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reidmorefic · 5 years

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safe // s.r (part 3)

I didn’t expect that I would have more than one part and now I have three. I’m nowhere near finished with this story everyone. I’m kind of winging it as I go to be honest with you all. I’m also not a fan of this work, but I’m pushing through it! I really hope that you all are enjoying it and I would love to hear any feedback! If you guys have any ideas of what might happen, I would love to hear that too! Please feel free to come talk to me anytime, I don’t bite! Thank you so much for reading and Happy Tuesday everyone!

Spencer

Spencer despised the drive from Quantico to your office.

During the time that he had known you, he had only suffered through the drive twice before. It was an hour and a half long, but traffic was the true reason the drive was so dreadful. Memories of driving on his lunch break to meet you in the city were distant now. The only thing he could think of was how scared you must be if you were missing. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. He clenched his jaw, thoughts of your face going through his mind. Why hadn’t he taken your phone call seriously? He completely forgot that Emily was sitting in the passenger seat of the bureau issued SUV. She was dialing your number again.

“I think I have her assistant’s phone number.” Spencer muttered, flicking his turn signal on. “Look under Amanda B.”

“Okay.” Emily looked down at his flip phone, pressing buttons as she squinted. “You really need to upgrade your phone, Spencer.”

“Now really isn’t the time to judge my technology preferences, Emily.” He snapped. “Is she answering?”

“It’s ringing.” Emily glanced at Spencer, taking note of his rigid posture as she put the phone on speaker. “Reid, I know that this is hard but you need to breathe.”

“Emily, please,” Spencer looked over at her. “I really don’t think you understand what I’m feeling right now. I’ve already lost one girl I love because I let my emotions get in the way of an investigation. I can’t let that happen here.”

“I know, Reid.” She whispered. “We’re going to do everything we can, okay?”

Just then, Amanda answered the phone.

“Hello?” Spencer had never felt more relieved to hear your assistant’s voice.

“Amanda, it’s Spencer.” He reached over, grabbing the phone from Emily’s hand. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“No, I haven’t. She left right after your call earlier and I haven’t seen her since.” Amanda said. “I’m actually really worried. Joe, another lawyer here, he’s missing as well. They had a little dispute in her office before she called you.”

“Did he leave at the same time as Y/N?” Emily asked.

“Um, I think so, yeah.” Amanda said. “They were acting really weird this morning. Joe was in her office when I got in this morning, waiting for her.”

“What’s Joe’s last name, Amanda?” Emily asked, looking over at Spencer. “I’m going to get Garcia to run his info.”

“His last name is Sanchez.” Amanda said. “He was talking about Harvard. He said ‘Such a princess. I don’t remember you being like that at Harvard.’ Then your Mom called.”

“I want a full background on Joe.” Spencer said. “Thank you, Amanda. If you can remember anything else, please call me.”

“I will.”

Spencer hung up, throwing his phone down to the cup holder as he clenched his jaw. Emily’s fingers were moving over her phone, typing out her message to Garcia, no doubt. Spencer’s foot pressed down onto the gas pedal as he saw the exit sign he needed. Emily sighed, putting her phone down. She looked over at the speedometer, her brows furrowing as she noticed the speed.

“Spencer, slow down.” Emily tensed up. “We’re no good to anyone if we end up in a hospital.”

“She told me about Joe.” Spencer said. “I know he was in a Fraternity adjacent to her Sorority. The two were paired up during events and parties a lot.”

“And they work at the same law firm?” Emily mumbled. “That’s strange.”

“She always thought so too.” Spencer said. “She said he was interested in California. It never made sense that he decided to move here after Harvard.”

“And to get into the same Law Firm as Y/N.” Emily agreed. “Was there anyone else from Harvard that reappeared in her life recently?”

“No, not that she’s mentioned.” Spencer turned down another street, keeping an eye out for the parking garage your car was in. “This isn't making any sense. What reason would Joe have to kidnap Chloe and kill her boyfriend? If his obsession or fascination is with Y/N then why is he hunting down other Harvard Grad’s? How would he have visited my Mother over the weekend and still have time to kidnap Chloe?”

“There’s more than one person working on this, Spencer.” Emily’s phone began to ring. She lifted it up to her ear. “Hey, Hotch?”

“Put him on speaker.” Spencer asked.

“Another grad student went missing.” Emily said, pulling her phone away from her ear, pressing the speaker option on her phone screen. “Her name is Kelly Harmon. She lives in Richmond.”

“They’re staying close to home now.” Spencer said.

“Morgan and Rossi are going to stay in California.” Hotch explained. “J.J and I will be coming back to the east coast. Any word from Y/N?”

“No, we’re pulling into the garage now.” Spencer said. “Her assistant said she went out after she called me and she hasn’t been seen since.”

“It’s only been two hours, Reid.” Hotch said softly. “We still have time.”

“Thanks, Hotch.”

Reader

When you finally woke up, Chloe Green was sitting in front of you.

Your eyes grew wide with panic as you noticed that Kelly Harmon was next to her. Both had pieces of cloth tied around their head, blocking their mouths. Thankfully, both girls were still knocked out. You weren’t sure that you would be able to handle their panic and fear on top of your own. You wanted to know what George and Henry were using to keep you under while they were out kidnapping other girls. The more important thing you wanted to know was why they kidnapped Chloe and Kelly. You and Chloe were always close in college, but Kelly, not so much. She may have been Chloe’s biggest fan and best friend, but she was never yours.

So why was she here? You hardly spent anytime with Kelly in college. You could hardly remember the times that you did spend together. You looked around the warehouse, searching for any sign of George or Henry. Maybe it was the whole sorority they were trying to kidnap? Maybe this was just another one of their games? There was no sign of either men in the warehouse. It was time to think while you still had a clear head.

How could you make it out of this? Your hands were tied behind your back with what felt like rope. There was hope in that. If the knot wasn’t tied tight enough, you could pull it loose and free your hands. That was something that would have to wait. If George or Henry walked in while you were trying to break free, you didn’t imagine it would go well. You looked down as you tried to move your feet. You realized that your ankles were tied to the chair as well. George and Henry weren’t half bad at this kidnapping thing.

“Look who’s awake!” Henry’s voice startled you.

You jumped in your seat, your head whipping around at the sound of footsteps. Both boys were carrying bags with takeout food in them, to-go cups in their hand. Anger washed over you then, filling your chest as the two men moved in front of you. Your eyes burned with tears of anger.

“Why are you doing this?” You gritted your teeth. “Why did you bring Chloe and Kelly here?”

“You’re smart, Y/N.” George smirked at you, lifting his straw to his lips. “Why don’t you figure it out. Maybe we’ll give you a treat if you get it right.”

“I don’t know why, George!” You shouted. “If I knew why, do you think I would be asking you? I don’t have a clue, okay? I never spent time with Kelly. I only talk to Chloe on the phone now, I barely see her in person.”

“But you did spend time with Kelly in school, remember?” Henry said. “You, Chloe, and Kelly spent some time together during our last year. We had plenty of parties.”

“No, you threw parties and we showed up.” You said. “If I was with Kelly at any of those parties, it was by coincidence.”

“Maybe.” George shrugged. “But there were a few parties where you and Kelly were doing a little more than running into each other. Do you remember that game of blow?”

“You kidnapped me and Kelly because we made out at a party one time?” You rolled your eyes, looking away from them. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, see what was ridiculous is that after you and Kelly teased me and Henry here, you wouldn’t come upstairs with us.” George said. “That pissed me off.”

“Why? Why did it piss you off?” You asked. “There were plenty of girls that would have gone with you two. Why does it matter that we didn’t?”

“Because for two years, I watched you.” George set his takeout food down on the ground before he moved forward. “I watched every move you made on that campus. I noticed the way you dressed, how you talked, the way that you moved. But you were always too good for me, weren’t you.”

“I never said that I was too good for you.” You whispered as George moved closer to you.

“You didn’t have to say it, Princess.”

Just like that, Joe’s words from before came rushing back.

‘Such a Princess, I don’t remember you being like that at Harvard.’

Just like that, the night George was talking about came rushing back to you.

You knew why you were there.

Spencer

Spencer pulled into the parking garage on high alert. The parking garage was next to the building you worked in, so he knew that you would have parked there. He told Emily the make and model of your car, advising her to keep an eye out for it. Spencer made it to the third level of the parking garage when he saw your car. Spencer slammed on brakes, throwing the SUV into park. Emily’s body lurched forward, her hand reaching out to the dashboard as Spencer threw his seat belt off.

He was out of the car in seconds. There was nothing left on the ground beside your car, so Spencer crouched down to look under the car. Emily walked over to where Spencer was crouching down on the pavement, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked at Reid for a split second before she decided to assess the scene herself. His head definitely wasn’t clear. She walked up to the car, peering inside the window.

“Would she have left the doors unlocked?” Emily asked, squinting her eyes.

“No.” He stood up, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. He reached down, opening the car door with ease. “Dammit.”

“Okay,” Emily looked around her feet. She noticed something shiny under the car parked next to Y/N’s. “Spencer, did she wear any jewelry?”

“Um, she put on a necklace before she left for work this morning. She always wore two rings, they both had significant meaning to her.”

“What about this?” Emily leaned down, reaching under the neighboring car. She came back up with a ring in her hand. “That’s an emerald, does that mean anything?”

“Her birthstone.” Spencer looked at the ring in Emily’s hand. “That’s hers. She wouldn’t have lost it out here, Emily. It fits her perfectly.”

“Do you think she left it here for you?” Emily asked.

“Yes.” He nodded, reaching out to grab the ring between his own fingers. “Emily, this is her Harvard class ring. She was trying to tell us something.”

Emily nodded her head, reaching for her back pocket.

“I’ll call Garcia and have her hack the security footage of the garage and Y/N’s law firm. You call Hotch and let him know that Y/N is missing.” Spencer said, keeping his grip on the ring as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Garcia, I need you to hack into the parking garage on 4th street next to Y/N’s law firm. We need security footage and an APB out on her as a missing person.” Spencer was speaking so quickly, he was losing his own train of thought.

“Okay, I’ll get right back to you with that.” Garcia said. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” He said, “I need you to find everything you can on Chloe and Y/N from their college days. I know they were friends, but I need to know everything about what they did, where they did it, and who with.”

“I will do what I can.” Garcia said softly. “We’ll find her, Spencer.”

“Let’s hope we do.” He snapped his phone shut, turning back to look at Emily. “I don’t know what to do.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x lawyer!y/n #spencer #my writings

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fanfic-corner · 4 years

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My thoughts

Okay, first of all, I promise that I do actually have a Cafe AU post ready to go, but I think I’m gonna post it tomorrow because currently everything is chaos. That being said, I would very much like to talk about what happened in last night’s episode, so this rant will contain spoilers for season 15. Feel free to skip it if you aren’t interested.

I wrote this in the dark in my film lesson, because I had to get it down, so if it doesn’t make too much sense, I apologise.

Yesterday, you have no idea how stressed I was. I am only on season 12, and I live in the UK, but I was worried about the election, and I was worried that Cas was gonna die. And I knew, that when I woke up in the morning, I would know. In fact, I was expecting to wake up to the bad news.

When I woke up, of seven songs my alarm could have chosen to play, the universe decided on Carry On My Wayward Son.

I decided my best bet to find out the news quickly was on here, and sure enough, the top of my dashboard was a gif set with Cas saying ‘I love you’. I’m sure that you know I ship Destiel, but I wasn’t prepared to be that much of a clown just yet. I assumed it was a ‘I love you... I love all of you’ type thing, or someone had just decided to put those words over the top.

Then, a bit further down: a meme from The Good Place, which revealed that not only was Destiel canon, but Putin was resigning? (Not entirely sure if that is true, I haven’t had chance to fact check yet).

My first thought was not surprise or happiness or shock. My first thought was “I’m gonna have to rewrite my essay.” (I’m doing it on queer baiting and used Supernatural as the main example).

Not too long after, @helplessly-johnlocked very helpfully (thank you!) sent a link to the clip from the episode, and holy shit. I didn’t even react. And - like I expected - Cas is dead. And he is one of my all time favourite characters. But I couldn’t focus on that.

I may have only been in this fandom for a few months, (and I do not envy long time Destiel shippers) but before I even knew what Supernatural was, I knew the word Destiel. We’ll come back to the whole ‘bury the gays’ later, when I’ve actually had time to think about it. But the sheer emotion I felt that a ship that I have adored and read countless stories about had finally been properly mentioned was overwhelming. To be honest, the fact that Cas is dead hasn’t even processed yet, I don’t think. I’m in denial.

But then I had another thought. It’s 2020. Anything could happen. Maybe Cas will come back.

But if we talk about it from a narrative point of view for a second - and note that I haven’t watched the full episode, so this is just based on what I know - this has to be the greatest slow burn love story of all time, reciprocated or not. Ten years. Several deaths. Usually impossible odds. And a musical.

Every single time he had to choose, Cas chose Dean. Over his own family (multiple times), over God, over his chance to do what he thought was right. They have fought, and they always make up. If Cas was any other character, Dean would have killed him a long time ago. If they didn’t know Cas before he betrayed them at the end of season 6, he would have been dead a long time ago. But Cas is Dean’s family. Whether he returns that love or not.

For Cas to admit his feelings, leaving Dean - a man infamous for not being able to deal with emotions - with absolutely no time to process this information, and then to immediately die makes no sense. And yeah, the supernatural writers love killing off their LGBT characters (RIP Charlie) but this takes it to a whole other level.

Does this mean that I think Cas is definitely going to make a reappearance? No. But is there a small chance? Perhaps.

Think about it this way: if you had asked me a year ago whether I thought a global pandemic was possible, I would have laughed in your face. If you had asked me a few months ago whether I thought I would ever read fan fiction, I would have thought you were insane. If you asked me last week if I thought Destiel would become canon, I would have cried laughing at the idea.

2020 has been a wild year. Let’s hope it has one more surprise in store.

#idk if this made sense #but it did in my head #and i just had to say something #destiel #spn

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ikesenhell · 5 years

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1985 Camaro

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 2. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Brief conversation about prior death, otherwise safe. Thank you @missjudge-me for commissioning this piece!

---

They camped out on the back patio until the sun set. He cooked gyoza and rice balls and some pan-fried chicken, and she ordered ice cream delivery, and they nested their knees together and tucked into a pint of something labeled ‘Just Ask’ and when he asked, she wouldn’t tell him, not even when he tickled her (It wound up being a delicious caramel-Oreo flavor). She instead told him about her degree and moving out, about keeping in contact with Mitsunari as he served in Tanzania through hand-written notes on origami paper. They swapped curated Instagram snapshots and embarrassing anecdotes and reminisced.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “About your dad.”

Masamune shrugged. There was nothing to say. It hurt and always would, but that was his private journey. “Old bastard waited too long to have kids s’what. If he’d had me at a nice, respectable age, we wouldn’t be doing this, the old coot!” He waved a dramatic fist at the sky, relishing her giggles. “You fucked up!”

Overhead, his mother’s bedroom light flicked on.

“Shit,” he muttered. She dropped her face into her hands to stifle the raucous laughter.

“How—” Now she was whispering. Masamune wriggled closer, their legs reflexively entwining. “How’s that going?”

“Better than it used to. We can talk without yelling. Something something time and distance. I’m planning on hunkering down here for a little bit, and once all of the stuff is settled, I’ll probably go back north. The restaurant owners offered to hold my position for me, which is really nice.”

“Hell yeah it is. Isn’t that kind of a cut throat world? They must love you.”

“Yeah. Good openings don’t stay open long in the restaurant biz, so that’s really cool.” Absently, he ran his thumb over the whorls of the deck. “What about you? What’s next?”

“Well.” And she paused, eyes luminous. “I got offered a job interview out east. It’s a good job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Once upon a time, when she was too nervous to really settle her heart on something she wanted, she smiled shyly and fluttered her eyes away. Some things stayed the same. His heart surged as the familiar expression played out before him. “It could be a game changer for me.”

“That the case, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have to do some logistics, and I have to interview, right? But if I get it…” She stretched up to the sky, wriggling her fingers long at the clouds, all the prickled flesh on her arms visible in the cold moonlight. Without thinking, he shuffled closer to warm her. “I mean, I have to actually get to the interview first, so there’s the first hurdle.”

Masamune chewed his lip. “How far out is it?”

“It’s in Virginia. Complete other side of the country. The plane tickets are outrageous.”

“Damn. Guess you’re road tripping, huh?”

A gust of warm breath huffed from her lips. “I mean, I hate going on them alone, but I don’t even have a car right now. Mine got totaled; kid hit me when I was driving down here. Guess I’m taking a damn greyhound.”

His first reaction was to say ‘yikes’, and then… well. Masamune paused, soaking in the possibilities. “So you need a car is what you’re saying?”

“Mmhmm.”

Back in the day, his dad often said that the universe lined things up. Masamune didn't exactly believe in fate—he believed in making things happen—but occasionally, he saw the reasoning.

“How do you like eighties cars?” He asked.

She eyed him, a smile in her eyes and voice. “Like the Camaro? Sure, it’s cool. Why?”

Masamune snickered. “Everything in the Date family is cool as hell. What if I told you I could get you a car and a road trip buddy?”

The click of her brain working was almost audible. “Don’t you have to be here?”

“Gotta wait for the death certificates, which is probably a week or so. Mom wants the Camaro gone, and if she has to be around me too long, she’ll probably get sick of me real quick. I might as well make myself scarce and hang out with a dear friend. Besides—I’ll cut you a deal on selling you it. Call it a test drive.”

“A test drive? For like, a week?” But she was grinning, her shoulders angled in toward his. “Weeklong test drives aren’t kosher, Mr. Date.”

“And I’m not Jewish.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious as my dad’s grave.” Masamume brushed a lock of stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Want me along for the ride?”

Once upon a time, years ago, the whole gang got into an altercation with an older man in a Ford pickup. They were only teenagers sitting on a dock, but the guy pulled up and screamed at them for ‘loitering’. Mitsunari tried to intervene, and when the man acted like he might hit him, Ieyasu almost threw hands himself. They’d retreated into the woods—and when the man left, Masamune, Mitsuhide, and she went back and lit the dock on fire to spite him. Right beforehand, she’d fixed him with the most mischievous expression he’d ever seen: mouth sucked into her teeth, eyes glittering, staring out from under her lashes.

Now, she made that same expression, and it lit a fire in him.

“We’d have to leave like…” She mentally calculated. “In three days to make it.”

“Or we could take the long road, do a little sightseeing, and leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She echoed. Only a half second later, that smile was back. “I’m game.”

---

At six a.m. sharp, Masamune tried to wake her by flinging rocks at her window. That didn't work. At last he resorted to calling her, discovering that she stayed in a completely different room now.

“Could’a used that knowledge,” he chuckled, hopping in place to warm his legs. The fog pressed in around him, September chill early this year. “Don’t suppose anyone is using that room?”

Her voice was thin, but warm over the phone. “No, it’s a home gym now.”

“Great! I didn't hassle anyone else. Get out here, Kitten, we got a road to get on.”

She emerged twenty minutes later, sweatpants fresh from the dryer, wet hair in a sloppy bun and a suitcase click-clacking behind her. She never was a morning person. Masamune snickered and popped the Camaro trunk. “Wanna drive, or wanna let me do it?”

