#I tried to draw em from memory. I used to hate how their hands and feet are big but fuck it we ball

[puppyeared]

Brains and brawn

[intrepidacious]

every dream gone

summary: After the events of Winter Soldier, Bucky slowly realizes just how much he lost after his fall.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: bucky being sad; vague mentions of brainwashing and a whole lot of guilt; don't look for a happy ending with this one folks (i'm sorry 🥲)

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started writing this fic back in september and it took me until now to gather the emotional willpower to finish it. blame this song that inspired the whole thing.

masterlist | read on ao3

It took Bucky a while to remember you, after everything, but he did.

The first memory came back while he was on the run. He'd been in Europe for a while by then, sleeping in freight cars, never staying anywhere for longer than a week, trying to keep a low profile while both HYDRA and Steve were still frantically looking for him everywhere. Those early days were the worst.

He spent most of his time on trains and tried to figure out why he hated it so much.

Being in England calmed him a bit. It was nice getting used to hearing people speak English around him again, and not in a tone that commanded obedience.

He didn't have much to go off, just scattered memories that didn't quite seem to fit together. There was always something off about them, something like the taste of metal where it shouldn't be. This time, the fragments led him to a flea market.

There were only a handful of people dotted in between the stands, which was probably for the best. His long sleeves usually attracted some curious glances this late into July.

He didn't exactly have money to spare for knick-knacks or secondhand souvenirs, but his feet carried him straight to one stand in particular, without him even realizing. His fingertips grazed along the spines of old paperbacks that were lined up like soldiers, but Bucky didn't spare them more than a glance.

He stopped at the next table over, a small frown on his face.

"Look at all those colors, Buck!"

Pastels and acrylics, steel nib fountain pens and piles of hand-bound sketchbooks. The woman selling them looked up from her novel when he didn't move for a whole minute, his eyes fixed on the notebooks.

"You can pick 'em up if you can't decide, you know," she said.

He nodded, blinked, almost embarrassed at the way his fingers shook as he picked up one of the books. It was bound in blue linen, and the deckle edged pages stuck to his gloves.

"You draw?" the woman asked, in a way that was more politeness than actual interest.

"My friend did," Bucky found himself saying.

Hands covered in charcoal. The smell of paper and something else.

"How dare you!" A laugh, carelessly loud and graceless. The most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "My nose looks nothing like that!"

The memory passed through him softly, almost dreamlike, and for a second, he didn't know whether he wanted to cry or scream. He did neither.

The woman was looking at him strangely, but she accepted the note he handed her for the sketchbook, even though it wasn't Sterling.

"Young man," she called after him, and he almost wanted to laugh. "You're gonna need this, too." And she handed him a pen, as if she'd known, as if there was something in his face that told her how lost he felt.

It was cheap, surely, but it was also the first gift he'd gotten in decades, and so he kept it in his chest pocket. Right above his heart.

***

The next memory came not too long after that.

He was sitting in a rundown coffee shop in Edinburgh, barely paying attention to the room around him while he tried putting his past onto the page. The book was filling so achingly slowly it made him want to throw it against a wall most days.

A good chunk of it was about Steve.

Bucky supposed that was to be expected, because he'd been the one to first make him remember, and because it was Steve.

So page after page was detailing pneumonias and ill-fitting jackets and bruised knuckles in Bucky's narrow writing, trying to piece together a life that should have stayed his. It was desperate work, futile work most days, but he tried anyway.

And then the café owner switched stations on the old, dusty radio in the corner, and there was the song.

It took only a couple of notes until the images struck like lightning.

Swinging skirts and heels clacking on wooden floors. The smell of sweat and hairspray and something else. Something like May bells.

"You're quite good at this, aren't you?" Hands tightening around his neck in the most pleasant embrace.

"Only as good as my partner."

How could a simple hum sound so content? "And I ain't exactly called Rogers, either. But you’re the one leading."

"And thank God for both."

A dip, a scream. And that laugh again. He wanted to bottle it up and get drunk on it for the rest of eternity.

When the song ended, Bucky was shaking with it. He'd broken the pen in his hand, and the dark ink smeared all over his palm like black blood.

He didn’t do so well with presents these days.

***

He remembered your name when he heard a mother call out for her child in a park and it stopped him in his tracks because the corners of his mouth started to lift on their own accord. It was like you were muscle memory, your name so deeply ingrained that his body remembered you long before his mind could catch up.

And your name.

Whispered in darkened picture theaters until your skin prickled with goosebumps, shouted across dance halls sweltering with heat, spoken with reverence on dizzying fair rides. Bucky’d said it again, and again, and again, and for so long he couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the taste of it on his tongue.

He tried it out now, and it came out like ash.

The sound of his name on your lips came to him only hours later, because he kept prodding at that part of his mind that kept you hidden from him, kept trying to unlock the gate to his forgotten memories until finally it slid open an inch.

He was trying to make dinner.

He’d not had a warm meal for weeks at that point, but the past few days had been good and he’d bought vanilla extract for pancakes. The sugary smell filled his tiny apartment, but he didn’t even notice at first, not until he opened the window and then turned back to the stove.

“Bucky.”

Like a breath of air that echoed from deep within until it reached him and left him shaken.

He said your name again, called it into the silence of the room. It didn’t answer him.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than going crazy, and so he breathed in again.

“James! It’s almost nine, we’re gonna be late.” Nails drumming against the wood of a dresser. You’d painted it with flowers, purple and blue and yellow. Beautiful.

“And whose fault is that, sweetheart?”

His fingers wrapping around your waist, pulling you close, so young, so human. Your perfume, soft and lingering mist-like between you, and something else. Something like Christmas morning.

Smiles had come so easy to him back then. “I’ve been sittin’ by the door for a good twenty minutes now, waitin’ anxiously for you to finish up.”

“If you’re getting so anxious over me, you needn’t have waited, Buck.”

“I’d wait my whole life if it went you’re comin’ down the stairs, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t noticed he’d slid to the floor, trembling.

The pancakes burned.

***

Your name was so much and yet so little at the same time.

Bucky tried finding any record of you, in libraries, newspaper archives, even using a computer once he figured out how to go online. But you’d been a normal girl, a lovely, perfect, beautiful, normal girl. That had never been enough for the history books.

He had to put you together again himself, slowly. The smallest details took him months.

You would always get holes in your tights and scold him for prodding at them. You used to hate getting your picture taken, but you would benignly let Steve draw you as long as he kept you entertained. You’d liked dancing, and flowers, and sweet things, and somehow, inexplicably, you’d liked him.

“You are the worst date I’ve ever had.”

The taste of whipped cream and chocolate on your lips, and the feeling of your fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck. That little sound at the back of your throat.

“You were saying, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s hand balled into a fist. It wasn’t fair.

The worst part was that you were barely more than the memory of a beautiful dream, hazy and blurred. He was well aware he didn’t deserve good things anymore, but these faint half-images collecting in his brain were nothing short of cruel.

"I can't remember her face,” he told the only person who might have understood, because he himself didn’t. “Why can I remember every single person that I had to ...” He trailed off, dragging his hand over his face. “And yet I can't remember her face?"

Steve's hand was on his shoulder, a gesture that should feel comforting in its familiarity. Instead, Bucky had never felt this small in his own skin.

Wrong shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do," Steve said calmly, but there was a helplessness in his voice that made Bucky’s stomach churn.

It wasn’t supposed to spill out of his own eyes.

***

You would have loved Wakandan sunsets.

They were richer, more colorful than the ones Bucky remembered, but maybe that didn’t actually mean much. The beautiful things had a habit of evading him.

Sometimes, he was selfish enough to wish it had stayed that way, because at least in forgetting, he hadn’t known to miss anything at all. Years and decades worth of lack came crashing through to drown him now, more and more frequent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Or mocking him.

But you would have loved the sunsets, and so he tried to love them, too, just like he was always meant to do.

“Do you have to leave already?”

A sniff, a petulant sigh, his limbs heavy and warm, but resolve unwavering. He’d fancied himself so smart, then. “You know I do.”

Daybreak kisses that tasted contently like sleep. Slowly untangling his fingers from yours, something cool grazing them.

Steve brought back a small package, and that was all that was left to find of the part of the past that he’d shared with you. A thin stack of official papers, the dog tags he’d worn in Austria, and a ring.

Bucky sat down.

He knew, rationally, that you were long gone even before he saw the official documents. He’d never expected you to wait for him when it had always been the other way around. Still, to read it so plainly was like his insides were being twisted into the tightest knot, and his heart, his carefully guarded heart that had only just started to remember its own rhythm stuttered painfully. Like it was sick of this whole dance, the waiting, the longing for something so out of reach. So lost to time.

He didn’t want this, any of this, but there was nothing he could do but stare and wait for his vision to clear.

“There’s something else,” Steve said, his voice far away like he’d been wrapped in cotton. “Do you remember the house?”

A rickety porch swing and a picket fence that needed bleaching. Thorny rose bushes blooming in all your favorite colors. Two spare rooms.

“Are we going to be hostin’ a lot of guests, then?” That smug little curl of your lip he liked to kiss.

“I hope not.” Arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. Always the same gesture, as familiar as the smell. Vanilla and peonies, and something else. “We could find a more permanent use, don’t you think?”

“She kept it. It’s still there.”

Bucky traced the letters of your name with his thumb as if somehow, somewhere, you might have felt the familiar caress. It looked lonely there, all on its own.

Maybe it was lucky that he’d long run out of screams, because he might have never stopped.

“Thank you,” he said, and even though it didn’t seem sufficient, Steve nodded.

Bucky threaded your ring onto the chain of his dog tags and closed it around his neck before he hid them under his vest, the metal like a ghostly touch over his heart.

***

It took Bucky five more years to make it back to New York. Well. Five more years passed.

He’d lost so many of them it didn’t even seem to matter at this point.

The slip of paper had been kept inside an envelope he’d found between the books in Steve’s apartment, waiting for him, just like he’d said it would. At least some things were still there.

The bus drive took an eternity, but his feet found their way on their own accord. They’d known it well, once, after all.

He thought the hardest part would be to turn around the final corner and see it again, but that wasn’t it. He’d dreaded the drawn shades, the overgrown garden, the withered flowers, the faded paint on the front door. Dreading things made them easier to bare, sometimes, he’d learned that.

No, the hardest part was seeing the sign. Cottage for sale.

And the quiet.

The mailbox was battered from decades of wind and weather, but underneath the rust he could still see the remnants of your handprint, cracked golden yellow on the dark metal. It disappeared under his vibranium fingers.

“See? We left our mark now. We have to stay here forever.”

He found the key still inside. He used to scold you for leaving it so recklessly, but you kept losing every spare you got made, and besides, times were different, then. You knew the neighbors. So did he.

“Don’t forget, it’s Mrs Hopper’s birthday on Wednesday, and you promised to mow her lawn.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“And the Sawyers asked if you could take a look at their furnace, because it’s been acting up.”

“You’d think they’d hire a professional for that sorta thing.”

“Maybe you’re just nicer to look at.”

The plot next door had been leveled. The curtains in all the other houses were drawn, even though it was a lovely spring evening.

Bucky’s steps were heavy as he climbed the steps to the red front door. It was like he could hear whispers coming from all sides, his head pounding with the weight of something that was not quite there yet, not quite clear, not quite something.

The key slid into the lock.

“Leave your shoes outside, Buck, you’ll track mud everywhere.”

He almost did.

The first step inside was like going through the looking glass and finding himself in a world so different, and yet so familiar. Because he didn’t recognize the painting on the wall, or the color of the cabinets, or the rug next to the stairs.

But there was that smell. Vanilla and peonies. Something like baking and spring, something like home.

He carefully pulled the door closed behind him, the floorboards softly creaking. Dust billowed.

And then more memories came rushing in, as if they'd been waiting for the moment he crossed the threshold.

"Ready?"

"Yes!" He could feel your cheeks lift in a smile and grinned as he slowly pulled his hands away from your eyes. Could feel the gasp that fell from your lips as you took in the sight in front of you.

"Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it!"

“I love you.”

He thought he saw movement just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, it was only his own grave reflection staring back at him out of one of the dirty windows. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the ghosts of the past were surrounding him.

“There you are,” they seemed to say. “What took you so long?”

“Just picking up something sweet for my best girl.”

“This is exactly why I’m gonna marry you.”

“Just that? Really? What about my other qualities?”

“Those I tolerate.”

The plates his ma had given you, the porcellain chipped with decades of use, stacked neatly in the cabinets, gathering dust. Your favorite brass pot was out next to the sink, as if you’d just left it there to dry, intending to use it again in a couple of hours.

In the living room, the horrible curtains your aunt had forced upon you had finally disappeared, and despite everything, Bucky could feel himself smile. The bookshelf was still overflowing.

“We’re gonna run out of space soon, you know that, right?”

“Well, build me a new shelf, then!”

Another promise he’d broken.

He had to go upstairs. He knew it, even though every single cell of his body was screaming at him not to go.

Seventeen steps. The second to last was the one that creaked.

Deciding which door to open first was like choosing his own hell. In the end, the house decided for him, because the wailing behind the one to the far right sounded so alive he almost bolted through the entrance.

It had been locked, and Bucky only realized why when it was already too late.

It was the most desolate room yet, cobwebbed and stale, furniture hidden underneath white linens. A dusty wooden mobile dangled from the ceiling, trembling as the house settled, casting eery shadows over the dirtied green walls.

“Aren’t you a bit overzealous there, love?” He dotted some green on your nose and you shrieked.

“Do you wanna be caught unawares?”

“As far as I know, there’s a bit of a preparation period involved.”

“Hm. Maybe we should just get a head start, then.”

He couldn’t bear it a second time, so he took a lung full of stale air and opened the bedroom door.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Everything smelled like you, had your loving touch on it, had been allowed to live alongside you for all this time when he hadn’t been. The wilted flowers in the vase by the window. A book on the nightstand, your bookmark tucked between the pages because you weren’t quite done with it yet.

You weren’t done yet.

A pair of reading glasses lay on top of it, and Bucky almost laughed because he couldn’t quite picture you wearing them, and then, suddenly, he realized he could picture you, and his hand reached out blindly because he remembered that it was there.

“You know I hate these things.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for a second. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you want me to have something’a yours to keep me company?”

Your laugh, again, and again. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

The bed creaked softly when he sat down on its edge, the frame shaking in his grip, and hey. There you were.

There was your smile.

It seemed to echo, or maybe he only wished it did.

“I’ll be back so soon, you won’t even notice I’m gone, sweetheart.”

“You better.”

The way you looked at him. Like you really believed him when he told the both of you that everything was going to be fine. That you would be the lucky ones. The exception.

He hated himself for letting you hope, but maybe this was his punishment; to be the one left behind, despite everything.

“I’m sorry,” he must have said, or cried, or screamed, because the house repeated it back to him, over and over.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, there was nothing.

anyone else need a tissue?

thank you so much for reading!! if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or a reblog, or just come scream at me in my inbox. to see the less heartbreaking rest of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications <3

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL

March 2021 Part 4

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. 

This is a LONG ONE, it’s been A WEEK everyone. 

Ongoing Series - Thai

Lovely Writer Ep 5 - a little slow this week, but at least Gene finally flirted back, and very cute flirting it was, too. Also we got Aey’s motivation, background, and love interest. Thank goodness for that. 

Brothers Ep 8 - still pants, what can I say? Clearly I am a BL masochist. Very embarrassing for everyone concerned. 

1000 Stars Ep 9 - the conflict over Tian’s father was REALLY well done. The plot of this drama is excellent, the leads are great together, and yes I totally cried. What, you didn’t? 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Word of Honor (China) Ep 16-18 - big battle fighty fighty stabby stabby. Ep 17 switches to “this drama isn’t big enough for two chaotic-neutral godlings!” So what do they do? Drink together and bicker... A LOT. Then in Ep 18 we all get the dubious joy of really freaky puppets. (I HATE puppets.) Also how is China letting this be so SO VERY VERY GAY?  Also, I wanna walk through the forest wearing a smanshy purple robe and waving a big fuck-off white fan around simply because I’m a pretentious fuss monger. And frankly, I feel like this is an achievable life goal for me. 

We Best Love 2 (Taiwan) Ep 4 - not gonna lie, this is looking to be one of my top 3 BLs of 2021. It’s SO GOOD. Big bonus to this ep for treating stalker behavior like the mental illness it is and not as some dumb representation of enduring love. 

The Most Peaceful Place is My Place (Vietnam) Ep 1 - finally dropped (find it under NƠI BÌNH YÊN NHẤT LÀ VỀ BÊN EM on O2′s channel). It’s got actors already comfortable with BL and looks pretty good so far. An angry tsundere uke reunited with his ex, a stoic chef, giving us lots of snap, crackle, and pop out the gate. 

Dear Uranus (Taiwan GL) Ep 2 - I want to love it, but it is just moving too fast. There’s not enough character dev and then they’re throwing flashbacks in? It feels like a treatment rather than a show, and a rushed treatment at that. Bummer. 

HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 2 (AKA Ep 3-4) - let the cheesy popcorn continue! Idiot remains an idiot; ingenue remains an ice queen; nice gay guy remains nice and gay; obsessive stalker brother is getting ever more whackadoddle. Of course these last two have the best chemistry. (It’s caregiver codependency and the salvation trope. We got us a Leo/Fiat situation going on.​) Plus lots of classic BL tropes because OF COURSE there are lots of tropes. 

Occasionally, I am tempted to argue that shows like H4 or Cherry Magic or Ossan’s Love aren’t technically BL because of the office setting and age of the protags - but then they all behave like high school students anyway, so *shrug* 

Stand Alones

Cute little Taiwanese micro BL Friend or Lover dropped, about bisexual realization within a friendship group. Normally these are too short for me, but this one did pretty good with its 15 minutes of charm, plus it’s abad boy + shy softy pairing. 

Breaking News - Thai BL

Fish Upon the Sky released its actual trailer. The upside-down kiss is gone, which makes everyone sad, and it seems far less rivals to lovers than the first iteration, which makes ME sad. But it still looks good and a more classic BL than GMMTV has given us in a while. New trailer focused more on the makeover trope and they’ve upped Mix’s role (the object of everyone’s affection) now that he’s proved himself. (Or they are using him more to carry the trailer since he has a fan base form 1k*). Starts April 9 on GMMTV in 1K*’s time slot, probably with a 10 ep run. 

2gether the movie is apparently coming April 22 to Thai theaters. F4 Thailand must be having issues or GMMTV just wants to milk the BrightWin cash cow. It’s rumored to be a combination of 2gehter + Still 2gether with some extra scenes and ending. Also, one assumes a lot will be cut out, if it’s movie length.

Call It What You Want released its updated trailer. If anything, it looks more scary than before. What are we in for? April 9th. 

Nitiman got a release date, May 7 on One31. 

I Told Sunset About You 2 got an updated release date of May 27 on LineTV. 

