly concealed grin can be heard out of his voice as he speaks up. “Hey there, angel."

… that's a yes.

This… coming from someone with eyes and a voice like… that, is actually… hm.

Like, look… he’s been looking forward college to maybe…  find someone he genuinely clicks with. But he has been through this immediate infatuation thing a hundred times already… and knows from experience that falling for mere potential is a grave mistake. What even are the chances that he’ll be the one? Put the aesthetic boner away and think rationally, Keigo. You don’t even know his name.

However, if, and IF he plays his cards well and this is not a total asshole… he could get both a photoshoot and a phone number out of this endeavor, which sounds like an excellent deal.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he acknowledges with a grin that's almost genuine. “Witching hour stuff aside, I don’t think I’ve seen you around…? A friend of Tokoyami’s?”

The other hops off the wall as he’s talking, stirring up some fog. Keigo could swear to hear absolutely nothing upon him hitting the ground. Must be the grass, but still, confirmed for cat. Not having to deal with the moon’s flare, he can now also tell that he’s about as old as expected.

The young man pauses to think for just a second before walking up to him. Nonchalance and weariness mingle in his steps.

“No, but I think I do know who you’re talking about. The kid with the raven.”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s him. Just visiting, then?” So he’s somewhat familiar with the area. Huh… how in hell did he never notice someone so obvious? Maybe he should come out here more often.

Also, is it just him, or did it get really cold all of a sudden?

“Him and his friends spend a lot of time here, I know enough. And yeah, something like that.”

As he stops in front of Keigo, an odd sensation trickles down his spinal cord, raising every hair on his nape. He’s had this once or twice when watching a legitimately good horror movie or catching a glimpse of an especially beautiful scene, or at least something very similar. It’s just the cold and being out in the middle of nowhere with a handsome stranger this time (which is kind of a combination of both), but still.

… this is not the time to be thinking ‘but what if he’s a serial killer and you are stuck out here with him alone’, brain. Thanks.

“Family business, gotcha.”

He’s onto something, because a certainly troubled look flashes over the hot--- the goth’s face as he reaches up to his own nape to rub away at it. “... yeah. That.”

The train of thought is seemingly swept out of the way after short consideration and his attention returns to Keigo. His neutral staring face is actually a little unnerving, no lie. “What about you, coming out here? Didn't quite catch what you first said.” He eyes him in a way similar to when he was sitting up on the wall, as if measuring him up.

“Oh, I wanted to take some photos,” Keigo starts, lifting the camera and the first candle he can grab from the bag, swinging it playfully around a few times with a smile to mask the nerve building up inside. “I figured it would be a nice opportunity even if the hearsay tale of the ~devil~ coming out at midnight was total humbug. This place is very atmospheric.”

What he says rouses a chuckle from the other. “Oh, so I wasn't imagining things. Been a while since I last heard that one.”

For someone deadpan he really has a cute smile. We are on a schedule here, but please never stop?

Keigo presses the tip of the candle into his cheek in contemplation, trying to steer his thoughts back on topic. “You mean, that local legend thing? I heard about it fairly recently… from the most suspect old dude." He rolls back and forth on his heels, watching out for reactions; "Giran, if the name is telling. But asking other old folks made them ring a bell, too, so I guess I was just ignorant.”

The other raises an eyebrow in amusement as the fading smile pulls into a smirk. "Maybe you are, a little bit."

Oh, come on. "Nobody is born cool, wise, or a folklore expert, okay…?" He pouts.

"I could already tell you were born without a trace of those things, alright."

"..."

He just said that. Looking him dead in the eyes.

Wow.

Dude's lucky his smile is cute, because that was so uncalled for and he's way too proud of himself. Sheesh. Anyway…

"Said the one who wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face…” He sighs. "Before we go down the name calling path, though… I’m Keigo." This was getting a little awkward without throwing it in, although he doubts the cocky asshole deserves it.

“Touya. My pleasure.”

Keigo hums as he moves to rummage through his stuff for the lighter he definitely threw in the bag before setting off. That’s not a very common name, but… “I think I’ve heard of you before…? Beats me where, though.” He’s pretty sure the conversation happened years ago by the crypt here, though.

Everything he says seems to amuse the other to no end. “It’s probably for the best. You seem like the type to run for the hills.”

Keigo gives him the side eye; being right aside, the hell is that supposed to mean…? And he’s so smug about it, too. About everything, really.

And no, it really wasn’t a line even remotely connected to serial killers, shut up, brain.

“Cryptic, are we?” he sighs, lighting the candle with a flickering click at last. The gentle flame sheds some dim, fog-broken light onto Touya’s face, and Keigo hates himself for being charmed by what he sees once more. That pale skin looks too perfect to be true… should feel like silk under one’s touch. If he ever gets a proper close-up look, he swears he’ll get a heart attack.

Touya blinks once, resetting his expression to nearly a default. “It's the two of us in a haunted, abandoned graveyard, inside a fog ridden maze, on the night after the 31st of October. You are basically begging to wind up dead. Coming off as cryptic and creepy as possible right now is elementary, angel.”

He… he legitimately can’t argue with that. The guy's almost as good at this as the bird kid is. “... touché.”

Stunned for words, he places his candle where planned instead. It's so stupid, but makes… so much sense. Is this why they all are like… that?

As he moves on like that without a word, Touya seems to get weirded out himself. "... You okay there?"

"I just had… an epiphany." He says, putting the first lampion with pinpoint precision. This guy just accidentally revealed some kind of arcane goth knowledge too advanced for him to begin to understand and doesn't even know it.

Touya heaves a deep sigh. "... you obviously got the wrong one out of that, but congratulations nonetheless."

“Maybe? I have not the foggiest what you were trying to imply.” He’s not that thick, but the dude’s being ~cryptic~ or whatever, and he’s not in the mood to write an essay on what edgy goths mean by what they say.

“Ah… figure that's why it's so clear out here this year… all the mist from the glade must have relocated to your head.” concluding that, Touya’s eyebrows pull closer upon seeing whatever else the blonde pulls out from his backpack while shooting a glare in his direction. “… what are those for?”

Keigo considers not answering at all, but decides against it. Being the bigger person by default is such a chore sometimes, but… “There’s some decent moonlight to work with, but these umbrellas help me get the little extra I need right where I want it. See?” With that, he turns the flashlight on and blinds the other with the sudden brightness.

“Ow, seriously?! I haven’t seen daylight in decades, turn that shit off…!”

… but, he can multitask and still be an asshole while answering the question. And laugh at the reaction, then laugh some more the decades comment as the other rubs his eyes, because he positively has the looks of a display-tanned indoor hermit. A hermit who is having a bad time.

“Wanna help, or would you rather brood somewhere the umbrellas won’t be able to reach you?”

A mechanical click can be heard in the distance; now that there’s no music playing in the streets, the bad (and always slightly ahead of time) clocktower bell can be heard signalling quarter past midnight. This seems to catch Touya’s attention and remind him of something as he stares into a nondescript spot for a while. At the very least, Keigo is certain he’s not thinking about the question that slipped out and which he will regret- if he says no, it’s gonna be the disappointment… if yes, then it’s because of all the things that will definitely go wrong.

“... well, it’s not as if I had no time to kill,” comes the apathetic answer a few seconds later, although the wrinkling eyebrows are telling of his misgivings regarding the idea.

“...”

Now, hold on… hold on, he may have an even worse idea that he’s definitely going to regret…

Keigo taps his pointing fingers against the camera anxiously. “Actually… say, what would it take for youuu… to be my model tonight?” He takes out his best puppy eyes as he looks over to him with the tiniest smile, blinking slowly.

It’s as if Touya had another light induced migraine immediately. He looks almost disgusted, which… is hilarious. “For that I'll take both your life savings and your soul.”

Keigo stifles both a giggle and a sigh at that, resulting in somewhat of a snort. He must be put off by those umbrellas quite a bit. "Really…? If that’s all, fine by me."

The answer brings back Touya to a much more reserved, if not vaguely sceptical stance. “You… sure are ready to jump the gun for that, huh.”

"Well I, too, am asking a bit much of you out of nowhere, aren’t I?” He asks, shrugging. “I figured it was worth asking, at the very least… you fit the mood a little too perfectly, one doesn’t get an opportunity like this every day. If all it takes is my birdie bank, that’s fine by me. … We can also talk about the soul part later if you want to.” It takes him every ounce of self restraint not to throw in a wink at the end.

“...” Touya stares in contemplation before taking a deep sigh and scratching his head. "Fine. I guess it’s going to be much less bothersome than posing for hours to have a portrait painted."

Keigo’s ears perk up at that. Like, a lot. "Y---you… there's a portrait?!"

Whaaa?!? A professional-ass painting, of him?? And, even more importantly, where?!?