“You start. Can we get some Starbucks?”

“Ugh.” He clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “All of the coffee places in the world, and you want Starbucks. My palate is crying.”

Rolling her eyes, she slid into the passenger seat. “Drama queen.”

They got Starbucks. She tucked her feet into fuzzy socks and folded them under her knees, clutching the large mocha. Only the rush of the road beneath their tires filled the silence. Asphalt and trees emerged from the mist like a benevolent ghost, Americana obscured. They’d only just merged onto the highway when Masamune realized there wasn’t an audio jack in the car.

“Shit,” he muttered.

She opened her eyes, head lolling on the headrest. “What?”

He flicked the dashboard. Nope, no audio jack. Not even a CD player. No; amidst all the toggles and buttons of the dash was a cassette player. “I don’t have anything to listen to. This thing won’t hook up to the phones, and I don’t have any tapes.”

“Hm.” Taking a long sip of her drink, she mused, “Maybe your dad has some in here?”

“I guess that’d make sense. Take a look around, would you?”

Sure enough, she was right. Tucked away in the glove compartment was a treasure trove: Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, AC/DC, Prince, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen. “Damn,” she chuckled, “Your dad had good taste.”

Masamune took the copy of Rumors in his fingers, never taking his eyes off the road. The dust was thick under his thumb. “He’d play ‘Back in Black’ when he picked me up from school. It was cool as hell.” With a snap, he pried open the copy of Rumors and popped it into the player. The speakers hummed to life with strumming guitar, Fleetwood Mac echoing. “I know there’s nothing to say, someone has taken my place…” She rested her elbow on the center console, brushing his arm with her as she texted.

“Guess what?” She murmured. “Mitsunari just got back from Tanzania.”

“Oh shit, really?” How long had it been? Masamune mentally calculated the dates. “I guess it has been two years, huh? The Peace Corps finally turned him loose?”

“Yeah. He’s apparently crashing at Ieyasu’s place—” Masamune barked a laugh, and she tittered, but continued, “—and wants to know if we’re going to head that direction.”

“He’s in Maryland, right?” Fishing out his phone, he checked it. “Yasu didn't tell me about this. Bastard. Well, we get there fast enough, then we can definitely hunker down there for a day or so and celebrate his coming back.”

Classic rock kept them company on the long drive. He didn't mind roadtrips. There was something sacred about them. Forget the American Dream; it was dead. Long live the American Road Trip, a rite of passage for the lost souls from sea to shining sea. Nothing cleared the senses like cranking up the heater on the floorboards and rolling down the window to a blast of autumn air. She let down her hair and it whipped wild in the wind.

Thank God she was here. Masamune quietly relished her reappearance in his life. She was a gateway to an old world, one with his father alive, one where he still snuck out of the house at night and biked to the 7-Eleven for slurpees at 3a.m. They stopped at a Cracker Barrel for dinner and ordered root beer floats and roasted each other over the annoying ‘jump-the-pegs’ game perched on every table. Though you were supposed to reduce it to one peg, she couldn’t quite manage it. Somehow she kept getting two or three.

“I got it down to one peg once,” she laughed, shoving it toward him. Masamune swirled it under his hand.

“I can do it,” he commented. “But that’s because Mitsunari taught me the trick years ago.” He knocked the first peg out of the top of the triangle, moving it elsewhere. “That’s the one that’s gotta be empty. From there on out, there’s a set solution.”

She craned over it, investigating. “What’s the set solution?”

A long, hefty pause lingered between them as he slurped some of his float.

“Dunno anymore.” He cracked a grin. “I forgot like, eight years ago.”

“Ass! Then you don’t know!” She swatted at his arm and grinned. “Liar!”

“Hey! I was just trying to look cool in front’a you, Kitten, I can’t look like some big dumb stud after all these years—”

“I love how you allow for the possibility that you’re dumb,” she cackled, “but not the possibility that you’re anything other than hot.”

“Am I wrong? Look at me.”

The roll of her eyes was exactly what he wanted. She shoved a biscuit at him over the table. “I think Mark Twain said something like, ‘it’s better to stop talking and appear dumb than open your mouth and remove any doubt’, Masamune.”

He clutched at his chest, but took the biscuit anyway. “You wound me, Kitten.”

As they were paying the bill, she split off and reappeared a minute later, plunking thirty cents onto the cash register and tucking a cinnamon stick into his jacket pocket. “Here.”

“My favorite!” He peeled back the plastic wrapper. “Thanks, Kitkat. You remembered.”

For the first time since they’d seen each other again, her expression evolved to one he’d almost forgotten. He’d only seen it once before. It was a moonlit night back in their senior year, after prom, when they were both lingering in the pool as everyone else passed out drunk. He’d wiped a leaf from her hair and told her she was beautiful, and she’d looked at him like that so long and hard that he wondered if he’d ever known her inner thoughts at all.

“Of course I remembered,” she answered at last, soft and clarion clear. “I remember all kinds of things about you, Masamune.”

#American Dream #ikesen masamune #modern au #ikesen modern au #1985 camaro #my writing #roadtrip #commission

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kaffeinic · 5 years

Text

Caffeinic | Bang Chan

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | Epilogue

Pairing: Reader x Barista!Bang Chan

Genre: Fluff // Romance

Warnings: Fem!Reader

Preamble: You’ve been going to the same coffee shop for the past four years. You’ve ordered the same thing almost every single day, and you never, ever skip on that part of your morning. So, when Mrs. Park hired a new barista and the once serene café was suddenly flooded with people every second of the day, you were less than thrilled.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps from the bottom of the staircase.

“Get out of my café. Now.” Mr. Park ordered the man outside. He looked at you, then Mr. Park, and lastly, Chan, before sneering and cursing you all to hell. Once he was gone, you felt a hand touch your back between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Chan asked. He looked genuinely concerned.

“I-” You stuttered. “I don’t know.”

The time passed slowly since you had first arrived at the coffee house, but it was now past eleven o’clock, and the once dimly lit windows had become a sea of darkness. Mrs. Park and Junyoung walked in the door and said their hellos and goodbyes, then went off to bed.

“When do you plan on going home?” Chan asked. You looked at the clock.

“I guess I should go soon.” You started to pack your things, shoving the rest of your textbooks into your book bag, struggling to fit everything inside. Chan helped you with the last of your things as you slung the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Mr. Park watched tentatively.

“It’s a bit late, Y/n.” He looked around. “I would give you a ride home, but I’m too backed up with paper work. I’m sorry.” He told you. You waved your hands in front of you.

“Don’t be sorry! I hope you can get everything done soon.” You smiled warmly at the man. His hair was beginning to grey at the edges and wrinkles were slowly becoming more prominent on his face. He still had a kind light in his eyes all the same. He left you and Chan as he went back upstairs.

“I’m off the clock in a few minutes.” The blonde boy said. You looked up at him inquisitively.

“And?”

“I could take you home.” He offered. You looked at him, and then outside. You weren’t exactly excited to try walking home alone in the dark after what just happened. You sighed.

“Alright, but I - and I really mean this - I don’t want to hear any of your pickup lines, okay?” You laid out your conditions.

“Of course.” He walked behind the counter to finish wrapping up his work. “For tonight, at least.”

You waited patiently before watching Chan go to the back of the café, explaining that he needed to change and gather his things. When he reappeared, he still wore the same lazily buttoned shirt, minus the apron he donned before. For the first time, you got a good look of his entire body.

His hair was a little curly, but styled. His black roots were buried deep in a sea of blonde waves. You could tell he had ran his fingers through a few times. Part of you wondered what his hair felt like.

He wore the black button-up you had noticed earlier, paired with dark grey ripped jeans. Little bits of skin showed through the holes, all white and milky and rippling with muscle as he walked. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. He held his bag in his right hand, the veins in his arm popping slightly from the added weight.

“Are-” He began to speak, his face slowly twisting into a smile. “Are you checking me out, Y/n?”

For the second time today, you choked at his words.

“What? Me? No.” You rolled your eyes. “When would I ever?” Chan looked at you, and you could swear that his eyes themselves smiled at you.

“Uh-huh. Let’s go, Babyg-” He stopped himself, remembering his promise not to bug you tonight. “Let’s go.” He held out his hand.

“I do not want to hold your hand.” You lied.

“Lucky for me, I was only offering to carry your bag.” He paused, his hand still held out. “There’s at least four textbooks in there. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hold it.” He looked at the way you stood, leaning to the side your bag was hanging. The weight was a little difficult for you to handle.

“I think I’m good, but thanks.” You said, turning around toward the exit. You felt the weight literally being lifted off of your shoulder as Chan scooped up the bag in his left arm. He walked to the door and pushed it open.

“Come on, let’s go.” He said, holding the door for you. You had to admit, the Aussie could be a gentleman when he wanted to be. You walked out of the doorway, past Chan and onto the sidewalk.

“Which one?” You asked. He gestured with his head to the right of both of you, fiddling with his keys. A sleek black car unlocked its doors and he opened the back seat door, lightly tossing both of your things inside. You moved to the passenger door, but he reached across you and opened the door.

“Madame.” He held out his hand like a chauffeur and waited for you to sit. You rolled your eyes.

“Dork.” Your words mocked him, but your pink cheeks and goofy smile said otherwise.

“Mhmm.” He hummed and closed your door, walking around and getting in the car himself. He shoved his keys into the ignition, turning to you. “Where to?”

You replied with your address, and watched as he changed gears and began driving.

“You already know where my house is?” You asked. “Most people need more specific directions, or a GPS.”

“I have some friends in the neighbourhood.”

“Oh.” You stared out of the windshield in front of you as Chan pulled out of his parking spot. It was then that you took the time to appreciate the interior of his car.

It was mostly black and brown. The seats were made of a light brown leather and the floorboards had a matching brown floor liner. His steering wheel was also a perfect match. The dashboard was black with brown lining and the radio had dimmed LED lights that displayed the time, weather, and radio station. All in all, a very nice car. Part of you wondered how he could afford such a thing.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Chan said. His eyes stayed on the road as he drove. You mentally thanked him for that. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just getting caught up in my own thoughts, I guess.” You half-heartedly laughed and tucked some hair behind your ear.

“Do you live with family?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, I moved out of the house about a year ago.” You paused. “What about you?” You began imagining a whole house full of Aussies and struggled not to giggle.

“Nope, just me.” He said. “I still keep in touch, though.” With that, you smiled.

“Do you ever miss them?”

“Everyday.” He replied quicker than you thought he would. His face showed just how much he meant those words.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must feel like. My family is only about an hour away.” You looked down.

“Don’t apologize, I chose to come here.” He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Can I tell you something?” The car approached a red light and his head turned to look at you.

“Yeah, shoot.”

“I-” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wanted to tell you that- um... When I flirt with you, it’s only you. I know that I’m always making a joke out of it, but... There’s some truth to it.” He watched your face for any sign as to what you were thinking. You stared out the windshield. The light turned green.

“The light, Chan!” You pointed and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Right, sorry.” He began driving again. Before you knew it, you had arrived at your street. “What was the building number again?”

“Four seventy-two.” You replied. He pulled up to the curb in front of your house and removed his keys from the ignition.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you up to your floor.” He stated. You opened your door and got out, grabbing your things from the back seat. Chan took your bag from you again. You both began the journey up to the fourth floor, using stairs.

Once you arrived, Chan handed you your bags and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It probably wasn’t the best night for me to tell you that.” He wouldn’t look at you directly. It was a stark contrast to his usual self.

“Honestly, no. It wasn’t.” You said. “But it’s okay. I wondered about it sometimes.” Chan looked at you in the eyes for the first time since he said what he said in the car.

“Really?” A smile played on the corner of his lips.

“Yeah.” You replied. After a bit of awkward silence, you grabbed your things and unlocked your door, inching your way inside.

“Wait-” Chan said. You turned around to find yourself enveloped in a soft hug. His arms were wrapped around your shoulders and hooked behind you to hold your back. His chin rested on the top of your head. He held you firmly, but with enough wiggle room that you could escape if you wanted to. You could feel his quick heartbeat with the rise and fall of his chest. Your arms found their way around him, too, your bag falling to the crook of your elbow.

You both stayed like that for a long while. He only pulled away when the sound of your neighbour’s dog barking in the apartment next door jolted you both back into reality.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” His tone was hopeful, but weary. You smiled at the shy boy in front of you.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Chan.”

“Channie.” He corrected you. You blinked at him. “Everyone I know calls me Channie except for the Parks and you. You can call me Channie if you want.” He explained himself, laughing a little at the end. You nodded and giggled.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, Channie.”

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

🏷 @a-toxic-galaxy • @hoshithehamster

#kpop #fanfictions #headcannons #reactions #stray kids #skz #bang chan #chan #christopher bang #3racha #felix #felix lee #cb97

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missmarquin · 5 years

Text

Slow Healing Against a Purpling Sky, Chapter One (Modern AU, Sylvix)

Sylvain watches the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls. When he leaves the cafe, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on.

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving.

At the end of the week he pauses at the shop once more before making the boldest, stupidest, dumbest decision he’s ever made. Instead of going to the cafe for coffee and a warm strawberry pastry, he goes to the bank instead.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place.

Read here on A03 for better formatting!

---

Hegira

Sylvain just drives.

He drives and drives and drives, a random radio station blasting an eighties tune that he doesn’t really like, but he’ll listen to because anything is better than the alternative.

His father screaming obscenities like Sylvain’s never heard before, slurs and other terrible, terrible, things flowing from the man like it was second nature. His mother hadn’t been surprised-- not really-- but she’s always known Sylvain better than he’s known himself. Suddenly it makes sense, her pursed expression at girl after girl he’d bring home, arm slung around their shoulders but enough space between them that’s as wide as the Rio Grande itself.

Sylvain’s ears are still ringing from the slam of the front door. His father yelling as he chases after him, Gautier-this and Gautier-that, and we have images to uphold, and good Gautier boys marry well and pump out kids, and Sylvain will abide by this, he will he will he will--

His mother’s soft crying as Sylvain pulls on his leather jacket, her breath hitching because she knows the moment that he leaves that door, the moment that he walks right out-- it will be the last time she ever sees him.

Sylvain hates that it had been such a hard choice to make, but there’s a point that you hit when you just can’t anymore, and he’s far past that, he’s been beyond that for years.

Footloose isn’t loud enough to drown out the deafening silence, so he turns up the dial as loud as it’ll go before rolling down the windows for a little bit of freedom. There’s wind in his wild red hair and the smell of the fresh prairie land as he speeds down old country highways.

Dallas hadn’t been like this. Dallas had been large and loud, car horns honking and air like the backside of an industrial warehouse. Where high society knocks boots together at stupid state dinners, preening business ventures and futures full of empty marriages that mean nothing--

Sylvain pulls off to the side of the road, chest heaving and hands tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles bright white as they sear, fingernails digging tightly into his skin--

Sylvain breathes. He breathes again, eyes falling closed as he leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He doesn’t regret this. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. The mantra seems to work as he calms down, letting go and breathing out a long sigh.

He’s gone, he’s finally gone, he’s left and he can do anything he wants, and he hates that all he thinks about is how he should go right back. That he should apologize to his father for his mistake. Kiss his mother with a hug and promise that he’ll never leave again.

But he doesn’t, he can’t, because as long as he lives in that tidy home in University Park, he’ll never be allowed to be himself and that’s--

Sylvain can’t say it. He’d finally admitted to it in a bout of anger towards his father, but despite that outburst, he still can’t bring himself to properly acknowledge it. To acknowledge his very being.

He glances at his phone. Nine missed calls, eight of them from Ingrid and one from his mother, quickly followed by a text message. It’s the latter that he pulls open and the words are kind-- the words are so kind that he can feel the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes.

He won’t cry though. He’s far too angry and bitter for that.

Always be yourself.

He wants to, he needs to, and now he’s given himself that opportunity, so no, he can’t go back, not when he’s finally walked free of that life and just started a new one.

Sylvain glances at the dashboard clock. He’s driven for six hours and is nearly on empty, and as far as he’s gotten in the buttfuck middle of West Texas, he hasn’t seen a gas station in eons. He catches sight of a green billboard on the side of the road, crumpled over and dented like someone hit it and was never fixed.

Pecos. Pop. 870.

He taps his fingers along to the beat of Africa as he thinks, mind reeling and trying to make the right choice. But there is no right choice, there’s the only choice, and it’s to finally take that freedom and just go go go.

He shifts the car into gear, turning right at the sign and driving towards the burning red sun that drips into the horizon.

…

“You’re not a face I’ve ever seen before. Are you from out of town?”

Sylvain jerks at the voice of the waitress, realizing that he’d been staring out the window at the purpling sunset. The woman is around his age, blond hair cut short and around her ears, and gray eyes that twinkle as she regards him with curiosity.

“That obvious, huh?” he replies, scrubbing at the back of his head nervously.

She’s holding a carafe of coffee in one hand, the other pressed gently against her cheek as she surveys him for a moment longer. Then she reaches out to fill his cup up. “It’s not as good as Hubert’s, but it’s coffee nonetheless.”

Sylvain’s not even sure what that means, but he takes the cup with a quiet thanks.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Sylvain’s surprised by the question, but motions to the chair across from him. She’s a pretty girl in her cream colored blouse and somewhat drab skirt, curvy in the right places with a bust that would be the envy of many, but as much as he tries, as much as he wants--

Nope, she just doesn’t do anything for him.

“I won’t ask,” the woman says as she slides into the chair across him, “But people don’t find their way out here unless they want to.”

Sylvain finally gets a good look at her nametag. Mercedes.

“I was just driving,” he tells her. “Ran out of gas and this was the closest town.”

“Where are you headed?” she asks him, serene and full of grace, and he finds that he doesn’t mind telling her, that he wouldn’t mind explaining things to her. But he doesn’t.

“Anywhere,” he tells her instead, fingers wrapped around his mug to warm them. “Nowhere. I don’t care, really. Just anywhere that isn’t there.”

Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind the vagueness of his words, only nodding with a small little hum. And then, her lips quirk into a sly little smile and Sylvain just knows that she’s a special one, this girl here.

He looks back to the pink and purpling sunset and she follows his gaze. The silence stretches between them for a moment before Sylvain says something.

“It doesn’t look like this back home. The sunset I mean.”

“Yeah, things tend to look a little bit different around here.” Then she turns to him, head cocked to the side. “As I said earlier, people don’t usually find this place unless they’re looking for it. I don’t know your story, but if you’re going anywhere, why not stay here for a bit? Clear your mind? The motel is clean and the food is good.”

“I’ll…” He trails off, but she waits patiently, hands folding neatly in her lap and the coffee carafe steaming between them. “I’ll consider it,” Sylvain finishes.

Mercedes smiles, tapping her finger against her lips before she stands up and leaves him. Moments later, she reappears with a small plate and fork in hand.

“I didn’t--”

“It’s on the house,” she tells him, her voice soothing as she sets it before him, napkins quickly following. And then she flits away to take care of whatever she has to in the back.

It’s an apple pie, crusty and golden brown. He’s never really been a pie person, but he’s hungry and he didn’t realize it and it’s free and Mercedes has just given it to him--

He doesn’t really deserve her kindness, but he takes a bite anyway.

It’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten.

Sylvain finishes it, watching the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls.

When he leaves, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on.

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place.