Second Chance the series is coming to LineTV on March 29. I don’t know much about this one. Tons of familiar faces (mostly TharnType side dishes) and some nice looking new talent but a dearth of eng subs. I think it may take on Brothers’ time slot. Line did eng subs for Brothers so maybe they will do 2nd Chance too? 

Close Friend the series is coming April 22. This is a combination of 6 couples with 6 story arcs as music videos (maybe)? It’s an epic fan service with familiar faces like OhmFluke (UWMA), MaxNat (LBC also in Y-Destiny), YoonLay (YYY also in Y-Destiny), KimCop (GenY), and JaFirst (TT2).

Y-Destiny starts March 30, and has starting dropping couple’s trailers. I’m still suspicious given the director but it seems like there is plot (or plots) and a theme. Looks to be a series of 7 single ep vignettes (amended, see comments, might be 2 eps each for 14 eps total), different couple each time, some with supernatural elements, all with decent chemistry and acting chops. 

Sun MaxNat’s tutor/student arc

Mon jaded rich kid meets poor innocent  

Tues sports romance enemies to lovers 

Weds the messy realistic actual dating one 

Thurs hot ghost boyfriend (sad) 

Fri YoonLayPerth coping with loss and finding new love (sad). This one will all rest on Lay's acting so we know it’s in safe hands. Our boy is going to KILL it. 

Sat time-slip memory loss reunion romance 

I’m thinking we can’t expect any of these to end happy or be classic BL. They’re gonna be more slice of life-ish. 

Gossip - BL Outside of Thailand 

Scholar Ryu’s Wedding Ceremony AKA Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korean historical BL) got a legit teaser (eng sub here). @curriculumvtae​ reports that it’s releasing April 15th on WeTV (Philippines & Thailand) and Idol Romance (South Korea), while Will of Thai Bl says it’ll be on Viki too. It’s a short run of 8 ep built on a fake relationship trope (arranged marriage variant):

Ryu Ho Seon’s (Kang In Soo from You Wish) arranged marriage turns out to be with his expected bride’s brother, Choi Ki Wan (Lee Se Jin from Mr Heart). Ryu tries to undo the marriage, but his ill mother opposes this saying the scandal would be too much. Meanwhile, Kim Tae Hyeong (Jang Eui Soo from Where Your Eyes Linger), a senior at Ryu’s school, comes to congratulate him and falls in love with Choi. Then one day, the original bride disappears.

Okay it seems a bit twisty turny for ONLY 8 EPS, but oh my goodness how excited are we? Our first intentional historical BL out of Korea!

We already knew Hong Kong was doing a remake of Japan’s Ossan’s Love under the same name (not my favorite Japanese BL but so very popular) but it’s now reported to be coming to Viu in June. Who knows how the CFA will take it. Depends on whether Hong Kong bows before the NO GAY KISSES regs or if they are going to use this as a political nose thumb... things could get cray with this puppy (the original has several kisses and s shower scene). Are we back in Addicted territory only with added comedy and civil unrest?

Speaking of Japan, Absolute BL (AKA Zettai BL ni Naru Sekai vs Zettai BL ni Naritakunai Otoko) dropped sooner than anyone thought, March 27. But being Japanese who knows how/when/if we get subs. Protag finds himself trapped in a world of BL, but being straight he fights against any hot guy that draws near, but the whole world (literally) is conspiring against him. It’s a parody adapted from a yoai.

What with Absolute BL from Japan plus Lovely Writer and Call it What You Want from Thailand, is 2021 the year of BL being ultra self referential? Sure feels like it.

In Case You Missed It

Faded a gay micro film from Taiwan from 2017 deals with parental acceptance and serves up a ton of BL tropes (piggyback, forehead kiss, etc). I’m pretty sure this was a propaganda piece for legalization of gay marriage, and it’s an interesting nugget of BL history as a result. Yes, it ends happy. It’s cute. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed a day later than actual air date for accessibility reasons.

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

Man there’s a lot going on right now! Spring has sprung... I suppose. 

P.S. I cannot believe I missed Absolute BL as a blog name. Numbnuts = me. 

[drabbles-mc]

Game Night

EZ Reyes x F!Reader

Request by @beardburnsupersoldiers: If you are still doing the roommate prompts....maybe number 3 with Angel, EZ, and reader???? Bonus points if all that delicious tension is happening between reader and the Reyes of your choice! (Prompts are from This List btw)

Warnings: language, alcohol, EZ being a sore loser 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This was really fun to write! I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic quite like this one before so it was a neat little dynamic. Hope you enjoy! xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

EZ Reyes Taglist: @ly--canthrope @noz4a2 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @mayans-sauce @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms​ @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @themoonandthewicked​ @garbinge​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @enjoy-the-destruction​ @encounterthepast​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​ @lakamaa12​ @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ (If you want to be added to any of my taglists let me know!)

“You grab beer for tonight?” you had your phone pinned between your ear and your shoulder as you tossed your grocery bags into the back seat of your car.

“I was supposed to grab beer?” EZ chuckled.

“You can’t even try to pull that shit, Memory Boy,” you laughed.

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Yes I grabbed beer.”

“You’re perfect. I think I’m still gonna go to the liquor store though.”

“What for?”

“…liquor?”

You could envision him rolling his eyes at you, forever fed up with your remarks, “I feel like that’s excessive.

“Live a little, Ezekiel,” you joked, “It’s game night.”

It wasn’t long after you had moved in with EZ you started up game night with him and his brother. It was a good way for them to unwind and forget about the stress of the club, and you just genuinely enjoyed their company. It was nice to play host every now and then, even if it was just for one extra person. You and Ezekiel made quite the pair.

You knew how potentially messy it could get, having feelings for your roommate. That’s why you kept your thoughts and emotions to yourself. But you couldn’t deny that there was something about EZ that was really hard to tear yourself away from. There were moments when you could swear that he wanted you too, but they were fleeting and you always ended up writing them off for the sake of your sanity. When EZ wasn’t paying attention, Angel gave you grief about it. He was at least gracious enough to keep his mouth shut in front of his brother, although on more than one occasion he would shoot you a suggestive look, and you would respond with rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

You popped open the door to your apartment, multiple bags hanging from each of your arms. EZ turned and looked over at you from where he was situated by the counter, pulling together food for the three of you to eat later. He laughed as he walked over and offered to take some of the bags from you, but you waved him off.

“I have a very delicate balance here, Ezekiel,” you laughed, “If you take one I’m gonna tip over.”

He laughed as he stepped out of your way, “Got more in the car?”

You gave him a disbelieving look, “You think I was raised to make more than one trip from the car with groceries?” you shook your head as you carefully started sliding bags off your arms onto the floor, “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “My bad. Didn’t mean to insult your honor.”

He helped you put the groceries away before he got back to getting food ready. You made your way to the closet in your room that housed an absurd number of card games and board games. You had always meant to bring Cards Against Humanity to the clubhouse because you felt like it would make for an extremely fun night. You’d have to just put it in EZ’s bags one of these days so it would turn up there on its own.

You heard the sound of your apartment door shutting, and moments after Angel’s voice echoed through the apartment, “What game am I whopping your asses at tonight?”

You laughed loud enough so that he would hear you from the other end of the apartment, “You’re toast, Reyes. You don’t stand a chance.”

He appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, “Stand a chance at what? What’s the game of the night?”

“Wanna do drunk Uno?”

He laughed, “That sounds dangerous.”

“Really? Less than two minutes ago you were saying that you were gonna whoop everyone’s ass tonight. Now you’re backing out?”

“I didn’t say that. Gimme the fucking cards,” he swiped them from you with a laugh before heading back towards the living room.

Plates and beer bottles were scattered on the edges of your coffee table while the three of you took up the center of it with your Uno game. The bottle of tequila rested next to the deck in the center of your table, waiting for one of you to lay down a draw four and make the next person take a shot along with their cards.

Angel had been sitting back and watching you and EZ trying to destroy each other all night. Angel was the king of talking smack, but tonight he was more interested in spurring the two of you on than getting you riled up himself. It was an effective tactic, too, because the amount of tequila he’d had to drink was minimal. Instead, he happily worked his way through a couple beers with little to no interruptions. He was really just waiting for one you two to get enough alcohol in your system to do something about your feelings. He was sick of watching the two of you dance around it.

“Angel shuffles next game,” EZ said with a shake of his head, “There’s no way you fairly ended up with all of those cards.”

“You’re just mad because you hate the taste of tequila,” you teased, “But fine. If it makes you feel better,” you handed the deck over to Angel, “Here you go.”

“Told you he was a sore loser,” Angel chuckled as he shuffled the deck of cards.

“Shut the fuck up,” EZ laughed as he threw a loose bottlecap at his brother.

Despite Angel being the one to shuffle the cards, EZ was looking at another loss. You were kind enough not to say anything, but the look in his eyes as you smiled across the table at him let you know that he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“You’re about to go 0 for 3, little brother,” Angel laughed as he put a card down.

“Thank you, Angel, I wasn’t aware,” EZ chuckled and shook his head as he looked over the cards in his hands.

You stretched your legs out underneath the coffee table, not realizing that Ezekiel had done the same thing not too long before you. Your foot brushed lightly along the inside of his thigh as you stretched and he instantly jerked his leg, causing his knee to slam into the bottom side of the table. He cursed under his breath and Angel looked completely lost, not having realized what happened.

You, however, were sitting there with a smirk on your face as EZ looked over at you. The look in his eyes gave him away and you could see him make a concentrated effort to take a deep breath.

“Suck it,” Angel completely moved on from the tension between you and EZ as he threw down his last card, “Alright. That’s it. I’m out,” he slowly rose to his feet.

“Leaving already?” you laughed as you looked up at him.

“Already? Listen, querida, you make me take any more shots I won’t be able to ride home. Some of us have shit to do tomorrow. Imma take my win and leave,” he walked over and kissed the top of your head, “Keep whooping his ass for me. It’s good for him.”

He and EZ gave each other a brief hug, EZ not getting off the floor to do so. Angel looked back and forth between the two of you one more time before shaking his head and making his way for the door. Once it shut behind him, you looked back to EZ with a smile.

“Just you and me now, Ezekiel,” you said as you placed a card on top of the one Angel had just laid down.

“Yea, Angel isn’t here to team up on me with you anymore. You’re done for,” he chuckled.

That was the last thing that was said between the two of you for a few turns. You kept looking at each other, trying to figure out what the other was thinking as if it weren’t already painstakingly obvious.

“Uno,” you said as you got yourself down to one card. You paused, waiting for EZ to get enthralled with making his next card choice, “How’s your knee, by the way?”

He flicked his eyes up to you, “It’s fine.”

“Oh,” you nodded, a smirk on your face, “good.”

He lowered his cards, “What?”

You shook your head, “Just wondering. Sounded like it hurt. Thought it might’ve thrown off your game a little bit.”

He narrowed his eyes at you as he set a card down, “I’ll be alright. Draw four,” he pushed the bottle towards you.

You chuckled as you poured yourself a shot and got back into the game. The two of you were able to drag it on for a while. By the time you were getting towards the end of it, both of you were kneeling, leaning onto the coffee table as you tried to beat each other to the last card. You were down to two cards left, EZ only had four. But you could see him sweating it out, not wanting to have yet another loss for the night.

You laid a card down, chuckling as you said, “Uno.”

He groaned, clearly agonizing over which card he was going to put down next. You bit back a laugh, not wanting him to accuse you of trying to distract him. With a deep sigh he finally picked a card and set it on top of the deck between you. You looked back and forth between that card and the one in your hand multiple times, dragging it out.

Finally, you looked up at him and smile, laying the card down, “Take a shot, Reyes.”

His eyes grew wide as he looked down at the draw four that was staring him in the face. He looked up at you, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Read ‘em and weep,” you laughed as you sat back on the carpet.

“You’re so done,” EZ laughed as he stood up off the floor.

You let out a scream that turned into a laugh as you jumped up off the ground, trying to run to your bedroom and shut the door before EZ could get to you, “Angel’s right, you are a sore loser,” you laughed as you scrambled.

You threw open the door to your bedroom and were about to jump inside when you felt an arm wrap around your waist, his hand landing firmly on your stomach as he pulled you back towards him. You laughed as he spun you around, but your breath quickly got caught in your throat when you realized how close he was to you.

“I won fair and square,” you tried not to let your nerves shine through.

“Fair and square seems like a stretch,” he chuckled.

You couldn’t help but to focus on the way his fingers pressed into your skin. You swallowed hard, “Why is it more likely that I cheated than me just being better than you at Uno?” you laughed, “What you do want, a consolation prize?”

As soon as you said it, you almost wanted to take it back. Almost. EZ smirked, “What kind of consolation prize?”

You wanted to look anywhere but at him because you could feel what little resolve you had fading away quickly, “What’re you thinking, EZ Reyes?”

He leaned in close so that his lips were practically touching yours, but not quite. You took a deep breath before closing what little distance was left, hands resting on the back of his neck to keep his lips pressed to yours. When it clicked in his brain what was happening, that you wanted the same thing he did, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pressing your chest flush against his as he kissed you. Your fingers traced along his jawline as his lips moved against yours—it was everything that you had thought it would be and then some.

When you finally took your lips off of his, you both let out quiet chuckles. EZ loosened his hold on your waist slightly, pulling back so he could get a better look at your face.

You smiled at him, “That a good enough consolation prize?”

He laughed, nodding, “I’d say so. I’m willing to forgive you for rigging the deck for that.”

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Spell Caster Pt. 1

Masterlist

Hawkmoth stood on the platform above, laughing at the two downed heroes. Ladybug and Chat laid facing each other barely able to move, exhausting shining in their eyes. They had fought long and hard but in the end he had led them into a trap, delivering hit after hit till neither could stand anymore. He had led them to his secret garden where beloved wife rested, and poor Adrien could barely keep himself together. He kept fighting, unwilling to let Hawkmoth win even if it was his father. While Marinette did her best to cover her hurting partner, he was just too much for them. Hawkmoth stood talking to Emilie as if she could hear him, going on about how he was finally going to bring her back. Ladybug shifted her gaze from Hawkmoth’s back to her partner’s eyes. Chat was crying as he stared at his best friend, knowing he hadn’t really helped in the fight.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered softly trying not to draw attention to them for as long as possible. “I’m sorry Ladybug, I should’ve helped but that-that’s my dad. I kept freezing up and I failed you.” Ladybug smiled gently, moving her arm and grabbing his hand.

“It’s not your fault Chaton.” A single tear fell from her eye as they stared at each other.

‘You need to move.’

Ladybug tensed at the voice looking around when she noticed Chat didn’t react to it. The voice was a woman's, it was soft and comforting, almost familiar.

‘You need to move now!’

She couldn’t find anybody else in the room, there was nobody but them. Yet the voice was still there, perhaps she was going crazy. It would make sense to her, especially because she couldn’t place who the voice belonged to.

‘Sweetheart, I will explain later I promise, but you must remember!’

Remember what? Why did this voice want her to remember something, couldn’t they see she was in a bit of trouble right now.

‘Ugh! Foolish girl! You are more than just Ladybug!’

Rude. Of course she was more than Ladybug, she was Marinette...she was Marinette daughter of..

‘Yes Marinette! Marinette daughter of! You are so close, remember the book!’

Marinette, she was Marinette, the book...what book, could the voice mean her spell book?

‘Yes! Yes, my little Spell Caster!’

She was Marinette, she was a spell caster. She was Marinette, and she was a spell caster. She was the daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine-

‘Not by birth.’

Not by birth…Not by birth?! A distressed whine left her lips as she thought of her Maman, not by birth repeating in her head. Until she shoved it back focusing on her current crisis. She was Marinette and she was a Spell Caster, why hadn’t she thought of this before? She tried so hard to split Ladybug and Marinette to hide her identity that she forgot Marinette was special, if not more than Ladybug. What should she do though? She could alter his mind, but would it work? Would the Miraculous Gods affect her powers? Perhaps she could try an illusion?

“Chat, what was she like? Your mother.” Chat looked surprised as a gentle smile crossed his face.

“She was amazing, soft spoken, always so gentle and warm. She hated violence but she never backed down when it came to her family. She’d...she’d never want this to happen.” Chat broke as more tears fell and he held her hand tightly, barely even able to find the strength to.

“ Do you trust me?” She whispered as Hawkmoth began walking towards them. She’d need him in order to pull this illusion off. She’d need to see his memories. Chat nodded weakly, not willing to look away from her.

“Yes” She smiled and her dark blue eyes shifted into an unnatural swirling lavender.

“eciov reh raeh em tel.” Soon Emilie's soft and melodic voice graced her ear. Perfect, now the illusion will trick him.

‘That’s my Spell Caster.’

Who even is this voice, no no focus, she needs to create the illusion.

‘Silly girl.’

Hey! This voice seriously needed to stop distracting her. She turned her head slightly looking past Hawkmoth, and ignoring the smug smirk that she wanted nothing more than to punch off his face. Very hard.

“trapa mih raet reh evah efiw sih mih wohs.” She watched as an angry vision on Emilie appeared behind him looking as if she had sat up from her high tech coffin. Yes, coffin, the woman was dead, soul long gone and she didn’t have to be a daughter of Hades to know that. Daughter of Hades? What? What is she talking about?

‘Soon my child, soon.��

Who even was this voice! Later, she promised herself focusing on finalizing the illusion.

“Gabriel Agreste.” The same melodic voice called out, but instead of a soft and loving tone it was stern and angry. Hawkmoth turned immediately, staring at the vision of his wife in mute shock and disbelief. “What in the world are you doing!

‘I have called in a favor, one that will help you.’

Ugh, this voice popped in at the worst time. At least they were trying to help her though. She watched as Emilie’s illusion shifted slightly and it took her only a second to realize that it was more than an illusion now. No that was Emilie, just not her in body it was her, her soul.

‘Yes my child.’

She let out a wobbly grin as Emile began tearing into her husband. She squeezed Chat’s hand briefly hoping Emilie’s soul would be here long enough to say goodbye to her son. His eyes moved away from his mom’s form back to Ladybug’s.

“I will explain everything, I promise Chat. After this, no more secrets.”

She turned her attention back on Hawkmoth staring at his back intently. How could she get his miraculous? She was exhausted already so it couldn’t be anything complicated. Not to mention they’d need to get out of the lair after she took it. Summoning and a transportation spell, not a good combination when magically and physically exhausted. This left her in a very tough situation.

‘Someone is coming for you. You are too weak right now, the summoning spell will knock you out. Tell your partner to trust the one that comes from the shadows.’

Someone is coming? How can she know to trust them, just because a voice told her? Ugh, this was too difficult. Very well, tell Chat to trust the one from the shadows and then summon the butterfly Miraculous. She’d already taken the Peacock from Nathalie when they fought her earlier, so all that left was Hawkmoth’s.

“Chat, trust the one that comes from the shadows.”

“What? Ladybug-”

“Please Chat, trust me?”

“Always. Milady.”