"... I know what you're thinking of, and no, I have not the slightest idea. Who knows, maybe it even burned along with---" he cuts himself off right there. For the first time that night, he seems upset, or rather angry; whichever it may be is the strongest emotion the blonde has seen him display in these past minutes, affecting even him quite a bit. His hairs stand alert once more--- but the sentiment goes as it came, along with Touya’s stifled ire.

"... never mind. Let’s just… get on with this."

"..." He figures that being nosy would be straight-down rude, having just met and already asking for quite a bit… so he lets it slide as if nothing happened.

Keigo turns around to the lampion that he placed before the convo started.

Huh… that’s weird.

He doesn’t remember lighting it.

Overall, Touya seems to pay quite a bit of attention to what he's doing, visibly taking mental notes of the processes he goes through. First, it's a little embarrassing to be watched so closely, but eventually Keigo gets used to it and just does his thing. He soon finds himself in the zone, in fact. Hell knows how much time goes by as he keeps clicking away, barely even instructing, but rather just basking in whatever the other does, giving the okay to everything. He’s not even bothered by the bone cutting cold that’s now heightened by a breeze, because Touya seems to be a natural, and by god, does his presence do things to him. He’s had phases of architecture, mixed media with cutouts and shadow play, birds, and abandoned places, but this… this must be what finding a muse feels like.

When he's looking for the misplaced lighter for the hundredth time again, it's already shoved into his face.

"You should just keep this in your pocket, angel."

"Ah, thanks." He takes it, then turns to Touya sheepishly while pulling his jacket tighter as the light wind blows especially cold air down his collar. "I've been… stupidly quiet for a while. It must be really awkward, uh… am I really not bothering you?"

"It's fine. I like having the company."

Maybe his voice is softer than before… or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I, uh--- same.” Keigo feels blood creeping to his face, so he quickly moves on; “I have enough of these candles left for like about one more location. Any ideas?”

It takes Touya only a second of consideration before he nods towards the belfry ruins.

He flashes a smile; “Gotcha.”

In barely 10 more minutes, Keigo is speeding through the hundreds (whoops?) of photos he’s taken, walking circles around the ruin. His breath hitches over the one where Touya looked directly into the camera right by the wall. He’s gonna frameit and putitonhiswardrobedoor andmmmakeit his ppphone wallpaper---

He can hear a chuckle behind him, and remembers that whoopsie daisy, he’s not alone. “You're pleased as punch over a few pictures… It’s adorable.”

Keigo gets red to the eartips this time around, realizing that he’s got that goofy-ass smile Rumi keeps teasing him for. Unfortunately for him, once it gets pointed out… it always sticks. “I’tsjustthat---…!! I… didn’t think I’d get such nice photos at all? Moody scenery is nice and easier to sell, but I prefer lived-in spaces and models, anything that feels alive. Especially when they’re so pret...ty. Patient.”

Someone kill him.

“...”

The thin eyebrows twitch the smallest amount and for a torturous, silent pause Keigo wishes for some kind of deity to strike him down and grant a merciful, immediate death.

“I suppose I’ve had a few years to put some patience practice under the belt.”

He fights the urge to run away crying. There’s no way anybody exists who wouldn’t see right through that… at least he gets to see that cute smile once more.

He forces one on, too. “... I can tell.”

The wind starts picking up, distracting the other. Touya takes a look up to the moon, which has made quite some progress on its route since they’ve been there. Then there’s three clicks echoing through the night, signalling that it’s nearing 1 a.m. “Well… you were babbling about showing me, too, so you better hurry. I don’t have much time left.”

Keigo snaps out of the shameful frustration only to be legitimately ashamed. “Oh… sorry, I… hadn’t even considered that you had other business tonight.” Shit. He just assumed he had all night, but Touya was just humoring him until he had other business.

The other shakes his head. “It’s no issue, just get your fidgety ass over here already.”

As he makes his way over to him, Keigo feels something grab onto his leg and the familiar itch of thorns scratching up skin through his jeans.

Fucking vines again.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he. As he stumbles forward, he sighs in immediate acceptance.

He would have never expected being caught, though.

Nor Touya’s hands being as cold as a frozen piece of meat that can be felt even through his jumper and jacket. His touch sends shivers down his spine, freezing him in surprise first; if the strap didn’t get caught around his arm, the camera would hit the ground as his hand loses its hold on it.

What he’s definitely not ready for, however, is the arctic chill radiating from every inch of Touya’s, the same icy presence that he’s been feeling ever since… since he got close.

The thing that makes him break into cold sweat and brings even the blood in his veins to a halt, however, is the pair of forget-me-nots staring into his soul from mere inches.

Those beautiful, blue eyes, that… that are glassy and clouded and definitely not… human.

His lips part, but the scream dies off in his throat.

The realization flashing in his eyes draws a lenient, gentle smile onto the pale face. “You’re slow, angel.”

Keigo's paralyzed in what he can only guess is sheer terror, his body's last resort in hopes that the threat will just leave if it's not interesting enough to investigate. His mind, however, is racing and panicked as his inevitable end leans in for the kill.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's… dead.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead---

He’s dead.

At least, that’s what he remembers thinking before passing the fuck out… not knowing who exactly he was referring to anymore. Because he feels positively not alive when waking up on the belfry’s cold ground, on the patch of concrete that lay behind where the catafalque used to be, surrounded by what remained of the candles and lampions he had brought along, and some of the flowers that people decorate graves with.

The spot where everyone suspected a former hidden path… or another grave.

He turns around, because now he remembers where he last saw the name Touya- it’s barely legible, but there it is, crudely chiselled into the stone right above the grey ground.

At first he supposes that the cold, empty feeling that seeps through his entire being must be the nasty cold and pneumonia he gets after the deed. As the days go by, however… the shivers and cold sensation persist and his dreams are plagued by endless mazes, fires, and haunting, blue eyes all the time.

His second guess for the cause of it is lingering fear: on the camera, he finds creepy photos of himself lying in the grave once he gets better. When going through them all, he considers to delete the ones he took of the other or use them for digging, (there’s no fucking way he actually hung out with a ghost, is there?) but… they all pop up as vaguely distorted landscapes, with light spots where a pair of eyes may or may not be.

Having stared blankly for like an hour at the one he really liked back then, he throws the camera into the corner of his armchair and doesn’t touch it for weeks.

This carries on through winter, in spring, and he's convinced of how badly he fucked up when even in the suffocating summer heat he feels the veil of an icy embrace.

Once leaves start catching rust again, the chill makes his bones ache, much like they did after the encounter. And it only gets stronger by the day. He hasn't shown the pictures, developed or otherwise, to anyone. Somewhere down the line he figured… that he should just give him the photos and trade them back for his soul, because hell if that dementor did not help himself to it right along with the kiss he definitely got but doesn’t remember. Trauma alone cannot possibly cause this.

It's midnight again. This time, he's already there, waiting for the toll of the distant church bell they had fixed and reset sometime in spring. The autumn fog is as thick as ever.

His grip tightens on the envelope; deals like this are notoriously hard to break or undo. Hell, the guy agreed to have the photos taken, creating a nice little loophole. Whether he printed them, deleted them all or whatever might be a moot point.

… no. No, he can't start thinking about this right now, if he comes he'll get this thing annulled, get his damn soul back---

As the last gong dies off in the night, a pair of lean arms slink around his aching chest and pull him against a body so cold it's scalding his skin.

"Hello again, angel," greets the voice, sounding a hundred times sweeter than he remembers.

…

Or maybe… he'll just let him keep it forever.

[lorspolairepeluche]

Favorite Writing 2019

ringing out this dumpster fire of a year by talking about the nice things i made during it. 2019 was pretty good for writing, having contained two-thirds of my last year of college (including my final portfolio for my creative writing major). under the cut are several handfuls of my favorite lines/passages/whatever i’ve written this year, sorted by what they’re from.

from Laudata Fidelis

“Lafi…”

The whisper is strangled, nearly gone, but it pierces its way into Lafi’s ears, and she turns her head on the ground, tearing her eyes from Killough’s sword, just in time to see Gendra’s hand outstretched for her. Lafi smiles, a small, bitter thing. We died together fourteen years ago too, didn’t we? “Close your eyes, Gendra.” This will be no crack on the head. There will be no surviving this.

Lafi considers for a moment before asking him the same question she asked his wife two weeks before: “Do you think I’m Aegri?”

She sees René look at her again out of the corner of her eye, head cocked like a curious dog’s. Finally, he asks, “Does it matter if I do or don’t? For that matter, does it matter if you are?”

“If you’re not open to change, sometimes change opens you,” René murmurs. When Lafi gives him a raised eyebrow and quirked mouth, he adds, “I mean, in the opens-you-from-neck-to-navel sense. It’s not a pretty metaphor. It’s what change did to me when I wasn’t ready.”