---

Sylvain stares at his phone for a long time before he finally hits call. The line rings three times and then picks up, and before he can even get a word in, Ingrid’s already yelling at him.

“Oh so you are alive!” There’s anger in her voice which is nothing unusual, but it’s different this time, there’s something about her tone that makes Sylvain wince. “Which is good, because it means that when I finally see you, I can kill you myself!”

“Ingrid, my best girl--”

“No,” she snaps. “None of that, Sylvain, I won’t hear any of it.” She pauses and he hears her take a deep breath, trying to suss out her words. He can just see her pressing her fingers to her brow, rubbing at the skin there wearily. “Three days.” There’s a waver to her voice and Sylvain sighs in resignation. “You haven’t texted me back and then I called your mother, and she just--”

Sylvain starts at that. “You what--”

“She was crying Sylvain! Not a word from you for an entire week and then you finally decide to reach out.”

Sylvain sighs quietly. “I didn’t call you to argue,” he says to her tiredly, already regretting the phone call.

“Sylvain, what have you gone and done now?”

“I’m in Pecos,” he tells her. “Six hours away. It’s small but the people are nice, and fuck, I had the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life. And I watched the sunset-- you know that I’ve never really done that? It looks different here though, all purple and pink and I just--”

“Sylvain--”

“I bought this old, run-down mechanic shop. It needs a lot of work but the equipment there is solid and maybe I can finally put my useless hobby to some fucking use. You know, make a difference or something.”

“Sylvain.” The moment she says his name though, she hesitates before asking, “Are you alright?” Her voice is quieter, less angry and full of concern. She’s never been without her love, but Sylvain can count on his hands how many times he’s actually heard that tone and he just kind of breaks down and--

“I told them,” he says to her shakily and he can hear the hiccup in her voice, and the words that she really wants to say, but Ingrid just makes a squawking sort of sound instead. “Stuck it to the man and then I stormed out of there before he could do much else. I drove until I couldn’t anymore and I pulled off to grab gas here and I--” He sighs.

“It’s nice here. It’s quiet and the people don’t judge, and the sunset really is different and it’s just kind of… magical.”

“I’m coming out there--”

“No,” Sylvain cuts her off. “No, there’s no need for that.”

“Sylvain, you bought a garage on a whim.”

“And oddly, I don’t regret it.” He pauses. “Yet.”

“Are you truly okay?” Ingrid asks him for a second time and Sylvain considers her question.

Finally he tells her the truth, because there’s no point in hiding it from her. She’ll know, she always knows, because they’ve been attached at the hip since they were four and nothing can really break a bond like that. “No, Ingrid, I’m not.”

“Syl--”

“But I think that I will be,” he cuts in. “I just need some time.” He hears Ingrid sigh heavily, so he adds on, “You know that I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Goddess knows why I put up with you though.”

Sylvain laughs. “Will you keep an eye on Mom? Tell her that I got her text?”

Ingrid’s mother’s been dead for over a decade, so his mom has always just been Mom to her. He’s not going to risk his father’s anger by texting her back. Ingrid sighs once more over the line, this time out of weariness not annoyance. “Of course I will.” A pause and then, “Sylvain, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Sylvain laughs again, this time sharp as it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. “Oh Ingrid, I never know what I’m doing.”

---

Sylvain’s mornings have a routine.

He wakes up in his modest room at the Sunshine Motel. It’s clean and bright, sheets changed every few days because while he’s now a permanent fixture, he’s not picky either. The water is warm and because he’s the only guest, it never runs out.

Pecos is so small that it’s a quick walk to anywhere, so he trots across the empty main street to For Whom the Brew Tolls. He’s never put a lot of thought into his coffee, but Hubert does, and despite his gothic vampire-looking ass, he knows said coffee well. Sylvain always orders a medium A Brew, Darkly and proceeds to utterly ruin it with as much cream and sugar as possible.

Hubert doesn’t have fangs that Sylvain can see, but he threatens with a near snarl at the idea. Ferdinand is nicer about it though, because he understands drowning the dark sludge as much as possible. And then, every day like the one before, he offers Sylvain a nice brew of tea which he takes without a thought.

His next stop is The Grateful Bread, because he’s learned over the months that Mercedes has a wicked sense of humor and a taste for classic rock, which contradicts her sweet and demure disposition. He’s barely in the door before her hand is held out, not even bothering to look away from the morning paper. He gives her the tea and she gives him a pastry, and with a smile and wink he’s on his way again.

She’s the best fucking baker in the world and her food is literal magic, because he’s pretty sure her pie is ninety-five percent of the reason why he stayed in this dumb town. The other five percent is more important though-- life changing, really, because Mercedes is like him. He likes it, he lives for it because no matter how much he flirts, she’ll only laugh and smile at him in return, a wide and genuine show of affection that means nothing more than that.

It’s not a false show of Dallas socialite wealth and, for the first time in his life, being around a woman is refreshing, not daunting.

He’s usually at his shop by ten in the morning. The town complains that he doesn’t open early enough for a proper mechanic, but, seeing as he’s the only car garage in the town, they don’t have much of a choice. The alternative is to wait, or to ask your neighbor who claims to know how to replace an engine and before you know it, you’re dishing out twice as much because they’ve fucked up the engine valves by putting them in upside down.

Buying the shop had been, admittedly, a wild and not-so-smart decision, but Sylvain has always lived life in the fast lane and he’s never done anything by small measures. It’d taken a bit of time to get it back to working order, but the place had good bones and enough equipment for a starting point.

The first morning he’d properly opened the place, Mercedes had greeted him with a piece of that damn apple pie again and he should have told her no, he should have, but he super didn’t and if he could be in love with her, he absolutely would be. At first glance, Mercedes is kind of perfect on the outside, but once Sylvain had gotten to know her, he saw a darkness underneath that perfect surface that was well-recognized. It’s probably why they got on so well.

And so, she gets her morning tea courtesy of Ferdinand and hand delivered by Sylvain himself. Ingrid would always be his best girl, but Merce was slowly wedging her way into a special place in his heart.

She’s a balm across his heart, because he’s emptied his account to buy his dumb garage and he’s drowning in debt. He’s been living off of the kindness of Mercedes’ free pastries and Hubert’s half-priced coffee at Ferdinand’s insistence. Hubert’s vowed to charge him double later on when he can afford it, and Sylvain isn’t unsure that he and the ginger-haired teamonger aren’t actually a match made in hell.

The Motel insists that he only pays weekly-- and Sylvain’s almost certain they aren’t charging full price either, and the pink-haired and loud bartender at the Pecos Grill gives him free sodas with a wink.

Despite all of this overwhelming gratitude and immense debt, it’s been a long time since Sylvain’s been able to be himself and… it’s a nice feeling.

For the first time in his life, he’s kind of happy, and that’s saying something.

---

The beginning of the rest of Sylvain’s life comes in the form of a foul-mouthed, dark-haired man with circles under his eyes that are sharp enough to cut a hand on.

Sylvain’s early to the shop for once, because of a sleepless night filled with nightmares, restlessness and one angry text message from Ingrid. She’s still annoyed at him for refusing to answer her calls, but he needs time, he needs time to figure things out.

And while he loves Ingrid and she loves him, patience isn’t one of her virtues.

Still, early isn’t early enough for some, apparently. He’s barely got the key in the front door when he hears a scoff from behind, and he turns to find a man leaning against the hood of the rattiest looking Mustang he’s ever seen. Really, the car is a fucking travesty and the vintage car-obssessed fool within Sylvain is cringing at the rust that lines the belly of the thing.

“It’s nine in the morning. Why the fuck aren’t you open?”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, letting go of the key and turning to the man. “I make my own hours,” he replies smoothly. The dark-haired man sneers, arms crossed in front of his chest and foot tapping impatiently against the ground.

“Don’t you know how garages operate? You open up early enough for people to drop off their cars before work.” The man pauses, his scowl souring even further. “I know you’re new to town, but do you even know what you're doing?”

“As in owning a garage?” Sylvain asks. “Not a fucking clue, but if you mean working on cars, then I’m your man.”

The other man’s brows raise as if he’s briefly amused. “Doubtful.”

Sylvain nods to his own car which he keeps parked at the garage. Safer than the Motel Parking lot and since he walks everywhere, he doesn’t really need it at all hours of the day. “That ‘68 Lambo didn’t restore herself.”

“I’m sure it didn’t, but the man that you paid to--”

“Are you here to drop off your car or not?” Sylvain cuts in and while he’s decent at hiding his anger, it’s hard with this particular asshole of a man. The other man starts, tching in annoyance.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” he admits, pulling himself away from the hood. “I was able to drive here, but it’s making the strangest noise and I don’t want to push it further.”

Sylvain strokes his chin in thought. “Well, I’ll take a look but I won’t know till I get under her hood.”

“Her,” the prickly man repeats. “It’s a car.”

“That’s a ‘68 Mustang and it’s definitely a her. You’re a dick, but you have taste.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then whoever she belongs to has good taste.”

“Whoever is dead.”

Sylvain frowns, the mood immediately tense, but it’s the other man who relents with a long sigh. “Look, just take a look or whatever, and give me a call when you figure out what needs to be done. Some people were expected at work three hours ago.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what kind of job would require you to be at work at literally dawn, but it's definitely not a job that he would ever want. Before he could even reply, the man thrusts a business card and keys into his hands. “I have orders to catch up on, so make sure it’s later in the day.”

The man doesn’t give a proper goodbye, he just turns to leave and Sylvain watches as he rounds the corner without another word. Dick. But then he looks at the Mustang and there’s this pang through his heart as he steps towards her.

“Oh honey, he doesn’t deserve you,” he whispers, running his hand along the pockmarked hood.

He pockets the car keys and looks at the business card. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” he says, mouth curling around the name with a little bit of difficulty, because it’s long and unwieldy. “Farrier--” His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the words. “What the fuck is a farrier?” he wonders aloud, pocketing the card and glances woefully at the car once more.

“It’s okay,” he says, once more patting her hood. “We’ll fix you right up.”

---

Sylvain doesn’t usually trip into the coffee shop more than once a day because he values his sanity, but for the sake of the beautiful red Mustang, he’ll make an exception.

Hubert stares at him over the espresso machine for a long moment and then says, “Why are you asking me?”

“Come on Hubie--”

“Call me that again and I’ll boil you alive--”

“I want something to bring as a peace offering. You know, to placate the man. He was angry this morning even though I opened the shop earlier than I normally do. How’s he going to react when I explain that his timing belt is so fucked that it chewed up his engine?”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.” Judging by Hubert’s tone though, an angry Felix sounds like everyone’s problem.

“It’s not that it’s a problem, Hubert,” Sylvain eases, “I’m just asking for a little bit of help.”

“By asking what his regular coffee order is.” Hubert looks away, pouring milk into a cup before pressing it under the steam wand. “I strictly abide by Barista-Client Confidentiality.”

“Barista-Client Confidentiality-- That’s not even a thing.”

“It is at For Whom the Brew Tolls. Buzz off.”

“Oh don’t listen to him,” a chipper voice says from the front register and they both turn to look at Ferdinand in his ginger-haired and finely freckled glory. Sylvain’s never liked a man-bun on anyone, but… it’s not entirely awful on the man. His cable-knit burgundy and cream sweater is far more offensive… if Sylvain were one for fashion. “Felix usually has a blonde roast if he’s having coffee, black as his soul-- but I’ll let you in on something.” Ferdinand leans in close, like he’s telling Sylvain a secret. “He actually prefers tea--”

“Nonsense,” Hubert cuts in. Sylvain almost laughs aloud at the pout the Ferdinand throws on at the sight of Hubert’s scowl. “Seriously, promoting your pansy water over a nice cup of--”

“He likes Almyran Pine needles,” Ferdinand interrupts with a subtle grin, leaning against the second espresso machine casually.

Hubert regards him coolly over the current drink he’s working on. “Pecans, maple and hints of vanilla, with enough caffeine to fuel an army--”

“Now guys, it’s not a competition,” Sylvain tries to interject, but neither man is listening, solely focused on each other.

It’s not the first time he thinks that they’re a weird pair. When Mercedes had told him that they were married, Sylvain had honestly thought she was joking. He can see the appeal in Ferdinand at least, with his clean skin and charming smile-- but Hubert?

He looks like he stepped out of a gothic poetry book and settled into the wrong century. But Hubert is staring at Ferdinand, like truly staring, ignoring the milk cup in his hand as he over steamed whatever latte he was in the middle of, because he’s so thoroughly distracted by his husband. The good kind of distracted, that makes you feel like you should be anywhere else, except for right there and watching.

Sylvain’s one part jealous, one part annoyed, and every part tired of dealing with them.

“I’ll just take the blonde roast,” Sylvain finally tells Ferdinand, and it’s like they’re snapped from whatever spell they were under. Ferdinand pulls away from the spare machine.

“I’ll have to do a pour over because we don’t keep a carafe of that--”

“You’ll ruin it--” Hubert says, but Ferdinand rolls his eyes before looking back at Sylvain.

“Three years here and he still thinks I cannot brew a cup of coffee.”

“You can’t.”

“Maybe not to your standard,” Ferdinand says tartly, eyes sweeping over the entirety of his husband, slow and pointedly. “That’s alright though. There’s plenty of things that you can’t do to a standard just as well. Felix won’t care either way because he’d prefer to directly inject caffeine into his veins.”

That’s a feeling that Sylvain can get behind. Hubert scowls at Ferdinand’s back, but it’s not without its weird brand of affection.

“Say, Hubert,” Sylvain asks, leaning against the counter that housed the back of the machines as he scrutinizes the slightly dopey expression the man wears. “What do you find attractive in Ferdie?”

“That’s something that I won’t answer.” A pause, followed by a threatening narrowing of the eyes. “And don’t call him Ferdie.”

Sylvain shoots him a dopey smile in return. “No promises. Also, I’m only curious.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Sylvain frowns at the jab, but before he could ask more, Ferdinand appears at his side with a steaming cup. “On the house,” the man tells him. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you? I come every morning.”

Ferdinand laughs at that. “Yes, well, you’re also about to enter the personal space of one angry little man. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

Sylvain pauses, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Ferdinand. “You can’t tell me he’s actually scary. He’s like this tall.” He motions to just under his chin.

To his surprise though, it’s Hubert that answers. “Felix is a nasty creature. Ferdinand is only trying to warn you.”

Sylvain blinks in surprise and then eyes the coffee warily. “Well, too late for that.” Then he smiles back at Hubert. “Besides, who can resist this charming smile?”

Hubert doesn’t even warrant that with a reply.

....

Sylvain still doesn’t know what a farrier is because he’s too lazy to properly google it, but he isn’t expecting Felix’s office to be an outdoor workshop.

He’d found the building easily enough, but had to round the entire edge of it to find the entrance, only to be surprised by a garage that was not unlike his own. The coffee is hot in his hand though and he’s already burned his thumb on dripping liquid, so he hurries into the workspace without a thought, only to look up and--

Sylvain stops dead at the sight of Felix.

The garage here actually isn’t anything like his own. There’s a traditional if somewhat low-tech forge off to the side, blazing hot with nearly purple flames. Felix is beside it, wearing loose khakis and stripped down to a thin v-neck shirt. The black cotton makes him look paler, but his cheeks are flush bright red with the heat of the room and he’s a literal sweaty mess, dark bangs plastered to his forehead while the rest of his hair is pulled high up into a ponytail.

Sylvain hadn’t noticed his hair was long before. Why hadn’t he noticed that?

Felix is working, hammer heavy in a gloved hand as he uses tongs to hold a red-hot billet still, striking down in a quick stroke, lean muscles rippling with sheens of sweat and--

There’s always one point in a person's life where they see someone and time just stands still. Like, everything else just disappears and the only thing there is the person you’re looking at, and it’s like it just punches you in the gut, because they look perfect, they feel perfect, they are perfect, they are the only thing that exists and it’s all consuming and it just burns through you and--

Sylvain drops the coffee in his surprise and Felix looks up, mid stroke to watch the cup skitter across the floor.

“Are you mad?” he snaps. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to sneak up on someone working like this?”

No, because Felix is apparently a fucking blacksmith, which Sylvain assumes the word farrier is a fancy term for and he’s probably wrong, but he’s distracted. He’s very very distracted right now.

Felix isn’t his type; his type is… well actually, he doesn’t really know what his type is because he’s never really given it a lot of thought because he’s so fucking repressed and--

“And you’ve gone and made a fucking mess,” Felix continues, carefully placing the billet aside to cool. He pulls off his gloves and throws them against the anvil, and Sylvain can just see the annoyance radiate off of him.

“I-- uh, well--” But he’s not the most articulate, so he drops to pick up the cup instead, rubbing at his hair sheepishly. “I thought this would be easier in person than over the phone because uh--”

“And so you brought me coffee?”

“As a peace offering? Yeah.”

Felix sighs before pulling a rag out of his pocket and wiping the sweat off of his face. All he does is drag soot across his cheek though and Sylvain wants to reach out and rub it away with this thumb and--

He swallows shakily at the thought, ignoring it, ignoring it. “So when was the last time you replaced the timing belt?” Sylvain finally asks.

“The what now?”

“Oh wow, okay that explains a lot--”

“Just spit it out,” Felix snaps, crossing the forge to pull a towel from a cabinet. He drops it on the floor, using his foot to kick it around and soak up the spilled coffee. “What do I owe you?”

Sylvain winces. “In my honest opinion, you shouldn’t bother.” Felix stops at that, staring at the floor for a long moment, and Sylvain wonders what he’s said to put that kind of look on his face.

But then Felix goes back to mopping up the mess without a beat missed. “Nonsense,” he says to Sylvain. “What do I owe you?”

“The timing belt is pretty shredded,” Sylvain says, leaning against an unused anvil and he hopes Felix won’t get annoyed. “I’m surprised that you made it to the shop actually, but that drive probably destroyed the engine.”

Felix looks up at that, blinking at him. “And how much is a new engine?” he asks, like he’s trying to draw out information from a five year old who keeps dodging around the answer.

Sylvain supposes that Felix isn’t entirely wrong in that respect.

“Look, you probably don’t want to know--”

“How much?” This time there’s actual bite to the words, not the annoyed-yet-slightly-teasing tone used earlier that morning.

“You’re looking at like seven thousand dollars, including all the labor,” Sylvain finally says with a wince, mentally preparing himself for whatever blowback is about to happen. “And I fucking swear to the Goddess that I’m not overcharging-- I’m actually undercharging.”

Felix leans over to pick up the soiled towel, considering. “Okay then,” he replies, tossing it into a laundry bin tucked into a dark corner. “Whatever the cost.”

Sylvain flounders for a moment. “You could buy a decent car for less. Something that’s in better shape, because even if I fix the engine, you’ve got a lot of other problems and that’s not even including the smaller things like rust and dents and--”

“Whatever the cost,” Felix repeats.

But Sylvain blabbers on, uncharacteristically nervous in his verbose monologue. “I mean your water pump is barely hanging on, the undercarriage is literally missing entire bolts and--”

“Sylvain--”

And it’s in the moment that Sylvain realizes that he’d never properly introduced himself that morning, what kind of mechanic is he and how does Felix even know his name--

“I’m not getting another car. Order the parts and I’ll contact you in the morning for final details.” Felix’s tone isn’t mean, it’s just very… curt. Sylvain knows that it’s a fruitless effort.