“Then trust the one that comes from the shadows.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Suolucarim ylfrettub eht nommus i.”

The Miraculous immediately came to her hand but she didn’t get to celebrate as she began to see black spots. Her transformation dropped and she didn’t even get to enjoy Chat’s shocked face. Soon everything faded to dark with only parting words from the strange voice.

‘You and your partner are safe now my Spell Caster.’

She barely remembered what happened when she came to for the first time, everything was blurry as she panicked. Waking up in an unfamiliar room with someone she could barely see standing above her. Marinette threw a messy punch at the blonde above her, just barely missing even in her state. She lurched to throw herself off the bed but Will stopped her pulling her back onto it and talking softly. It did not help her at all and she didn’t stop panicking until Tikki flew in front of her face. Marinette took deep breaths staring at dearest friend. Will began pulling out new bandages getting ready to fix everything messed up in her panic. He was stopped by Marinette’s hand, she gave a weak smile as their eyes met. “Sorry…” She whispered out accent strong before falling back into the darkness.

Sun was directly in her eyes this time and she whimpered until it was blocked. Eyes meeting yet another stranger and instead of their stunning blue were a bright orange. She let out a distressed whine but did not move, Tikki was pressed against her neck. She was safe, even in the company of a stranger. Percy glanced at the door wishing for Will to magically appear before lifting the girl's head slightly holding a straw to her lips. “Drink please, it’ll help I swear.” He whispered trying to comfort her. Marinette took small sips, eyes changing to a soft and soothing blue at the taste of her favorite toasted white chocolate with triple espresso coffee. She glared when he pulled the straw away from her, causing Percy to laugh softly. He ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to be comforting. “I know, I know but too much will hurt you.” Her eyes watered slightly at the comfort.

“The voice didn’t lie.” She said softly, leaning into his hand. He quirked an eyebrow leaning closer to hear her. “The voice said we’d be safe, and we are.” Percy was silent before connecting the dots and nodding continuing to stroke her hair.

“The voice didn’t lie, you’re safe.” Marinette gave a small smile before darkness took her again.

“I can still barely believe it, Mar. The Gods are real, like real real, and you. You! You’re the daughter of one, her most powerful daughter too! I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. You’ve always been amazing in and outside of Ladybug. You’re my best friend, and-and I can’t wait for you to wake up. I need you to wake up please.” Adrien said softly, holding her hand, playing with her fingers. “I don’t know what our relationship will be. I don’t know if we’ll stay best friends or we’ll start dating. All I know is I want you in my life for the rest of my life.” Marinette squeezed his hand gently as her eyes faded to a soft pink.

“That sounds amazing, Rien.”

“Marinette!” Adrien cried out hugging her, laughter falling from both of them along with happy tears.

“Till the end?”

“Till the end.”

Percy smirked standing in the doorway, Chiron beside him as they watched the two.

“The holders of Creation and Destruction, in our camp.” Chiron mused watching the two before turning and walking toward the archery range. “This summer will be interesting won’t it.” He said ignoring Percy’s snort.

“I call training them Chiron!”

“Oh Gods help us, just what we need. Two more added to the chaos that is Percy Jackson.” Percy grinned, turning back to the two.

Yes, it would be a very interesting summer

✨Tag List Closed✨

@kanamexzeroyaoifangirl

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen

@athena452

@thornalchemist23

@fangirlnerd001

@witchbitch1998

@insane-fangirl-of-everything

@thewackest

@vivilikesmiraculous

[kataraslove]

katara: “do you hear that?”

aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”

for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week​

newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.

katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark. 

“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.” 

“you can also use your earth bending this time around.” 

aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help. 

“let’s go.”

(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)

the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction. 

aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.

however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.

he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.

sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”

she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”

“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”

katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”

he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”

she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.

“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”

his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears. 

“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”

“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element. 

“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”

“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting. 

“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”

just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.

“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.

the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like. 

as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.

love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words. 

when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss. 

katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”

“what thing?”

“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”

he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?

“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”

“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.

“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”

“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially. 

“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.” 

she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”

“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”

a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”

aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.

he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.

aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing. 

well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before. 

his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.

lavabending.

“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”

aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.

the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans. 

katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from. 

“this way,” she shouted, running ahead. 

be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.

--

this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2:

[drabbles-of-writing]

my head is pounding (I can't stop the pounding)

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“They say you travel dimensions,” Luz said, gazing up at the man, flickers of hope in her eyes. “Is it true?”

“My dear, of course it is!” The man chortled, a tall demon of sorts covered in fur, with a mane like a lion around his neck. “Interested in learning my ways, are you?”

“Very much, sir.” Luz nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m looking to find a way to the human realm. I got separated from my mom, and she’s got to be worried sick about me by now.” 

“I see, I see.” The man hummed, digging around in his pockets. “Yes, I believe I can help you. Come with me,” He said, withdrawing a card with his name on it and handing it to her. “Are your friends interested, as well?” He asked, peering over her shoulder towards the witches poking around at the knickknacks and items around in his shop.

“They’re here to help me find a way to the human realm,” Luz explained, swelling, just a bit, with pleading in her eyes. “We’ll take as much as you can offer.”

“That,” The man said, eyes flickering to the wanted poster sporting a crude drawing of a figure dressed in a purple and white cloak, an owl mask covering her face. “My dear, depends on how much you are offering.”

The building rippled like water, the scene smearing like wet paint. In the blink of an eye, the scene changed to inside a tent, Luz holding a potion bottle in her hand and peering at the murky, brownish green contents within. The man spoke words that meshed together like gibberish, as though his words had been forgotten, as he gestured towards gadgets with springs sticking out of them.

Luz quietly watched, clearly not listening to a word he was saying. Her face was blank, the faint traces of weary hope gone, like they’d never existed at all. Her shoulders were slumped, and she glanced at the potion in her hands before shaking her head and sighing.

“You’re not real,” She muttered, eyes downcast.

“Come again?” The man startled.

“You’ve never been to a dimension outside your own, have you?” Luz said, raising her head. 

“What in the nine realms are you--”

“Nine realms?” Luz snorted bitterly, shaking the potion in her hand. “You really commit to the bit, don’t you?”

The scene rippled again. The two were still inside the tent, but the man had moved. There were tables covered with cloth now. He had a table between him and Luz, who was still holding the potion.

“I’m very busy,” He gruffed. “And I can’t afford to convince you of what's right before your eyes--”

“This isn’t even a potion,” Luz said, raising the ‘potion’ in the air before letting it drop, watching it dully as it cracked on the ground and the contents spilled out. Muddy swamp water, by the looks of it. “I would know. I’m practically surrounded by them.”

“Honestly,” The man scoffed, eyes darting around. “Do you want my help, or not? I assure you, it’s an arduous journey, but I could accomplish it, I believe you could, too.”

“I wanted your help when I thought you had the faintest idea of what you were doing,” Luz huffed, eyes half-lidded in annoyance as she kicked the fake potion aside. 

The tent flickered, like an old tape with a scratch on it. Luz was on the other side of the tent now. The man was closer, one hand in his pocket.

“--vious really.” Luz’s voice faded back in.

“Well,” The man said, rearing back, his mane puffing up. “If you're so insistent that I am a fake, why are you still here?” He said, nose turned up.

“Because I told Gus to find me if you took longer than ten minutes, because Eda was worried you might try to jump me.” Luz said simply. “And it’s been fifteen, and he’s never later than two minutes. Which I’m willing to guess means you either tipped off someone, or you set traps. It was the biggest among my many lists of clues that you don’t give a damn about this whole thing.”

The man growled, looking around wildly as his fur continued to puff up. It would’ve been pretty amusing if Luz was in any other situation.

“I have been searching,” Luz started slowly pressing a hand against her face. “For five days straight trying to find you. And the last two people I met before you tried to feed me to a pit or get me in on their murder clan when they found out who I was.” She moved her fingers aside to free an eye, sending a seething glare.

“And you knew why I was trying to find a portal out of here,” She continued. “You knew I was trying to find my mother, and you insisted you had the answer. Why? Honestly, dude, why?” She threw her arms out in a wide gesture. “What do you gain out of this? Do you get a kick out of leading on grieving people? Cause you need to see someone for that.”

“Everyones trying to make a living, and I’m just making mine.” The man hissed, withdrawing his hand from his pocket, fist clenched. “You know how it is.”

“I’m trying to go home,” Luz spat, the seething in her gaze bordering on barely restrained fury. “And yet I’m standing here, wasting my time on the excuses you're throwing at me. So, no, I don’t--”

A tear tore through the scene, sections of the tent smeared over and blurred, forgotten. Words combined and mumbled like they were talking under water. Luz had her hood up now, turning away with some inaudible, but clearly harsh, words spitting out.

The man unclenched his fist, revealing a retractable blade that he switched upright. He hissed and held it tightly in his grip, crouching for just a moment, enough for Luz to give a bored glare back, before charging her.

In that same moment, a small, furry demon leapt out from under the cloth-covered tables, latching his teeth and claws into the man's leg.

“King!” Luz exclaimed, jerking back as soon as the man charged her.

The man howled, a distorted sound, kicking out his leg as he stumbled and tried to shake off the demon clinging in like a burr, drawing blood as he growled and kicked. 

Eventually, the man just slammed his leg against the closest table, King squawking as he was hit straight on and falling to the ground with a wheeze, curling into a ball.

The man had barely turned to resume his attack before a pillar of ice hit him square in the face. He fell as vines wrapped around his limbs, pinning him to the ground as he struggled. Luz shoved the glyphs she didn’t use back into her pockets before rushing to King, scooping him up into her arms. He raised his head slightly, giving an affirmation he was fine, just winded, and Luz relaxed ever so slightly.

“Emperor’s Coven showed up,” King explained with a wheeze, waving off Luz when she tried to fret over him. “They’re fine, keeping ‘em at bay outside.” He said, tilting his head in the direction of the exit to the tent. “I just thought that, you know, you might be in trouble.”

“And what a brave demon you were,” Luz agreed, smiling down at him as King perked up under the praise.

Smoke flickered over the top of the tent for a moment, like a tape had skipped a scene, before returning to normal.

“You’d do best to stick to what you know!” The man snapped from where he writhed on the ground, managing not to wilt under Luz and King whirling to glare at him. 

“Spreading that wild magic of yours to the human realm won’t do any good.” The man continued, hatred spilling off him in waves. “The Emperor didn’t take kindly to an Owlet like you, why would the human realm be any different?”

“It’s not,” Luz agreed, withdrawing a fire glyph and holding King closer to her with her other arm. “But my mom is.”

With that, she tapped the glyph with her thumb and let it fall to the ground. It burned away at the plants, momentarily singeing the man's limbs tied down. He yelped and sprung free when he could, staring with wide eyes when the fire quickly spread to the cloth across the tables of fake items, catching ablaze near instantly, like frames had been passed over to allow a smooth transition.

King stared wide-eyed, looking between the growing flames and the cold, hardened fury on Luz’s face. He shrunk back in her arms, though she didn’t seem to notice. With that, she turned sharply on her heel and left, storming out through the tent flaps as it, too, caught ablaze the second she touched it, glitching as it did so.

The scene itself was wrapped up in the inferno the moment Luz left it, flames cackling as they grew and spread and consumed everything it touched. 

There was soon nothing but the roaring of the fire, the blinding smoke, the rippling of the world, and a golden eye blinking into existence behind the bonfire.

,

“Luz?”

She shot upright with a start, breathing heavily as she gasped and tugged at the sheets, staring at the far corner of her room. King jerked away from her old mattress she called a bed, head lowered and eyes wide, claws fiddling together.

“Sorry, sorry,” King said quickly, tucking his tail around his legs like a scolded cat. “I...is this a bad time? Should-should I get Eda…?”

“Huh?” Luz said dumbly, voice sounding hoarse as she turned to stare down at King, her body feeling weighted and numb.

“You, um…” King pointed to the side of his face, right under his eye.

Luz felt at her face, feeling instantly that she’d been crying. She quickly wiped at her eyes, breath raggedy as she tried to dry her face.

“Is...is it an episode?” King asked quietly. “Should I leave? I don’t want to--”

“No, no, it’s--” Luz sniffled, hating how her voice sounded and shaking her head, dropping her arm. “It's fine. Small one, mostly just...just a dream, really.” She said, cringing at how slow her movements felt as she leaned back against the wall her bed was pushed beside, attempting to shake off how it felt she was under an ocean.

“Oh...okay.” King said, staying right where he was, claws clinging to the edge of the bed as he looked away.

Luz closed her eyes in the ensuing silence, attempting to banish the memories from her head. It had been just a few days ago, and they’d finally made it back to the Owl House after all their walking and dodging the Coven only yesterday. Everything in between was a little hard for her to remember now that she thought about it. Probably for the best.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Luz eventually asked when her head didn’t quite feel like it was going to roll off her shoulders.

“No, I just...wanted to visit.” King mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

Luz exhaled, forcing herself to bite back the desire to bury herself in her blankets and never see the light of day again, opening her arms slightly with a small, half crooked smile.

King noticed the invitation and took it instantly, scrambling up onto the bed and scurrying into her arms. He curled in her lap as she pulled him close, leaning her chin on the top of his head and exhaling heavily, only by force of will not slumping over and crushing him. 

They stayed like that for a bit, waiting in the silence as Luz calmed herself down, clutching King tightly. If King was uncomfortable or had trouble breathing, he gave no indication. He stayed perfectly still and loose as Luz’s raspy breathing slowly calmed to something more manageable. It was late, but only just past dusk. The soft sounds of others in the house moving and talking softly on the floor below them could be heard if you strained your hearing.

“What brings you in here?” Luz finally asked, straightening her back a bit and squinting an eye, realizing King left the door open a crack and a sliver of light was seeping into the dark room.

King shrugged, a little comical considering Luz had wrapped her arms around his midsection like he was a teddy bear, his arms forced up a bit.

“Wanted to visit,” He repeated.

Luz didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t push, slumping back against the wall and crossing her legs as she situated King in her lap. She knew King would break and tell her if she left it be for a moment. Sometimes he needed a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“Back when,” King paused again and Luz didn’t move, waiting patiently until he spoke again. “When you were talking with that demon guy…”

Luz looked down at him again, only able to see the back of his head and horns from this angle. He didn’t attempt to turn around and she didn’t do it herself.

“Your mom,” He tried a second time. “If we…” King stopped when Luz tensed, ever so slightly. He kept quiet for a moment before tilting his head back, still not enough for Luz to see his face. “When we find her,” He started again. “What’s...the plan after that?”

“What?” Luz blinked in confusion, loosening her hold on King to let him sit more comfortably in his lap.

“It’s just…” King said, turning halfway now that Luz could see his worried, contemplative face. “You always talk about how much you want to get back to your mom, because she must be worried sick about you, but...what are you gonna do after you find her?”

“...apologize for the next decade?” Luz tried, raising a brow in confusion. “Be grounded for the rest of my life?”

“I mean, just,” King struggled for another moment, leaning back against her leg and glaring up at the ceiling. “What...what are you gonna do when you're home again?” He asked quietly. “Is your mom coming to the Boiling Isles?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Luz snorted, shaking her head, not noticing his sudden reclusion. “My mom would freak out at this place. No, she’s a human realm type of human.”

“Then...are you staying with her?” King asked, drawing his limbs close to his body.

Luz watched him then, surprise evident on her face. King wasn’t looking at her, only the ceiling. He was already pretty small, but now he looked as though he was trying to make himself shrink even more.

“Course not,” Luz said softly, pulling King closer to her chest. “I love my mami, but the human realm isn’t for me. Never really has, if I’m being honest.”

“But you said your mom wouldn’t stay here,” King frowned, looking up at her now. “Are you going to stay separate again?”

“Well, no, that’s not,” Luz pursed her lips, frowning as she glanced to the side. “We...we’ll work something out. Maybe I could visit. Or...you know, it’ll depend on the portal, so we’ll have to see.” She decided on. “She’ll have to watch the tapes first.”

“So you don’t know, then?” King said simply, as if he was discussing common knowledge.

“I know I just...need to work out finer details.” Luz insisted. “Look, it’s fine, really. I’m not going anywhere.” She assured, drawing him up and giving a quick hug. “And I’m sure my mami would understand. I’m sure she remembers how crazy I was, this shouldn’t be that big of a surprise.”

She didn’t sound too convinced herself. King frowned, hooking his claws into her shirt and thus keeping her from pulling him away. He used his new leverage to give her a serious, no-nonsense expression that was honestly pretty cute on him. His nose almost touched hers.

“But don’t you miss it?” King asked, tilting his head. “I mean, you’re always talking about how different the human realm is from here and...how safer it is, really.” His eyes strayed, only for a moment, towards the edges of a scar that poked out of the collar of her shirt, one that he knew stretched far further along her arm and body like an angry, tangled thicket.

“I mean, nothings trying to kill you the moment you step outside, yeah, but the human realm isn’t perfect.” Luz said with a shrug. “If I’m being completely honest, if my mami wasn’t there, I don’t think I’d ever be trying to go back.” She said, sounding only slightly surprised at her revelation. 

“But it's your home, isn’t it?” King insisted. 

“My home,” Luz said, booping his nose as she sat him down on her crossed legs, taking a moment to pull his claws off her shirt. “Is where I decide it is. And it’s not there.” She said, giving him a small, soft smile. “But my mom is part of what I consider home, and I won’t be home until I find her. Does that make sense?” She asked, head turned.

“I...think so.” King said with a frown.

“Hey, at the end of the day,” Luz said, scratching at the fur just under his skull, the demon leaning into it. “Just know that, no matter how much the Emperor tries otherwise, you guys are stuck with me, okay? Getting back to my mom won’t change that.”

King curled closer to her hand, still appearing a little doubtful, but far more reassured than earlier. Luz giggled as she used her other hand to scratch at his side, the demon kicking out his back leg happily.

“And, who knows,” Luz continued. “Maybe we’ll find your dad, too. Ask him a few questions, figure things out with him.”

“He probably wouldn’t care,” King sighed, deflating a bit and going limp in Luz’s lap. “You’ve at least got memories of your mom. I don’t have any.”

“Then he’s missing out,” Luz said, swooping down to hug the demon and giggle at his squirming. “His loss, really. I’ll be sure to tell him that if we ever meet him.”

“Even if he looks as big and terrifying as his mural?” King asked, moving his head just slightly.

“Even if he looks scarier than his mural.” Luz said with a very serious nod.

“Alright,” King said with a tsk, shaking his head. “But I’m not responsible if you get stepped on.”

“That’s fair,” 

The two smiled at each other, chuckling quietly as Luz turned and flopped back on her bed, jolting King before he crawled up and curled into a ball on her stomach. Luz smiled up at the ceiling, stroking a hand down his back. King nuzzled her hand, yawning as he shut his eyes, wrapping his small claws around her fingers.