“That pack we were hunting last week has been a thorn in our side for ages. We got most of ‘em, oh, nine or so years back? But Claudia got clawed—ha, clawed—she’d kill me for laughing at that—got clawed up pretty bad. Lost that eye.”

[Nagendra. Thursday 10:28 am] The hunters corner Rene and are about to shoot him when (as he tells it) Justy shows up out of nowhere swinging a baseball bat and hollering HOME RUN as she cracks one across the back of his head.

[Me. Thursday 10:28 am] Holy shit.

[Nagendra. Thursday 10:28 am] Honestly when I heard that I knew exactly why Rene fell in love with her.

Justy’s really just an ordinary human who got caught up in this. She’s taken to it like a duck to water, but how did a woman ignorant enough to hit a hunter in the head with a baseball bat—yelling “home run,” no less—become the serious, motherly Guillory she is? (Does she still have the baseball bat?)

Killough has grabbed the creature’s focus and holds it tight as he says, “Hello. Goodbye.”

Lafi feels the magic move in the air—and settle in her arms. She looks up at Killough, shocked—is he setting the thing on me?—and is looking at the barrel of Killough’s pistol. “Killo—”

He fires.

Lafi’s ears ring with the sound of the shot for a few seconds before she realizes the sudden difference: the weight in her arms is heavier. The cub isn’t just asleep anymore, not with a bullet trail clear through its skull and its blood seeping into Lafi’s shirt.

“Wow, Laffy, are all your friends as rude as you?” Bridget asks snidely.

“Yes,” Lafi deadpans. “Absolutely gauche. Please get out of my seat.”

“I think it’s you who’s being rude.” Nagendra doesn’t raise her voice, but it catches everyone’s attention anyway as she steps just a little closer to Taylor. It’s dark and almost sibilant, and Lafi glances at her in alarm. Please don’t do anything stupid. “After all, there were already lunch trays at these seats.” Her face is neutral, maybe even an inch into pleasant, and somehow unnerving. “With food on them.” She leans down, just a little. “Our food.” It hits Lafi like lightning exactly why Nagendra’s so unsettling: she has let her pupils change to snakelike slits. “So please. May we have our seats back?”

Lafi Ness’s List Of Facts

One, Nagendra is half-dragon.

Two, I am a mage.

Three, I’ve known Nagendra for a week and a half, and only because the people Nagendra lives with kidnapped me.

Four, Nagendra does not have a crush on me.

Five. I do not have a crush on Nagendra.

Lafi’s sure that if she were a cartoon, her eyes would have sparkles in them as she watches Nagendra raise her arms above her head, relaxing before flexing her shoulders. Wings erupt from her shoulder blades, at first stumps, then small, folded things, then flaring out into true, membranous wings. Scales peek out from her skin, starting at her wing joints and adding one by one in an outward wave, over her shoulders and her arms until they cover her fingers and grow claws to replace her fingernails, down her torso to her legs as she kicks off her shoes and her feet become clawed too, up her neck and shooting up the sides of her face. When she blinks her eyes open, her pupils are slits again, and horns grow out from under her hair as she rolls her neck, her shoulders, her ankles, flares her wings until they settle to fold on her back. Nagendra shrugs awkwardly, a stark contrast to the grace of her transformation. “Well — what do you think?”

“I think…that was incredible,” Lafi breathes.

Nagendra flares her wings. “Come on. Let me show you how they work.”

“Oh, are there extra pectoral muscles to make them fla—AAAAAAHHHHHH!” Lafi’s question makes a quick swan-dive into a holler of fright as her feet suddenly leave the ground, Nagendra’s hands firmly holding hers as she takes off. “Ow!” she shouts as soon as her vertigo has passed. “Do you know how much that hurts my shoulders?”

“You big baby! I do this with Will all the time!”

“Will’s like, six! I’m much larger than her, and my shoulders are probably way less…mobile…”

“We’ll say I fought her and won,” Gloria says. “Elliot will believe that.”

“Not if it looks like I won.” Claudia flicks her wand, and Gloria slams back the few inches into the wall. “You two kids escaped during the fight, got that?” She almost has a gleam of amusement in her eye as Gloria groans more in annoyance than pain.

“Oh, so I see we’re going right back to the old days,” Gloria mutters, standing up and dusting herself off. “What are you two waiting for? Go!”

The dragon — it’s hard to think of her as Amy just yet — awkwardly shuffles around to let her head face Lafi. “I can at least get my wings spread this way — wow. Wings. I have wings.”

Despite every other dire thing happening outside this alley, Lafi can’t help but grin at the sight of the dragon’s snout scrunching up like her nose does in human form. Okay, yeah. That’s Amy.

She barely has time to look at Nagendra and smile and say, “Hey,” before Gendra closes the three steps’ distance to the bed, grabs Lafi’s chin — not ungently — and kisses her.

It’s kind of an awkward position for Lafi, so she just grabs Nagendra’s arm with one hand and hangs on for dear life as the kiss extends into way longer than their first one did. Gloria finally has to cough to let them know she’s still there.

Nagendra only pulls away to say, “You and Claudia were nonstop PDA that night in the lobby,” before going right back to kissing Lafi.

Lafi breaks away just a few seconds later to laugh. “Wow. Did you miss me that bad?”

“Look, I’ve gotten all of one chance before now to do that, and it was right after I almost died.” Nagendra presses her lips to Lafi’s forehead this time. “So sue me for being impatient to do it again.”

She still can’t walk loosely, or she pulls on the healing scar, even though the stitches are gone, but it’s worth it to push open the door to the office, bow over-dramatically, and say, “Baroness.”

“Shut up,” Gloria says good-naturedly after she swallows a gulp of her coffee.

“The pack says you’ve been hanging out at their house every weekend.”

“Yeah, uh, they’re my friends.” Lafi shrugs.

“And you would probably like us to not hunt your girlfriend?” Gloria sips from her coffee again, eyebrows raised pointedly over the mug.

Lafi’s face heats up, but she manages a level, “That would…be nice.”

from “The Apple and the Rose” 

                                   SNOW (CONT’D.)

                    I would like a bridge, please.

She steps out — and her foot is met by branches twisting themselves into a bridge. Little flowers bloom along the sides as Snow makes her way over the stream. Briar grins.

                                  BRIAR

                   You’re a natural.

                                 SNOW

                  Only following suit. Are you coming?

Briar follows Snow across the bridge, and from her first step, the bridge changes to mahogany where she touches it, rhododendron flowers bloom from the sides, and it becomes polished, as if newly built by hand and not by imagination. Briar changes too. For a longer moment than before, with chin held high, hand elegantly grazing along the handrail, and back straight and proud, she is the hundred-year-old queen she was meant to be.

Then she steps off the bridge, and the moment is gone, but she is smiling now.

                                 BRIAR

                 It’s the way to break my curse. After                 one hundred years...true love’s kiss.                 You’re that true love, Snow. If I kiss you...                 I wake up. And I leave you here. Alone.

Snow considers, her eyes on Briar’s. Briar is desperate with her dilemma.

Snow steps forward, takes Briar’s face in her hands, and pulls her down to kiss her. Despite what she’s just said, Briar holds her close and kisses her harder.

After a few seconds, Snow breaks the kiss, puts her finger on Briar’s lips, and whispers:

                                SNOW

                Find me.

                                                                                    CUT TO:

INT. BRIAR’S BEDROOM - DAY

CLOSE ON BRIAR’S FACE

Briar’s eyes fly open.

from “Intelligence,” pilot episode of Star Trek: Magellan

                               K’RALTA

               You have your orders, Krya.

Krya shoots K’Ralta a glare.

                               KRYA

               SoH Hu’tegh petaQ.

Her statement startles Sloan, but she doesn’t notice as she storms past him out of the office.

                               K’RALTA

               You’ll have to excuse the Commander.                I don’t think she’s aware you                understand Klingon.

                               SLOAN

               …Sir?

                               K’RALTA

               A shame, really, that she doesn’t put                more effort into learning to curse                properly, when that’s mostly what she                does when she speaks Klingon.

                              TASOVA

              This isn’t the first ship named Enterprise               I’ve ever served on. Yeah. I served under               Kirk. Patched him up several times, too.               So don’t doubt me, Lieutenant: any fight               you tell me about, Kirk was in it first.

                             MAGELLAN

             I was programmed from the first to              understand that not everyone would accept              me as more than the standard computer,              and certainly not as a person.

Arisawa frowns, but turns back to her stage.

                            ARISAWA

                    (still yelling)

            Well, if you can choose a favorite rock             song, you’re a person by my reckoning!             Come on!