“You know, if you took better care of it, it wouldn’t have even come to this point,” Sylvain blurts. Felix’s face immediately darkens, his face twisting with a snarl and Sylvain remembers Hubert’s words about how Felix was a nasty creature, and he knows that he’s definitely said the wrong thing. “Look I--”

“Out.”

Felix could have said nastier words, but that one is dripping with poison and Sylvain knows better than to stick around longer than invited, because there’s a very hot forge and very dangerous tools laying around, and Felix seems the type of man who would absolutely kill someone and dispose of the body personally.

“I’ll uh-- Yeah, I’ll order those parts for you. Tomorrow then.”

Sylvain bolts before Felix can yell at him more, and he really, really hopes that he hasn’t fucked this up.

The job, he means, because Sylvain doesn’t have time for any other distractions.

…

“You seem distracted,” Mercedes tells him later that night. They’re at the Pecos Grill, chilling in the bar, her hand wrapped around a delicate glass of the hardest fucking whiskey that they carry. She might be sweet and loving, but she’s never been one to do anything by half measures, and that includes drinking liquor.

“Tell me about Felix,” Sylvain demands, fingers wrapped around the stem of an awfully tacky margarita glass, stirring it gently with a straw.

She blinks at him, momentarily surprised, but then her lips quirk into a small and knowing smile, and immediately Sylvain is on the defensive. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “I’m just curious. He’s a very angry man.”

“Felix has been here forever,” Mercedes finally tells him, swirling her glass around idly. “And by that I mean he’s born and raised here, generations of family before him on the same plot of land kind of born-and-raised.”

“And yes, he’s an angry man,” another voice cuts in. Mercedes and Sylvain look at the barkeep pressed against the counter, indelicately leaning into their conversation. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” There’s two types of barkeeps-- those who keep to themselves and those who over involve. Sylain’s learned that Hilda is definitely the latter. Her hair’s tied up into twin buns and there’s the loud clack of chewing gum, lips smacking around it.

“He’s all bark and no bite,” Mercedes assures him, but Hilda laughs. Sylvain regards her once more, but the woman rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“Look, Felix is a weird dude. He usually hates everyone on principal. Whatever happened between the two of you… don’t take it personally.”

“Nothing happened--” But Hilda leaves before he can finish, flittering towards the end of the bar to take the order of a blonde-haired man with an eyepatch. Sylvain’s seen him once or twice, but stayed far, far away after witnessing the man have an in-depth conversation with himself.

“So he did take the car to you?” Mercedes asks.

“I was wondering how he knew my name--”

“Everyone knows your name, Sylvain.” He pauses at that, because she’s right. Word travels like wildfire through small towns and he’s been in Pecos for several months now, so he shouldn’t even be surprised. “But yes, I told him to take the car to you. What’s the damage?”

“Too much.” Sylvain groans at the thought. “Honestly, seeing a classic in such a state, it kills me Merce. Does he even know anything about cars? He didn’t know what a timing belt is.”

She looks amused as she says, “Probably not. He doesn’t drive much.”

“I told him that he should buy a new car. This one’s not really worth fixing, she’s a literal money pit.”

Mercedes frowns and Sylvain is immediately put off. She’s a close friend now, they spend most of their nights together chatting, but he’s never seen this look on her face and it’s off-putting in a way that makes his stomach literally crawl.

“I knew it,” Sylvain bemoans. “I pissed him off.” He’d immediately known he’d said the wrong thing by Felix’s reaction, but by just how much did he fuck this up? “What’s up with him and the car?”

“It’s special,” Mercedes says quietly, lips pursed slightly as her gaze dips far away. Sylvain decides right then and there that he never, ever, wants to see this look on her face again. “The person it belonged to was special.”

“Got it. Former girlfriend or something.”

Mercedes is amused by the assumption, but it’s drowned out by the utter sadness in her gaze. She isn’t the type to issue any sort of dismissal, which is why Sylvain has come to love her-- genuinely love her-- so much, but he’s learned over the years when it’s appropriate to stop forcing an issue.

He backs off, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Well, he said to fix it at any cost, so I ordered the parts after I left the forge.” He pauses. “Also-- a blacksmith?”

“Farrier,” she corrects.

“What’s the difference?” He can tell by her face that it’s a dumb question, but his mind is a little fuzzy with drink and he’s still too lazy to google it.

“He shoes horses, not that he doesn’t have hobbies on the side.” Honestly the idea of the prickly man having any sort of hobby was laughable.

“Shoes horses-- Oh.” Sylvain’s not a stupid man, but he can be slow at times.

“Family business,” she says with mirth, the sparkle settling slowly back into her eye.

“Yeah, he seemed to know what he was doing.”

Lithe, corded muscles glistening with sweat and-- goddess damn it’s been too long. He drowns the rest of his drink with impressive gusto, Mercedes raising her brows at the display. “I hope I haven’t wasted my money. I’m half convinced he won’t show up tomorrow morning.”

“He will,” Mercedes reassures him. “He’d do anything for that car.

Sylvain grunts in reply.

“A word of advice from someone who’s known the man his entire life,” Hilda says, sliding in between them once more. She leans over the counter to coyly display her low-cut neckline. “Don’t engage longer than necessary. I like you alive.” Then she winks at Sylvain and he winks back, even though he feels nothing, even though he tries. Even if it’d make this entire thing so much easier.

Hilda drops a fresh drink in front of him and he sighs in relief, because he’s way too sober to be dealing with this. Before he can down the drink though, Mercedes reaches out, her fingers soft and warm against his wrist.

“Sylvain,” she says softly and he caves, taking a small sip through the straw instead.

“Last one, Merce,” he finally says. “I promise.”

If this were back-home in Dallas and the end-of-the-night party post state-dinner, he’d be attached at the hip of the most scantily clad woman he could find, downing enough liquor so he could at least try and pretend.

But this isn’t Dallas and as much as he likes Hilda’s margaritas, he likes the comfort of Mercedes’ warm smile and ever understanding patience instead. He won’t wake up in a pile of sheets and naked limbs, more disappointed in himself, than whoever he was with.

Instead he goes back home with Merce and they binge watch reruns of the Bachelorette, while stuffing their faces with the leftovers from the bakery.

----

Sylvain doesn’t bother waiting for Felix the next morning.

He’s at the shop early again, unlocking the office door at an appalling seven AM. His night had been restless once again, but he’s traded angry memories of yelling and slurs, for images of sweaty and flushed skin, rippling muscles and imagined whines, dark hair pooling around shoulders and--

Nope, nope, nope he needs to stop that right now.

He drops his bag in the lopsided desk chair and decides to forgo any paperwork, because there’s absolutely no way that he can possibly concentrate on numbers and bank accounts and financing. So, by eight-thirty, he’s managed to haul the old Mustang into the Garage proper and hoist her up.

He pats the hood gently, fingers catching slightly on the rust there. “Pitiful,” he sighs. “If he’s so in love with you, why’s he let you get like this?” The metal is cold under his fingers as he taps at it lightly before pulling back. “Whatever the cost,” he murmurs, echoing Felix’s ridiculous request from the night before.

Sylvain’s suggestion hadn’t been unreasonable, but Felix had gone from sightly annoyed to angry enough to explode, in the span of several seconds, so clearly there was something more there. Mercedes had confirmed it with her comment later in the night that the car was special.

Obviously, Sylvain thinks with a frown, but he doesn’t dwell on it longer than he has to, getting to work on the car.

Around nine in the morning, there’s a kick to the right front wheel well, and Sylvain curses in surprise, jerking up and knocking his head against the undercarriage where he’d been situated. He slides back on the creeper, rubbing at his forehead with a soft groan, only to meet the face of a surprised Felix.

“It’s before ten and not only are you here, you’re actually working?” Felix’s tone is sharp, but it’s not angry, and Sylvain lets out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. He sits up properly, eyes raking over Felix’s form.

He looks good in loose track pants and a plain navy t-shirt. His hair is pulled back neatly and he looks fresh, despite the apparently permanent circles under his eyes. Sylvain has no idea why he likes the look of them, because on anyone else they’d be ugly little shadows. Sylvain sighs at the sight of him before--

“Goddess, is that coffee?” Felix is holding a carrier with two takeaway cups.

“What was it you called it last night? A peace offering?” Felix lifts the cardboard slightly, motioning to the office. “I… figured I should apologize for--” But then he sighs, annoyed. “Just take the damn coffee.” He says the words so quietly that Sylvain’s gaze narrows shrewdly.

“You don’t seem the type to apologize.”

“I’m not.” The testy edge to his voice has crept back in, but then Felix sighs, dragging a spare hand through his bangs, mucking up his neatly styled hair. “Look, let’s just-- let’s get everything settled. I have other things to do today.”

Sylvain pulls himself up properly, wiping at his forehead with a rag and motioning to the office. Once inside, Felix drops the coffee onto the desk before settling into the chair. Sylvain watches Felix finger the worn edge of the splintered wood. He’s not like him, Sylvain realizes, Felix just doesn’t do people well. Mercedes had told him, Hilda had told him, even Hubert had warned him but…

Felix looks visibly disturbed at the moment, like he wants to be anywhere else.

“You’ve tidied it up in here,” Felix finally says. “This office was always a mess.” He must have seen Sylvian’s confused glance, because he adds, “It’s the only garage in town. Do you think I’ve never had a car worked on before?”

Sylvain decides to not tell him that yes, he’d absolutely thought that, moving to open a manilla folder instead. “So the immediate problem is the engine, as I told you last night. The timing belt is what helps time the rotation of the crankshaft and camshaft, so the engine valves close and open at the proper time. So when it--”

Felix is ignoring him, popping off the lid of his coffee to check it, before taking a sip.

“Right uh, probably too much info. Point is, the engine’s entirely destroyed, it’s a hard model to find and it’s labor intensive. I wasn’t joking about the seven thousand at least.”

“I wasn’t joking about whatever the cost.” Felix points to the other cup and Sylvain drops the folder, gabbing at it. “Hubert refused to fix it the way that you do and wouldn’t tell me anything more than an absurd amount of sugar and cream. So I just dumped it in there until it didn’t look like coffee anymore. Take it or leave it.”

Sylvain tips the lid, finding the color of the coffee to look satisfactory enough and a quick sip confirms. Felix grimaces, sharing Hubert’s views on how he takes his coffee. Popping the lid back down, Sylvain sighs. “The engine’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he tells Felix. “She’s got so many other problems, and all of them make her dangerous to drive.”

“So what’s your point?”

“How much are you actually willing to spend on her?” Sylvain asks.

“I said--”

“I know what you said,” Sylvain cuts in. “But promising whatever the cost, is vastly different when it comes down to the actual numbers. You’re looking at tens of thousands of dollars.” Sylvain pauses. “Look, I’m happy to do the work for you if that’s really what you want, but I’m laying all the cards down here. It’s a lot of work and it will be expensive. I’m asking this not to be rude, but because I’m honestly curious-- Is she worth it?”

Sylvain expects Felix to get angry like the night before and just leave, but he doesn’t. Felix is quiet as he stares at his coffee cup, like he’s trying to carefully word whatever it is that he’s about to say.

“I’m not expecting you to understand,” Felix finally starts, suddenly weary and tired and clearly wanting to end the conversation before it properly starts. “But the car is worth everything to me.”

Sylvain is surprised by the quiet sincerity in Felix’s voice. “Alright then,” he says, dropping the folder on the desk between then. “I’ll make a full list of work, compile a price on parts and labor, and I’ll let you know.”

Felix nods shortly before standing to leave, but Sylvain starts again, making him pause at the door. “You know, you’re my first real customer here. The work on her alone will keep this place afloat for a while.”

Felix sighs, rubbing his fingers across his brow. Sylvain doesn’t know him very well yet, but there’s an inkling that the motion is out of character. “My apology was honest. There’s a lot that you don’t know and it’s unfair of me to expect you to.”

Sylvain has assumed as such. “I know it’s hard for new people to come to a small town like this and just wedge themselves into everyone’s quaint little existence, but I’m happy for the work. So thanks.”

Felix hesitates before saying, “Tch. I guess.” And then he’s gone.

Sylvain isn’t sure that he’ll ever quite figure the man out, watching the door long after Felix is gone, but there’s a desire there that makes him want to. He wants to get to know Felix better, and it’s not his high cheekbones, or silky hair, or those damn muscles. There’s something else that lurks underneath the surface of the harsh exterior, just like everyone else in this damn town, and Sylvain’s determined to figure out what it is.

But first, the car needs a nickname.

#Sylvix #felix/sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #felix and sylvain #fire emblem fanfiction #fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #modernau

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rosemaidenvixen · 5 years

Text

Flipping the Script

Enter the Trollhunter I

Ao3

The sun had just sunk past the horizon of the suburban California town, bathing the streets with dusky, ambler light. It was a peaceful, tranquil scene right up until a car barrelled through a row of traffic cones, squealing as it made a sharp turn. Only a few seconds later large stone creature with horns and spikes on his back raced through the scattered cones, charging toward the car on all four limbs.

Strickler was sitting in the backseat, eyes practically bulging out of his skull when he saw how close their pursuer was “He’s gaining on us! He’s gaining on us!!”

“Stop yelling!” Otto wailed from the driver’s seat “I’m going as fast as I can!”

Nomura’s gaze flicked back and forth between her window and the rearview mirror, heart rate spiking when she saw how close Draal was. It had to be him, it was just like those two had told her this morning “That’s the eighth turn we’ve made, how the hell does he keep following us!”

Any further conversation was cut off when half of the tires went up on the sidewalk. Nomura shot up in her seat only to be yanked back down by her seatbelt, managing to get a glimpse at a flickering light on the dashboard as the car thudded back onto the pavement.

“Otto. Have you been using the fucking turn signal?!”

He blinked and glanced down at the dash “Oh, I guess I have,”

Strickler shot forward “You what!?”

Nomura was half a second away from screaming. Why did she ever pick up that damn amulet in the first place? “This is how he’s been following us Otto!”

“What the bloody hell were you thinking!?”

Otto snapped his head towards them, blue eyes flashing from behind his glasses “I’m driving like a teenage hooligan, breaking gott knows how many laws, trying to get us away from a giant killer troll, which are real apparently, so why don’t you give me aAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

During their bickering Draal had managed to come up beside the car and was now charging at them from the side. Otto barely had enough time to crank the steering wheel before Draal rammed into the passenger’s side of the car.

Fortunately Otto had turned in time and most of the momentum was lost as they steered away from Draal. Still, physics demanded the momentum from 800 pounds of pissed off troll not be ignored. The car veered off the road and into the trees, an already hectic ride becoming significantly rougher. Ever one to roll with the punches, Otto swerved and weaved through the trees to shake their pursuer, even making a sharp U turn in one place, before eventually pulling back onto the road on the opposite side of the woods.

The sound of Draal bellowing and crashing through the forest had faded into silence, but Nomura knew he wasn’t far behind. Otto headed down the road that lead back to the downtown area, all three of them were constantly checking the road behind them, waiting for the spikey, blue troll to reappear.

Looking up ahead on the road Nomura saw a familiar figure “Pull over,”

Otto blinked at her request while Strickler gawked in horror “Have you forgotten that we’re fleeing for our lives!”

“Trust me,”

Something in her tone must have gotten to Otto because he steered the car onto the shoulder and slowed to a stop.

Nomura rolled down her window as the familiar figure came closer “Angor, you were right, Draal’s after me. We managed to shake him but not for long,”

Angor’s golden eyes widened “That is troubling indeed, you have been our Trollhunter for less than a day. You don’t have near enough training to face Draal the Deadly,”

Strickler scrambled upright in his seat to lean his head out of Nomura’s window “You’re a troll, can’t you fight him!?”

Nomura winced at the shrillness in his voice “My ear is right where you are shouting,” she hissed.

Meanwhile Angor was looking shocked by Strickler’s request followed quickly by remorseful “Alas, I cannot,”

Just when Nomura thought her night couldn’t get any worse “What! Why!?”

Angor laid a hand across his chest “I am a pacifist, bound by my oath of nonviolence,”

Nomura and Otto were stunned into silence, Strickler was just stunned “Vow of non-- he’s going to eat us!”

Right on queue a roar broke through the twilight air from somewhere behind them, far too close for comfort. Angor straightened and gazed back towards the source of the sound.

“Follow me, I take you somewhere safe,” he sprinted ahead, Otto floored the accelerator and followed right on his heels. Draal’s angry bellows echoed in the distance, steadily getting louder.

The were driving alongside the canal now, Nomura looked back just in time to see Draal burst out from the trees.

Not good. This was not good.

Angor turned and ran down the edge of the canal. Otto sucked in a deep breath and followed him. The car rocked with sharp jolts as it zoomed to the bottom of the dry canal. Up ahead Angor was lingering by the side of the canal underneath the bridge. Whatever safe place he had in mind must be up there somehow.

Nomura was turned around in her seat, eyes darting back and forth between Angor and Draal. They weren’t going to make it. At the rate they were going Draal was going to catch them well before they could get close to whatever sanctuary Angor had in mind.

Nomura reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the amulet. She was feeling a lot of things right now; scared, pissed, freaked out, stressed, and part of her still thought this was all too bizarre to be real. Most of all she was very very attached to being alive.

But at the end of the day one dead body was better than three.

“For the glory of Morgana, Daylight is mine to command!”

Strickler and Otto’s jaws dropped upon seeing glowing silver armor appear out of thin air and wrap itself around her.

“It’s me he’s after,” Nomura clicked her seatbelt open “Follow Angor and get to safety,”

Too late they realized what she intended to do. Otto tried to reach over and grab her arm “Wait, no don--”

Whatever else he said was lost as Nomura opened the door and tucked and rolled, tumbling across the concrete. She managed to come to a stop propped up on one knee. Draal was charging straight for her.

Forcing back a wave of panic, she grabbed the hilt of her sword and pulled it off her back. She was feeling a lot of things right now, a raging storm of emotion that she couldn’t even begin to untangle. But there was one thing she knew for damn sure, if she had to go down tonight, she was going out fighting.

Draal loomed just feet away, fist raised in preparation to pound her to a bloody pulp. At the last second Nomura jumped out of the way, the fist slamming into the concrete and missing her by inches, and made a slash at his side.

Only to misjudge to weight of the sword and do no more than give him a shallow cut. Before she could recover Draal swung his arm around and hit her with a powerful backhand.

Nomura wheezed as she slammed into the concrete wall of the canal and crumpled to the ground. She wasn’t injured, not really, the armor had taken most of the hit, but all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Dark spots danced at the edge of her vision, she staggered to her feet, struggling to keep her grip on her sword.

Draal snorted and strode towards her, there was no point of hurrying, Nomura could barely stand, she wasn’t going anywhere. Off in the distance Nomura saw the headlights of the car turn around and start heading back towards her.

“A human Trollhunter, bah!” Draal spit on the ground in distaste “Once I’m finished grinding you into a fine paste, I will seize the amulet, and my father will finally be free,”

Nomura leveled the sword in his direction, frantically trying to remember the swordfighting techniques they’d demoed at the museum last month.

“Hate to disappoint daddy, but I’m planning on hanging on to this for a little longer,” she made a thrust at him with the sword, but before the blade could even nick him his hand was wrapped around her forearm.

She squirmed in his grip as he yanked her off her feet. If it weren’t for the armor plating her arm would be crushed by now.