She turned her head to the side, off towards the bundle of items she stashed at the other end of her room. Her eyes locked on the box of tapes under a pile of clothes, the words FOR MOM written as large as possible on the side in sharpie. Her smile fell, and she looked away from the box, face pinched.

“I hope your mom likes us,” King mumbled sleepily. “It won’t change anything if she doesn't, right?” He cracked open an eye, the yellow and purple glow looking eerie as he gazed at Luz.

“She’ll like you,” Luz assured quickly, forgoing answering his second question as she stroked her other hand over his skull and down his back. King shut his eyes again and purred in response, tail wagging. “She’ll like you.” She repeated, quieter, gently squeezing her fingers around King’s claws.

She didn’t speak after that. She did, however, tighten her hold on his back with her other hand, like she was afraid he’d get ripped out of her hands from a simple gust of wind. If she was squeezing him too tightly, he didn’t say anything.

[heyyyharry]

"you drew stars around my scars but now i’m bleeding”

(a blurb from the My Girl Series)

…in which Y/N tells herself this is the last time.

Warning: SMUT (car sex)

Word count: 2.8k

AU: older!harry (4-year age gap), actor!harry, childhood best friends, friends with benefits.

“DON’T CALL ME KID! DON’T CALL ME BABY! LOOK AT THIS GODFORSAKEN MESS THAT YOU MADE ME!” 😔 inspired by folklore.

.

.

.

“Did anyone see you leave?”

“No,” Harry said, leaning back and spreading his legs as she worked his zip down. She’d been thinking about this all day, but he didn’t have to know that. If men knew how much you wanted them, they’d only want you less At least that was from her personal experience.

She took his cock out of his pants, fingers curling over the smooth, hot skin of his shaft and sliding up to tease at the edge of his foreskin. The head of Harry’s prick was already slick, and she sucked his precum off her fingers before licking her palm and stroking and squeezing around him until he whimpered. They had done this so many times that she knew his body even better than he did. She knew how to work him up, how to run her thumb over the head of his cock so he’d buck into her grip and whimper her name. But she didn’t want to hurry.

She struggled a bit to get her pants off, hating that they were in the backseat of his car instead of her place or his. They’d usually meet at hers, but her neighbour was having a party tonight; it’d be impossible for Harry to come and go without being recognised and photographed. But she didn’t need a fancy hotel room or a comfortable bed, because they were just hooking up. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Should have worn a blood dress,” she muttered, fighting her bunched-up jeans and kicking them under the front seat.

Harry laughed, but as soon as she peeled off her damp panties, his breath caught and his nostrils flared. She knew his car would smell like them at the end of the night when he drove home alone, and something about that erotic thought turned her on even more.

She gracefully slid into his lap. His hand slipped down to stroke at the silky heat of her pussy, two fingers opening her up, spreading her slick and rubbing at her clit until she began to tremble. She clutched his wrist to still him so she wouldn’t come on his fingers then kissed him before he could say a word. She bit his lip, curled her free hand into his messy hair, and moved her hips so she could rub the thick crown of his cock against her.

She’d been on the pill lately, so it was easy to just grab for his dick and guide it into her. He loved it when she told him how big he was, how full she made her feel, murmuring filthy words into his ear as he fucked her, hard and fast, flushed with the praise. But when they were as horny as they were tonight, she didn’t have to say anything; she couldn’t. Her mouth hung open without making a sound as she felt the first, deep, blunt push of his cock into her pussy. It always ached a little no matter how many times they’d had sex. He always stretched her so good, but she was too wet to need a pause.

“God, I missed you,” he hissed, filling her to the brim as she settled into his lap. She tried to ignore the effect those words had on her, and to not wonder if he really missed her or only what she was willing to give him.

She clung onto his neck and shoulders and clenched down as his hand went under her thighs, lifting her, moving her on the length of his cock. The head slid over her g-spot, and she gasped and ground harder against him. His fingers clenched around the backs of her thighs as he let her set the pace and planted sloppy kisses down the side of her neck. He nuzzled her hair out of the way and made small noises against her hot skin.

She rode him faster, snapping her hips against his and making him moan. She wondered if they were shaking the car and somehow felt thankful for the fact that the car park was empty. They weren’t trying to keep it lowkey anymore.

Harry whispered her name as his fingers dug into her thighs. She can feel his dick flexing inside her. She knew he was close. He always waited on her like a true gentleman, and she kissed him clumsily as she slid a hand down to rub at her clit.

What shoved her to the edge was the way Harry groaned and bit his lip as her moving fingers brushed the base of his cock. His hips jerked, and they were both so close for each other. Her slick pussy started pulsing as she sobbed into his mouth and he squeezed her tighter, so tight she could feel his fingernails leaving marks in the soft flesh of her thighs. She would go home alone with those marks as a reminder of this moment, and she’d either feel bad about it or want him even more. Usually both.

“Yes, baby, come for me.”

And those were the words that set her off. Him calling her baby was her ultimate weakness, even if it might not mean anything to him. His thrusts were getting faster, messier, driving into the tight clench of her as she cried out and ground her hips. She shuddered against him as she came again.

“Gonna,” he whispered, his hips stuttering and his fingers tightened, and then he was spurting hotly into her, filling her up until his come was trickling back down over his balls. She was already thinking of the way he’d have to tug his coat close just in case he ran into the paps. Meanwhile, she would go back to her flat still feeling the hot pulse of him having been in her. Everything about it was dirty, and she loved it.

Harry rested his head back as she started nipping at the side of his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath her lips. “That was...so good,” she said, still breathless.

“I know.” He gave a soft laugh which turned to a groan as she slipped off his still-hard, sensitive cock. She grabbed his face and pulled his lips back to hers. His hands burned against her back, drawing her close.

They’d had sex, again. And he still wanted her.

She had no idea why she must reassure herself that he wanted her every single time they were together. Perhaps because this felt surreal. Because if she told her teenage self that someday she’d be having sex with Harry in the backseat of his car, that girl would not believe it. In her memory, Harry had always been untouchable. Yet here he was, burying his face into her neck and inhaling her scent as if she were air. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest. This felt real. Even though she knew it was anything but.

“Kid.”

His voice snapped her back to reality. Her eyes flinched open and she saw his face twisted with worry as he took her wrist and removed her arm around his neck.

Her heart wavered at the thought that he’d finally decided that this was wrong and wanted to end this. Wouldn’t it be cruel? To say he didn’t want this anymore after he’d just finished inside her? Would he tell her to get out of the car and leave her here all on her own?

To her surprise and confusion, he lifted her arm, still catching his breath. That was when she realized he was peering at the scars on her forearm. “How did you get these?” he asked.

“I fell.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.” She giggled. “It’s no big deal. I was running for the bus and the pavement was slippery.”

Harry frowned. His gaze slipped from hers as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the scar. Her heart leapt involuntarily. And she hated herself for it.

“Remember when I used to draw stars around your scars,” he whispered, his dimples darkening in the dim streetlight. The memory of the happier days warmed her from inside out, and she felt it showing on her face.

“Because I said my legs looked ugly after my bike accident,” she said timidly.

“You fell a lot back then.” Harry looked up, his forehead creasing as if he was trying to remember one of those times. “I thought you’d get less clumsy when you grew up but I guess I was wrong.”

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can always draw stars around my new scars.”

“Or,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, “you can stop running in the rain.”

She laughed as she kissed him again and pretended that they weren’t in the backseat of his car in an empty car park, that they didn’t have to sneak around, that whatever she was feeling right now was valid, that he would rather be with her than go back to the world where she did not belong.

And so they finished cleaning up and laughing for a whole minute about the stain on his crotch. As she pulled her jeans back on and he adjusted his clothes, what had felt like a euphoric rush now felt like shame and a bit of regret. She shrugged it right off. It was normal. No one should be proud if they had to drive to a place like this to have sex just so they wouldn’t be seen together.

Then, the thought of them being seen together briefly crossed her mind. How would he react if the world found out? Would he be ashamed? Would he end this? Or would he say fuck it and risk it all for her?

She twisted her hair into a low bun, secured it with her scrunchie and turned to face him. To her surprise, he was giving that goofy dimpled smile that her thirteen-year-old self would write ten pages about in her journal. It was funny how he’d always been so close yet always felt a thousand miles away. She knew she was his girl, but had he ever been hers?

She reached up to fix his hair, only using it as an excuse to run her fingers through it. He took another glance at her scars and frowned a bit, which made her wonder why they bothered him so much. Was he finally paying attention to her imperfections?

“Have you got a pen?” he asked.

She looked at him funny but still answered, “Yeah, I always carry one around to take notes.” Then she reached for her bag in the passenger seat, fumbled for her black pen and gave it to him.

He clicked the pen open and scooted closer, tucking her arm under his as he held onto her wrist and carefully drew stars around her scars.

“Really?” she giggled, and he shushed her.

“Don’t move. Do you want ugly stars?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, baby, when I’m done, you’ll want to get ‘em tattooed.”

Her smile thinned as a chill coursed through her. He needed to warn her before calling her baby. It did inexplicable things to her; things she wasn’t so proud of.

“There you go,” he said and clicked the pen close with a victorious smirk upon his face.

She peered at the stars he’d drawn and raised both eyebrows. “Not bad.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-four years old. I should draw better than when I was thirteen,” he said with a shrug, laced their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand, as one would to their girlfriend. Why was she thinking of that word right now? What had gotten into her? She wasn’t this person.

The sound of a text broke the silence in the car and Harry groaned loudly before fumbling into the pocket of his coat draped around the driver’s seat. He unlocked the screen, the bright light illuminating his face. His dimples deepened as he read the message and typed something into his phone. She heard a whoosh of the message being sent, then a ding of a new one arriving. The serenity of their own world had been intruded by this person who was texting him.

She didn’t want to care who it was, who made him smile and shake his head and bite his lip as he thought of something to write back to make the person smile, too. She didn’t want to care if he was going to see this person once he’d dropped her off. She didn’t want to know if he’d wake up alone tomorrow or in bed with a beautiful woman. That wasn’t how their ‘thing’ was supposed to work. She was supposed to mind her own business. But she wasn’t to blame, for he wasn’t supposed to draw stars around her scars, kiss them like he meant it, and called her ‘kid’ and ‘baby’ as if this was special.

It wasn’t.

She wasn’t.

“It’s late,” he said and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. It’s not late, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “I’ll drive you home.”

She felt the urge to ask if he had other plans later. The question lingered at her throat, yet she swallowed it down.

“I can walk home,” she said, putting on her coat as he’d already put on his and seemed so eager to get rid of her.

“Alone? At this hour?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Kid, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you.”

“It’s too risky,” she sighed. “I bet that most of my neighbour’s party guests are just arriving. His parties usually last all night long.”

She’d almost used it as an excuse to spend the rest of the night with Harry. She guessed it wasn’t happening now. She could either let him drive her home to get some more time with him or be smart about this and not put themselves in danger of being seen together. They weren’t so far from her block and she didn’t mind walking.

“I can’t let you walk home alone at night, Bambi,” he said. There was the same tone that her father would use. Moments like this reminded her that he was older and she would always be just a kid to him.

“Fine. I’ll call Alice to pick me up.”

Alice was her co-worker. But of course, she wasn’t going to bother Alice.

Harry studied her expression for a long moment as if to check if she was lying. Surprisingly, he believed her, or he had no choice but to believe her so he could leave as fast as he could.

“All right,” he said, leaned in and kissed her forehead, his lips hot against her skin. “Call me when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips into a smile and got out of the car.

Harry insisted on waiting until Alice arrived, but she threatened him with the fact that Alice was a big fan of his, and she’d be the last person who should find out about their “thing”, whatever this was. So Harry left first. The pained expression that he gave her before he drove off somehow made her feel reassured. Or was she just looking for any sign that showed that he cared about her more than he appeared to be?

Tearing her gaze from the empty street, she secured her bag on her shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. As she walked home, she kept pulling up her sleeve to check if the stars Harry had drawn were still there. She knew she’d have to wash them off later in the shower. Still, she wanted to keep them as good as new for as long as they lasted.

The longer she looked at them, however, the heavier her heart became. She could not help but recall the feeling she’d had when he’d kissed them, and guilt washed over her as her heart started sinking to the bottom of her chest. And so she told herself this would be the last time, that she’d not answer his call ever again. No more secret meetings and false hopes and daydreaming. If she didn’t want to bleed, she should stop running in the rain.

But there was something about running in the rain – the excitement, the longing, the feeling of being washed clean even though you’d arrived home shivering, drenched, and covered in mud. And so she knew this wouldn’t be the last time. She’d keep running until she fell and could not get up.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Again a tiny mention of the hate crime in the first few paragraphs here, just as Sander is thinking of the last clip.

Thursday, 12:03

Song: Agnes Obel - Island of Doom

“Oh my god, Gilles, can you please just stop for five minutes?”

Sander’s not sure where the outburst comes from; he regrets it instantly. He feels better today, after the shit-show that was last night. He’s stopped thinking about punches and bruises and pain and lies and Robbe curled up on the ground. Or at least, he’s stopped thinking about it enough that he can breathe easier again. He had never even really noticed the weight, until he’d spoken to Jens the other night. Until then, it had been about Robbe. Robbe being okay, Robbe feeling safe and not missing out, Robbe not hating himself for loving Sander. Robbe moving on. Recovering, healing. Forgetting.

They’ll never forget it entirely, he knows that. But he sees it in Robbe, and he can see it in himself now, those times when it leaves them for a moment. When the universe shrinks back down, and centers them in its orbit, and blocks out the rest of the world. They can forget, for more and more moments.

Once they admit that they haven’t, it becomes easier to try. Ignoring it hasn’t given it less power; it only makes the memory scarier when it pops up unexpectedly.

He’s allowed to curse it. To hate faces he doesn’t even remember. It’s all that anger, that spark of spite, that lights a fire in him and allows him to grow bigger than it. He should have known, with how long Agathe has been ingraining the thought process in him. Giving voice to it, letting his words be carried away on the air, shifts the concrete away to prod at the core, which is only as heavy as damp, rotting leaves. If he speaks at the right moment, the wind will be strong enough to sweep them out.

Maybe the right moment should have happened before last night. Maybe it should have come a year ago. But he’d woken up this morning with such an unexpected sense of light and relief, and he thinks that should count for something, no matter the time.

Then he’d gone to class, and the usual restless-and-bored feeling kicked in, and then he’d settled himself down at one of the picnic benches outside. Now, he’s still there, with the addition of his friends, and the good mood he’d woken up in is dissipating quickly the longer he tries to work on this assignment.

And the longer Gilles keeps distracting him from it.

They’re looking at Sander now from right next to him like he’d just slapped them across the face, and the regret deepens, twists itself into something gnarled and jagged that hooks and tugs at his ribs. Thomas and Emilie have gone silent and, effectively, so has Gilles. They open their mouth only once and quickly snap it shut again.

“I’m sorry,” Sander says quickly. “I honestly didn’t mean it. It’s just—“ he gestures to his laptop “—this fucking assignment.”

Gilles wipes the surprise away and forces a smile, giving a tiny nod. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I can keep it down. Actually, I think I’m gonna go get something to eat, anyway.”

They begin to rise from the bench as they speak, and Sander quickly latches onto their arm and gives a pleading tug. “No. Gilles, I’m sorry. Please, don’t be upset.”

“I’m not,” Gilles waves him off. At Sander’s unconvinced look, they insist, “I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Sander tries. “Don’t leave.”

Gilles just shakes their head. “I’ll come back. Compromise, yeah? You asked for five minutes.”

Sander slowly lets his hand fall, feeling lost. He can’t just keep apologising, but he doesn’t know what to actually say to make it better. He’s hopeless in such situations. He glances at Thomas and Emilie for help, but they both seem disappointed, too.

“Sander.” Gilles sets a hand on the back of his neck as they finally stand and gives a gentle squeeze. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll...try to actually help you, or just be quiet whenever I get back, okay? Whichever you want.” They duck down and press a firm kiss to his cheek, and he barely has time to lean towards them before they hoist up their bag and walk off.

Sander wants to call out, but he still can’t find the words, and Gilles won’t be dragged back if they want to go. Instead his mouth opens and closes as helplessly as a fish’s, and Thomas slowly packs up his things and stands instead.

“I’m gonna go…” He juts his thumb over his shoulder, hovering by the table hesitantly. “I’m sure it’s fine, but, you know. But it’ll be fine, Sander.”

Sander’s shoulders slump, but he nods, and Thomas smiles at him before running to catch up to Gilles. Sander pushes his laptop back far enough that he can plant his elbows on the table and drop his head into his hands with a sigh.

“Hey,” Emilie breaks through his thoughts, voice soft. “Gilles is a big boy. They’ll get over it quickly. They really know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It was still shitty,” Sander sighs.

Emilie gives him a sympathetic smile and slides across the seat to sit directly across from him, where Thomas had been a moment ago. “What’s going on?”

Sander huffs. “You mean why am I being a dick?”

She ignores him. “The assignment can’t be that bad. Maybe give yourself a break from it, get something to eat as well. Come back to it with a clearer head.”

“It’s not that easy,” Sander says, frustrated. “Just because you can pass all this stuff without even trying, doesn’t mean it’s the same for all of us.”

“Okay, wow, you really do have a stick up your ass today.”

Sander shrinks back, effectively admonished. He, again, didn’t mean to be so harsh. He probably should just stop speaking altogether. Which means he probably should stop writing this essay, too, at least for a moment, until he gets his head under control again. Chances are it will be more strongly worded than he intends if he continues at this rate. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Emilie stares him down for a moment, then sighs. She reaches out and carefully pushes his laptop aside, and Sander doesn’t even attempt to muster the energy for a protest. Emilie lays her hands over his and doesn’t hold them, but massages the pressure points between each thumb and forefinger as she speaks.

“You know, it would take me a full month to do the kind of art you can pull off in like, a day. And I’m no smarter than Tom. It’s not just easy for me, Sander. I work my ass off to be here as much as anyone else.”

Sander curls in on himself a little more, nodding. He could mumble another apology, but he doesn’t quite see the point. He knows it’s not what she’s looking for. “I know,” he says instead. “I didn’t mean to discredit you.”

“I know.” She gives his hands a squeeze and sighs, leaning in closer to catch his eye. “And I would never discredit you, either, because I know none of us would be here if we didn’t deserve it. It’s not supposed to be easy. But we can do it. That’s the whole point.”

Is that true? It’s something Sander would like to believe, certainly, but at times like this...he doubts his abilities and his choices. What if he’s just not meant for study? In that case, what is he supposed to do?

“And you know it’s okay,” Emilie continues softly, “to ask for help when you feel like you can’t do it.”

Of course she sees right through him. He smiles weakly and works one of his hands free to draw his laptop backs towards him, angling it towards Emilie. “Will you help me?”

She huffs now, but smiles. “If only you’d had to ask one of us that last week. But when it comes to practicals you’re a pro. Otherwise we would’ve realised you’d gotten mixed up.”