She runs back out to center stage, slinging the guitar’s strap around her neck and skidding to a halt before—

CLOSE ON GUITAR

—striking a chord.

from the untitled story of Team MCHN and Team WBAT

Helia and Celeste and Nebula follow Taiyang, but Matu doesn’t need his guidance at all; they follow the path their heart remembers, even if every step hurts because they know what they’ll find at the end of it—and what they won’t find.

The door comes into sight, and they’re almost surprised to find that Boreas has kept it painted the same midnight blue.

The door comes into sight, and a shard of the past stabs into their heart—the window next to it isn’t fogged with the steam from the kettle.

The door comes into sight, and Matu’s muscle memory stops them short, expecting a bright-eyed blond girl to come crashing out the door and right into them, yelling for a sparring match.

The door does not open. Ourana isn’t there. The shard in Matu’s heart twists.

from the untitled story of Siobhan Killdeer, Sawbones Alchemist

“I was going to get my State Alchemist certification then too, but…well, I was a medic in Ishval. I didn’t want to be another human weapon.”

“Aren’t you a medical alchemist? They would have kept you on as a medic, right?”

Siobhan looked up at Edward, and her bright, casual tone disappeared. “Yes. I’m a medical alchemist. I know all the best ways to heal the human body. I also know all the worst ways to hurt it. Which do you think the bastards would have had me using in a war of extermination?”

“I’ve never…I don’t know best what to say here, but I want to put that ring on your finger. If you’ll have me.”

“I already said yes.” Siobhan’s arms curl around his chest, making sure he can feel as much of her as possible above his waist. “I’ll have you. Every inch of you, Jean Havoc, if you’ll have me in return.”

“Of course. I hope I always will.”

“Jean, one more thing before I fall asleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Shave your goddamn chin mange. I’m not marrying you with that awful beard.”

He rumbles with laughter against her, and she lets out a laugh of her own on a breath as he says, “Maybe when you get back again. See if you like it then.”

“I won’t, I promise.” And echoed in the words: I’ll come back. I promise.

from various “found” poetry cobbled together for a class winter term

a pale king

the voice says faintly, “Ah...my greatest failure.” no regard for what you could be, Are you sorry? sharp and angry. I thought I had paid the perfect cost Yes. Yes, I am sorry. (you never said that) “Father,”

Volatile Explosives

“So when did you build a cannon?” I was insane. a genius, “Genius he may be, but he’s still off his fucking rocker.” Yes, that’s true. But about the cannon… It’ll break after just one shot. “One shot?” I’ll try not to make any mistakes. “Ah, excellent!” What do you think? “About what?”

All Lit Up (And I Start To Smile)

This is gonna be a train wreck of happiness.

It’s many hundred miles, and it won’t be long.

If you hear sirens, come kiss me goodbye.

So if you need me…start screaming.

I’m out of my head, of my heart, of my mind.

Don’t sacrifice temporal accuracy for enthusiasm.

Don’t let me falter; don’t let me hide; don’t let the earth in me subside.

Do not go far from me.

I have lived o’er my lives without number.

If we’re going to be damned, let us be damned for what we really are.

Get busy growing or stand in place and decay.

Nor are you just another biological organism.

The universe is expanding, and so should you.

Why change the past when you can own this day?

Drive blind on an untethered joyride through hell.

Sound the horn and call the cry;

I can hear your voices bouncing off the moon.

It’s still you looking out.

Life needs things to live.

Life needs love to live.

Long may your innocence reign,

And God bless the grass.

Be bold. Be brave. Be courageous. Black alert.

Tinkerty tonk.

from “Emma,” a retelling of Bluebeard

She reaches to the very back of her closet as soon as she gets to her room and yanks out a wooden hanger with black draped over it. She dons the three-piece suit carefully. This is her wedding attire, not the stupid, flouncy dress she wore to marry him. This is what she would have worn to marry Lizzie.

Lizzie who has absolutely no reason to come after Emma, or to call 911, or to even listen to the messages she left. Lizzie who she left when she cowed to Mom’s insistence. Poor Lizzie. Poor, dearest Lizzie. Emma blows a kiss out the window for her. It feels like too little, too late.

from “Patrick, Donald, and the Great Ride,” a short play written for the family reunion in August

DONALD: He searched us. What, did he think we were smuggling guns in? Tequila? Bubblegum?

from “Drawing From...: On Writing, Life, and the Writing Life,” the introductory essay to my final portfolio

My kindergarten pièce de résistance was written in a fit of pique. Mrs. Steuber had read us a poem about a teddy bear, fluffy and perfect—except it was far from perfect. It was a brown teddy bear, and I knew better than the author that white teddy bears were the way to go, evidenced by my own beloved Snowball. So, armed with colorful markers, I rewrote the poem to be about the proper color bear.

Eighteen years later, a lot of my writing comes from the same well of indignation inside me.

There’s really no other way to come up with the line “I cast ‘healing word’ on Big Thokk, and the word is ‘dumbass’” than when my kleptomaniac traveling partner knocks himself out trying to steal gems and I, the long-suffering healer, have to get him back on his feet.

Echoes and echoes and echoes, from Ancient Greece to mid-20th-century Maryland, to 21st-century Illinois.

And as I write this, I’m in a minivan with my friends, Peter driving us to Chicago as Marion plays “This Year” by the Mountain Goats from her phone, and we sing along with gusto: “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me!” Well, hopefully it won’t kill me. I’ll take a step back, a breath, make sure I have my words with me, and treat the cliff as a starting block like every one I’ve dove off to begin a race. Even if I don’t know what I’m swimming when I hit the water—or if I’ll hit the water at all—I’ll step up, I’ll take my mark, and I’ll go.

i’ll end there; i think “this year” is an appropriate place to end 2019. happy new year, you series of disasters of a decade. you made me who i am; thanks for that. i’m going on ahead now.

(i am gonna make it through this year if it kills me...)

[generallynerdy]

Our Little Secret Part 2 (Merlin & Child!Reader)

Part 1

Summary: (Y/N) started her studies in magic with Merlin as soon as she was old enough. When a Druid boy barely escapes the guards of Camelot and goes into hiding with the help of Morgana, Gwen, and Merlin, she can’t help but befriend him.

Key: (Y/N) - your name

Warnings: persecution, mentions of injuries

Word Count: 1,548

Note: lemme know if any of u wanna be tagged for this thing btw and HAVE SOME GOOD MORDRED CONTENT BC LORD KNOWS WE NEED IT

Merlin prided himself on being able to hide his magic from the most powerful and brightest people in Camelot. Of course, this was the same man who failed to keep that secret from a small child in the woods.

Little (Y/N) was one of two people in Camelot to know about his magic, having discovered this fact about him all by herself. After that, Merlin simply came to the conclusion that she was the brightest child in the kingdom. He wasn’t necessarily wrong, considering she had discovered his magic when even Prince Arthur and King Uther hadn’t. In fact, she was so mesmerised by the magical abilities he had that she begged him to teach her magic.

Despite still learning about his own magic, Merlin could not resist her begging expression and, when she was a little older, had her begin her studies as a warlock.

It helped that Gaius was there to supervise. Though he had been cross with Merlin about (Y/N)’s knowledge of his magic for a good while, he soon grew fond of the little girl and her inquisitive attitude.

Gaius and Merlin were not the only two to grow close to (Y/N), as she soon became a familiar presence in the castle, along with Spot.

She befriended Sir Leon instantly when she helped Gaius mend one of his injuries, as she often helped the physician, and couldn’t stop asking him about what it was like to be a knight.

Gwen was easy enough to win over and the girl was helping the maids in the palace before she knew it, which led her right to the Lady Morgana. Morgana always giggled around Spot and (Y/N), which only inspired the girl to stick around more.

Even the other nobility in Camelot were aware of her, as not a day went by that she was not following Merlin or Gaius or Gwen down the hall, chattering excitedly with Spot on her heels.

Despite Arthur’s odd introduction to her so long ago, he found her quite amusing, especially around Merlin. They made an interesting pair and even the prince fell victim to the banter they dragged with them.

As it was, (Y/N) was Camelot’s little treasure.

She knew the ins and outs of the castle like the back of her hand. Others were careless with what they talked about around her, so she heard everything. She was Merlin’s own fly on the wall, though he never instructed her to keep up with anything. (Y/N) did it all herself.

“Merlin!” (Y/N) gushed one day as she ran into Morgana’s chamber, where she had seen Merlin disappear into moments before. “Did you hear there’s a druid boy on the--”

Having not bothered to knock and shoving open the unlocked door, the sweetheart saw Gwen, Merlin, and Morgana gathered in the corner of the room. They were standing over the limp form of a little boy with dark locks and a bright blue cloak.

“--loose.” (Y/N) found her jaw dropping as she closed the door behind her and stepped into the room. “You found him! Is he okay?”