Draal grinned savagely “Farewell human Trollhunter,”

Before he could make a move the roar of an engine startled both of them. Draal leaped out of the way, dropping Nomura, as Otto zoomed past them. He was going so fast Nomura almost missed Strickler tossing something out of the back window.

Draal let out a harsh bark of laughter “Your allies are just as pathetic as you are Trollhunter,”

Nomura scrambled across the ground, where was it, where was it.

Her fingers wrapped around the cylinder just as Draal grabbed her by the calf and lifted her up into the air. She fiddled desperately for the switch.

“When you meet your predecessors tell them it was Draal the Deadly whoAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!!”

He bellowed in agony as Nomura shoved the tip of the now blazing road flare into the cut on his abdomen, releasing her and dropping to his knees.

Nomura somehow managed to get herself upright and make a mad dash for the bridge. Draal might be down, but he sure as hell wasn’t out.

The car pulled up alongside her, the passenger side door popped open and inside Strickler and Otto were wildly beckoning to her.

She ran as fast as she could, ignoring the burning in her legs and chest as she angled herself toward the car. Nomura tried to grab onto the inside handle, but she wasn’t used to her gauntlets. Her metal plated fingers couldn’t get a grip on anything. From behind them she could hear Draal howl in pain and fury.

Not a moment too soon, Nomura finally managed to wrap her fingers around the handle and swing into the car. Otto didn’t even wait for her to shut the door before he shifted into high gear and floored it. Nomura struggled upright in her seat, Draal was close, but the bridge was closer. They were going to make it.

Otto’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel “Hang on!” that was their only warning before he swerved straight into the concrete wall.

Rather than smashing against the wall, the car passed through a portal of some kind. But before Nomura could even begin to feel relieved about escaping Draal and not being pancaked between concrete and steel, she saw exactly what the car was headed towards.

Stairs.

Massive crystal stairs leading down into the unknown.

Nomura managed to click her seatbelt into place just before the ride got very bumpy.

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #role reversal AU #flipping the script #zelda nomura #walter strickler #otto scaarbach #draal the deadly #angor rot #rmvwrites

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redslilstories · 5 years

Text

Marry Me

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary:This is how could 7x17 have played out without the catastrophic car crash and a few tweaks to the storyline Character: Arizona/Callie Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended!

It was a sunny Saturday in spring as a lone black car made its way along a freeway near Seattle. Its passengers were Callie and Arizona, the blonde steering the car along the street safely, while bemusedly listening to Callie talking to her best friend on the phone.

Callie sucked in an excited breath, the following giggle only temporarily distracting her girlfriend behind the wheel. "She's moving back in?!" she squealed in excitement, waiting for Mark's affirmative answer before mildly slapping Arizona's arm with the back of her hand. "She's moving back in!"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard it the first time," the blonde laughed at the ecstatic brunette next to her, before raising her voice a little so that the man on the other end of the line could hear her. "Good for you, Mark!"

He had gotten back together with Lexie a few months ago, and naturally he was over the moon about it. The fact that the resident apparently had decided to take this next step in their newly blossomed relationship was of course the icing on the cake.

Callie was so happy him. And Arizona had to admit that she wasn't too sad about it either. He wasn't looking at her boobs anymore... as far as she knew. At least they had the bedroom to themselves again, which was a big plus.

But Arizona acknowledged that the man had helped her a lot on the last months. Their little Italian dinner date to prove Callie that she could get along with her best friend had been a turning point. They still weren't exactly on best-buddy-basis, but they were getting along pretty okay.

That took a lot of strain out of her relationship with Callie. And it had positive side effects too. After all, it had been Mark who finally had convinced Callie to let Arizona paint her bat cave. Or rather their bat cave.

So much had happened in the last year. Breaking up over disagreements about babies. Getting back together after staring into the eyes of death. Officially moving in together. Cristina and Owen moving into their own home. And Arizona... winning the Carter-Madison grant.

An event that had almost torn them apart again. Callie had been conflicted about being happy for the peds surgeon and being devastated because she knew that the original plan meant that her girlfriend, the outstanding peds surgeon would have to go to Africa for three years. To help establish a hospital in Malawi and save lives thousands of miles way from her.

But the blonde heart and soul had been equally as twisted.

This grant. She had applied for it over three years ago. Back when she had still been single. More than ready to commit to the ones who needed it most. And not ready to commit herself to a serious relationship.

It was her dream. Or... it had been. Had been for so long. Then Callie had come along and had turned her world upside down. And now suddenly faced with making a decision between Africa and Callie... she had known she would choose the latter.

She hadn't given up on Africa entirely, however. She was overseeing most things from Seattle with occasional trips to Malawi to help out.

It wasn't her original dream anymore. It wasn't three years in Africa doing what she knew she was born to do. But her vision of it all still remained.

And now she had even more. Her old dream. And her new ones. Which now even included baby showers.

… Okay, that one was a bit of a stretch. She still hated those.

But still she had organized one yesterday. With the help of Mark, who had a lot more feel when it came to that stuff, surprisingly. Scrapbook station, onesie decorating, whatever. It didn't matter to her, as long as Callie was happy.

And Callie had been happy about this. So she had been happy as well. Even though she could have lived without that balloon stuffed under her scrubs and that little tiara on her head that read "momma".

But seeing that huge smile on Callie's face had totally been worth it.

For Callie she would do anything. For Callie, and their baby.

Their baby. That thought still brought the silliest of smiles to her face.

With a couple of trips to L.A and the help of Addison, their baby was finally on the way. Neither of them had thought that it would work on the first try, but it had. And if the baby stayed on schedule, in 108 days they would finally be 'momma' and... well, okay, they had names to discuss.

Speaking of which... Arizona already knew that they were having a little girl. Doing ultrasounds often in her daily work, she could easily tell from the check-ups she's been to with Callie. But she didn't want to spoil her girlfriend's fun, since they had agreed on not wanting to know the baby's sex before birth... officially.

And Arizona had had enough fun secretly buying a few girls' clothes in the last weeks, and she could already imagine this little girl with Callie's black hair and big brown eyes one day wearing that insanely cute pink Minnie Mouse sweater.

Callie's adorable laugh at something Mark had said on the other line drew her out of that thought. "No, Mark, we don't need you to go paint shopping for our nursery yet. And we don't need either blue or pink," she chuckled at his latest effort to learn the secret kept between Arizona and the baby himself.

He had been desperate to find out. But it wasn't like he had any say in this matter – and Arizona had absolutely no intention on letting him in on her knowledge either. In the end he didn't care if in four months he'd be the godfather of a little boy or a little girl, that was pretty certain. "But I'm sure you can convince Lexie to go shopping with you for the apartment," Arizona provided as Callie readily held the phone's speaker to her. "You know how she loves to decorate".

"Hey, you wanna ask her right now?" Callie suggested with raised eyebrows. "Bet you're bored with your whacky neighbors gone already, huh?" she teased the man once more. "Yeah, we'll be fine those three days," she confirmed to an obvious question about the trip they were engaged in right now. "Okay, bye for now, Love you," she spoke before ending the call.

"Aww, you kinda choked him off there," Arizona pouted as she overtook a truck parked on the side of the road with ease.

"He'll live," the brunette chuckled. "And now...," she held up the phone ceremoniously so that her girlfriend could see out of the corner of her eye that...

"Did you just turn off your phone?" the blonde asked a little confused. Callie Torres was not someone who shut off her phone. Callie Torres was a phone addict.

"I did," the proclaimed addict smiled contently. "Or else he'd be calling again in half an hour. You know how he is".

"But you told him we'd be fine," Arizona argued, not even sure why. Not having Mark call constantly had its perks, she had to admit. "He's probably gonna worry when your phone goes straight to voice mail".

"All things taken into consideration," Callie calmed her, fully understanding this train of thought. "I left a message on my voice mail that tells every caller where we'll be and what I'll do to you over and over once we get there. Nasty, naughty things..."

"You what!?" Arizona exclaimed and nearly brought the car to a screeching halt. In panic. In arousal.

She felt the sudden need to call Callie's phone to hear her formulate what they were about to do over and over. Hot. Terrifying. Terrifyingly hot.

Her brain was really indecisive on this.

"Kidding!" Callie laughed. "It just tells everyone that we'll be gone for a few days".

"Oh," Arizona nodded in thanks for the clarification. But the thought of the nasties and naughties remained.

They hadn't done a lot of that in the last weeks. The changes of Callie's body often making her feel uncomfortable despite the effort Arizona put in showing her how desirable she was for her.

And she knew that at least some of this tension originated in the stress Callie felt herself going through. With trying to be her best at work and nurturing their unborn baby at the same time.

So, Arizona had arranged for them both to get some time off and had booked them a few days in a cozy B&B two hours away from Seattle to cool down and relax.

And obviously this had this welcome effect of Callie's libido reappearing. "So... it's just gonna be you and me?" she gave Callie her most radiant smile.

"You and me," Callie confirmed with a big smile of her own. "And, oh! And the baby," she laughed.

"Are they kicking you?" the blonde asked as she watched Callie put her hands on her growing belly.

"No, but we're definitely awake," her girlfriend returned. It had already been four weeks since the movements of the baby had become noticeable for Callie but it never once failed to amaze her.

"Good morning, baby," Arizona called out softly and put her hand on the side of Callie's tummy in greeting.

Their baby. She still had to realize that in the next days it'd be just Callie, the baby and herself. And no one to disturb them. She reached for her own phone lying on the dashboard and handed it to Callie. "You know what you have to do," she told her and Callie nodded with a happy expression before proceeding to put a message on Arizona's voice mail as well and shutting it off.

Meanwhile Arizona was on the lookout for a very specific spot on the side of the road. There was something she had planned. Something that was way bigger than a trip to a B&B. Something that was very important to her. And could change her life... their lives forever.

She slowed down the car gradually, getting them ready for what she had planned.

Callie noticed her girlfriend's actions and sent her a questioning glance sideways, which Arizona answered. "Do you, um, do you want to pull over for a bit?" she got out, glad that she had almost managed to keep that shaking out of her voice. She had practiced this scenario in her head over and over. Still it did little to calm her nervousness.

The brunette cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you need to pee?" she teased lightly, "Because I thought I was the one with the crazy bladder..."

Arizona smiled at the amused figure sitting next to her. She had learned early on during Callie's pregnancy that joking about the challenges this brought to the brunette's body was not a wise action. But laughing along the jokes Callie made herself was safe. Well, at least most of the time. "No, I just thought you'd want to relax your legs for a minute, maybe?"

"No, that's okay, and we're only thirty something minutes away. I'll be okay," she felt a warmth spread through her at Arizona's apparent concern. She had never been one to let herself be coddled; but there had been moments lately where she enjoyed the care and attention.

Arizona faltered for a moment. She hadn't anticipated a possible denial to her suggestion. Which she now realized was pretty stupid considering that Callie wasn't always predictable. Never had been. "Well, come on, honey," she cooed, "just for a few minutes... our room at the B&B won't be ready for a couple of hours anyway."

"Okay...," Callie scrunched her eyebrows at the blonde's weird behavior... and sudden need for a rest. And she was about to complain about them having hit the road so early if their room wasn't even ready for them. But...

"I have sandwiches," Arizona redirected her thoughts before that could happen.

Okay, that was a game changer. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already hitting 12 pm. Now, if only...

"I packed some peanut butter ones as well," Arizona confessed and suddenly Callie was more than ready for that little break.

Arizona knew about her pregnancy cravings. And she had hoped that Callie's taste buds would eventually switch to something a little more... healthy like pickles, but Callie still stuck to her beloved peanut butter. However, they had an agreement. A peanut butter sandwich only twice a week.

Or apparently on special occasions like this one.

A couple of minutes later their picnic blanket was spread out under a tree that overlooked a beautiful valley in the Seattle area. Callie was seated on a pillow Arizona had thankfully brought along for her comfort and was leaning against the tree, for the moment content with enjoying the view. The picnic basket containing their food sat beside her still untouched.

The blonde had told her to sit tight while she went back to the car to get a thermos with tea and a bottle of water.

If she was being honest, heading back to the car to retrieve said liquids had been an excuse. They could easily have carried those with them on the first trip.

But she wanted, needed a few moments to herself. To collect herself, go over what she wanted to say.

This was going to be one of the most important moments... in their lives. And she wanted it to be perfect.

'Perfect'.

She repeated this word over and over in her head on the way back.

Until she rounded the tree and... felt the need to slap the back of her own head in good measure.

Maybe she shouldn't have left the basket in Callie's care.

Maybe she shouldn't have admitted to having packed her woman's current favorite food.

But certainly she should not have stored the tiny velvet box Callie now held between trembling fingers beneath said yummy goodness.

"Okay, okay... don't freak out. Don't freak out," she blubbered, at this moment not even sure which one of them she was trying to calm down. She deposited the bottle of water and the thermos on their blanket and dropped down in front of Callie, taking the little box from clammy hands. "I... wow... I thought you'd be sitting up higher with that pillow and all," she laughed nervously as Callie just continued to stare at her with an expression like a fish on land.

Arizona fidgeted around for a moment before dismissing the plan of getting up on one knee – the dress she had chosen to wear today making that practically impossible, anyway. One more thing she could have done differently in retrospect. So she sat back on her calves ad just looked at Callie for a moment.

Callie.

Her Callie. Her Calliope.

She was the one for her.

And now she wanted to make it official.

"Calliope... I love you more than anything," she started out slowly, this thought in her mind now clearer than it had ever been before. "You're the most amazing woman I've met in my entire life. And now you're giving me the most amazing thing in the world. You and our baby – you make me happier than I ever thought I could be." She reached out and grabbed Callie's hand with hers. Soothing Callie who still looked like she was going to hyperventilate any moment. And encouraging herself to continue. "You're... You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. The one I want to wake up to every morning and the one I want to go to sleep with every night. And I am so grateful that I get to be with you".

She halted for a moment and took in a big, trembling breath in preparation for what would be next. "But I want more," she nodded her head with conviction. "I want to see you walking towards me in your wedding dress. I want to hear your vows. I want to be able to call you my wife. And in forty years from now, when our ten kids have finally left the house, I want to sit on our porch and hold your hand. And look back on all these wonderful moments we've had together. And I don't want to regret never having asked. So... Calliope Iphigenia Torres," she retracted her hand from Callie's to open the small black velvet box and reveal the plain white gold ring with a half carat diamond, "will you marry me?"

Seconds passed where she could hear nothing but the wind rustling through the trees and her fast beating heart.

And Callie looked... freeze-framed. Like someone had just pressed pause during the most important movie scene. Her gorgeous black dark eyes wide open in shock and her mouth still agape.

Arizona began to worry. Surely her love's neither verbal nor non-verbal response couldn't be interpreted as a good sign, right?

But why did Callie fail to give her the desired reaction?

Was it the ring? Had Callie opened the box before her return and just found the ring too appalling for words? She had known the ring would be an issue. She knew Callie didn't like anything too girly in jewelry. She had considered asking Mark for help. After all, he knew her best. But she also knew that he couldn't keep a secret. So she had confided in Teddy instead.

Had their idea been so way off?

Or did Callie simply not want to get married? Arizona had once dropped a casual comment about marrying before the baby was born. Callie had just shrugged at that. But Arizona had always thought that this would be important to her. With her catholic background and all.

Or was she just too scarred from her first marriage to take that step again? Once bitten, twice shy?

Or... did Callie want to get married... but didn't want to marry her?

Arizona's heart sank at that. It was definitely a thought worth dwelling on for a moment.

She could name reasons for an objection Callie might have to marrying her. But... no! She shook her head. "I'd... I'd be lying if I said that there weren't bumps in our road. We've had them and chances are we'll encounter some in the future. But-"

"You... You want to marry me?" the onset of a terrible babble rant was interrupted by a brunette having finally found her voice again.

"I... I do?" Arizona returned, not meaning for it to sound like a question but at this moment totally helpless.

Callie's expression slowly transformed into a smile. She had never thought she'd hear those words again. Would find someone willing to commit to her with everything they had. It was just so overwhelming. Especially since it was Arizona.

Not that she hadn't thought this would be a possibility in the future. But she had always imagined that she's be the one to ask. To catch the little butterfly that lightened up her life.

But now that it had happened this way... it was even more...

"Yes," she husked out.

… perfect.

"W-What?" Arizona inquired, not believing her ears of all a sudden.

"Yes," Callie spoke louder, her smile growing, "I'll... marry you".

And that was where Arizona's baby blues lit up again and her grin got so wide it threatened to split her face in two. She laughed incredulously as tears formed in her eyes and she leaned up to embrace Callie in the happiest of hugs she had ever given. On her cheeks she could feel the wetness of Callie's own joyous tears as her fiancee held her close.

Her fiancee.

She wanted to shout this out to the entire world. Calliope Torres was her fiancée!

Loosening the hug, she leaned back up to capture Callie's already awaiting lips in a tender kiss. "I love you," she whispered, letting their lips meet repeatedly.

"I love you too," Callie replied, softly cupping Arizona's cheeks in her hands and simply looking at her. "I love you so much, you don't even know it," she shook her head. It was true. She hadn't loved anyone this much before. Except their baby.

"I think I get the idea," Arizona chuckled and pecked her again.

Callie grinned at her soon-to-be-wife, and suddenly remembered something blatantly important, "Arizona Robbins... will you give me my ring?"

"Oh!" Arizona exclaimed, the box laying dumbly in her hand almost forgotten. She took the item and slid it onto Callie's ring finger, sighing in relief when it fit just perfectly.

"It's beautiful," Callie whispered, on the verge of crying again. "Thank you".

Arizona clasped the ring-decorated hand, at the brunette's teary expression having trouble holding her own emotions in check. "We're getting married," she whispered almost as incredulously as Callie had been before.

Her fiancèe brought their joint hands to her lips and gave Arizona's a soft, confirming kiss. "We're getting married," she confirmed with a smile and held their hands close to her chest.

Arizona laughed as her thumb caressed Callie's fingers. "Think we'll manage to get married before the baby is born?" the blonde asked. Feeling now more than before than they should address this topic.

"Hm," Callie pursed her lips. She certainly wanted to get married to Arizona as soon as possible. And that was not because she felt the need for the baby to be born into marriage. It was simply because she could hardly wait any longer.

But knowing that the due date was only a few months away, and knowing how much planning would go into creating the wedding the two of them wanted – the dresses alone – four months felt like a pretty short amount of time. "Well, we can certainly try," she chuckled as she brought their intertwined hands to lay in her lap. "Maybe the baby will come out the same day. It happens," she bemusedly.

"Oh!" Arizona laughed. "That'd be a plus. We'd never forget our anniversary," she joked. "And we'd have an amazing story to tell her- … or him," she quickly caught herself, fearing that she had just spilt that little secret of their baby being actually a baby girl.

But Callie hadn't noticed. Momentarily distracted by a sudden movement in her womb. "Hello, there," she giggled as her hand moved to her tummy. "I think they heard us talking about them". She said softly and smiled as Arizona perked up instantly and lay down to press her ear and hands to her belly. "Hi, there, my pretty baby," she cooed softly. "Did you hear? Your mamas are getting married".

Callie caressed Arizona's hair as this one continued to talk to their baby. Arizona loved this tiny, tiny person inside her so much. It was ridiculous how often they could be found in positions like this lately. Especially since the baby had started kicking. Callie loved feeling this too. Though she wasn't always a fan – especially not at night.