“Are you saying,” Sander asks slowly, “that I messed up because I’m too good?”

She grins at him. “Exactly.”

“Cute. Just say you want help with your piece too and be done with it.”

“I want help with my piece, too.”

“At your service,” Sander smirks.

He feels only mildly anxious as she quickly skims through what he has already done, and relieved when her first response is a question that unexpectedly prompts him onwards. He’s typing away again within moments, ignoring the girl’s smug smile as he flicks between tabs and documents and his own thoughts.

When he’s completed another, rather lengthy paragraph, Gilles and Thomas return.

Sander is surprised enough to stop immediately; he hadn’t actually expected the two to come back. But Gilles perches next to him again with only the slightest hesitance and passes him a small, white paper bag with two croques tucked inside.

Sander instantly wraps an arm around their waist and leans into them in a hug, mumbling another apology. It’s all it takes to have Gilles beaming and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You’re both so easy,” Thomas muses. “Remember this, Em. Just give Sander food and Gilles affection and they’re fine.”

“Or the other way around,” Gilles offers, to which Sander immediately nods.

“Both,” he agrees. “Both is good.”

They’re all halfway through their food when Sander remembers the other thing he wanted to talk to them about, and a smile is stretching his lips before he actually speaks. “So, what did you guys think of Luca? She’s pretty fun, right?”

Gilles and Emilie choke on the same bite, with Gilles falling into a dramatic coughing fit and Emilie just politely clearing her throat with the back of her hand pressed to her lips. Thomas’s sandwich is held halfway up to his mouth as he freezes and examines the scene, the top rim of his glasses cutting his eyes in half as he widens them at Sander. Sander simply laughs, shaking his head at the two culprits and remarking on all their old comments about him being the one lacking subtlety.

As if.

~^~

previous/next

[thiefswathe]

#FFxivWrite 2021    Prompt #1 // Foster

  ' Steady, now. Take aim. '

  It is just him and the stag — alone together in the dense green of the Twelveswood. The Keeper boy's ears swivel and turn around him, listening out as his leonine tail steadies and stills. He's balanced. Quiet.

  'You've practiced this. Y'know what to do.'

  The air is so thick with fog, he can hear the wood of the arrows clinking together inside the loose quiver as he draws back his arm. The season was deep in autumn. Still lush in its verdant, but now the leaves had begun to turn to bright yellows and oranges. The cold was settling in. Food was getting harder to find.

  'You've almost got it, Co'to. Just a little more...'

  Eyes bright as moonlight left the steady gait of the stag scavenging for his own meal. Instead, they looked to the creek, the glinting water from what few beams of sunlight broke through the trees. He needs to focus! Antelope was fleet of foot, Da told him. How many stripes had this one had? One, two...

  '— now!' And he feels his fingers loose on the bowstring. 

  A miss.

  The prominent horns of a great stag turned and met eyes with the boy long enough to sense the danger, and he's gone. Long gone, leaving behind the tremble of a half-eaten shrub.

  A heavy hand comes to ruffle the grey hair of the small kit holding the bow. The arrow… what arrow? It hardly made it but a few fulms away, veering off to the left. The boy had been hungry, distracted, but now...?

  A boy was angry.

  "That's not fair! You distracted me!" He shoves the figure behind him. Once. Twice! And with his ears back and tail lashing, he growls— "I could've HAD it this time —could've HAD IT!!!"

  "Yea — ? Then why didn't you?" The quirk of a grey brow lifts as he peers down at the child. "Th'Shroud's full of distractions. And every time, you always fail. Wonder why that is..." No point in standing around wondering. The figure turns, tugging the front of the boy's tunic.

  "Come. We'll miss th'caravan if we wait too long..."

  "— Co'a !!!"

  The young man stopped and turned back to witness the boy throwing the bow down onto the ground. Oh. Oh, this ought to be good. The older clanskeeper crosses his arms, "—throwin' a fit, are we?" A short breath draws inward, and he can smell the smoke of the campfires growing weaker. They must have been put out, meaning they wouldn't have much time. The hunt was never meant to take this long, anyhow.

  But a child like this one cares not for the essence of timeliness. In fact, he's resolute in consuming every last bit of it. The young Keeper then threw his quiver from off his shoulder, handmade arrows scattering as he kicked them in defiance. Hard.

  "Keep at it. Go on. You'll earn yer marks behavin' no less like a foolish tickwomp, for sure! How proud our mother'll be..."

  "I hate you. You're always PICKIN' on me!"

  "Am not!" He’s almost offended. Almost. "I'm tryin' to help you."

  A low growl, the stomp of an angry foot. "Gobshite! You're doin' it jus' t'be mean! Jus’ like you always do!" And now an angry boy is picking up an angry-looking rock.

  But the older Miqo'te was not afraid. Nor was he impressed. Amused, though? Amusement brings a laugh. Louder now when the boy rears his arm back with the intent to toss it. The young man who had aimed to be his target had seen over twenty summers and more than a few spats of combat and this angry little boy-child expects him to be afraid of a rock? A grey mark, proud and adorning his face, tattooed stretched across his cheek. And he calls attention to it with the tap of a finger.

  "Y'want your marks, Nico'to, you'll need to earn 'em. Ain't not a soul born in our clan who hasn't. Y'think I do it just so I can pick on you? Quite wrong you are." But Nico'a won't explain why. Not today. Gesturing to the strewn arrows. "Come… we'll practice again next time we make camp. New lands, new game." The hour was getting late anyhow. "Pick those up. Can't afford to waste 'em."

  Whether the boy followed or not... well, he had to, didn't he? Couldn't risk being left behind. He tried to defy, tried to stand his ground, but Co'to stood there long enough to drop the rock, begrudgingly lifting his bow and the bundle of arrows to stuff back into his quiver, kicking up the mud that had left his footprints before following his brother into the grass.

  They weren't too far off from their camp, but the trees in this part of the Shroud were so dense that it would be as if nightfall had come by the time they arrived. The ashen boy eventually caught up with his elder brother, who laughed once more, now putting an arm around him— "Little brother..."  

  ...Only to have it shoved off. "Don't touch me," the boy hisses. Though he may be small, a boy is fierce, and his words are bitter like poison.

  “Be angry all you like Co'to, but if our father saw you actin' a fool, he's not gonna take you to hunt. Now just imagine what our mother'll say, then..."

  "I don't care."

  "You will...~"

  "—Will not!"

  "I promise you. You will." And he means it, stopping dead in his tracks and kneeling down to better meet the boy, eye to eye, on his level. He turned Co'to by his bony shoulders to better face him. This was serious now, his ears falling back. "You have to. Ma said that we have to focus on gettin' our lands back if we have any chance at takin' back th'South. That means we won't be goin' on anymore hunts with Da. No more trips to Coerthas. No more ceremonies or childishness. No more whimsy, Co'to. You have t'grow up for a while now. We're in conflict with our enemies, you understand?"

 Oh yes. The boy understands. Better than most his age. Having a Matriarch for a mother meant that the world's weight held heaviest a burden to the family she leads. So, as angry as the boy wanted to be, his head falls, ears wilting. Co'a didn't need to see that his expression had softened beyond that mess of unruly grey as he turned his head away from him. But these boys were not weak, nor did they hide. So Co'a was there to bring those eyes right back.

  "Say it. Say it true. What's got you so angry?"

  A small sigh, "... Do we really need to leave? This territory is unclaimed, ain't it? Why can't we just make it ours?"

  "Because it's not home." And it's not unclaimed. "Y'know this..."

  "No, I don't! I barely remember home. I just remember it burning."

  "—And if we don't stop moving, the Trappers will just burn us out of this place, too. Same as last time." And the one before that. Co'a would have been surprised if Co'to could recall the wetlands or the great lake. Unfortunately, such was the case for most of the younger children. Clan Tjahaar had not held territory in the South in so many Turns; it was becoming something of a far-off distant memory. Even for him and his eldest sisters. 

  But that was soon about to change. The elder brother drew in a breath, releasing the somber expression he wore, "Y'didn't get the childhood I had. All this moving and poachin'. It's not how it's supposed to be. So that's why I have to be tough on you. And I'm only tough on you because there's still a chance that you can someday."

  Co'a rises, lifting Co'to so that they could move quickly as one. Another moon and the boy would be eight. He was getting too big to carry like this. They spent the remaining trip in silence, cautious in their journey back to where the camp had been established.

 But they wouldn't get far before the pair would need to hide. The sound of a movement not far from them sent the Keeper pair to the ground. Co'a kept the kit tucked safely against his broad chest. Ears up, mouths quiet.

  It's a language that neither of them knew, but only one could recognize. Co'a raised his head to peer up above the grass. They hadn't been seen. Not yet. A soft rumble in his throat, the purr of Huntspeak, "[It's the enemy...]"

  "[Trappers?]"

  "[No. Garlean...]" Enemy of the Wood. He very quietly rests his brother to the ground, letting him move out from under him to see the soldier in the distance. It's faint, but he's there. "See him?"

  Co'to had to follow his brother's finger as he pointed, but sure enough, he could see. They found themselves spying upon a patrolman. Adorned in fancy clothes and a sword on his back. Red. He stands out far clearer than any stag with all that unnatural red and black.

  Was this another test...? Nico'to was already drawing an arrow from his quiver. "I can hit him from here—!"

  "—Don't." A fast hand brings that bow back down. Co'a kept his eyes searching. So soon as the patrolman turned his back, the boys continued to move through the tall grass. "Your arrows won't pierce anything more than a stag's hide. Besides, there could be others. We must return an' inform Ma—"

  The hefty stomp of a large boot as they left the grass brought Co'a to realize that he had missed two imperials who now stood before him and his kit brother. Well...

  "...Shite." So much for a lesson in distractions. With no time to react, he slowly the older Keeper raised his hands in mock surrender as the soldiers began speaking. Neither of them could understand, not like they could understand much of what either of the boys could say, either.

  But wasting no time once Co'to was on his feet, Nico'a stood with him, snatching up his bow and a handful of arrows, and it is with fierceness and immediate reflex of a Keeper bowmaster that he draws back, letting loose one deadly arrow after the next. He's aiming for the nearest open space as they draw out their weapons — finding it high on the soldiers' throats.

  "Run, Nico'to! Run!!"

[chevrolangels]

though the stars walk backward

#24: You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you, 4.1k

From this prompt list

For @princessjimmynovak​  This was requested approximately a million years ago and I finally finished it!! Happy belated birthday darling 💜

Feat. Space Ex-Boyfriends who are bad at talking to each other. So, canon. But in space. (Dean has always wanted to be an astronaut, lbr)

read on ao3

“New crop of cadets coming in today.”

“I know.”

Charlie bites into her apple, munching as she scans her screen.

“Hope they’re better than the last ones. Half of ‘em couldn’t tell the difference between a spectrometer and an ammeter.”

Castiel doesn’t comment. He’s too on edge to indulge Charlie today, so he just shrugs, swiveling his chair back in front of the control panel.

Everything’s on autopilot, like always, but he likes to check the nav-console by hand, every once in a while, if nothing but to prove his usefulness. Wouldn't do to have the computer shift a few degrees without anyone noticing and end up halfway to Alpha Centauri.

“I mean, what do they think we do up here? Run pretty tests for fun?” Charlie continues. “Like, one leak is the difference between life and death.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal noise and starts typing in the complicated sequence with his stylus, the starmap projected before him, their course pulsing with gentle blue light.

“I mean, they’re gone for all that time, least the Academy can do is make sure they’re prepared.”

Castiel bites his tongue, typing with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. He loves Charlie, but her ranting is really starting to get to him. Castiel might be the best pilot this side of the Pleiades, but hey. He’s only human.

“If they send me one more programmer who asks me how to do an abstraction, I’m going to―”

“Charlie, do you mind?” Castiel snaps. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

He regrets it immediately. Charlie does go quiet, but makes a thoroughly overdramatic roll of her chair into Castiel’s eyeline. She raises an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanna share with the class there, bud?”

Castiel exhales, rolling his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just...need to focus.”

“...Right.”

A decidedly sneaky look crosses her face, one that Castiel knows spells trouble.

She leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands.

“Is it because you gotta do the whole ‘Captain Thing’ later?” She asks. “Shake hands, greet the greets, that whole deal?”

Castiel acquiesces.

“Partly.”

He quickly finishes the rest of the code and enters it into the nav-console, sinking back in his seat. Charlie purses her lips.

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the teaching staff is coming back, huh.”

Castiel keeps his face carefully neutral, even as he feels the back of his neck grow hot. He fiddles with the stylus in his hands, turning it over and over again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie taps her chin, looking thoughtful.

“What’s it been, two years?” She whistles, drawing it out. “Long time.”

Castiel just grunts. He should be getting up, to change into his uniform for the new batch of arrivals, but he makes no attempt to move.

“Dean’s coming back, too, right?”

Castiel snaps the stylus in half.

Charlie grins.

Castiel looks down at his hand, shoving the broken stylus into his pocket.

“If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says loftily. “And whether he does or not certainly doesn’t affect me.”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Didn’t they send the transfer roster last week?”

Castiel glares at her. She smirks back, giving him a cheeky wink.

Castiel abruptly pushes back from the console, standing.

“I have to go change,” he says shortly.

Once he gets to his quarters and the door slides closed behind him, Castiel sinks back against it, dropping his head in his hands.

Two years. Two years since Castiel chose to stay, and he chose to leave. Two years, of long lonely nights in front of the computer, of avoiding the Observation Deck, of throwing himself into his work. Two years in which Castiel thought he’d successfully ridded every last trace of Dean Winchester from his life.

After that night, Castiel had thrown away everything he’d ever given him. Every trinket, every gift, every scrap of paper―pathetic trophies of infatuation that Castiel had saved like a fool, pressed between the pages of his books.

The rest of the ship noticed, of course, because how could they not―Charlie, especially, had been particularly persistent in trying to get Castiel to tell her what happened. But Castiel resolutely refused to talk about him, and glowered sufficiently at any mention of his name that eventually people just learned to stop bringing him up.

But time marches ever onward, and the training cycle at the Academy is complete. The institution that Dean fled to in the first place is now spitting him back out, thrusting him back into Castiel’s life.

Castiel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. How is he going to stand in front of nearly three hundred people and shake his hand? Just the mention of his name made Castiel want to throw something, bringing back all those memories Castiel tried so hard to forget. It may have been two years, but everything that made the man named Dean Winchester the best part of his life is still imprinted in Castiel’s memory, like a brand.

It’s times like this when Castiel wishes he could be like one of Charlie’s computers, erasing all information at the touch of a button. There would be no pain, no memories―like he had never existed in the first place.

Castiel exhales, looking down at his hands.

He’ll just have to make it quick. It really wouldn’t do for the captain to start a fistfight in front of the entire crew.

x

Roughly thirty minutes later, Castiel finds himself standing stiffly at the end of the receiving line of officers, the collar of his uncomfortable dress uniform cutting into his neck. Something must be off with the temperature regulators in the receiving deck, because he’s sweating, a few locks of hair slipping loose from his hat. He attempts to comb them back into place until Naomi hisses at him to stop fidgeting.

Charlie is beside him as Chief Engineering Officer. She cranes her neck above the crowd, looking at the small group that’s just disembarked from the transport ship.

“Showtime,” she says, adjusting her gloves.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathing in. He can do this.

The new ones pass through first, freshly graduated, young and starry-eyed. Castiel can appreciate their eager enthusiasm. It’s important work they do here on the ship, and they need the best crew to make it possible. They shake his hand vigorously, hopefully interpreting his tight-lipped stare as stoic strength.

Then, the officers.

Hannah, who Castiel has always liked, gives him a warm smile and clasps his hands, telling him how much they missed him. Castiel agrees with the sentiment, but he can barely focus during their conversation, continually darting his eyes towards the end of the line.

The procession inches forward, painfully slow. Cain, Chief Military Strategist, is next, then Billie, and Linda Tran. Crowley, a truly despicable human being, but perhaps the most brilliant Flight Engineer Castiel’s ever worked with, passes with a slimy smile―and then, a face Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Captain Novak,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel smiles back, unable to help himself.

“It has,” he agrees, taking his hand. Despite whatever may have happened between him and his brother, Castiel always liked Sam. “I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you during your absence.”

Sam nods, dropping Castiel’s hand.

“Believe me, we missed it here, too,” he says, smiling. “You never know how good you have it until you have to spend time way out in the boonies.”

Castiel chuckles. He remembers. The time at the Academy might be necessary, but it certainly couldn’t be called comfortable.

Sam turns, indicating the cadets behind them.

“We’ve got a good group for you here, Cas,” he says, dropping the nickname with easy familiarity. “I think you’ll be happy with them.”

“Good to hear,” Castiel replies. “I’m sure they benefited from having you as a teacher.”

Sam shrugs, ever modest.

Naomi clears her throat from behind them, not-so-subtly encouraging him to move it along. Sam smiles and gives Castiel a small little salute, moving away.

Castiel sighs, tugging at his collar. To his left, he hears a low chuckle.

“Still hate that uniform, huh?”

Castiel stiffens.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slowly lowers his hand, looking up into the face he tried two years to forget.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, smiling.

His eyes are bright, shining, like he wants to be here. Funny. Castiel seems to remember he went halfway across the star system just to get away from him.

He extends a hand, holding it out for Castiel to shake.

Castiel clears his throat, but doesn’t move.

“Dr. Winchester,” he replies stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Dean chuckles.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I gotta call you ‘Captain Novak’, now, huh? Sorry.”

He looks up, that soft smile returning.

“Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs.

His hand is still extended, in the distance between them. Naomi must be practically foaming at the mouth at such a lack of decorum. Castiel couldn’t care less.

Dean looks exactly the same, perhaps a few more lines around his eyes, still that perfect shade of green. Dean's eyes always reminded Castiel of Earth.

Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines. He looks Castiel up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on the few locks of hair Castiel knows must still be stubbornly escaping from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Dean continues. “Even after two years.”

“And three months, six days,” Castiel says coolly.

Dean’s smile fades a little.

“Right.”

He pulls back his hand, awkwardly picking at the edge of the hat in his hands.

Castiel’s heart is beating wildly, but he keeps his face still as stone. Dean shifts uncomfortably, then seems to make a decision.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

“Look, Cas, you know I always hated this formal junk,” he murmurs. “Can we talk later, maybe?”

He sounds so cavalier, so oblivious, and Castiel hates it.

“Catch up?” Dean asks. “Away from all these people?”

Castiel gives him his coldest stare.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Running this ship is a full time job.”

Dean blinks, and he stares at him, looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. The monster of heartache and pain inside Castiel roars with a vicious triumph.

“I have enough on my plate as it is,” he continues dismissively. “I simply don’t have time to indulge every junior officer who wants to waste my time.”

He straightens, looking away disinterestedly.

“You’d do best to remember that.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak, merely staring at Castiel, his mouth open in disbelief.