Merlin motioned for Gwen to answer her questions, as he was preoccupied with assessing the boy’s wounds. She stood and crossed the room to (Y/N), who looked around her to try and get a peek at the boy again.

Gwen only sighed. “He’s fine for now, (Y/N), but give Merlin some space to look at his injury, alright?”

“I could go get Gaius!” She offered, but was instantly silenced by a chorus of ‘no’s.

Morgana piped up. “Gaius might want us to turn him in. We can’t tell him.”

(Y/N) was about to protest this concept, but Merlin stood from his spot. “Take care of him,” he told Morgana and Gwen. “I’ll talk to her.”

He put his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder and took her to the very front of Morgana’s chambers, kneeling down to her level. Putting a hand on each of her shoulders, he made sure by this action that she knew how important this was.

“(Y/N),” he started. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Okay.”

He glanced back at the others before looking to her again. “We can’t tell anyone the boy is here, understand? Uther would have him and all of us killed.”

“Is it because he can do magic?” (Y/N) asked the next part quietly. “Like us?”

Merlin nodded slowly. “Yes, like us. Uther doesn’t like magic, you know that.” Suddenly, he gave a small smirk and held out his pinky. “This has to be our little secret.”

(Y/N) grinned and linked her little finger with his, though hers looked tiny next to his. “Promise.” She then tilted her head. “Can I meet him?”

“Maybe when he wakes up,” he said. “He’s very tired, though, and hurt.”

“Can I help?”

Merlin frowned, but snapped his fingers in realisation. “You can help watch him tonight, if you want. Morgana and Gwen could use some sleep.”

“Okay!” She said with a big smile, laughing as he lightly touched her nose with his finger.

That night, (Y/N) stayed up until sunrise, determined to do her best in watching the boy. Gwen offered to take over in the middle of the night, but the little girl refused her. It was rather adorable, especially so in the morning, when Gwen returned from her chores to find (Y/N) asleep at the foot of the druid boy’s makeshift bed.

The next afternoon, (Y/N) took it upon herself to make a quick trip home and get Spot. She brought him to the palace every once in a while, but this time she hoped the druid boy would get to meet him. Whenever she got hurt, Spot always made her feel better.

When she went to knock on the Lady Morgana’s door, it swung open and the very woman she was looking for bustled out, almost running her over.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Morgana exclaimed, catching herself before she tripped on the girl. She smiled softly when she the dog. “And Spot. Perfect timing!”

“Is everything alright?” (Y/N) asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes, the boy’s just fine. He’s healing well.” She glanced down the hall, biting her lip. “Merlin isn’t around and Gwen has to finish her work, but Uther has just called me to ride with him for the afternoon...do you think you could keep an eye on him for me?”

(Y/N) grinned proudly. “Yes, m’lady!”

Morgana couldn’t help a small smile at her excitement and pat her head fondly. With a few more instructions, such as a warning to keep Spot away from the boy until he was feeling better, she took off down the hallway. Meanwhile, (Y/N) entered her chambers at almost a skip, rather proud of herself for taking on such a task.

Upon entering Morgana’s room, she set up a small bed for Spot and instructed him to stay, which he did with a whine. Then, she made her way to the back of the room, where she found the boy surprisingly awake and sitting up.

“Hello,” she said, hands behind her back.

The boy looked up, eyebrows furrowed in alarm, though he did not speak.

“I’m (Y/N),” she introduced. Then, she gestured behind her at the snoozing mutt. “That’s Spot, my dog. Morgana asked me to make sure you’re okay while she’s gone.”

Despite her introduction, the boy didn’t move, nor did he make an effort to speak. It was almost unnerving, but (Y/N) simply believed he was nervous. She reckoned she would be the same way if the whole of Camelot was chasing her down. So, she went to sit on the ground beside his makeshift mat, which made him back away.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

He didn’t answer, not at first. But just as (Y/N) was about to give up, he whispered; “Mordred.”

(Y/N) suddenly brightened again, remembering that he hadn’t told anyone his name yet, much less spoken at all. “Mordred?” He nodded and she grinned. “That’s a nice name.”

He looked at the ground almost shyly and, from there, (Y/N) was all talk.

“I can do magic, too!” She gushed to him.

His eyes widened and he drew closer, not realising that he had. “You can?”

“Uh huh. Merlin’s teaching me!” She said before sheepishly realising what she had done. “Oops. It’s supposed to be our little secret. But you won’t tell him, right?”

Mordred nodded slowly. “Promise.”

After a brief silence, (Y/N) brightened. “Do you want to meet Spot? He’s not mean or anything and he loves meeting new people.”

Though Mordred hesitated, he eventually nodded. Giddy, (Y/N) leapt to her feet and crossed the room, petting Spot slowly until he was roused from his slumber. When he awoke, he yipped and followed (Y/N) when she called him to do so. At the mere sight of Mordred, the dog was all over the poor boy, sitting halfway upon his lap and licking his face.

“Spot! Leave him alone!” (Y/N) chided through laughter. “He’s hurt!”

Despite having been tackled by the absolute furball, Mordred, for the first time in a long while, laughed.

Part 3

Masterlist

[mariequitecontrarie]

Put Me In, Coach

Summary: Gideon is playing little league baseball and the Gold-Swan-Mills family has trouble remembering they’re only spectators. A/N: Marie’s kiddos are into baseball this year so this happened.  A little magical family AU. I took some license with the kids’ ages. Written for the May @a-monthly-rumbelling​: limelight, sparkle, tap. Thanks to @galactic-pirates for helping! Rating: T

On AO3

The crack of the bat splintered the air, and the baseball catapulted deep into left field.

Belle shot to her feet with a raucous yell, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down on the bleachers. “Run, Roland, run!”

Young Roland Hood was diving headfirst into third base by the time the opposing team got the ball back into the infield, his hit driving Neal Junior and August across home plate.

Billows of red dust settled across the ballfield and Belle brushed the dirt off her thighs and plopped back down on the bench. Gideon’s baseball team, the Storybrooke’s Golden Nuggets, had pulled ahead by three. At the bottom of the ninth and final inning, the score stood tied at 4-4.

Another base hit, and they’d be knocking on victory’s door.

Belle poked him in the arm like a little girl and his lips quirked upward. “Rumple, did you see that hit?” she asked, catching her breath.

His smirk bloomed into a lopsided grin. Watching his wife watch was one of the best parts of the game. “Of course I did. A triple and two runs-batted-in. Well done, Roland.”

Another poke, this time in the ribs. “Why aren’t you on your feet, cheering for the team?”

He waved a gnat away from his face lazily. “I’m not one for shouting and jumping, sweetheart, but I enjoy your excitement. He really knocked the cover off the ball, didn’t he?”

She whistled under her breath, sounding impressed. “Look at you, up on all the baseball lingo.”

“It’s the great American pastime,” he drawled.

“And just how long have you been waiting to turn that particular phrase?”

“No matter.” He rubbed his fingers together in anticipation. “I’m a patient man, sweetheart.”

Rumplestiltskin shaded his eyes with the heel of his hand and scanned the crowd. Granny Lucas was in the stands, as she was at every game, seated beside Marco and guarding her cooler. It was bursting with sports drinks, and homemade ice cream sandwiches made with her fresh chocolate chip cookies, reserved for when the children were done playing. Clark reached out to open the cooler lid but Granny smacked him on the hand before he could poach a treat.

The Charmings were here, of course, to cheer for Neal Junior, and because David was the Head Coach. On the bench behind him and Belle sat Regina, Emma, and Neal, cheering for Gideon and encouraging Henry, who was helping out as David’s Assistant Coach.

It was quite a turnout for eight-year-old little league, but post-curse Storybrooke was a snug little town determined to support its own. Nothing bad had happened in ages, and if their biggest problem was smuggling baseball teams from the Land Without Magic back and forth across the town line without incident, that suited the Golds just fine.

“All you need now is some Cracker Jack, Rumple,” Belle said. It was the quintessential baseball snack and one of his favorites.

“If only my clever wife brought me some,” he teased back.

Her blue eyes sparkled with delight, reminding him of when she used to ply him with raspberry cakes in the Dark Castle as a distraction. While he popped sweet after sweet into his mouth and sipped on cinnamon tea laced with sugar, she would poke through his cabinets of magical artifacts as though she was getting away with something. Little did she know, he’d been a willing accomplice to her snooping.

“Have I ever forgotten to bring you snacks?” While Gideon strode up to the plate to take his turn at bat, Belle pulled a red, white, and blue cardboard box of caramel-coated popcorn and peanuts from the knapsack at her feet.  

Neal tapped Belle on the shoulder. “Got any more of that?”

Belle smiled and passed him three more boxes—one for him, one for Emma, and one for Regina.