But the thought of the baby brought her back to something Arizona had said minutes ago. "So, do you still want those ten kids? Despite my hormone waves and all?"

"Yes!" Arizona said enthusiastically. "And more!"

"Oookay," Callie laughed amused but a teeny bit overwhelmed at the same time. "Let me get this one out first, then we can talk about having more kids, okay?"

"Okay," Arizona nodded as her hand was met with a tiny movement from inside Callie. "And maybe you won't have to do it all by yourself. Our ten plus kids..."

An audible gasp escaped Callie as her hand grasped the blonde's shoulder in wonder. Was she... "Arizona Robbins, are you suggesting that..."

"Shush...," the other woman interrupted, "... before I change my mind".

A new bout of tears made its way down Callie's cheek as she held her fiancee in her arms who in her turn held their baby as best as she could.

Arizona could see their future years shaping out in front of her eyes. Married. With tons of kids. And a house. And dogs. And chicken.

It was looking pretty perfect.

END

#Calzona #calzona forever #calzona fanfiction #callie torres #arizona robbins #marry me #fluff #without the drama #grey's anatomy #7x17

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alindakb · 5 years

Text

Letters to my Parents - Saturday 5 September 1992 - by Alinda

Saturday 5 September 1992

Dear mom and dad,

He won’t talk to me. I don’t know why, but he won’t talk to me. As if things aren’t already bad enough without him being a complete bastard. It would have been nice if he would be on my side right now, but I’m sure that’s not happening any time soon.

I should tell you all that has been going on since my trip to Diagon Alley. First off, Ron did get over the fact that I'm bent. He said he was sorry, he just felt like a fool for not noticing and trying to fix me up with his little sister. He told him it was okay and that I was also sorry for never telling him. After that my new broom got delivered and we spent the rest of the day taking turns flying it. Fred and George joined us after a while and it was a lot of fun. We almost flew every day after that. It were two nice last weeks of the holiday. But we were also looking forward to going on the train and hang out with Hermione, Neville and Blaise. And with Draco, if he would at least talk to me. That was a stupid dream of me. I don’t know why I thought everything would be better when we would get back to school and his dad wouldn’t be around to stop him.

But first I had to get on the train, and I can tell you that never happened. Don’t worry, I made it to Hogwarts thanks to Ron’s stupid plan, but I’m here and still getting my education. It all started with the chaos of having six children getting ready to leave for the entire school year. We got up extremely early and still managed to only arrive at King Cross minutes before the train was leaving. We hurried to the barrier between platforms nine and ten and the Weasleys started to go through. First Percy, then Mr Weasley, the twin, Mrs Weasley and Ginny. They went through without any problems, vanishing as you would expect.

Ron and I decided to go together because we only had one minute left before the train would leave. So we ran towards the barrier and crashed right into it. It wouldn’t let us through. We pretended that we had lost control of the trolley when a guard started yelling at us. We didn’t understand what was going on. Why had the gateway sealed itself off? I tried pushing my trolley through it while we watched the seconds tick away on the clock.

So we missed the train and Ron almost panicked because he thought his parents would now be trapped on platform 9 3/4. I calmed him down a little, saying they knew how to apparate, so they would be able to get out. And I just felt my heartbreak. What would Draco think when he would discover I wasn’t on the train? I still wouldn’t be able to find out why he never wrote to me this summer and why he ignored me in Diagon Alley. I didn’t care at that moment that I missed the train to school, I was sad because I won’t be able to see him now. I was so stupid feeling like that. It is better not to see him than to see him avoid me and hang out with Pansy and Daphne like they are his girlfriends now or something.

People were still watching us and I suggested we would wait by the car. And that is when Ron got his stupid idea. He wanted to fly to Hogwarts, with the Weasley’s car. I didn’t see how that was a good idea, but Ron won’t be talked out of it. So that is how we ended up high in the sky, following the Hogwarts express. The only problem was that the invisibility booster wasn’t working properly, so we kept reappearing. We tried to stay above the clouds as much as possible, only dipping down now and again to see where the train was heading.

And even though I first didn’t want to go, it was beautiful above the clouds. It was like being in a different world, with the sky a bright, endless blue under a blinding white sun. But after a couple of hours, it became less fun. It was warm and we had nothing to drink, and my glasses kept sliding down my sweaty nose.

It was dark by the time we reached Hogwarts and the car was acting up. The engine started making funny noises and when we could see the castle the car was shuddering and losing speed. And when we had passed the lake the engine died. We dropped down, gathering speed and heading straight for the solid castle wall. I thought I was going to die right there. I closed my eyes and wished I could get the change to tell Draco that I love him.

But we didn’t crash into the castle, Ron had swung the steering wheel and was whacking his wand against the dashboard and the windshield, shouting stop. Only that didn’t work. We crashed into a tree, and not just any tree, no a dangerous tree called the Whomping Willow. We landed on the ground and I was really happy I was still alive and that Ron wand looked like the only thing that was broken. But we weren’t save jet. As I said, the Whomping Willow is a dangerous tree. It started hitting the car with his big branches. For a moment we both thought we were done for, but luckily the engine restarted and Ron was able to back us up far enough to get out of the tree’s reach.

The car wasn’t that happy with us and kicked us out of the car as soon as it was safe and drove off into the forbidden forest. Hedwig’s cage flew through the air and burst open, making Hedwig rise out of it with an angry screech, before she sped off toward the castle without a backward look. She’s still angry with me, won’t let me give her treats at all. Hermione is making sure she’s okay, but I kind of miss my owl.

We grabbed our trunks and began to drag them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors. When we were at the foot of the front steps we could see Professor Snape standing at the top. He asked us why we didn’t arrive on the school train. He looked troubled and I wondered if he had been worried about us. That maybe he does care about our wellbeing, even though I’m one of his least favourite students and I kind of thought that he was trying to steal the sorcerers stone last year.

Professor Snape made us come to his office and we missed the entire welcome feast. Ron looked around in amazement, never have been in Professor Snape’s office before. I wish it had been my first time there, but I had to go and see him a couple of times last year when I had gotten into trouble. It turned out we had been seen, by multiple muggles. When I learnt that, I knew we were in big trouble and for a moment I was afraid we would get expelled. Why hadn’t I fought harder with Ron to not take the car, but just to wait for his parents? I’m sure there would have been another way for us to get to Hogwarts. One that wouldn’t end me up in detention on the first day back at school.

Because that is what happened. We both have to serve a detention later this month. Ron even almost got expelled because he was talking back to Professor Snape when he told us we had done considerable damage to the very valuable Whomping Willow, but luckily for Ron, that decision could only be made by his own head of house Professor McGonagall and she didn’t think expelling Ron was necessary. She and Professor Snape made us explain why we had taken the car, so we told them about the barrier. They asked us why we hadn’t just sent an owl and I felt so stupid then. That had been a much more sensible solution. We also had to explain everything to headmaster Dumbledore and I hated how disappointed he sounded. He was going to write to our families, but I’m not concerned about that, the Dursleys would only be disappointed the Whomping Willow hadn’t squashed me to death.

After all, that Professor McGonagall took Ron up to Gryffindor tower and Professor Snape made sure I had something to eat before escorting me to the Slytherin common room, informing me of the new password and telling me to stay out of trouble from now on. Everyone was already off to bed and I silently walked down to the familiar dormitory where a big four-poster bed with green (not green Harry, they are emerald as Draco enlightened me last year) velvet drapes. My trunk was already there and I took out some pyjama’s and quickly got dressed for bed in the bathroom. Draco his drapes had already been closed and I didn’t think he was still awake. But Blaise was and he told me it was amazing how I arrived at Hogwarts and asked if he could tag along next time.

The next morning Draco was already up and out in the Great Hall having breakfast by the time I got out of bed. I dressed quickly and went to find him. He was sitting with Pansy and Daphne on either side of him like he was making sure I couldn’t sit down next to him. I walked up to him and greeted him, but he didn’t respond at all, didn’t even look at me. I begged him to please talk to me, but he wouldn’t. Nott was grinning on the other side of the table. He most think it’s really funny that Draco is ignoring me. When it was clear he wouldn’t speak to me I just walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Hermione to have my breakfast.

And I don’t know why Draco is doing this, but it hurts. I feel so sad all the time now. Did I do something wrong? Had he expected me to do something while still on the train home last July, or was I supposed to send him a letter straight away to tell him I also like him? Or was it all just a joke? A nice way of bullying silly Harry some more? Was he never really my friend, but just pretending?

Well, things just got worse after that. Ron got a howler during breakfast from his mother with her screaming how disappointed she was in Ron and she didn’t forget to include my name in there somewhere. But the worse was that Mr Weasley is facing an inquiry at work because of us. That just makes me feel bad, they had been so nice and supportive of me during the summer.

And then after lunch, at the start of our Herbology class, Professor Lockhart hold me back to have a word with me. He gave me a speech about how I shouldn’t let the thirst for fame go to my head or something. He thought I flew the car to school to get attention and publicity and that it was all his fault because he helped me make front page news with his book signing. I tried to correct him, but he wouldn’t listen.

After that I quickly slid into class, only to have Nott make some stupid comment on how I already needed extra help from the professors. And it didn’t stop there, Nott and Crabbe have been making nasty comments all week about how professor Lockhart favours me, that he likes me. They even asked when the wedding would be. And all the time Draco just stands there and acts like nothing is happening. At least Hermione, Ron, Neville and Blaise all talk back to them, telling them to shut their mouths. Even I did a couple of times. But I’m scared they are going to hurt me again, dad. Just like last year. Now that Draco is not looking out for me anymore I’ll be a target again. I’m sure of it. I don’t want to hide bruises all the time and look over my shoulder every time I walk somewhere alone, just to make sure they won’t hex me.

Classes are also hard. It seems like everything I learnt last year has somehow leaked out my head during the summer. We had to turn a beetle into a button during Transfiguration, but I just couldn’t. Ron is also struggling, but that is more because his wand snapped when we crashed the car than his inability to do magic.

Things got even worse during our last lesson on Monday: Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lockhart. Hermione thinks he’s amazing and Ron is acting all jealousy. I just wished he wouldn’t single me out, so Nott wouldn’t have fuel for his new jokes about me dating Lockhart. And his lessons are an even bigger joke than those of Professor Quirrell. The first thing he made us do was take a test where all the questions were about him. Like what his favourite colour is and things like that.

And the first so-called dangerous creatures he showed us were Cornish pixies. There is nothing dangerous about them, they’re just annoying. And they proved that when professor Lockhart set them free. They seized Neville and hong him on an iron chandelier until the chandelier gave way and Neville almost fell on top of Professor Lockhart, who had tried to stop the pixies from making a mess with some spell that did absolutely nothing. And worst of all, Hermione, Ron, Neville and I had to go and round them all up after class had already ended. It’s clear that the professor has no clue of what he’s doing. I just wished Hermione would see that as well, she just thinks he’s amazing.

The next day Draco was still ignoring me. And a young Gryffindor first year had started stalking me. His name is Colin Creevey and he wanted to take a picture of me when Hermione and I were sitting outside during lunch. It’s hard to sit in the Great Hall and see Draco having a good time with Pansy and Daphne, all laughing and smiling at each other. But back to Colin, he wanted to have a photo of the both of us and even asked me to sign it. And of course, that is when Nott passed by and started making fun of the fact that I was handing out signed photos. He shouted about it and everyone started looking at us. Colin wanted to stand up for me and said Nott was just jealous, but that only made it worse. Nott asked what he should be jealous of. Of the fact that I had a foul scar right across my head, or of the fact that I was bent. And he said a signed photo of me would be useless now that I had started shacking Professor Lockhart.

And that is when Professor Lockhart showed up, asking who was giving out signed photos? And then posting with me for the photo that Colin wanted, promising we would both sign it. Of course, this just made Nott shout out that the happy couple was even taking pictures together now. I wanted to hex him right there, for even suggesting I would be with anyone other than Draco.

Now I just dodge out of sight whenever I see Professor Lockhart coming down a corridor.

I’m sitting in the Quidditch stands by the way. Today are the tryouts for the Slytherin team and Draco is one of the candidates. He saw me sitting here, I know he did, even though he pretends like I don’t exist. It’s nice to see him fly. He is a lot better than the other kids trying out and I think he can be sure that he will get a spot on the team. I hope he does, it was something he really wanted last year. I hope he will hang back afterwards and maybe talk to me. We’ll see.

Love you,

Harry James Potter.

#letters to my parents #Harry Potter #fanfic #Draco Malfoy #ron weasley #professor lockhart #2nd year #letters #bullied harry #AlindasStories

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justalittleofmyworld · 6 years

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Through the lens - Luke Hemmings imagine

Masterlist

Requests are open, send yours here!

Pairing: Luke x reader

Request: yes! By the lovely @youngblood-5sos : can you do one for Luke where you're a famous youtuber and you're filing a video together?

Here's your thing, lovely. I've had this idea in mind for a while and you reminded me of it. Hope you enjoy it lots!

Reblog if you like (support your online writers)

_________________________________________

"Ok guys, so I'll finish with breakfast and I'll see you in a bit."

You covered the lens with your hand and pressed the button to stop filming. Then you put the camera on the table, ready to finish your toasts and coffee. It was one of your favourite times of the day, getting up and having breakfast while you start filming your vlog and telling your audience how your day was going to be. You've had a YouTube channel for years, even before meeting Luke. However, once you started your relationship, the channel blew up and the subscribers stated rising quickly. Three years after, you've reached the million and a half people following you. Of course, you knew that the majority of them came because of you dating him, but others stayed when they watched your own content, from the lifestyle videos to the book recommendations and talks, your favourite to do. You'd been vlogging for a couple of months now, giving them new content and the opportunity to follow your daily life. Luke didn't use to appear much in your videos, as he spent months away from you, but when he did, you were able to give your audience —and his fans— a different perspective of his life, out from his on tour environment.

"Good morning, beautiful" a raspy voice said in your ear, distracting you from your own thoughts. You turned your head slightly to the side while your boyfriend hid his face in the crook of your neck and left a few light kisses there.

"Good morning, rockstar" you replied with a smile. When he was at home with you mornings were the best. God, you missed him like crazy when he was gone, although you were able to make quick trips to see him on tour, having him there was far better.

"I heard you talking to yourself." he said, and placed a quick kiss on your lips.

"I wasn't talking to myself" you replied and pointed to the camera.

"Good, because I thought you'd become mad" he laughed while he walked to the counter. "Oh, you made coffee," he exclaimed and poured some in a mug. "So, what's the plan for today?" He asked you and you shrugged your shoulders as you sipped from your mug. "What do you think, Piggy?" Petunia was running around his feet and he took her up in his arms. "What do you wanna do today, love?"

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

Although the day wasn't the sunniest, you ended going to the beach and taking Petunia with you. You took a long walk there and played with your baby dog until she tired you up. You filmed some scenes, including some of Luke running and playing with her, throwing her a ball o making her run to catch him, rewarding her every time she did it. It was hilarious but also cute as hell, and even if you didn't include it in your vlog, you'd keep the videos forever for your own entertainment. You spent some time sat on the sand too, wrapped in each other's arms while you watched the ocean in front of you, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Your camera caught some silly moments between you, stupid giggles and a couple of kisses that you doubted you were going to include in the final vlog.

You went to have lunch afterwards and also filmed shortly your dishes so you could include them in the vlog, as well as a fan of you both who recognized you in the restaurant and asked for a photo, spending some minutes chatting with her. You took your camera out and started filming.

"Guys, this lovely girl is Anna" you introduced and the girl waved at the lens with flushed cheeks. "She came to say hi and she's the cutest, I swear"

"Can we adopt her?" Luke said in the background and made you both laugh. You turned the camera to him and his smiley face. "I'm serious, Y/N. Let's adopt Anna. Even Petunia loves her already!" He pointed to your dog and you mimicked his gesture with the camera to see Petunia cuddling at her feet and playing with her shoes. Another laughter invaded you all and you turned the camera off.

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

"We decided that we're going to answer some questions" you explained with your eyes fixed on the road. The camera was on the dashboard so it filmed both of you while you were driving back home and Luke was on the seat by your side. "I asked you an hour ago to leave some questions on my instagram, so Luke is gonna read them and we'll try to answer them."

"Okay, first question:" Luke started reading, "Are you addicted to your phones?"

"Luke is, definitely" you answered before he could say anything else. "I mean, I check my social media a few times during the day and I really like twitter at night, but Luke's all day with the freaking phone in his hand."

"That's not true" he complaint.

"It is. Next question." You ordered with a giggle.

"In a scale from 1 to 10, how the other's fashion sense?" He read and started thinking. "Well, it depends on whether she wears those shoes I hate so much," he said and you slapped his arm slightly while he laughed. "I would say... She's an 8 because of those shoes... and a 10 when she's not wearing anything at all."

"Lucas! Children friendly!" You reprimanded with a laughter. "I'd say Luke's a... 9. I'm really into this long hair, open shirts and hands full of rings thing lately."

"Okay, next. What's your favourite thing to do together? Oh that's easy, sex-"

"Luke, please!" You laughed by his side. "That's why I can't do tags with him even though you ask for them" you exclaimed exasperated to the camera. "And answering the question, I would say... going out like today and lots of cuddling." You replied, watching your boyfriend nod in response. "God, we're so cheesy." You added.

"YN, what's your favourite 5SOS song?"

"Hmmm, tough question," you though out loud while the car stopped at a red light. "I have several favourites and they change over time. I would say one from each album, but right now... Maybe Babylon." you answered.

"Just the one in which I don't sing" Luke noted and you started the car again when the light turned green with a giggle. "Ok, this girl here asks about our favourite films..."

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

You were sat on the bed the next morning, the sunlight entering through the window as you edited your vlog from the day before. While Luke was running some errands with Calum, Petunia had decided to give you some company, lying next to you in the ruffled sheets. You didn't have to edit a lot, only a few cuts to make it shorter. You only had one more bit to add and you clicked on it to check it. At first you didn't recognise the place in which it was filmed, but a second later, you realised it was your own living room. Luke appeared on the screen and a curious expression crossed your face. You didn't remember him taking the camera at any time during the day.

"Hi" he started talking as he let himself fall onto your couch. "Y/N is already sleeping and I just saw the camera on the table and I thought that I could close the vlog today. Y/N is gonna freak out when she sees this on the editing. Hello," he waved and smiled at the camera. "I just wanted to say that I spent the most amazing day today and that I love sharing some of our lives with you." He continued, and your heart clenched a little. He never complaint about being even more public with your videos than he already was as an artist, he always supported you and your channel, encouraging to upload whatever you wanted. He could have asked you not to show him on camera, but he didn't and you never had thanked him enough for that. "I'm gonna stop talking so I don't wake up anyone. Thanks for all your lovely comments, subscribe if you're new here, follow Y/N on social media and all that stuff. Love you all. Byeeeee" he finished, and covered the lens, just as you used to do.