Then he remembers himself, and with a glance at Naomi, he stands up straight, placing his officer’s hat back on his head.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, lowering his eyes. “Well.”

There’s an awkward cough from Charlie to his left. Castiel ignores her.

“It’s good to see you, again, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Really.”

Somehow, he makes it sound genuine.

He exits the platform, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Castiel watches Dean go an uneasy curl in his throat. The brief flare of vengeful satisfaction is already leeching away, leaving him feeling brittle and hollow.

Naomi is already busy shooing the officers into the reception hall, for the welcome banquet. Charlie finds Castiel’s arm and squeezes it, her eyes sympathetic.

“Cas?” She asks quietly. “You okay?”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Think I might have to get back to you on that."

x

Later, after the banquet, after three hours of restless tossing and turning, Castiel slowly gets up, not bothering with shoes.

Wandering the hallways used to be his favorite pastime. The quiet, the stillness. He still does it, on occasion, when he finds sleep isn’t easy in coming. The lights that try to mimic some semblance of a day and night cycle are dimmed low, the halls empty, most retired to their chambers.

Castiel makes his way up to the Observation Deck, taking a brief look around. There’s no one there, no one to spy on the captain of their ship, stealing away in the night for some much needed solitude. He walks the ramp to the very top part of the observatory, leaning his arms on the handrail. Castiel used to spend hours here. He would sit and watch the stars turn, feeling at once very small and very infinite. He sits now, staring out at the vast darkness before him. It’s utterly quiet, the electric hum of the ship the only sound in the gloom.

Unbidden, his thoughts turn to the last conversation he had here.

Castiel had just learned he had been chosen to be the next Captain, a highly selective process that he had stressed about for weeks. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean.

But Dean had come with news of his own.

A teaching job at the Academy. Highly prestigious, second probably only to Castiel’s role―but that meant―

“Two years,” Dean said to his hands, his voice flat. “That’s how long I’d be gone.”

Castiel felt his brief taste of happiness deflate like a suit after a spacewalk.

“Two years?” He echoed, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dean nodded mutely.

“That’s…”

Castiel bit his lip.

“Wow,” is all he managed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke.

“So…”

Castiel hardly dared to say it.

“I’m guessing you knew that when you applied,” he said flatly.

Dean nodded mutely.

“Didn’t really account for you becoming the Captain,” he muttered.

Anger flared within Castiel.

“What, because you think I wouldn’t get it?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, looking up. “God, no, Cas, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” Castiel shot back.

Dean shut his mouth angrily.

“I guess...I guess it’s just hitting me how long two years really is,” he said finally.

Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned.

“You’re not serious,” he whispered. Dean dragged a hand down his face, avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know, Cas!” He said, voice rising in the quiet. “I mean...you’ll have your job, Cas, I'll have mine...who knows if you’ll have any time for me―”

“Oh, I won’t have time for you?” Castiel repeated scathingly. God, he should have known, it’s just like Dean―shove the blame off himself and project it onto Castiel instead of owning his feelings like an adult.

“Just say you don’t want to be with me and get it over with,” he snapped.

“Cas…” Dean started.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean sighed, breath shaky.

“I―”

Castiel looked up.

He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and he didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him break his heart.

He ran like a coward.

Castiel wipes angrily at his eyes, banishing the memory. He can’t change the past, so he might as well not dwell on it.

He looks up, at the wilderness of the stars. They shimmer gently against the blank expanse, his constant companions. Castiel can tell you the distance between Betelguese and Rigel, can calculate the time it would take to travel to Sirius and back, but he could never navigate his own life so surely.

If only humans could be as constant as the Heavens.

Behind him, the floor creaks softly. Castiel goes still.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Dean is standing at the end of the platform, in his sleep pants and shirt. He looks so different out of his uniform. Softer. More like himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, unable to stop the name from coming to his lips.

Dean responds with a bashful smile, one hand twisting nervously into the hem of his shirt.

“Figured I'd find you here."

He glances out at the stars, then back to Castiel.

“You mind if I join you?”

Castiel swallows, but looks away, saying nothing.

Dean seems to take that as permission, and sits, legs hanging over the edge of the deck, next to Castiel.

There once was a time when they’d sit close enough for their knees to knock, their hands lacing over the railing as Dean told stories, weaving grand tales of the constellations and their histories, while Castiel listened, enraptured.

Now the distance of that memory feels vast, lightyears away. They’re both quiet, not speaking a word. The silence is thin, fragile as glass.

“Cas―”

So Dean will be the one to break it.

He pauses, brow furrowing as he searches for words. Castiel bristles, waiting for it.

“Look,” Dean says, turning to face him. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. But―”

“You’re right,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “I don’t.”

Dean goes silent beside him. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look up, Dean is staring at him, hopeless and broken.

“Can you at least let me explain?” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

Castiel is torn. Half of him melts, seeing Dean so desperate. But the other half, the rational part of him that remembers the danger of falling for Dean Winchester cautions him, telling him the smartest thing he can do right now is walk away, and never open his heart again.

He lowers his head, exhaling heavily.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Dean, I just…can’t.”

“You’re angry,” Dean says softly. Castiel scoffs.

“You’re damn right I'm angry,” he mutters. “And I don’t care about any half-assed apology you have for me, not now. Too little, too late.”

He moves back from the railing, pushing himself up. Tears are starting to come to his eyes, hot and bitter, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Dean see him cry.

“Cas, wait―”

He reaches out, grabbing his hand.

Castiel freezes, rooted to the spot. Dean is frozen too, looking down at their joined hands. He doesn’t let go, though.

“Just...slow down, will ya?” Dean says, and there’s a hint of a laugh there, the way he always sounded when he would talk Castiel off the ledge. But now, it only ignites the rage inside him, and Castiel rips his arm from Dean’s grasp, whirling on him.

“No!” Castiel yells, shattering the silence. “You left, and you don’t get to do this now, you don’t get to come waltzing back into my life like everything’s fine―”

Dean’s eyes widen, he holds up his hands.

“Cas―”

“You broke up with me, remember?”

“No, I didn’t, Cas, will you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

Surprisingly, Castiel does. He blinks, slightly stunned at Dean’s words.

What is he talking about?

“Look,” Dean says quickly, probably to prevent Castiel from shouting again. “I only applied to the stupid Academy because Sammy was too―he was freaking out about the process, so I did it with him, just to show him it was nothing. He’s the smart one, so never in a million years did I think they’d choose me, too.”

Castiel crosses his arms, huffing under his breath. Even if he does hate him right now, it always hurts to hear Dean undersell himself.

“The moment I found out, all I wanted to do was talk to my best friend about how fucking scared I was.” Dean sighs. “And then you said you were picked to be Captain, and it all just...seemed too much.”

He looks down, twisting his hands.

“I panicked. God—somehow had it in my mind that the minute I told you you wouldn’t want to be with me, that there wouldn’t be any room in your life for me anymore. And seeing your face in that moment, you were so excited, and then it just slid off your face…"

Castiel remembers. Shit, he had been so happy, so proud—and when Dean told him…

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, not with Dean.

He turns over their last conversation in his mind and all at once it seems to click, now that he knows what Dean must have thought.

“I jumped to conclusions,” Dean admits quietly. “I was...so afraid you wouldn’t want to do the long distance thing for two years so I….kind of...let you break us up before I could.”

Castiel stares at him, a painful bubble of emotion rising in his throat. Oh.

Dean continues.

“If anything, I wanted you to ask me to stay.” He lowers his head, dragging a hand through his short hair. “Which was wrong. I get that now.”

He looks up, huffing out a feeble laugh.

“Believe me, Cas,” he says lowly. “It took me all of about an hour to realize how badly I fucked up. But by that time the solar flares were surging and we had to go.”

Dean bites at his lip.

“I looked for you. I tried. But you had locked yourself away in a meeting and I didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t let me,” he finishes, a sad bitter note in his voice.

Castiel cannot speak, in shock. He never knew. He’d always thought...after that conversation, that Dean had left without so much as a glance back.

“You…”

He eventually trails off. He has no words.

Dean takes a tentative step forward.

“And you know what it’s like out there. The distances are too far, so they restrict communication.” He shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I tried to send transmissions back,” Dean says, rushing out the words. “Every day for a month. They kept telling me personal messages weren’t allowed. I even tried to break into the control center after hours.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, awed and horrified all at once. “You didn’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Nearly got myself tossed out of the airlock for that one.”

His teeth return to his lip again, his green eyes hesitant.

“Sam said I was crazy. I just told him he’d never been in love.”

Castiel's throat goes dry.

They’d never said, not even before Dean left. But Castiel knew he was. Only love leaves that big and jagged of a hole.

“That’s why,” he says softly. “Why I never heard from you the whole two years.”

“And three months, and six days,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I was counting, too.”

He sighs, spreading his hands.

“So, yeah. I messed up. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again, I just―”

Dean never finishes his speech because he doesn't need to. In three swift steps, Castiel has reached him and pulled him in by the front of his shirt.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise as Castiel presses their lips together, but he quickly gets on board, pulling Castiel in by his waist, kissing him back. And he no longer needs to dream about Dean’s warmth, his lips underneath his, the dry rough touch of his palm coming to cup Castiel’s cheek. He’s here, and he’s real, and he’s never going to let him get away again.

Dean pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s

“Damn,” he breathes. “I missed that.”

Castiel tightens his grip.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “So am I.”

He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s.

“I was an idiot,” he murmurs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. Castiel shivers.

“I should have just told you,” Dean finishes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bumping their noses together. “You should have.”

Dean laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Castiel’s ever heard.

“There’s the asshole I remember.”

They both grin, just basking in their closeness, breathing quietly.

“So.”

“So.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“So, this whole time, we wanted to be with each other and we just...weren’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Sounds like it.”

“Wow.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Dean laughs again.

“Sums up the last fifteen years of us knowing each other.” He reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing Castiel’s. “Don’t you think?”

Castiel smiles, turning his hand up so Dean can thread their fingers together. He knows they so much they still have to say, so much to catch up on to fix everything that’s broken between them.

By a backdrop of stars, Dean kisses him once more, and well, that’s as good a start as any.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : help me

— word count : 2.1 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : you’re not the only one who can feel yourself falling apart, but other things come to light in the mean time

— warnings : brief mentions of death, minor swearing, lack of self care

Had it not been for the fact that you know the world has ended, you could almost find yourself beginning to allow for a sense of tranquility to alleviate the constant threat of anxiety that creeps up on you almost daily. Normality was not a guarantee anymore, it was a rare prize that the group finds itself sometimes able to create even a jagged fragment of.. something you find yourself gripping onto with an unyielding strength, as if you could force it into reality.

The appealing picture is punctured as you spot some movement out of your peripheral vision, your gun is raised in the direction, an inaudible laugh is released as you try to find humour in your paranoia. Even protected by steel fences and concrete walls, you can’t find yourself believing that this prison is now your home, your sanctuary that protects you from the horrors from the outside that constantly threaten to overwhelm the grimy paradise your family had built.

Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred the entire time since you had been awoken to take watch, just a few stray walkers and animals, nothing that would warrant a bullet in them to draw every other living thing for miles to the prison. You find the cool mist that blankets the green fields welcome, something to keep you grounded before your mind wanders off to all that has been brutally torn from your soul, piece by agonising piece. The fog acts as miniscule needles, poking and prodding against your reddened cheeks.

A rustle pulls your attention to the small room of the tower, Daryl had been one to volunteer to take watch with you that night. Something about him conjured the most perplexing yet fond feelings of affection rooted within the centre of you, sometimes you think that there may be something yet sometimes you are sure he was sending signals that there is nothing. Ghost of minor grazes against your skin that had been seared into place, yet were so easily covered as if they had never existed.

Daryl Dixon is one confusing man.

“ no one taking over yet? “

You shake your head at Daryl, a few strands of hair are horridly disloyal to their place and tumble in front of your vision, that is hurriedly rectified as it throws you off balance. Sometimes you had no idea how to behave in front of him, it’s something you wish to confront as you know you cannot continue this way.. especially as tomorrow is never and has never been a guarantee, clearing the air is the only answer.

“ um, not yet. it’s still early though. “ you reply, a latent tremblant that almost completely breaks into your tone, the anxiety you had when you dedicate thoughts to your family going out tries to haunt you like a spirit would. You have already lost so much from the simple things.

“ they better move their asses soon. “

Of course, you have been relieved from watch duty and before you have even thought about breakfast you’re already hauling your heavy limbs to your cell.

Your eyes scan the room to find what you need, a backpack that is shrouded by the intense gloom and darkness that dominates the cramped room filled to the brim with an infinite amount of blemishes from top to bottom. You know that many happy memories do not occupy the room, let alone the building.. but it’s something you intend on changing. You move swiftly to pack it with all the supplies, your mind conjuring scenarios from nothing and every single one more horrifying than the other.. the drive to protect your heart from any more loss is the central force moving you to fill its empty space.

“ the hell you doin’ there? “

The abruptness of the voice sends your pulse skipping, not expecting anyone to bother you so soon.

“ I can’t sit here while they go out there. “ you don’t turn to look at Daryl, you already know the expression that is dyed so densely as he watches your crouched form. “ i tried, but i have to go.. i have to make sure they’re okay. “

“ you don’t trust ‘em? “ asks Daryl, he’d noticed your strange behaviour, he’d not said anything to anyone but the concern he feels is beginning to take on a life of its own. Knowing he would have to share with Rick if you become worse, it’s not something that he wants to do but if it brings some peace to your troubled mind he would.

“ no -- it’s not that! I just.. “

Daryl emits a scoff, he doesn’t mean to be so cold with his demeanour, but divulging anger and rage when he cares is all he knows. His upbringing created a perfect fusion of uncertainty, fear and suffering. One that blends into such a perfect mixture that any time he has to confront an intense situation, all that is expressed is a fire that burns anyone in its path. It’s taken time to be able express himself in healthier ways, but sometimes he finds himself fleeing to the same old habits.

“ what? ‘cause you’re gonna keep on going out there and it’s gonna get ‘ya killed! “

“ you don’t get it. “

Daryl barges his way through the empty doorway, before you even realise it the backpack that had been held firmly in your hand now lingers at your side, an emptiness that your grasp finds itself itching to rip back to its former place. You have your mind set in stone that you need to protect them, you can’t lose another person, the last time you had missed one.. it didn’t turn out so well, and you lost a friend. It was a pain that had your heart feeling as if it was being compressed under an unbearable weight, it’s a childish whim that refuses to back down. The urge to protect clouds everything you see, knowing that if you are there, then you have done everything in your power to ensure that life keeps on going, even if it limps pathetically along.

“ y’think I’m some sorta dumbass? that it? “

“ no! I just -- “ you can feel your entire being beginning to heat up from the pent up fear and frustration that have been building block upon block that is so close to tumbling down in a chaotic fashion. Your fingers move up to clench strands of your hair in exasperation, the phantom pain from your grip enough to prevent yourself from spilling over.

“ y’just what? huh? “ Daryl moves closer towards you, you can see that he wants to say more, to do more.. his eyes speak volumes, they say much more than his mouth does.

The aches that Daryl can feel within him never fade, they never dull, not when he can see what has been occupying your mind is causing a dramatic shift in you. He doesn’t know how to approach the subject, tender conversations have never been his forte.. and the fact that it’s.. well, you. He can’t pinpoint when he began to notice you more and more, but the thought of harm befalling you is something that sends ice through his veins. He doesn’t want to be in a world where he would never see you every day.

“ if I was there.. then maybe, I don’t know. I could have done something. “

Silence is thick, as thick as the dust that still continues to haunt the floors of the cells, no matter how much they are cleaned and wiped away. You can’t wipe away the horrors as easily as dirt.

You turn to face him, you slowly lift yourself as an unwavering tenseness lines every inch of your limbs. It sounded silly now that you have admitted it to another human being, but it is still real and it’s still how you feel.

“ what? y’think you can take on a horde of walkers? it was a suicide mission and they knew it. “

“ how can you be so careless? “ you ask him, a horrified expression staining your expression.

“ I’m seein’ you go down the same road, I ain’t gonna be part of that. you keep goin’ like this, it’s gonna kill ‘ya. “

The words run circles in your mind, a marathon that feels as if it will have no end. It explains his behaviour towards you, the warmth you receive one moment and the sudden shift to a numbing chill that felt as if you were no more than strangers. You hate that to be able to get information from him, you have to be arguing, it’s not something that can be allowed to continue.

“ tell me why. “ a demand comes from you, your voice sounding the most steady and enduring since the argument began. You sigh, feeling defeated. You hate the bubbling concoction of negative emotions that are brewing more and more from the exchange.

“ ain’t hard to figure out. “ Daryl has directed his attention to the floor, unable to meet your sight. He doesn’t want to see what is written on your face, his mind bolting to the worst possible explanation as it always does.

Moving towards what could only be described as a pitiful form of a bed, you drop yourself roughly onto the raggedy mattress and pat the space next to you. Your eyes follow him as he contemplates his next movement, if he decides to move toward you to forgo it all and pretend as if what you had just spoken about had not existed.

Luckily for you, he situates himself on the far side, his hands only slightly fidgeting as he waits for you to speak. It has to be you.

“ Daryl, why don’t you want me to go? “

“ I can’t see ‘ya get killed, just can’t. “

Before you even can truly comprehend what it is you’re doing, you inch a pinky finger towards the hand that lays resting dormantly at his side and allow it to curl into one of his own. The tenderness of the moment is not missed by either of you, both of you not knowing how to proceed. Daryl wasn’t used to being shown such softness in this context, he wants to hate it.. To squeeze the life from the feelings that it evokes, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to.

“ Daryl.. is there something there, or am I imagining it? “

“ y’aint goin’ crazy. “ he acknowledges, providing the spark that alights a bright burning hope within you.

“ is this why you don’t want me on the run? “ you inquire as a grimace comes flooding onto your face, your knees jumping as you struggle to contain your energy.

“ shit -- you look like you’re about to drop everytime I see ‘ya. “

As you battle yourself to contain the upturning of your lips, you shuffle closer to him. You felt the exhaustion every day threatening your entire being, you truly had no idea how you have not yet succumbed to it. Days at the prison are never easy, there’s always something to do and that work is nothing less than formidable and punishing on the human body.

He cares about me, you think to yourself timidly.

You take care in slowly leaning your chin on his shoulder and bringing a hand to rest on his back. Waiting for a signal to do otherwise, a rejection.. but it doesn’t come. It’s allowed, something you joyfully see as progress. You allow yourself to take in the comfort from the simple gesture, sorely missing having even the simple solaces that bring a much needed warming glow in the pit of your stomach. It hurts that he doesn’t even know how important he is to everyone, but more so to you.

“ Daryl, this isn’t something I can just kick. It’s not that easy. “

“ not somethin’ I’m asking. you need t’take care of y’self. “

Before your mind even registers it, you can feel a small weight on your free hand that lays dormantly on your hand. His thumb is drawn back and forth on yours, the patterns bringing a sense of soothing to you that had not blessed you in what felt like an eternity.