“You’re like a walking concessions stand, Belle.” Neal tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. “This is better than a New York Yankees game. All I need now is a beer and a chili dog.”

“How about after the game?” Belle offered with a wink. “Cookout at our house.”

Neal hesitated. “Is Papa grilling?”

“Always,” Belle said. They all knew she always burned the hot dogs.

“Then you’re on.” Neal ripped open his Cracker Jack box with a grin.

“Two outs,” Head Umpire Leroy shouted from behind home plate.

“Let’s go, Gideon!” From his post by the dugout, Coach David cupped his hands and shouted. “Tap your bat on the plate and get set, kiddo.”

While the spectators held their collective breath, Gideon’s gold jersey sparkled like drops of sunshine against the crystal blue sky, clipped grass, and orange clay. The beauty of the uniforms was a particular point of pride for Rumplestiltskin, as he had chosen and pad for them himself.

“I’ve never understood why players tap home plate when they’re batting.” Belle gestured at Gideon, who was pounding the plate with the thick end of the bat like his life depended on it.

“It’s so the batter can make sure his feet are in the right position.” Neal’s voice floated over their shoulders. “You wanna know you can touch the edges of the plate.”

“Others say it’s part of a wordless game within a game.” Rumple lifted the brim of Belle’s baseball cap, then pulled it down snug across her brow. “I read in a book that baseball is an enigma of signs and signals, sweetheart, inspired by the American Civil War.”

“I can’t think about books right now, Rumple.” Belle clasped her hands.

He would have checked her for a fever if he hadn’t known she was pouring all her attention into watching their son. “Come on, Number 12!” Belle called to Gideon, then unclenched her hands to chew her thumbnail.

Gideon’s turn at bat was always nerve-wracking and Belle murmured under her breath, pleading with the gods to grant him a hit. He’d already struck out twice this game, and this would be his last chance to bat today.

From his post on the pitching mound, Hook lobbed the ball over the plate, and Gideon swung and missed.

“Strike one!” Leroy called.

“Good swing, Gideon.” Coach David clapped while he paced the third base line. “Next one’s your pitch.”

“Why is Hook pitching again?” Regina asked. “I thought this was a children’s league.”

“If the shiny, swashbuckling shoe fits,” Rumple hissed.

“Rumple,” Belle said, her tone carrying a warning. “Hook’s helping. Be kind.”

“Henry told us this about 15 times,” Emma said. “It’s called ‘coach pitch.’ Kids at this age don’t pitch consistently, so they bring in an adult who can lob it in nice and easy.”

Belle put her hands over her eyes. “I can’t look.” She stole another long glance anyway, peeking through her fingers while another pitch sailed through the air, this one low and skirting the outside of the plate.

Gideon had the good sense to leave that one alone. Most of the kids swung at anything within reach but they were eight and, at this level, the game was more about fun than skill. Or so Belle kept telling him.

Rumple plucked a popcorn kernel from his Cracker Jack and popped it into his mouth, glaring at Hook between bites. Not that he would have been any better at pitching, but the fact that his nemesis was also David’s Assistant Coach irked him to no end.

“Ball one!” Leroy shouted.

Henry signaled to David, called a time out, and jogged out to home plate. He whispered in Gideon’s ear, then patted the top of his helmet with a clenched fist. Whatever Henry had said made Gideon grin, and Rumple’s rib cage felt too small to contain his heart. The relationship between his son and grandson was one of his greatest joys. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

He slipped his hand back into the box of popcorn and wriggled his fingers.

“What’s happening now?” Belle asked when Henry returned to the dugout.

“Gideon has one more pitch coming,” Rumple reported, his gaze pinned to the action.

“Yes, he’s still standing at the plate.” The heat of her pointed stare was unnerving. “I meant you. What are you doing?”

He froze with his hand in the cardboard box, his fingertips sticky with salty caramel and his neck flushed with guilt. “Looking for the prize in the box,” he fibbed.

On his last pitch Gideon swung, and the bat hit the ball with a satisfying smack. The baseball sailed over the outfield like it had wings and bounced off the fence.

On their team’s side of the field, the crowd erupted in applause and shouts and whistles.

His wife’s hands went from covering her face to framing her hips as she watched Gideon race around the bases and pound his foot on home plate. Belle was smiling and cheering with the rest of them, but when she turned to him her eyes were cloudy.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Rumple, you can shift the weather so the rain comes after the game, poof the opposing team’s kids and their families in and out of town so they believe Storybrooke is a normal place, outfit our players with the best athletic equipment money can buy, and build a stadium with an electronic scoreboard. But I draw the line at cheating.”

He offered his most winning smile. “Sweetheart, have I told you how much I like that navy cap? It really brightens your eyes.”

“Rumple!”

“So I’m helping the boy.” His ears turned red at the tips and he shifted on the bleachers. “I help the others too,” he added defensively.

“Equal opportunity cheating. How novel.” She rested a hand on his knee, the affectionate pat softening the sting of her words. “Darling, just let them play. It’s supposed to be fun.”

There was that word again. Fun.

“Winning is fun,” he pronounced, noting with approval how Gideon’s teammates crowded around him for high-fives as the game ended with the Golden Nuggets winning 6 to 4. Acceptance. Belonging. They were the sweetest of feelings and with the exception of his wife and son, Rumplestiltskin had known far too little of both in his life. He wouldn’t allow his son to suffer a similar fate.

“They’re children,” Belle said, shaking her head. “Their goals in life are wearing jerseys and stuffing their faces with ice cream after the game.”

A meaty finger jabbed him in the back. “Did you do it again?”

He turned around and blinked at his son. “Do what?”

“Pop, come on.” Neal ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

After all these years Neal still didn’t trust magic and had relegated its use to the ‘for emergencies only’ category.

“I beg to differ.” Rumple glanced back at the field while players from both teams lined up on the field to shake hands. He was exactly as subtle as he thought and more. “Who else knows what I did except for you?”

Regina crushed a peanut between clenched teeth and fixed Rumple with a stare that made lesser beings cower. He glared back, unashamed. As though she hadn’t, and wouldn’t, commit every weapon in her arsenal to offer Henry an advantage!

Emma sipped her soda and frowned down at a blade of grass on the bleachers.

“Who knows isn’t the point.” Neal shook his head. “Gideon’s my baby brother and of course I want him to enjoy the limelight once in a while. Thing is, Papa, you’re not doing his playing any favors by cheating for him.”

“Better my help than the pirate’s,” Rumple growled.

“If you’re so concerned about the quality of play, you could have volunteered to coach the team yourself,” Neal fired back. “Man, you really can’t stand to lose, can you?”

“Lose? We won,” Rumple crowed. So what if he’d helped his son’s team along? Helping the team was the sponsor’s job. And if he used a touch of magic to tip the odds in their favor, where was the harm? It wasn’t as though he used magic at every game. They’d even lost one. He had gritted his teeth throughout that cloudy, humid afternoon, but he’d let it happen.

“We could have won without the cheating,” Regina stood and crossed her arms. “Now we’ll never know.”

He tightened his fingers around the edge of the bench. “ Do you really think you should be the judge of morality, Your Majesty? The woman who cursed an entire kingdom because a little girl told a secret.”

“Not this again.” Neal closed his eyes.

“Your curse to get back to your son.” Regina’s tone could have chipped ice.

“And I’d do it all again,” Rumplestiltskin snarled. “As would you, if you had enough grace and guts to admit it.”

“Maybe instead of arguing over a minor thing like a father supporting his son with a harmless little spell, we could have been watching the game.” Emma swatted popcorn crumbs off her jeans like they were stinging nettles. “Gideon scored and I missed the whole thing!”  

Neal’s mouth dropped open. “You agree with what Papa’s doing?”

“Look, all I’m saying is Gold’s not the first parent to try to make a tough situation easier on his kid and he won’t be the last.” Emma peered into her empty Cracker Jack box.

Neal straddled the bench with a labored sigh. “Is that some sort of code?”

“Yes, to which tough situation are you referring, Emma?” Regina’s lip curled at the corner.

“You know how worried Henry was about last week’s chemistry exam?” Emma winced. “Well, I might’ve used my mom’s login to crack into the school computer system and get the answers to the test.”

“You helped my son cheat?” Regina shouted the last word and a few people sent them curious glances. Fortunately, Henry and Gideon were still busy with their post-game pep talk and didn’t notice.

“Our son.” Emma’s cheeks turned pink. “And I only gave him a few answers, not the entire test!”

“Oh, it was only part of the test.” Regina threw up her hands. “I feel so much better.”

This was an interesting development, to be sure. His son’s brow was furrowed in confusion, the Queen looked like her head was going to explode, Belle was gnawing on lower her lip like she’d missed breakfast, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t unhappy for his family’s ire to be directed somewhere other than at him. Respect mingled with kinship in a way he’d never experienced with Emma. While he didn’t consider tacos and hot chocolate to be two of the four major food groups, her approach to parenting was logical. Why let your child wrestle with something when it was within your power to smooth the way?