The smile on your face was so big when you finished watching his unexpected appearance and you were about to close the video player when the lens uncovered and he reappeared. "Hi again, love. This part is only for you." You opened your eyes in surprise, letting a small gasp escape form your mouth. Even Petunia looked at you intrigued. "Just wanted to tell you that I love you to the moon and back and that you make me a better person and my life ten times easier. Thanks for being there even when I'm not literally with you. I guess you can keep this in case you miss me and I'm not able to get your calls because of time difference sucking so... yeah." You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes at this spontaneous gesture, you couldn't believe that something so simple could make you this emotional. You could see his smile and the love in his eyes even when you saw him yawning of tiredness. "I cannot wait to turn this thing off and going to sleep by your side. You're the cutest when you sleep, by the way." You giggled again and wiped the quick tear that had fallen down your cheek. Your chest was going to explode of pure happiness and love. "Thanks for everything. I love you."

"I love you too, Luke" you whispered to the screen, still in awe. Then, you cut that bit of the video and kept it in your hard disc, and finished editing your vlog with the warmest feeling in your heart and the widest smile on your face.

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sherlockxreader · 7 years

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A Time Of Change - Chapter Two - New Home

Title: A Time Of Change Chapter Two: New Home Summary: Ava Bradford. Behavioral Analyst of the Miami Police Department. Or former Analyst after the events of the past force her to journey to England and take up a job away from the family she had created. Here, she struggles to keep to herself and her life quickly takes over as she readies for her future on Baker Street. Author: Alexa @alex-awesome1023 Words: 3,352 Characters/Relationships: OC x Sherlock Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Past Physical Abuse, Nightmares Author’s Notes: So I’m a very visual person when it comes to story telling, my fics will have gifs and pictures to best represent and hopefully help you guys see what i’m trying to get across. The chapters might be a tad too long but hopefully they go back to normal length but there will be some longer than others. I don't have a designated schedule for updates yet but I'm thinking every Friday or Sunday. If you have any question or comments please feel free to share. None of the pictures are mine, the credit goes to the wonderful people of google and Tumblr P.S. I’m going to post my work on @sherlockxreader from now on. -Alexa

Original Character Ava Bradford is inspired by Zoey Deutch. Enjoy!❤

After about five minutes filled with non-stop talk of the cab driver's life story about his kids in Kingston, and how he never sees them because of the wife, you try to pass the time by deducing him a little. You look at him from behind, noticing the traces of shaving cream behind his left ear. He lives alone so there’s no one to point it out to him. You look to the front of the cab and notice the photograph attached to the dashboard. Family photo of children, a young boy and girl, the boy’s face looks like him. It’s obvious there was a third person to the left of the photograph but it had been cut along that side to remove most of the woman’s image. Divorced, a nasty one telling by the frame; it’s new but the photo is old. He thinks of his children but doesn't get to see them. A father cast away. She took the kids, but he still loves them. How dull. His clothes are also old but they’ve recently been laundered. Everything he's wearing is at least, what ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. Why? You make eye contact with the man and quickly smile. He returns with a thin grin but his eyes were void of anything, completely dead. As if you’re mouth had a mind of it own, it speaks your voice, prodding upon the cabby’s now exposed nerves.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen your kids?” You asked, focusing totally on him and his body language.

“Oh um…. It’s been about three or four years.” He said, his head turned slightly to the left so he could hear. Noting the twitch in his shoulder at your question as well as the clearing of his throat, you could immediately tell that this was a difficult topic for the man. It’s still hurts. Interesting. But there’s more, what is it? He’s a father that has been cast away 4 years ago. He still loves his family but doesn’t get to see them. His clothes are old yet preserved to keep up with appearances. What is i... Oh. Oh that… that is interesting. Very interesting. You couldn’t help but flash a small grin but hiding it before he could see.

“Is that around the same time they told you that you were sick?” It was more of a statement then a question. You locked eyes with him and you see his eyes change.Your phone sounding an alert that you have an email breaks the stares you both share. Quickly letting your train of thought go back to its normal pace, you turn your attention to your phone. You saw that your new boss, the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, had emailed you the files of the case they were currently dealing with. He was in need of your expertise.

Looking through the email, you saw that there were in fact three different files and you also noticed that the deaths of those people all appeared as suicides. You wondered why Scotland Yard would investigate suicides of all things but due to the media causing panic for the people, that was probably the reason. People had a funny little way of making havoc out of a grain of sand. Taking out your little black book for notes, you read through the files that were displayed on your phone screen, writing the important details into the book.

The first victim was Sir Jeffrey Patterson, a common business man, who was found at a high-story office building on an empty floor on October 12th in the evening. The cause of death was asphyxiation. You watched the press conference that was held the morning after where the wife explained how he was a happy guy who wouldn’t do this and about how this came suddenly - blah blah blah - however, you did notice the women standing on the far left of the screen, trying to hide tears. You smiled at the image. “The mistress. He was cheating.” This information wasn’t helpful at all though, judging from the behavior of the wife and the mistress, they didn't murder him.

The second victim was only 18 years old. His name was James Phillimore and he was last seen by the friend he was walking with the night of his death. He was found in a sports centre on November 29th. The cause of death, asphyxiation.

The third victim was Beth Davenport, last seen at a public venue and found on a building site in Greater London on January 28th. Death also by asphyxiation. According to the police, there is no connection between the deaths, however, there were sources that said otherwise, and you would have to agree.They all completely disappeared and reappeared, dead, hours later, all dying in what seemed to be in the same manner. But how did they all end up where they did and what was killing them?

You read through the case files once more, taking mental and written notes throughout the articles. You couldn’t think of anything practical that would help the case, well you did but you could do nothing about it while sitting in a cab. Trying not to get frustrated a yourself you locked your phone and took in the sights passing by while you could.

While looking at the streets of London, you thought of Will and how you and him would stay up late and talk about the future, where you’d end up together. You look down to the ring on you right ring finger, twisting it around out of habit. God how you wished he was here with you, congratulating you on going to London and getting the job you always wanted. He was always there for you when you needed him. Feeling a smile creep on your face you sighed, wishing you could go back to those days when everything was carefree and peaceful. When he was still here.

The feeling of the taxi stopping is what pulled you back to the present. Getting out of the cab, you looked at the building, seeing your new home… 220B. You helped the cabbie get your luggage out the back. “Thank you so much for your time and I hope you get to see your children soon. You should try talking to them and your ex wife and tell them the situation you’re in. Try to spend some time with your family, so you can cherish and treasure the moments while you can.” You said, smiling and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“T-Thank you miss, I’ll think about what ya said.” He muttered out, looking at you like you had three heads and told him to suck an egg.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, wondering if you got the fare wrong or said something you shouldn’t have said.

With a half grin, chuckling to himself, he replied. “Oh no miss. Nothin at all. I’ll make sure use my time wisely. You ‘ave a nice afternoon.”

You waved good-bye to the driver and bid him a good day, a genuine smile upon your face as he drove off. Looking up at the building of your new home, you adjust the strap on your shoulder and knocked on the door. Not long after, a woman in her late seventies answered the door.

Taking a quick glance you saw that she wore a lacy, high collared, black blouse, paired with a sweater and a purple shawl thrown over her shoulders. She was dripping with elegance. No wedding band. Does have engagement ring that's at least 50 years old though. The design and wear of the ring itself probably means that she was engaged but never married. Maybe she eloped when she was younger? She reminds me of Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter. Bringing yourself out of your deductions, you greeted her with a smile and introduce yourself.

“Hi, I’m Ava who called about the flat. I’m so sorry I didn't call before arriving, it just slipped my mind as I was reading my case files for work.” You took your bottom lip in between your chattering teeth in anticipation, hoping that you hadn’t made a bad first impression.

With a kind and warming smile she ushered you in out of the cold. “Oh that’s quite alright dear, please do come in. I'll make you a nice hot cuppa.”

Dragging your half frozen arse and heavy luggage into the foyer, you took a moment to look at the old, dingy wallpaper and the Victorian style of the whole ground floor, relishing in the dark hardwood floors and staircase leading up to the upstairs flat. Mrs.Turner closed the door and then lead you up the stairs to your new awaiting living quarters. Letting her lead the way, you both walked up the tiny staircase and you couldn't help but bathe in the Victorian setting of the stairway. It was old but also charming and homely. It was the change of scenery you needed. You watched as Mrs. Turner got out a key from the pocket of her sweater and unlocked the old, red, wooden door, the paint peeling in the corners. What a bold color of a door. You huffed out a laugh to yourself and followed her in.

You stepped into the room after her and looked around the flat. It was nothing special, having two windows that looked out into the streets of London. You noticed a sandwich shop across the street, next to a jet black door with a crooked knocker. How convenient but who puts their knocker on crooked? You looked over at the door next to the shop, squinting your eyes to try to make out the numbers above the infernal knocker. You could just barely make out the numbers.

“2...2...1B. So that’s where my aunt lives.” You say loud enough for Mrs.Turner to hear from the kitchen.

“Oh yes, and the very handsome and clever Sherlock Holmes.” You could practically hear the smile on her face as the words left her lips.

“Oh?” You quirked the corner of your mouth, looking over your shoulder at the older woman.

“You should see him dear! Very serious and so kind I’ve heard, at least from Martha.” You smiled at the thought of the two old friends gossiping about the man in the flat as you paced around your new apartment.

“It seems this Sherlock fellow is quite popular around here.” You said crossing your arms and leaning against the opening of the kitchen, watching Mrs. Turner finish preparing the cups of tea and a few cooki- biscuits. Biscuits. If I’m going to be invisible here I have to start using their language.

“I’m not surprised that you’ve heard of him so fast but yes, you could call him popular with the people he’s helped.” She said with a content smile.

“Helped?” Your eyebrow rose in question. “What do you mean helped?”

“He has helped many people around here. He is especially good with legal problems, he once helped your aunt with her husband’s murder charge in Florida two years ago.” She was turned towards you gesturing you to sit at the two person dining table. Florida two years ago? I wonder what part?

“He helped Mrs. Hudson’s husband out of a murder charge?”

“Oh no dear, he ensured it.” Your eyebrows rose into your hairline and your mouth gaped like that of a fish.

“So… so what, is he like a lawyer or a cop of something?” You asked before sitting at the table, sighing at being able to take the weight off your travel tired feet. Mrs. Turner had set the biscuits on a dainty little plate in reach of your hands and the lemon scented shortbread filled you with contentment as you took a bite from one of the sugary snacks. As you chewed, you couldn’t help but to ponder about the ever increasing mystery around Sherlock.

“Oh goodness no, he’s more of a Private Detective. He helps others with problems that need to be taken care of discreetly.” Mrs.Turner took the seat in front of you and sipped at the hot cuppa. So this Sherlock Holmes solves crimes and helps the locals with legal problems that need to taken care of discreetly... So a specialist. Interesting. “But he can be quite rude when he’s dealing with clients or people in general.” She added stopping your train of thought. Your brows furrowed at the comment.

“Well to put it simply, he’s a complete ass.” She said bluntly, looking over her cup before taking another sip. You couldn’t help go wide eyed at the women and nearly fall of your chair because of the sudden burst of laughter that came from your lungs. After all, you’ve never heard an older lady use such language, it took you by surprise. She giggled along beside you and when you had both calmed, she looked past you whimsically, a petite smile gracing her features. “But I will tell you dear, he’s a bit of a lady killer. With those cheekbones of his and his eyes… oh they’re going to be the death of me.” Your lips curled slowly, the gleam in your eyes akin to that of the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Is that a crush I hear in that voice of yours? Are you fond of this man, Mrs.Turner?” You asked with a sly grin. She seemed to come back from whatever daydream she was having, a rouge blush tainting her cheeks as she settled the teacup back onto the table. Your smirk only grew at this revelation and you just couldn’t believe it.

“Oh don’t give me that look, you will see what I’m talking about when you meet him.” She retorted with a light shake of her head.

“Well, I guess I’m gonna have to be the judge of that.” You said before sipping the now lukewarm beverage, feeling the cold outside wash away with the tea.

Relishing in the warmth of the moment, you relax further into the chair. You talked to Mrs.Turner for a good while about different things, like the rules of the flat and the rent, which weren’t a lot and manageable; don’t be loud, have your rent on time, don’t slam doors, and don’t block the walkway or foyer. Mrs.Turner, after a while, saw herself out to go take care of the paperwork on the flat. You took your suitcase up to your room and began to unpack, starting with making your bed.

However, the second you put the fitted sheet on the mattress, your phone went off, startling you and causing the sheet to flick up from the corners and tangle in the middle of the bed. You were scowling when you picked up the device, your face dropping as you looked at your phone to see ‘Unknown’ at the top of the screen, your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't push away the thought that came as a whisper in your mind. What if it’s him? You try to make your voice as steady as possible as you answer the call. “Hello?”

A husky, British voice came on the phone after a few seconds silence. “Is this Ava Bradford?”

“Yes… this is she.” You replied hesitantly, your grip on the phone turning your knuckles white as the tension grew.

“This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. I’m calling about the case files I sent you earlier today.” The voice said and you physically relaxed at his words, the tension rolling off of your shoulders and falling to the floor as you sat on the unmade bed, letting a breath out of your lungs that you didn't know you had.

“Oh yes, sorry. Hi, um, yeah I got the files and have been over them. I was also told that I needed to come in soon. I can be there in a few hours after I unpack a bit if that’s okay.” You bit your nails out of habit and stared out of the window from the rickety bed. I need curtains.

“Yes well I was wondering if you could possibly come in sooner than that? It might be better if you got to meet the team before hand and see what evidence we have on the case so far, it might help you get a reading on it.” Greg said in an exasperated tone, like he just sat down after a run.

“Oh um… yes that shouldn't be a problem I just need to clean up and change. Send me the address and I should be there in no time.” You said trying to sound as content as possible when in reality you had begun to feel stretched thin.

“Alright I’ll text you the address and when you get here, come to my office and I will get you set up.” He said with a kind of excitement in his voice.

“Ok, thank you so much and I will see you soon. Goodbye.” You said, hanging up the phone without hearing a reply. Falling back and laying flat on the mattress, the still rumpled sheet under your head, you stared at the ceiling trying to calm your nerves. Calm down, you're not going to make it if you keep letting your fears and weaknesses show. It gets you nowhere and you’re not going to last. You can't break yet, not now.

Getting up from the bed and having a quick shower, you put on what you thought would be appropriate work attire. Your white “Boyfriend” fit T-shirt, a dark grey loose necked hoodie, and your pink winter coat, and your legs clad in a pair of basic, ripped, black jeans and you favorite converse you’ve had ever since you were a freshman in high school. A pair of black converse with little drawing you did in class AP Chemistry when you were bored. You remember when you got the generic sneaker like it was yesterday, your own quirks making them unique to only you. You had become apart of the family and the siblings wanted to give you something together, they settled on these converse because you had always wanted a pair. You remember the youngest, Nina, giving you the polka dot laces because she wanted them the be “pretty”.

As you laced up your peculiar shoes your phone alerted, notifying you of a message. Seeing that Greg had sent you the address of Scotland Yard with another message underneath.

It’s Greg. This is the address and when you get here just tell them your name and the receptionist should let you up.

You texted him back saying; Okay leaving now.

You grabbed your keys out of the little white bowl on the chipped, baby blue side table next to the door and left your new home, locking the door behind you. Mrs.Turner must have heard your footsteps coming down the stairs because she was coming out of her flat as you got to the bottom.

“Are you heading out so soon dear?” She asked as she saw you fixing your jacket to get ready for the bone chilling weather that awaited for you almost tauntingly

“Yes ma’am. The boss wants me there a little early so I will see too the paperwork later on. I don't know when I’ll be back so don't wait up.” You said over your shoulder getting ready to open the door but you paused and quickly stepped over to Mrs.Turner and engulfed her in a quick hug. “Thank you.” You whispered softly.

She was taken back by the sudden embrace but returned the gesture lovingly. “Anything you need love. Be safe and don’t be too late.” She said with a motherly smile.

“I will. Bye.” You said as you open the door and leave, immediately feeling the London air freeze your nose, making you hug your jacket closer to your body. Closing the door behind you and walking to the curb, you waved down a taxi.

“New Scotland Yard please.”

#A Time Of Change #sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock x reader masterlist #fanfic

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mbginthemaking · 4 years

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EXHIBITION ITEM: Moving to the Mountains

My car is stuffed full, with only a sliver of my back window visible as I pull out of the parking lot. I put a playlist on and settle in for the seven hour drive to North Carolina.

So far, the move has been strictly business— how many boxes do I need? What’s coming with me, and what’s being left behind and given away? Tennis shoes up and down stairs, then up and down again. Slowly emptying drawers, cabinets, and entire rooms. Lots of lifting, carrying, setting down, rearranging. A jigsaw puzzle of all my belongings. Logistical problems to be solved.

I’m surprised I haven’t gotten emotional yet. I’m leaving the town I’ve lived in for six years, and I’m leaving the state I’ve lived in my whole life. I don’t feel hardly any sadness seep in, and I think it’s because my brain is moving a mile a minute. I’m just trying to get from point A to point B.

And apparently, I have a guest on my journey. I’m over halfway through the drive when I see movement in my lap in my peripheral vision. I glance down and a roach is scurrying across my leg. I quickly brush it off and it crawls under the seat. Shaken up, I pull over on the side of the road and try to find it to get it out of my car. I spot it toward the middle of my car, underneath a pile of my belongings. I try to coax it out of the car, but it dashes back toward the trunk. I sigh and decide to leave my unwelcome hitchhiker be.

I get back on the road and wonder if the roach was a bad omen for the rest of my move. I don’t dwell on that thought too long. Again— it’s strictly business. A roach is in my car, and I’ll find a way to get it out.

The landscape has changed as I’ve driven farther north. Outside of Athens I was greeted with flat, lush fields and farm land. This terrain is comforting and familiar to me. Eventually I start to notice the land is less flat— there are some hills here and there. And then at some point, I get a peek of hazy blue mountains in the distance. The hazy blue transitions into deeper blues and greens as I drive on. The mountains become more than a tiny spot in the distance; they eventually engulf me. They loom over me, at once intimidating and beautiful.

It’s at this point in the drive that my emotions finally catch up to me. I’m somewhere new. I don’t feel like I belong yet. I wind up and down the mountains and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster that I didn’t quite ask to be on.

I’m about 20 minutes from my destination, my new home. My unsuspecting roach travel buddy reappears, this time crawling its way across my dashboard. I don’t have the energy to deal with it at this point, so I keep my eyes on the road. It makes its way into the passenger seat, asserting its place despite my uneasiness. I decide to try to finally get it out of my car. I roll down the passenger side window, and in one smooth motion, use a folded piece of paper to scoop up the roach and toss it out the window. I feel instantly relieved, and the sky mirrors my emotions. I look up ahead and see a rainbow inviting me into my new home.

Maybe the roach was a bad omen (the rest of my moving in process wasn’t exactly smooth), but several days later, I feel settled. I woke up this morning, looked out the window, and saw mountains in the distance. They seemed to be saying they’d wrap me up and keep me safe.

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ibangtandiaries-blog · 5 years

Text

Too Late (Min Yoongi x Reader)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Based around the plot for the “Save Me” Webtoon

Yoongi had been acting a bit off all day, he seemed distant, more so than usual. He’s been pushing you away no matter how hard you try to help, stumbling in at early hours of the morning drunk off his ass almost every night.

It was the new normal for you and him, you still loved him though, and a little rift in the relationship was going to stop that.

He’d always had that lighter that he flicked on and off, sometimes at night, when all you could hear was the consistent click of the lighter going on and off, you’d roll over to face Yoongi, gently taking the lighter from his hand.