“ well.. maybe you can help me? “

There’s a hesitancy that the two of you can recognise, you wish with your whole soul that you could be stronger in asking. You’ve tried and tried to rid the negativity from within you, but every time you think you have, it comes back stronger than ever. More and more resistant than it was previously, its claws drawing more blood from you as it secures its hold in a much more impressive manner.

“ ain’t even gotta ask. “

[waywardodysseys]

Eight Days of Christmas - Day 6

Christmastime is Here

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female reader

Warnings: cussing

Summary: Your eleventh Christmas with Ransom Drysdale.

Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3 / Day 4 / Day 5

(divider by @firefly-graphics​)

You walk through Faneuil Hall with your two-year-old son, Oliver, trying to find the perfect gift for Ransom, who happens to be shopping as well. The two of you deciding to come down to the famed marketplace to enjoy one of your holiday traditions with your son. The marketplace is extravagantly decorated with holiday décor as Christmas music filters through the speakers and the smell of gingerbread cookies and roasted chestnuts drift through the air. Christmastime is here and the frenzied crowd’s milling about, trying to find the perfect gift for whoever they are shopping for.

You and Oliver have been weaving through the crowd, going into various stores. Most of them were for Oliver to look at the toys or some clothes. You had taken him into a store, showing him a few things, his father might like. “What do you think, Oli?” you inquire.

“Daddy has sweaters. Anda clothes. What ‘bout toy?”

“This is for your dad, not you.” you answer and receive a frown in return. “What about a watch? Hmmm? Or maybe something for the Beamer?”

“We could get ‘m a new car!”

You laugh, “Your dad would be a horrendous Grinch for the rest of his days if we got rid of the Beamer.” Along with me. Because there were still times you and Ransom took the silver car out when enjoying a night out on the town and the two of you ended up getting down and dirty in the car before making it into the house. It was also where you and Ransom did the deed for the first time because you couldn't help yourself when he pulled up to his house all those years ago on the fourth date.

“Momma!” Oli’s voice brings you out of your memories. You turn to find your son ogling some high ultra tech drones. You walk over to him and crouch down to his level. “I’m sure he’ll let you play with it, but know it’s your father’s toy not yours.”

Oli nods his head in response, too engrossed in looking at the pricey mechanical devices. You smile as you stand and begin talking to the retail associate.

*

Half an hour later you are walking back through the marketplace, holding Oli’s hand. Soon you’d meet Ransom for lunch, and he’d take Oliver for a couple of hours while you looked for a gift for Ransom from yourself. Currently, no doubt, he was probably overthinking a gift for you or one of his family members. He had always been prepared for this day but knew he had to outdo the gifts of the previous year.

“Momma?” Oli questions from below.

“Yes?” You stop and look down at him. 

“Where’s daddy?” He looks up at you with tiredness in his eyes. 

You reach down and pick him up. “He’s shopping for Grandma Linda, Grandpa Richard. And the rest of his family.” You and Ransom had agreed when you were first married he’d buy all their gifts because he’d know what they want and like then you wrapped them and placed both of your names under the ‘from’ on the tag. You had been doing the same for your own family. It worked out perfectly every time. 

“Nana? Papa?”

He’s referring to your parents. “I will be shopping for them after we meet daddy for lunch.”

“I hungry!”

You cuddle him into your chest as your stomach growls. “Me too. How about we find a place to eat? Huh? I’ll let him know where we are, okay?”

He nods his head and buries his head in the crook of your neck. He whispers, “Otay.”

-------

You and Oliver are sitting inside Anthem Kitchen and Bar, which is near Faneuil Hall. You had texted Ransom where you were heading and he responded immediately, telling you he was finishing up at a store and would join you shortly.

“There’s my beautiful family,” Ransom remarks as he approaches you. He places a brief kiss on your lips then places a kiss on Oliver’s head. “How are my two favorite people?” he inquires as he places his bags down and takes a seat.

“Hungry!” Oliver boasts. “Momma say I canna have burger or chicken sticks.”

You laugh and shrug, “Close enough. Though I did say chicken tenders.”

Ransom smiles, “Whatever you want, buddy.” Ransom reaches under the table and finds your hand and squeezes it. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

You watch Oli scribble on a coloring sheet then glance at your husband. “Our son made me reminisce about a particular silver car.”

One of Ransom’s brows pops up, “I can call my mom. Have her watch Oli tonight.” He leans in closer to you and cups your cheek. “I’d love to take you for a spin. As well as the car.” Your cheeks are hot as Ransom chuckles. “Any specific moment you were thinking about sweetheart?”

You swallow. Happy your husband still knows how to keep things lively no matter what the occasion is. “Our fourth date.”

Ransom moans under his breath, “You couldn't keep your hands off me that night. And I think it was because you had agreed to it on the fourth date because you declined me on the first one.”

“I wasn't about to let you get what you truly wanted on the first date.”

“Well, I did get to second base with you that night.”

“Ransom!” you hiss as you giggle.

“You in trouble daddy!” Oli exclaims.

Ransom pulls back and looks at Oli. “I know I am. But I think she’ll forgive me later.” He winks at his son. Oli smiles widely and laughs. 

The server appears seconds later, and three lunch orders are given. They disappear again and are not seen until lunch is brought out and placed on the table. 

After lunch is over, Ransom, you, and Oliver walk back out into the chilly winter air. A now fed Oliver is bursting at the seams, ready to shop with his father.

“What we buyin’ momma?” Oli inquires as Ransom scoops him up into his arms.

“We gotta discuss it when she’s not around Oli.” Ransom leans over and presses a kiss to your lips. They linger for a minute before he pulls away. “Couple of hours? And I’ll call my mom about watching Oli.”

“Grandmama Linda? She’s here?”

Ransom shakes his head, “Not here. Maybe she’ll watch you tonight while your mom and I shop for you.”

You shake your head and laugh at Ransom’s lame excuse to cover him and you are having a date night. Which included the Beamer and possibly reenacting your fourth date. You lean over and kiss Oli’s cheek then place a kiss on Ransom’s lips. “That should be enough time.” You look between the two of them and your heart swells. “Take care of one another.”

“We will,” Ransom and Oli respond in unison. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.” “Love you momma.” Ransom and Oli respond at the same time. 

You turn and make your way back towards Faneuil Hall while Ransom looks at his son and inquires, “What shall we get her?”

Oliver shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Makeup? Jewelry?”

“She already beautiful daddy. She dontna need that.”

Ransom laughs, “No she doesn't. I got lucky with her, you got lucky too having her as your mom.” He pauses, “What about a new purse?  She loves her handbags.”

-------

Hours later, wrapping paper, gift bags, and tissue paper are strewn about the kitchen island and table as you and Ransom wrap presents. Oliver had fallen asleep on the car ride home and thankfully, Ransom had gotten him into the house and up to his room without him waking up while you unloaded the car with dozens of shopping bags. Both you and Ransom then grabbed the wrapping supplies and set up shop in the kitchen.

“Did you peak?” Ransom now inquires as he tries to wrap a box.

“I did not,” you respond, “you always hide it.” You pause, “Or maybe you always buy my gift last minute.”

“I do not. I’ve learned over the years to buy early. You know I still hate the frenzied crowds and the mad drivers. All of them fucking assholes.”

You laugh, “There’s my Grinch.”

Ransom grins, “A couple more weeks and Santa gets to visit.”

“I’ll be ready. As always.” You look over at him. “You called Linda?”

“Yes. She’ll be over at six to pick Oli up. Says he can spend the night too.”

You snort, “She rarely wants him to spend the night.” Then a realization hit you. “Please don't tell me you told her we--”

“I told her no such thing. She said something about taking him to brunch tomorrow with my dad and the three of them could go do something afterwards. Knows what it’s like to have a young boy at his age, knows his parents want some quiet.”

“I’ll have to make sure to get her something else along with what you bought her.” You see Ransom shrug. “It’ll be from me, big spender.”

Ransom sighs, “I just don't get why we can't draw names. There’s a dozen of us now.”

“You know Harlan likes tradition. He’ll never cave into that.”

Ransom curses under his breath. “I also hate wrapping. Why can't everything go in a gift bag? Or better yet the volunteers at the marketplace could’ve wrapped ‘em.”

“We always wrap our own Ransom. Besides, I think, you’ll enjoy unwrapping your gift this year.”

Ransom’s brows shoot up. “Yours, or Oli’s?”

You shrug nonchalantly and don't answer as you begin to wrap another present.

“Sweetheart, come on,” Ransom whines while he makes his way towards you. He pulls up a chair next to you and sits down. One of his hands travels up your leg while the other pushes some hair aside. He dips his head down and nips at your neck. 

“Ransom,” you whisper as you look at your husband, who’s giving you sad puppy eyes. 

“Y/N,” Ransom murmurs before he sweeps his mouth against yours.

Seconds tick by in silence until a squeaky voice states: “Eeewwww.”

You and Ransom jump apart then laugh. Ransom squeezes your leg. “Wait till you’re in your teens Oli. It won't be ‘ew’ then.”

“His teens?”

Ransom rolls his eyes as he places Oli in his lap, “You’ll always be a momma’s boy Oli. So, no kissing until you're in your thirties.”

“Girls are eeewwww.” Oli makes a disgusting face then looks at you and smiles brightly, “But not momma. She pretty. Right daddy?”

Ransom chuckles, “The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laugh, “Thanks Oli. I love you too.” You watch Ransom’s face drop then reach out and stroke his cheek. “And you.”

“Grandmama Linda here yet?” Oli asks as he looks at Ransom. Oli rubs his eyes, still sleepy and worn out from the day.

Ransom shakes his head. “Not yet. We still gotta finish wrapping gifts. Wanna help?”

“But I won'tna be able to see what you gotta me and I wanna know whatta you gotta me.” Oli whines.

Ransom chuckles. “Well, your mom and I are shopping tonight and will wrap it later. Besides, it's a gift, Oli. You aren't supposed to know what it is until Christmas morning.”

“Otay.” he sighs in defeat.

The rest of the afternoon and into the evening, before the doorbell rings at six, the three of you wrap gifts in the kitchen. Not caring if they are wrapped perfectly, or unnecessary amounts of tape is used. Not worrying about Oli trying to write people’s names crookedly or illegible on the gift tags or even writing his own under the ‘from’ section on it along with your’s and Ransom’s name too. 

All you care about is spending time with the two men of your life, enjoying the holiday season with them. Knowing these are part of the traditions you had grown up with and had been sharing with Ransom and now with your son. 

[corancoranthemagicalman]

💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

Thank you so much 💜 my day was stressful and mentally taxing but overall it was fine :) i am so so flattered/flustered that you want to gift me something in return- i never expect anything when i'm penguin anon. And irl i'm trying to be better at accepting things from people. so if you really would like to gift me something here are some tropes i like: cas gardening (sorry i can't get away from flowers/plants!), dadstiel with baby or toddler jack, general domestic fluff, anything that explores cas & dean healing/character growth 💜 but i honestly don't expect anything in return for my hearts and flowers. They are freely given 💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

-🐧🌻

I’m sorry to hear it was stressful for you, dear. I’m glad that overall it wasn’t too bad for you, though. I hope this cheers you up? I’m a few hours later with it because I get distracted big time in research. Like figuring out that Dean was 22 when Shrek came out. Which had literally no bearing on this, but was fun to figure out. The hearts and flowers are more than appreciated. 💕🌺🌺💕

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

What he could look at was Mom holding Sammy. He was only a couple of months old, but Mom was excitedly talking to him as if he could talk back. Dad said he wouldn’t be able to talk for a while. That didn’t seem to bother Mom. She was content to describe the flowers to Sammy. They were taller than Dean was. Mom said they wouldn’t get any bigger, but one day Dean would be tall enough to hold Sammy up to the flower petals. He looked forward to that.

Mom looked pretty in her dress, from Dean’s memory of the time. Her skirt swayed in the autumn wind in time with the petals dancing in the breeze. It was ethereal, like a princess talking to animals. Except instead of a squirrel on her shoulder there was a baby in her arms. Dean thought it looked like magic.

A few months later, when Dean was finally trusted with holding Sammy in his arms, he was running out of his burning home.

He didn’t think about the sunflowers they left behind.

Read more undercut or check it out on AO3!

Later in life, when Dean was flirting too close to a stable relationship with a reporter, he idly thumbed at the petals of the Suntastic Yellows. He remembered his mom telling him that they were the tiniest sunflowers. The type they used in bouquets. Cassie had a small pot resting on her windowsill.

Cassie’s hands drew around his waist from behind him. Humming into his neck, Cassie drew him backward with her. He thought about it in an absent sense, walking away from the sunflowers.

“You know,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, “they say that sunflowers track the sun all throughout the day.”

“Oh, really?” Dean smirked, taking her lips in his own. She was wonderful, really. Too wonderful. Wonderful enough that Dean thought about confessing everything to her. Cassie would understand. She was clever and understanding. Hell, maybe she’d even accept him.

It was too bad, then, that when Dean told her what he did—what he was—that she didn’t believe him. Dean wouldn’t have believed himself either. Walking away with his keys in his hand and his heart at his feet, Dean wondered if this is what it would always feel like. If he would always have to walk away from the place his heart was trying to make into a home. Maybe it was something about being a sunflower. Always tracking the sun throughout the day.

Too bad Dean couldn’t find the damn sunlight.

“Dude, look!” Dean grinned during another part of his life, pointing at some old lady’s front garden full of Taiyos. “It’s like Shrek.” He teased his brother, elbowing Sam who only rolled his eyes in return.

“Shrek? Really?” Sam scoffed. “How old were you when that even happened?”

Dean huffed a laugh. “What? You’re telling me you didn’t go watch the cinematic masterpiece known as Shrek with all of your college buddies?”

Sam rolled his eyes again, huffing with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sure, Dean. And then we watched Holiday in the Sun right after, too.”

“Never took you for a Mary-Kate and Ashley fan, Sammy.” Dean grinned, watching the sunflowers swaying in the breeze from the corner of his eye.

They looked peaceful in the witness’ front yard. Untouched by the grueling werewolf that was lurking through the small town. Dean could hear Sam’s sharp inhale from beside him.

“I always thought sunflowers were… homey,” Sam confessed, watching the sunflowers dance with a furrowed brow.

Shooting Sam a crooked grin, Dean stepped forward toward the sunflowers but he didn’t dare touch them. “I’m not surprised,” he began. “Mom used to grow them. She started taking you out into the garden as soon as you stopped crying all the time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, causing Dean to look at him with concern. It wasn’t often that Sam was quiet, but when he was it was always a contemplative silence. “I didn’t know that.” He spoke softly.

“You wouldn’t have remembered.” Dean shrugged, stepping onto the witness’ walkway to begin making their way up to the door. “These are a bit taller than hers were. But then again, everything seemed taller then.”

There was another moment of contemplative silence, but it seemed Sam had nothing left to say. He knocked on the witness’ door, taking care not to meet Dean’s eye. Dean wondered what that meant. Wondered if Sam felt the same way when he saw sunflowers.

Then again, Sam had always been larger than life. Tall and proud.

When Dean was on the aching side of forty, he watched Castiel hold their four-year-old son to the blooming sunflowers he kept in the backyard. Cas had been enchanted by the Little Beckas when he had seen them. While they might not have been the tallest—or the smallest—of sunflowers, he had thought they were lovely. Dean had made a quip about their halo and bought Cas seeds the same day.

Watching Cas and Jack reminded Dean of being four and trying to see what color the sun was. It was blinding, something he felt he should look away from lest it hurt him. But he found that he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to watch Cas answer every question Jack had.

He was beautiful, Dean often thought, but especially in moments like these. The cuffs of his jeans were muddied and his bare feet were buried in the soil where he sat with Jack in his lap. Dean hated how Cas refused to wear shoes outside, but he had claimed to like being closer to the Earth. Dean couldn’t argue with him. He wouldn’t argue with him; not for what made him happy.

Cas turned to look at him, catching his gaze and drawing him closer with just a look. Dean moved without hesitation, standing beside Cas and kicking at his knee with his booted foot. His approach drew Jack’s attention away from the flowers, who clapped excitedly the closer he got.

“Whaddya think, Jack? Do you like the colors?” Dean hummed, watching Jack’s gummy smile as the kid waved up at him.

“Daddy says that sunflowers face East!” He pointed enthusiastically, laughing and reaching for the blooms in front of him.

Dean frowned, looking from Cas to the flowers. “I thought sunflowers rotated with the sun or whatever.”

Cas hummed, tilting his head with a nod. “They do, in their youth.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “But when they mature, the sunflowers learn that they get the most light during the morning hours when the sun has just risen from the East.” Bouncing Jack momentarily and causing the boy to giggle, Cas turned to face Dean. “They just learn what’s healthiest for them. It just takes time.”

Inhaling sharply, Dean wondered if this was it. If this was his East. Watching a smiling Jack and Cas whispering about sunflowers that—while not the tallest or the smallest—were a halo of colors. Two colors that came together, that never faded, that bloomed to life in this tiny garden he called home. He was a dark heart and a bright halo, smiling toward the bright, white sunlight of a gummy smile and clapping hands.

With a grunt, Dean lowered himself to the soil, sitting beside Cas and wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder. “These little guys are pollen-less,” he spoke to Jack. “That’s why we got the honeysuckles.”

“Honeysuckles stand for devotion.” Cas’ voice rumbled gently. “In the ancient Celtic alphabet, the symbol that the Ogham carved into stone to represent the honeysuckle stood for following one’s path.”

Dean snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sort of counterintuitive. Since, yanno, Free Will.” He quipped, raising a curious brow toward Cas.

Bowing his head in concession, Cas continued. “Yes, that is true. The Druids meant it more like… trusting one’s gut. Rather than sticking to the story.” He grinned, rocking with Jack in his arms for a moment. “But the honeysuckle is rather hard to kill. That is why it means everlasting devotion.”

“Deaths don’t stick, huh?” Dean hummed, squeezing Cas closer into his side. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Cas exhaled a laugh, resting his head atop Jack’s. “The Chinese valued the honeysuckle for its healing properties. It can be a cooling herb to remove toxins.”

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek, keeping his lips there for a moment longer before pulling away. “Even if the honeysuckle can’t heal ‘em, the sunflowers like the company anyway.” He smiled softly, watching as Cas’ eyes turned dewy toward him. “And ‘sides, the honeysuckle brings all the bees to the yard.”

Snorting laughter that Jack joined in without knowing the cause, Cas shook his head. “I suppose so.” His attempt to suppress a smile made Dean’s own grin widen. “But the sunflower is more than enough company.”

“Damn straight,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips, kissing him slowly and savoring the moment.

Between them, Jack made exaggerated kissy faces, causing them to pull apart and watch him with amusement. He grinned, reaching up and holding Dean and Cas’ cheeks in his palms.

“Daddy and Poppa sittin’ in a tree!” Jack sang, giggling as he smushed their heads together.