“Enough!” Belle stomped her foot, making the bleachers clang. “Gideon and Henry are headed this way and I think this is the last conversation they need to hear.”

Neal pouted. “So no chili dogs, huh?”

Belle’s nostrils flared, a sure sign she was running low on patience. “I said no more fighting, not no more eating. See you at the house.”

xoxo

Their backyard cookout ended with the setting of the sun. Neal, Emma, Regina, and Henry had all gone home and there had been no more debate about baseball, chemistry tests, or the principles of proper parenting.

Belle’s relief was palpable as she scraped the remnants of hot dogs smothered in chili and coleslaw into the sink and dumped the paper plates into the trash. Bowls and platters that had brimmed with chips, potato salad, brownies, and Regina’s famous apple turnovers now sported only a smattering of crumbs.

Clearly, the tension hadn’t ruined anyone’s appetite.

Rumple ran the disposal and turned on the taps, filling the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water. He always washed the dishes and Belle always dried, just as he always fired up the grill while she always set the table. The easy cadence of their routine was immensely comforting.

“Why don’t they remind Gideon to throw to second base when he’s playing center field?” he asked when Gideon had gone upstairs with a snack size bag of pretzels and yet another ice cream sandwich. “He needs to hit the cutoff man if they’re going to get the ball back into the infield.”

“I only understood every third word of that sentence, love.” Belle plucked a clean towel from the drawer and lifted a wet platter from the drying rack. “But I think the bottom line is they’re too young. Those skills will come with time and practice.”

“The cutoff man is the player you throw to when you’re too far into the outfield.” He scrubbed a pan until it shone. “And there’s no such thing as too young to learn to do things properly, sweetheart.”

He passed her a pair of clean barbecue tongs after shaking the excess water into the sink.

“Properly? You mean like charging his bat with a little extra zing before he hits, or how a ball that flew over his head in the first inning somehow landed in his glove?” She shoved the dry tongs in a drawer with the spatula and slammed it.

“Says the woman who runs the mysterious magical library.” He snorted. “I haven’t heard any complaining when the characters pop out of the pages of novels and come to life at your story hour. Then it’s ‘all magic comes with a price, dearie.’”

“It’s not the same and you know it. You’re cheating.” Belle rolled her eyes and smacked his ass with her damp dish towel.

He danced away and laughed. “Don’t think of it as cheating. Think of it as protecting an investment.”

He was being glib but it was easier this way. When he was a boy, he’d been rubbish at sports. Because he was too puny and weak to throw a ball with any distance and force, the other village children had laughed at him. Rather than being encouraging and teaching him how to play their games, his father used to join them in their jeers. His father, the self-proclaimed king of games, had refused to play with his own son.

Even now, with all his power and wealth, the humiliation made his ears burn.

If you couldn’t be popular, be powerful. That was the lesson life had taught him. No longer in a playful mood, he stared into the sink filled with dingy bubbly water and blinked away tears.  

Sensing his upset the way she always did, Belle came up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back. “What’s really troubling you, love?”

“It’s ridiculous,” he said, trying not to stiffen at her gentleness. Belle knew all about his past with his father.

“Try me.” She pressed a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades.

He turned around and drew her close. “I can’t help Gideon the way other parents can help their children. I can’t pitch like Emma or improve his stance like Bae. I don’t throw and catch well, and I can’t smile and encourage the players the way David can. Even a one-handed pirate has more game than I do.”

He didn’t say I’m just like my father, but they both knew what he was thinking.

“That’s not true. You’re an excellent swordsman.” She kissed his chin. “Besides, it’s not as though I have an athletic bone in my body.”

“No, you can only hike five miles before you break a sweat. And you read six languages including Fae. But who’s keeping track?”

She laughed. “You’re no slouch in the smarts department yourself, sir.”

“Yes, I cheated and I know it was wrong. But I don’t want Gideon to suffer the pain of being unsuccessful the way I have.” He shrugged. “The boy wants to play baseball and he wants to be good. He wants his friends to like him. I thought if I helped things along...it was my way of doing my part.”

“Unsuccessful?” She took his face between her hands and cupped his chin. “Listen to me, Rumplestiltskin. You’re the richest man in town and the most talented but you never steal the limelight. You acquire wonderful things for the shop for people to buy, you purchase crates of books for the library, you commissioned a new wing for the school. The properties you own provide people with affordable, safe homes. When you spin, it’s like poetry. And you are nothing like your father.”

“Belle.” Emotion welled up in his chest at her praise. She’d known what he needed to hear even when he didn’t. “Sweetheart, do you mean it?”

“Absolutely. This baseball team is the Golden Nuggets because of you. You’re their sponsor. The uniforms, the equipment—it all came from you. I wanted Gideon to get a hit today, too. You’re protecting and loving him the best way you know how. But sometimes part of being his parents means having to stand by and watch him fail. If we fix everything for him, how will he grow and learn?”

Belle was right. He hated to admit it, but it was true.

He nodded. “Would it be alright if I promise not to do it again but we don’t tell him about today or any of this?” He didn’t want to look like an old fool in front of his son.

“Of course.” Belle inched closer and wound her arms around his neck. “In the meantime, I have a great idea for how we can help Gideon with his game in a way that’s fair.”

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow, you can take Gideon to the batting cages to practice his swing.” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “And tonight, you can take me to bed and show me yours.”

He frowned, confused. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Her eyes roamed over his body, dark with appreciation. “It’s my understanding you have quite the bat of your own.”

“I do enjoy a good game of baseball.” He grinned. “Lead the way, Mrs. Gold.”

###

[dr-pepper-cherry]

The Cowboy & The Gunslinger

A little something I wrote for @emilyfronce and her character, Ace Cliffton. 

It’s not always such a bad night in The Dusty Spurs.

Normally, this little bar set in the dusty and rusty town of Dirtwater is one of the last few places where The West feels alive. Many cowboys saunter past the creaky saloon doors and into a familiar sense of nostalgia. Drinks would be served, cards would be played and the customers could usually enjoy a nice meal, a hard drink and a quiet night.

But this wasn't most nights.

While the crowds kept to themselves that night, Ace Cliffton, would find no such luck as the only people at his table were the harassing members of “law and order” in this forgotten little town.

“Now, Mr. Cliffton,” The rather plump demon who had the gall to call himself the town's sheriff placed his boot onto the table. “I'm sure this affair between you and Little Red is just one big misunderstanding. But you need to know I'm quite skeptical based on word alone.”

“I already told you.” The cowboy leaned back his chair. “I don't know that woman. I ain't seen her before and I doubt I'll ever see her again.”

“Oh, is that so? I find that hard to believe.” The sheriff of Dirtwater withdrew a red bandanna from his waistcoat and held it up for the cowboy to see. “Seeing how this here handkerchief was swaying on the shattered walls of Dirtwater's First National Bank. You should be mindful of stuff that's yours.” The sheriff gave a sly smirk as he placed an arm around Ace's shoulder. “I'm not gonna lie to you, boy. Your situation is looking rather grim. After all, Dirtwater don't like criminals any more than that fool from Sylvanite. But I, your rather gracious sheriff, won't watch you swing from the town's square if you do me a grand favor.” He said with a sleazy tone as he drew a bounty poster out from his hat, sporting the image of Little Red with a whopping $5,000 reward if brought alive.

The moment Ace saw the poster unfurl, it took a great amount of willpower to keep himself calm. While the Winchester rifles the deputies had pointed at him and the lack of any firepower of his own kept him from leaping out of his seat and strangling the fat bastard within an inch of his life, his disdain for the scumbag was only noticeable to anyone who looked at his fingernails as they dug deeper into the wooden table.

“See, Red's been getting past us for a while now. And I happen to understand you two are very close to one another. Surely, you can get to her better than anyone else in this town. I'm sure her life for your freedom is a rather easy tra-”

“No.”

The sheriff paused at that word he wasn't used to hearing. “I'm sorry, son. My hearing ain't as good as it used to be. But I could've sworn you said no. I'm sure you meant-”

“No,” Ace repeated, placing a hand on the table. “I won't.”

“I see.” The sheriff breathed a heavy sigh before nodding ahead towards the door outside. “Well, Mr. Cliffton, you know what we do to folk who don't fall in line, do you?”

Ace slowly rose from the table with his hand underneath the wooden table. He knew he was outgunned with five deputies and one trigger happy sheriff but he'll be damned again before he'll toss another life away for his own gain. He readied his hand, staring down each member of the law without fear.

But the sounds of swinging doors and spurs clinking on the wooden floor brought the would-be shootout to a halt as the barkeep graciously turned his head to the door.