After putting the lighter on your bedside table, you would roll back over to him and wrap an arm around his waist while you rest your head on his chest. He wouldn’t protest, knowing it would just make the both of you more upset.

He would fall asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, but every morning without fail, you’d wake up in the bed alone and the lighter would be gone from beside you.

He’d always had a hard time since his mom had died in that fire, it’s been years, but after that and then moving in with his father, the only solace he had was his high school friends. Namjoon. Seokjin. Jungkook. Hoseok. Jimin. Taehyung.

But that all ended two years ago when Jin moved to America for school, and everything sort of just fell apart.

More so recently. Taehyung had just been arrested, he murdered his father, not that the good for nothing bastard didn’t deserve it. Jungkook was gone too, jumped off a construction site, the impact killed him instantly.

Namjoon was in jail for beating up some snob at his job at the gas station. Hoseok was in the hospital, apparently he fell and hit his head, and that’s where Jimin’s been for the last two years as well.

That whole group fell apart and it absolutely broke your heart, they were so close at school, you were all friends, it seemed you and Yoongi had been the only ones not to split up, maybe only due to the fact you were dating.

The only reason you knew all the fates of your close friends was because of Jin, who had practically kidnapped you from yours and Yoongi’s shared apartment. He was panicked, asking where Yoongi was, and you explained he was probably out drinking again.

He didn’t explain much as he pulled you too his truck and you were shocked when you saw Namjoon and Jungkook sitting in the back.

“H-Hey,” you told them, both boys giving you a sweet smile, you’d missed them, and you only really just realized that when finally seeing them again.

Jin jumped in the front seat, “We have to hurry,” he mumbled to himself as he put the truck in reverse, peeling out of the parking spot and dashing down the street.

You noticed a few sticky notes taped to the dashboard, they said things like “Namjoon Gas Station” and “Jungkook Construction Site”. The one that really caught your eye though was the one that read “Yoongi Motel”.

“Yoongi’s at a motel?,” you asked, turning to look at Jin, who still looked as panicked as when you’d first opened the front door of your apartment to find him standing there.

“Hopefully,” was all he told you.

“Jin, where is Yoongi!? What’s happening?,” you asked, a nervous feeling building in your stomach. You always worried about Yoongi when he was out, but now with the mysterious reappearance of Jin, Namjoon and Jungkook, you were even more worried.

“It’s fine, he’s fine,” Jin told you, trying to calm you down, but the fact that he seemed so worried didn’t help.

“He hasn’t told us anything either,” Namjoon told you from the back seat.

You turned to look at him and both boys in the back just shrugged. The anxiety you were feeling continued to grow inside you as each minute passed.

When the truck finally screeched to a stop, you were outside of a motel, it would have be been pretty normal besides the fact that smoke and fire were billowing out of one of the rooms.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jin shouted, quickly getting out of the truck.

“Jin!” you called, getting out of the truck and following him into the building.

Namjoon and Jungkook had also gotten out, but stayed outside, staring up at the burning building.

You however continued to follow Jin as he ran to the stairwell and headed up, taking the stairs two at a time. It was hard to keep up with his tall frame but you managed.

“Jin! What’s going on?! Is this the motel Yoongi is at?!”, you yelled.

The older boy didn’t answer, so you continued to follow him until he pushed his way through the door that led to the fifth floor, the floor that was on fire.

People were beginning to evacuate, and many shouted at you two to follow them downstairs, but of course, you didn’t, Jin kept running and you followed.

Finally, you got to the door he was searching for, thick black smoke was billowing out from underneath it.

“Yoongi! Open up I know you’re in there! Come on!” Jin shouted, pounding on the door and yelping in pain when he grabbed the hot door knob.

“Yoongi is in there?!” you shouted, coughing on the smoke filling the hallway.

Your anxiety was at it’s peak and you quickly hurried over to the door, helping Jin push on the door until it finally gave in and you both stumbled into the room.

It was so hot, and you could barely keep your eyes open from all the smoke, but you could make out the figure lying motionless on the bed.

“Y-Yoongi,” you sputtered, pointing at the bed.

Jin hurried over, grabbing the boy and using all his strength to pull Yoongi onto his back. “Come on!” he called to you and you followed Jin out of the burning room.

Both of you quickly headed back downstairs, sirens could be heard as you got closer to the bottom floor.

When you came out of the lobby door, firefighters and policemen were waiting outside, firefighters rushed in after you came out and Jin had laid Yoongi down on the sidewalk.

You ignored the burning in your throat and crouched down beside Yoongi, shaking him slightly, “Yoongi, please wake up” you said desperately, “please baby.”

Some paramedics rushed over to you guys as well as Namjoon and Jungkook, who had pushed through the police barrier. “Ma’am, please move aside, we can help,” one the paramedics instructed.

Jungkook was already on it, gently pulling you away from Yoongi as a breathing mask was placed over his mouth and the paramedics picked him up, placing him on a gurney.

“We can meet them at the hospital,” Jin said, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the truck.

You were speechless, watching as Yoongi was loaded into the ambulance, he looked horrible, he was covered in burns and ash, and his breathing had been shallow.

“Come on Y/N,” Jungkook told you gently, pulling you towards the truck as Jin had given up on moving you. Jungkook was the sweetest, you couldn’t refuse.

It was ten minutes later before you arrived at the hospital and all four of you ran into the emergency room, you heading straight for the help desk.

“Min Yoongi, I need to where he is!” you all but shouted at the poor woman behind the desk.

The startled woman punched his name into the computer, “He’s in surgery, down the hall but…”

You didn’t let her finish as the four of you raced down the hall where the woman had pointed, stopping at a large window where you could see doctors and nurses scrambling around Yoongi.

His shirt had been cut off and you watched as everyone in the room started to panic when the heart monitor began to flat line. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but watched as one of the doctors grabbed a defibrillator, charging it up and pressing it to his chest.

His body jerked, chest arching off the table. You put your hands to your mouth, trying to quiet the sobs that were now echoing in the hall. You were silently screaming at Yoongi to pull through, to wake up and open his eyes.

You wanted him back, you wanted to watch him write song lyrics on the couch or strum his guitar while you laid your head in his lap, you even wanted to hear the flick of that damn lighter as he lay beside you at night.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

The doctors and nurses stopped trying to revive him after a few more tries, shaking their heads as they called the time of death. Machines were silently switched off and you collapsed to the floor sobbing, the boys around you had their heads bowed, you could see tears on Jungkook’s face.

You wanted nothing more than to be able to turn back time, stop Yoongi from going out that night, but you couldn’t, it was too late.

너무 늦었어 늦었어 너 없이 살 순 없어

A/N: Hello loves, this is my first ever BTS fic, so hopefully it isn’t too bad. Um feel free to request something, I write for any of the members because, I mean, who wouldn’t? They’re all beautiful and amazing. Lol, anyone, hope you like this and thank you for reading! ~ S

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authormitchel-blog · 7 years

Text

COS: Part 4

The end of summer vacation came to quickly for Harry’s liking. He was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, but his time spent at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of what life was like back on Pivet Drive.

Mrs. Weasley made them a wonderful last dinner, though Percy in his continuing odd behavior scampered off to bed early. They were each given some hot chocolate and sent off to bed.

The next morning Harry realized what it was like living with a big family. While Millicent had been ready and dressed, prepared to leave, it seemed one thing after another was stopping their departure. First, Fred had forgot his Fillibuster fireworks, then Ginny didn’t have her diary, then Ron had to go to the bathroom. By the time everyone had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high. Not even Millicent was eager to poke at the Lions.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch then at his wife.

“Molly, dear…”

“No, Arthur…”

“No one would see…this little button here is an Invisibility Booster. I installed it myself. Once were up in the air, no one can see us. We’d be there in ten minutes, and no one would be any wiser…”

“I said no Arthur, not in broad daylight.”

Not in pitch black either, Harry thought. Mrs. Weasley was still upset about the fight between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy.

They reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get some trolleys for their trunks then they were truly underway. “Percy first,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervously at the clock.

Percy strode forward then vanished through the barrier. Mr. Weasley went next then Millie hopping in front of Fred and George with Ginny at her side.

“If my sister gets sorted into Slytherin my parents are going to burst,” said Ron then quickly looking at Harry. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Harry. “It’s not what goes on at Hogwarts that makes Slytherin evil, but what happens at home.” Even as he said it he wondered what that made him. Then, Mrs. Weasley gave him a quick smile before stepping toward the barrier and he felt okay again.

“Let’s go together,” Ron said to Harry. “We’ve only got a minute.”

Harry made sure that Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier.

The two boys ran confidently toward the barrier then CRASH! They were both knocked to the ground, trolleys and things strewn everywhere. Hedwig shrieked as a guard nearby yelled, “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

“Lost control of the trolley,” Harry said quickly. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig who was causing quite the scene.

“Why can’t we get through?” Harry hissed to Ron.

“I dunno….”

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

“We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whispered. “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself.”

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling.

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

Three seconds….two seconds….one….

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?”

Harry gave a hollow laugh.

“The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.”

Ron pressed his ear to the barrier.

“Can’t hear a thing,” he said tensely. “What are we going to do? I don’t know how long it’ll take for Mum and Dad to get back to us. And we’re attracting a little too much attention.”

“We’d better wait at the car,” said Harry.

“Harry,” said Ron eyes gleaming. “The car!”

“What about it?”

“We can fly to Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head.

“We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we? And I’d call this an emergency wouldn’t you, and if Bulstrode can drive it then I certainly….”

“But your Mum and Dad,” said Harry, pushing against the barrier fruitlessly. “How will they get home?”

“They’ll apparate,” said Ron like it was the easiest answer in the world. “The only bother with the Floo because we all aren’t old enough to apparate, but they’ll be fine…”

Harry’s feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement. Is this what being a Gryffindor felt like, he wondered?

“Can you fly it?”

“No problem,” said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. “Come on, if we hurry we might be able to catch sight of the train.

No problem, Harry thought as they made sure no one was watching and Ron hit the button.

No problem, Harry thought as the car around them vanished. No problem, Harry thought as he felt the car rise.

“Let’s go,” said Ron’s voice from his right.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose. In seconds the whole of London was beneath them.

No problem, thought Harry until there was a popping noise and the car reappeared in the sky.

“Uh- oh,” said Ron, and Harry knew for sure that there most definitely was a problem. Ron jabbed his hand at the Invisibility Booster. “It’s fault….”

Both of them pummeled it, and the car vanished once again. Then it flickered back.

“Hold on!” Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they shot straight into the clouds.

“Now what?” said Harry.

“We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,” said Ron. “There,” he said a moment later. “I can see it, right there, ahead of us.”

Harry looked out the window and easily spotted the train.

“Due North,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “We’ll just pop down every half hour or so to make sure that we’re still with it.”

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel, in a car full of hot bright sun, candy shoved in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred and George’s jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the lawn. Malfoy wouldn’t be able to pick his jaw up for a month.

“Can’t be much further still, can it?” croaked Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to turn pink on the horizon. “Ready for another check on the train?”

The engine made a funny noise.

“Not far,” said Ron. “Not far now,” though Harry didn’t miss the nervous tone in his voice. And they both pretended not to notice the whining from the engine growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.

“There!” Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig squeak. “Straight ahead.”

Silhouetted on the horizon was Hogwarts castle, home.

But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

“Come on,” Ron said cajoling, giving the steering wheel a little shake, “nearly there, come on.”

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. Harry found himself griping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew over the lake.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below.

“Come on,” Ron muttered.

They were over the lake, the castle was right ahead, and Ron put his foot down.

There was a loud clunk, a sputter, then the engine died. Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at the dashboard, but they were still plummeting.

“WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but it was too late.

CRUNCH

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing up around them, Hedwig was screeching in terror, and a golf ball sized lump was throbbing on top of Harry’s head where it had hit the wind shield. To his right, Ron let out a groan.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked urgently.

“My wand,” said Ron, in a shaky voice. “Look at my wand.”

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they could fix it, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit the car with the force of a charging bull sending him flying into Ron. They were stuck in the Womping Willow.

“Run for it,” Ron shouted, throwing his entire body weight into the door, but the next second he had been slammed back his assault stopped.

“We’re done for!” he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating and the engine started back up.

“Reverse,” Harry yelled and the car shot backward. The tree was still after them, it’s branches reaching out and lashing at them even as they sped out of reach.

“Well done, car,” said Ron. The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry, Ron, and all their things were tossed from the car. Hedwig’s cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle.

“Come back,” Ron yelled at the retreating car. “Dad will kill me!”

Ron was breathing deeply as he bent down and picked up Scabbers.

They were lucky. The ancient tree, which was still flailing its braches threatingly seemed to be watching them.

“Come on,” Harry said wearily. “we’d better get up to the school…”

It wasn’t the triumphant arrival he had pictured. Still, cold and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began the long walk up to the great oak doors.

“I think the feast has already started,” said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. “Harry, look, it’s the Sorting.”

Harry hurried over, and he and Ron peered into the Great Hall. They watched for several moments before Harry noticed something.

“Hang on,” he muttered to Ron. “There’s an empty chair at the head table, where’s Snape?”

If Harry hadn’t spent all last year in such close proximity to him, Harry might not have even heard the sweeping of robes that now meant someone was behind them.

Harry and Ron hadn’t even turned around before Snape had given them their marching orders. “Follow me.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

Not even daring to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed behind Snape, the smell from the Great Hall taunting them as they made their way toward the dungeons.

“In,” Snape barked as they approached Snape’s office. He had avoided this room last year, and was glad now that he did. The fireplace was dark and empty and large glass jars dotted the shelves. Snape closed the door and looked at them.

Snape looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“An explanation, Potter?” He turned to Harry only, like Ron wasn’t even in the room.

“It was the barrier at King’s Cross, it wouldn’t let us through.”

Snape silenced him with a look.

“I meant explain in a succinct way how on Earth you thought that it would be a good idea to fly a magical car to Hogwarts and then crash in to the Forbidden Forest!” Snape yelled at them.

Ron gulped. This wasn’t the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he splayed a copy of the Evening Prophet onto the desk in front of them.

“You were seen,” he hissed, showing them the headline that read, “ FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES”. He shoved the paper toward Harry.

“Read it,” he ordered, like they were in class instead of potentially getting kicked out of school.

Harry picked up the paper.

“Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower at noon in Norfolk…” Harry skipped forward. “Six or seven muggles in all….”

Snape cut in. “Doesn’t your father work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?”

Harry felt as though he’d just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree’s larger branches. He hadn’t thought of Mr. Weasley, and what trouble he could possibly get into.

Snape looked like he was about to combust.

“You will wait here until I can fetch Professor McGonagall to deal with you Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter I shall deal with you.”

Ten minutes later, Snape returned with Professor McGongall, and with instructions to explain, Harry and Ron set to telling her what had happened.

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” she said coldly to Harry.

Well, now that someone had suggested it, Harry felt supremely stupid.

“I… I didn’t think,”

“That,” said Professor Snape, “is obvious.”

There was a knock at the door then Professor Dumbledore entered the room, and Harry’s whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. Harry wondered if taking on the Womping Willow again instead of the three of them were an option or not.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, “Please explain why you did this.”

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry was used to shouting. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had pretty well taken care of that. It would have made sense to Harry. He had done something wrong so he should be yelled at, denied certain meals, locked away. Those were the things that made sense to Harry, but he told Dumbledore everything, knowing what happened when he tried to lie. Still, he left out the part about who the car belonged to. He could tell Dumbledore wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t say anything. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

Harry looked at his head of house, but the man was steadfastly looking at the headmaster.

“We’ll go and get our stuff,” said Harry in a hopeless sort of voice.

“What are you talking about Mr. Potter?” barked Professor Snape.

Harry straightened. He wouldn’t cry here, Millicent, at least, would never forgive him.

“We’re being expelled, sir, it stands to reason that we should be getting our belongings.”

Ron nodded his head, apparently the same thought having gone through his head as well.

Ron looked at Dumbledore, Harry looked at Snape.

“Not today, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both of your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.”

Just when Harry thought that the punishment was over, Snape stepped forward. “And you Mr. Potter will be facing more consequences than that, I’m afraid. For now, Quidditch has been canceled.”

“Sir,”

“Mr. Potter, you have flouted the Decree for the Restricition of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree, and if it were up to me you would most certainly be expelled.”

“But, Professor,” Ron said moving to take up for him.

“Oh no, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter is in Professor Snape’s house and is therefore his responsibility. You, however, are mine and will be facing some more punishments of my own making.”

Harry felt a little relived. He had lost Quidditch, but at least he didn’t have to deal with whatever creative punishment Professor McGonagall was going to cook up for Ron.

It was better than expulsion. As for Dumbledore or even Snape’s writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well that the most extreme emotion they would feel would be disappointment that the Womping Willow didn’t finish him off.

“You will eat in your dormitories,” said Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Weasley, your sister has been sorted into Gryffindor and the rest of your family will surely be wondering about your little adventure so I’d advise you to get back to the tower.”

She ushered Ron toward the door. “And Mr. Potter, please return to the dungeon where your meal and a very perturbed Ms. Bulstrode are waiting for you.”

Harry moved to follow Ron and Professor McGonagall out of the room, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I’d mind yourself, if I were you, Potter,” said Snape. He looked him over, before removing his hand from his shoulder. He looked disappointed, whether from Harry and Ron being allowed to stay and kind of relieved that he hadn’t been the one who had to make that decision in the first place.

“Go to bed, Mr. Potter.”

And that was that.

Harry’s reception in the Slytherin common room was a lot different than usual. He was a second year and he knew where he stood on the totem pole, and that meant that while everyone might have known his name, not many of the upper years or people in his year took much notice of him. That changed when he walked into the common room.

The students that were still up and it looked like more than normal, looked at him like he had sprouted another head. Some looked impressed, some looked annoyed, and some looked personally offended, but it was Millicent who shooed them all back. Her broad shoulders nudging the few out of the way who hadn’t seen her glare.

It was a quiet sort of consciousness, sort of awe, but Harry felt more of a quick in his step until Harry saw Marcus Flint. Apparently, news traveled fast, and while McGonagall was a creative punishing genius, Snape was quick and deadly.

“Less than a year, Potter, and you throw it all away because what, you wanted to impress a Weasley?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’m….”

“Potter, apologies mean nothing. You will come to practice and you will come to tryouts and you will assist in finding a new seeker.”

“I thought Snape said that I couldn’t fly.”

“Nonsense,” said Flint immediately. “If you have the quaffles to drive a magical car and pick a fight with the Womping Willow then I’d say not much can keep you off a broom.”

Flint clasped him on the shoulder and then turned and walked away. Did he sound impressed? Whether he did or not the look on Millie’s face let him know that she, at least, most assuredly was not.

She just shook her head, her wand waving menacingly in his direction as she directed him to the boy’s dorm. He opened the door and was immediately pulled into the room.

“Tell us everything,” Blaise yelled.

Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, even a slightly interested looking Draco all rallied around Harry demanding to know what exactly had happened and if the stories that had been going around the Great Hall were true or not.

“Did you really have a run in with the centaurs?” Nott asked.

“Of course, he didn’t,” Draco said immediately, but he didn’t look to sure about that when Harry gave him a look.

Harry moved to his bed, and sat down, his dorm mates all around him as he set to telling them all about the magical car and the tree that tried to eat them.

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