Mocking a frown, Dean held his other hand out behind Jack’s back. His palm felt so large in comparison to how small Jack was. “Did Uncle Sam teach you that?”

“Yup!” Jack nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing as he continued to hum the song under his breath.

Cas gave another chuckle under his breath, looking from Jack to Dean. “I suppose we should head inside. We're still expecting Sam and Eileen for lunch.”

Dean stood with a groan as his knees ached. He reached out a hand to help Cas and Jack up, standing tall with his family in their little garden. Keeping their fingers intertwined, Dean didn’t have to think about the sunflowers they left behind.

They would be there as long as the sun was in the East.

[choco-glow]

Is This Thing On?

“You, my dear Shan, are a hard man to find at the best of times.” Theron smirked, just a little, as he sipped his drink from the half-hidden booth he’d chosen, gesturing for Jonas Balker to sit in the opposite seat. Both agents toasted one another, and Theron leaned forward a little into the light, chuckling when Jonas swore heavily at the bruises and cuts marring his face. “And what the hell kind of shit have you been in this time?”

“C’mon now, Balker, I know you know what I’ve been up to, I’ve been fending off your droids for months now all over Rishi so that Lana didn’t stab me. Besides, they look worse than they are.” Jonas glared him down…and sighed a little, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a long draught off his own whiskey.

“Force help me, I do. So, the Revanites…”

“Currently in rout on Yavin-4; we’re now working with the Grandmaster of the Jedi and Darth Marr to build a joint operation…which you also know about, because I know I saw you in and out of the Imperial camps at least twice. You fit the uniform just fine, but that accent sucks.” Jonas flipped him the bird, but shook his head and smiled anyway, and they fell into familiar roles, bantering back and forth as they exchanged information both useful and already used, that rare combination of being both spies and best friends since they were teenagers…and as they ordered fresh drinks, Jonas paused a little bit, and looked like he’d bitten a lemon. Theron just sighed.

“C’mon, out with it.”

“…are you alright after that torture?” His voice was low, soft, and honestly concerned…and Theron gave his friend a faint smile, lacing his gloved fingers together and leaning in a little. Closing his eyes, Theron took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, calming his thoughts, his whole being, drawing on everything Master Zho had ever taught him, because even with the stunt he’d pulled to escape…it had been horrific. The pain wasn’t as bad as the mindprobe, and even now, Theron shuddered at the memory of Revan’s casual perusal of his very soul…but he’d gotten his revenge, in the sweetest way possible, and that had also gotten him the opportunity to break free.

“It was…it was bad. Very bad. But you remember those holovids I had to watch all the time when I was a kid? The ones that were made specifically for the Shan family?” Jonas blinked, suddenly confused by the change of subject, but nodded anyway, well aware even now of the ranting Theron used to go off on about the utter stupidity of those vids…and Theron grinned. “Well, I kept a special link of ‘em for the explicit reason of throwing it back in Revan’s face if I ever got the chance. And that idiot gave me the perfect opening.”

“…No.”

“Yup.”

“You didn’t.”

“Damn right I did.”

“How the fuck were you not stabbed?”

“I have no clue. But it worked, I escaped, and here we are.” Jonas narrowed his eyes, and pointed accusingly at Theron now, who was trying to pull his best injured innocent face over the wicked grin.

“Bullshit, there’s so much more to that story, and you owe me the whole thing, Shan.”

“Fine, fine, but we’re gonna need more drinks.” He slapped down a full credit chip on the table, and Theron felt his grin widen even further. “Alrighty then, strap in, because this is gonna be fun…”

---

Eighteen years earlier…

Padawan Theron Shan, thirteen, arms crossed, robes a mess, his lip busted open from the last scuffle, stared resolutely at the wall as Masters Kaedan, Bakarn, and Zho tried to figure out a suitable punishment. Fighting between Padawans was strictly prohibited, of course, short of controlled sparring, but defending a Padawan who was disabled from several of the wealthier children of the elite on Coruscant did merit some praise…but he’d still started a fight. Ngani Zho sighed faintly, and turned to his wayward pupil.

“Theron, please speak to us. We understand why you fought as you did, and we want you to know that defending Padawan Ask’lil is a noble, kind thing…but you still cannot brawl as you did today.” Theron shrugged, slouched as he was in the chair, still glaring a hole in the wall, and it was Syo who shook his head.

“I fear we won’t be getting through to him this way, Ngani; however, there are the old holovids we could show him. It might be good to give Theron a sense of right.” Master Zho noticed Theron glance up at that, but didn’t call him on it, only nodding a little in confusion. Certainly, they had many holovids for Padawans to learn from, but he wasn’t sure what Syo was talking about…until a familiar figure appeared, and Zho had to keep himself from dropping his head in his hands.

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem.” Righting the microphone in the vid, they watched as none other than Revan himself smoothed his robes down, gave the camera a weak smile, and launched into what was possibly the most boring ‘you must keep to the side of Light!’ speech Ngani had ever heard. Now he knew why he’d forgotten this; he’d repressed the memories from when Satele was young.

Theron was staring in horror now, glancing around the room as if looking for escape, and Ngani grimaced in sympathy, because this was just…painful to sit through. Everything from “even thinking impure thoughts can lead to the Dark side” to “Remember, the best way to end a fight is by talking out your differences.” It was cringe-worthy at best, and as the holo finally came to a close, he resisted the urge to punch Kaedan and Bakarn both. Barely.

“…and remember the Jedi Code. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” Revan winked out, the room finally quiet…and as the Masters stood up to leave, Theron took his chance and bolted out the door. Ngani didn’t have it in him to stop the boy, and though both Syo and Jaric were disgruntled, he calmed them down with a few words and made his way back to their rooms.

“Master, please please do not let them show me that again.” Theron’s voice came from his hiding place in the vents, and Zho chuckled, motioning for his Padawan to come down.

“I’ll do my best, lad, but you’ve got along way to go. Now, come down and let us work on your form…”

—-

“Oh c’mon, not another round of this stupid vid…”

“Then stop picking fights with other Padawans, Theron!”

“It’s not my fault they have punchable faces…”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force be with you…”

“Arrrrrrrrrrgh.”

---

“No.”

“You have to watch it.”

“No.”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“THERON.”

---

“Snooooooooooore.”

“I know you��re awake, Theron.”

“Snooooooooooooore.”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“…..SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE.”

---

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“I hate this shit.”

“I do too, lad.”

“We could just leave and let it play…or destroy it.”

“And risk listening to Jaric scream all week long? I’d rather listen to Revan.”

“Dammit.”

“Theron, stop swearing.”

“All due respect, Master: fuck no.”

"Remember, the best way to end a fight is by talking out your differences.”

“Did you hear that, Theron? We should talk things out.”

“Arrrrrrrrrgh.”

---

Six weeks prior

Panting, blood trickling from his half-fried implants, head pounding, Theron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting back a whimper as his two broken ribs seared through his abdomen. He hated interrogation tables for a number of reasons, as did any other sane being, but at least he was lying down at the moment; gravity was not kind to injuries when vertical. And the blinding light that they’d been using on him was off too, small mercies for that…and Revan had also left, which allowed Theron to rest a little before figuring out his next move.

I could just…break out and leave, there’s enough little ways to escape, but with my ribs, the vents and holes in the cave ceiling aren’t possible…I could take out a guard and dress up, but I don’t know the codes…and his people are too paranoid. Dammit…shooting my way out might be the only option… He turned his head to the right to peer through the darkness, narrowing his eyes as he studied the console…and a spark of joy leapt in him when he realized he could see a link between his implants and the console. It’s a Republic model! These idiots must have stolen from Alderaan, because I know that code all too well…

Then, a sudden, vicious grin stretched over his handsome features, and Theron Shan activated the link, uploading an obscure old video to the whole of the Revanite compound as he also had his manacles unlocked and the door opened.

“Take this, you fucking hypocrite.”

"Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force be with you…”

Theron’s laughter could be heard over the alarms sounding as he grabbed up his blasters and hightailed it out the door.

—-

Sipping his fourth drink now and feeling a delightful buzz, Theron grinned at Jonas’ face. The older spy looked like he’d been slapped by a fish, jaw dropped, drink frozen in midair, and Theron couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up, wheezing a little as his ribs twinged in warning under the bandages.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You’re a mad bastard.”

“And you’re surprised by this?”

“No, just…impressed. Honestly so impressed. How in the name of the Force did that go down?”

“Oh, I probably got us shot at a whole lot more when Revan saw that, he was furious, but damn, it was worth it. My…partners in crime were confused until I explained it, then Lana actually congratulated me for throwing the whole base into chaos.” Jonas just shook his head, finally downing his drink, and Theron slouched back into the warmth of the booth, content to rest for a while longer yet.

“So…how did your…ah…the Grandmaster take it?” Theron smirked at that, and Jonas groaned.

“Let me guess, she hated it too?”

“With a passion. Apparently, all the Shans have been…rather combative since then, I wonder why, and so the Order kept that vid in safe keeping for any future Shans to watch and ‘learn from’. Which…really, has never worked. She thought it was the funniest fucking thing and that was the most bonding we had in years, pretty much since I was born. She patched me up as we talked about it, might just make a habit of spending time with her after all, especially since she’s mellowed out with age.”

“…Wow, I never would have guessed that that would be the outcome of all of that…but what about your old master? I know you lost him before all of this…” Theron gazed out over the cantina, and felt a faint smile touch his lips in fond memory.

“…Master Zho would be proud.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 18)

Being in the Forgetful Valley once brings a kaleidoscope of emotions and none of them are kind. Mostly there is a sense of some distant melancholy with a touch of anger and a dash of fear. There is an unexpected undercut of guilt. She stares at her mother. Her mother who she had tried to kill the last time she had ventured to this place. And Zuko who she had bickered with the whole time.

“Yer not happy?” Kaz remarks.

Azula shakes her head.

“But don’cha like the jungle?” Zenyul asked. “Ya loved it the last time we were here.”

“This one doesn’t like me.”

Kaz quirks a brow.

“She was setting a lot of things on fire.” Zuko remarks.

“Why?”

“I was mad.” This time around she is simply uncomfortable and uneasy. She tries to muster up the enthusiasm that usually comes with a chance to scavenge and pick up little oddities and trinkets. But she can’t seem to settle her nerves, even if the spirits are leaving her alone--likely they don’t recognize her as the same person who had antagonized them last time. She still doesn’t take comfort in this.

Not until night falls. She thinks it strange that she finds comfort in the darkness. But the darkness offers a cozy campfire and an opportunity to nestle closer to Mai in her sleeping bag.

It is only when the fire is roaring and blazing that she finally she begins to settle down. It’s crackle along side the the chirp of crickets and crooning of the toad-squirrels creates a much friendlier ambience. Something that feels like home. Something that resonates with the part of her soul and mind that Snapdragon inhibits.

It is Zenyul who begins the campfire stories and Kaz who cooks the meal. She and Zuko keep the fire going nice and well while Mai relaxes and watches sparks trail up towards the star dazzled sky.

It smells divine, the smoke and the freshly cooked meat. It burns the last of her anxieties away. She falls asleep in Mai’s arms to the sound of the jungle stirring.

.oOo.

Now that the fear has dissipated and the gauze of guilt and sorrow have been lifted away, she feels light. She feels free. She leaps onto a fallen tree and walks along it until there is no more length to walk. Mai extends her arm and Azula takes it as she hops down.

Every now and then patches of sunlight spill through the canopy, she watches gnats and dragonflies flit about within the rays. She finds herself wandering ahead of the group, but it is just as well, it leaves her time to kick over rocks and inspect them.   Occasionally she finds one that she likes; one that is particularly smooth another that has the imprint of a long dead fern and another that shimmers with small foggy quartz. She slips all of them into a small pouch.

She also comes across an old arrowhead, a cluster of beads, and a broken necklace. Each trinket finds its way into her pouch. The greatest treasure that she comes away with is a little chunk of hardened sap--an small bead of amber that holds a dragonfly.

“How do ya keep spottin’ all’a these things!? Spirits, I can’t even find me a decent lookin’ rock.” Kaz grumbles.

“You have to know what to look for.” She thinks that she has simply acquired an eye for them. “Or maybe you have to wander ahead of the group and find them before I do. You won’t though.”

“I’ll wander ahead!”

“But I will still spot them first.” She holds her chin high. She springs up onto a tree stump and jumps from it to a rock and then another larger rock. She takes pause as the others catch up.

“Be careful.” Ursa winces when she very nearly misses her mark.

“If I can survive a fall from a smoke stack, I think I can manage a rock just fine, mother.” She means to be reassuring but she thinks that she has missed the mark.

“Do you want me to tell Mohi that you have been doing reckless things?” Ursa asks.

“It’s not reckless. Mohi won’t care.” She shrugs.

“Why don’t you come down and walk by me for a little while?” Mai asks. She hears her mother’s sigh of relief when she takes Mai up on the offer.

“How much further do we have to go anyways?” Mai groans. “My feet are getting sore and look at this.” She holds out her arm. It is red and lumpy with bug bites.

“You’re a good guard, Mai.”

“A good guard?”

Azula nods and rolls up her own sleeves revealing unblemished arms, at most there is one small bump. “They have been busy with you.”

“Whatever.”

.oOo.

The Mother of Faces looks none too pleased to see her again. Especially after what feels like so soon. It has been a good year or two, though she supposes that is only a fragment of time in someone as long lived as the Mother of Faces.

“Well?” Zenyul gestures towards the spirit.

“Give me a moment.” Azula mumbles.

“Give you a moment?” Zuko quirks a brow. “The last time we were here, you marched right up to her and demanded to know where our mom was.”

“The last time I was here I was…” angry, impulsive, reckless, “...not myself.”

“By all means, you’re still not yourself.” He points out.

“I was not thinking like myself.”

“Go get it over with.” Mai nudges her forward.

“The worst thing she ken do is tell ya to screw off.” Kaz shrugs.

“Or she can give me a hideous face like yours.”

“I’m downright beu-ti-ful, actually.”

Azula inhales and approaches the spirit. The vines twisting up her body write and pulse, she smells of resin and kelp. She smells like comfort and yet she is intimidating all the same if only for height alone.

She isn’t sure what to say. She has already pushed her luck speaking to the spirit more than once and she is absolutely certain that she had worn her patience thin the first time. That the spirit was more than happy to take the face and memories of someone like herself.

“I had a feeling that you would be back.” The Mother of Faces finally speaks when she realizes that Azula wouldn’t be initiating conversation. “I cannot say that it is pleasant to see you again.”

Azula’s stomach sinks. Perhaps she should retreat while she still has her memories intact and a face that she has grown to appreciate. Absently she traces her fingers over the scars on her cheek. “Is it a pleasure to see my mother again?”

Ursa gives a small wave and comes to stand next to Azula. She must admit that it is a comfort to have the woman’s hand on her shoulder. “My daughter would like her face back.” She gestures to Zuko, “we would like to be a family again.”

The Mother of Faces seems to scan them over. “That means very little to me. And even less concerning you.” She doesn’t have to look at her for Azula to know who ‘you’ is. She waits for her heart to sink but she finds that it doesn’t. Evidently she doesn’t think that she would be too troubled to keep Snapdragon’s face. It is the face that Mai fell in love with. The face that found her Mohi, Kaz, and Zenyul. The face that made amends with Zuko.

“You have only made demands of me all while disrespecting my jungle. And now you would like my help, again.”

“I haven’t disrespected your jungle this time.” She frowns. “Unless you’d like your rocks back.” She holds out the pouch.

“I would.”

Azula shifts through the pouch, she has collected several particularly lovely things. Things that she isn’t sure she’d come by again. She retracts her hand.

“Azula, what are you doing?” Mai grumbles.

She hates to admit it but, “I like them.” She clutches her treasures to her chest.

“More than your old face?”

Azula shrugs. “I’m fine with this one.”

“Seriously, if we walked all of this way for nothing…”

“It wasn’t for nothing. We walked all of this way so I could add these to my collection.”

Mai rubs her hands over her face. “Well I hope that they make your nest look extra pretty because I’ve been eaten alive to get them.”

“They will.”

“That is your decision?” The Mother of Faces draws attention back to herself. “You’d rather have little trinkets than your face?”

“I’ve gotten used to this one anyways.” Azula shrugs, suddenly unsure if she wants to go through the process of getting reacquainted with her old one. She finds that she doesn’t really have a choice; the Mother of Faces is reaching out, her hand clamps over and around her head.

And with it comes a sense of unbearable vertigo. She has only enough time to dread losing the memories that Snapdragon has made for her before her knees buckle and her world goes blurry and then dark.

.oOo.

It is one thing to watch Snapdragon leap energetically about and another matter to watch Azula do it. It is harder to get used to than Mai would like to admit. Though Azula herself seems quite content.

But then, Azula hasn’t yet looked at herself. It might be better for her to wait. It is better to not risk spoiling her cheerful mood. She is seated upon the roots of a mangrove tree, kicking her feet at the water below. From the mangrove she has harvested a few roots and an abandoned nest of some sort. This too is jarring. It is no longer Snapdragon whose clothes are caked in mud. No longer Snapdragon whose face is smeared with it. No longer Snapdragon who has loose, tangled hair.

She watches Azula slip into the water below and scrub at her face. “Where are my shoes, Mai?”

Mai holds them up and Azula takes them. She squeezes the excess water out of her hair and clothing.

“Ugg, you smell like pond water.”

“You aren’t going to bathe?”

Mai supposes that she has a point. She probably doesn’t smell much better but she doesn’t fancy a dip. “I don’t want pentapus sucking on my legs.”

“There are no pentapus in this lake.”

“Then what’s this?” Kaz asks. Azula cringes as he pries one off of her neck and releases it back into the water.

“A single pentapus. It is not an issue.”

“What ‘bout that one?” He lifts her left arm and plucks another pentapus.

“That’s the thing ‘bout pentapus. Ya ain’t feel ‘em until they come off.” Zenyul remarks.

“Just take a bath.” Azula folds her arms across her chest. “All of you.”

.oOo.

Azula sits in front of the mirror for the longest time, staring at the face within and only staring. Staring until she begins to grow used to it. Begins to remember it. Remember the one or two freckles that are there without makeup to conceal them. Remember the shape of her lips and the curving slope of her nose.

She is almost sure that her face had been sharper, more pointed like Mai’s. Instead she finds that her features are quite delicate. Likely they always had been. Unlike her eyes, sharp and fierce. She likes her eyes.

“Geez, you’re making that Chan guy look humble.” Mai comments. “Stop staring at yourself and let's get dressed. We have a shop to run, remember?”

Azula touches her fingers to her lips. “I…” she trails off. “It feels strange…”

Mai’s face softens. “You’ll get used to it. Just give yourself some time.”

Azula nods and turns away from the mirror. Mai bends down and gives her a small kiss. “Come on, we can go to your factory and drop your new trinkets off after we close the shop.”