“Howdy, partner! What can I...I...I...”

Even though Ace's table was as far from the bar as possible, the look of absolute terror was stretched across the barkeeper's rather pale face.

Ace shook off the sudden silence and took this as a moment to think on his next move. He knew this bar was full of cowboys and bandits, all waiting for a chance to show their skills at gunplay. Eyeing the gun belt in the sheriff's side, he placed his foot at the edge of his table, ready to make and take cover once the bullets start flying.

But for the first time in this bar, no one else drew.

It was a little odd for him. Normally, everyone in this saloon would jump at the chance to open fire. But they all seemed to just be staring in silence, all attention focused on something. Or someone.

He heard the patrons whisper to one another. “Can't be...” or “No way...” surrounded the bar in a flock of voices. But it wasn't the intrigue of who it was or how all of them seem to have the same thought that caught Ace's attention.

It was the fact they all sounded afraid.

Every man and woman in this room, from the old to the young, the greenhorns and the experts, whether they were lawman, bandit or somewhere in between, were all scared of whoever was walking to his table. Even the sheriff seemed to be frozen with the rest of the crowd, eyes widening in response to whoever just stepped in. It was a sight that would've made any demon that placed value into their afterlives join in with the rest of the crowd, as not to stir the stranger's wraith.

But Ace was only growing all the more curious when the man in question, who drew all this attention the moment he walked past the swinging doors, was a lot more feathery than he thought.

The man, whose appearance matched that of a great horned owl, was standing eye to eye with the sheriff and his posse of “law bringers” with a red poncho around him, a hand on his hip and an unlit cigar twirling around his talons.

“Uhmm.” The sheriff cleared his throat. “We were just in the middle of some...uh...business with our dearest friend, Mr. Cliffton, over here. So, I think...you should...leave.”

The owl looked past the sheriff to the man in question, staring at the cowboy with a questioning look. Ace had a hunch why the bird was staring at him specifically as he was the only person in this bar who wasn't joining the masses in fear and shock. But what he didn't understand was why the owl seemed to smile at his actions.

“Cliffton, is it?” The owl had asked the cowboy, who only gave a nod of assurance. “You mind sitting for a bit longer? I need to talk to Peck for a moment.”

The sheriff widened his eyes in sheer horror. Even from Ace's perspective, it seemed the law dog seemed to begin sweating bullets. “You must be confused with someone else. I'm Butch Williamson, sheriff of Dirtwater, two years running.”

“Is that so? Well, they'll give a badge to anyone these days.” The owl responded in a rather snarky tone, striking a match across the wooden bar. “Or in your case, have it stolen off their corpse by some lowlife who wanted to play a role he isn't meant to be.”

The sheriff only seemed to be all the more fearful and it wasn't just the owl in front of him. The people of the bar seemed to turn to their conversation in unison. It drove him mad, the hundred pairs of eyes staring down at him.

“Three years ago,” The owl placed his cigar in his beak. “You were Benjamin Peck, a cattle rustler who decided the days of stealing farm stock just wasn't enough anymore. So you and your goonies hatch a get rich scheme that involved driving Sheriff Andy out to the middle of some long-forgotten mine.” He paused as he blew out a cloud of smoke, glaring at the “sheriff” with hatred. “And then you shot him dead.”

The sheriff made an attempt to cut the story short but the bird just kept talking.

“You came into his town, living off the lie that the sheriff decided to retire after his sixty years of service had came to an end and you were the replacements sent by the state, taxing folks as you see fit and hanging those that don't wanna pay.” The owl placed his cigar back into his beak. “Benjamin Peck, everyone. Cattle rustler, murderer and a rather poor liar, if you ask me.”

The patron's of the bar flew into an uproar of insults, finally snapping back at the sheriff after too many sleepless months of fear from the hangman's noose. The deputies stared back into the approaching crowd in fear, the sheriff only stared down at the floorboards of the saloon and the owl was only staring back at the lawbreaker with a smug smile. It might be a good day for Ace after all.

At least, it would've been if the sheriff didn't draw his Walker and fire off a warning shot into the ceiling.

“You're just gonna take his word for it?!” The sheriff yelled into the startled crowd. “You're all just gonna listen to him?! Why?! You folks already know who he is! He's The Reaper In Red! The Terror of The West!”

Ace kept his back to the wall as Peck starting waving the gun around as if it was on fire. It was quite obvious by now that the long gambit he had placed so much time into had finally came crashing down around him, along with the rustler's intention of facing his trial with any dignity or pride.

“I took one life and I'm being stared down like it's judgment day! What about him?! What about the lives he's sent down here?! You heard the stories! You read the papers! Hell, some of you are down here because of him! Yet, you all are pointing your fingers at me! What gives any of you the right to play judge, jury or executioner!”

“It's Ranger.” The sinister tones of the owl echoed across the room.

“What?”

“It's Ranger in Red.” The owl shot back.

Ace noticed the sudden change in the owl's behavior alongside everyone else in the room. The little smirk of confidence was replaced by a hate-filled glare and a very unnerving look in his eyes. Both in voice and appearance, the owl seemed to seemingly shift from happy go lucky drifter into a cold, remorseless killer.

Not that the “sheriff” seemed any bothered by it anymore.

“BOY, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOUR NAME IS!” The sheriff aimed at the owl and cocked back the hammer of his revolver with his deputies following his example. “What makes you any better than me, gunman?!”

Ace kept his eyes on this Ranger in Red, finding nothing but calm in the owl's movements. He didn't seem even annoyed with the gun pointed at his face. He simply took the cigar from his mouth, watching the ashes flicker away into the wind, before glancing at the sheriff with hatred in his eyes.

Within the quarter of a second, the owl swept up one of his revolvers from his hip and fired a round directly into the barrel of the Walker, sparking off the large amounts of gunpowder inside, and watched as the gun exploded in the sheriff's right hand, leaving nothing behind but a bloody stump. Ace's eyes widened in surprise. Even though he had his sights locked onto the ranger in red, he could've sworn the old bird outdraw his own shadow. Even when the other “law-bringers” cocked back their lever actions, their efforts were only rewarded with a bullet through the head or through the heart. When the gun smoke had cleared, the impostor posse were on the ground with the life shot out of their bodies, while Peck only stared in shock at the stump where his hand once was.

“That's why.” The gunslinger simply stated as he twirled the Colt back into his holster and yanked the badge off the sheriff's chest.

“Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-You a-a-a-ain't gonn-gonna kill...” Peck could only whimper in pain and fear.

“Oh, no. My job was just to get Cliffton outside.” The Ranger in Red pointed a thumb towards Ace. “I'll leave your horrible demise to those with more time on their hands.”

---------------------------------------------‐------------------------------------

It was a pretty good night for the town of Dirtwater.

Even though their bank was robbed and their law-bringers were either in six foot holes or hanging from the noose, the citizens were all celebrating for the first time in years. They danced unencumbered of the stress their departed deputies had mercilessly gave over taxes and due payments. They drank themselves full, just as their sheriff had once done so many nights before. For the first time in two years, it was a pretty good night for Dirtwater.

Not that Ace would know about it.

While a celebration would be fine for the people of Dirtwater, it wasn't going to take long for the folks to start wondering where did all the money go to. And with Ace being one of the only non-locals that night, it didn't take much to convince him to leave the town behind. So as the town blissfully partied in the confines of the saloon, Ace opened the swinging doors and made his way down the small three steps that led from the bar to what would usually be an empty street and his horse waiting outside.

Along with the usual sight, he found The Ranger in Red waiting outside on a black and white horse, twirling the former sheriff's badge around in his talons.

“Nice horse.” Ace nodded towards the gunslinger. “I'm assuming Red sent you?”

“More or less.” The owl looked up from the badge. “Said something about looking for the mopiest guy in the room.”

“Hmm.” Ace brushed off the common remark as he dug into his pockets with a fistful of dollars. “I'm sure we can spare a little for the assist.”

“No thanks.” The owl flicked the badge towards the cowboy. “I don't need any.”

Ace only widened his eyes in response. Leaping into the middle of a gunfight and expecting nothing in return? That was something he only read about in paperback novels. “Really? Me and Red won't be going broke anytime soon.”

“Like I said,” The owl repeated. “I don't need any.”

“Well, ok then.” Ace placed the money back into his coat and grabbed the reigns to his steed. “I guess I'll see you around, Mr...”

“Deadeye.” The owl remarked. “That's what everyone calls me.”

With a snap of the reigns, the owl's horse rushed into the desert, practically flying across the sands. And as Ace lifted himself onto his horse, he gave a glance at the old sheriff's badge before storing it into his coat and beginning the long trek home.

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Ace Cliffton belongs to Emily Fronce

Little Red belongs to LittleTarsier