#but like this is not a haphazard random thing he was told to do this and I wonder what the plan is and what the reason actually is

[lhrry]

x

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Two

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5145

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warnings: 18+ Blog; talk of drug use (no actual using), absent parents, mention of food and alcohol, slow burn, brown fuzzy coat, self doubt, break-up mention, annoyance towards actors, cursing, 2nd POV, that should be it but if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: It’s here!! I’m really excited for this chapter, lots of little things I love about that I’m so excited for you to read. This chapter is where we meet reader and learn a little bit about her. I wanted to also note, there will be an eventual nickname used, we just haven’t gotten to it being used yet so for now I’m not mentioning it. The response to this series has been so amazing and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful feedback!! Another big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for taking the time to beta for me!! You’re a champ for putting up with my spelling errors. Update: adding link to mug that is mentioned -> etsy shop

Series Masterlist / Sweet Creature Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

“Diem, you can’t really be considering this?! Did you forget, he was literally doing drugs off of your toilet!” 

You pour another glass of a sweet sparkling wine you’d picked up before heading to Diem’s for your weekly chat session, then settling back into the array of plush couch cushions— a night to decompress a bit, vent and just catch up on the week’s happenings. 

“Well, I’ve already considered and told him yes.”

“What?” You nearly spit your drink out in shock. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I kind of called it when you invited him to Wren’s party. I just— I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Look, I know you’re just being protective, and I’m so grateful for that, I truly am— but you have to just let me make this decision and trust that he’s going to be clean like he says he is. This is his longest stay in treatment, that’s got to be a good sign, right?” 

The one thing you loved most about Diem was her big heart and her constant need to mother everyone around her. 

She had literally taken you under her wing when you’d decided to uproot your entire life and move to a random city you had zero ties to. 

A chance meeting in the halls of your new employer, Ojai Valley School, while rounding the corner and bumping into each other. Your stack of lesson plans scattering about the concrete floor and her basket of snacks toppling over— a dozen or so clementine oranges rolling around the haphazard mess of papers. 

In sorting out each other’s disarray, you’d learned she was a parent of a kindergartener, to which you shared being the new first grade teacher. 

Somewhere in the midst of an over abundance of apologies for the mishap and swapping mini life stories on the walk together to your classroom, her daughter’s class coincidentally next door, there was an exchanging of phone numbers and a no pressure invitation for drinks and appetizers at her place— she dubbed it as a proper ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’ 

A week later you found yourself in Diem’s living room bonding over similar interests with wooden platters of too expensive crackers, hard to pronounce cheeses, thinly sliced deli meats paired with quickly mixed and shaken cocktails over ice. 

She shared her struggles being a single mom who was embarking on a new business adventure all while co-parenting with her ex-boyfriend. You learned her family didn’t live close, parents usually traveling through some part of the world or staying in one of their many extravagant vacation homes, while her brother was some big name movie star— Dieter Bravo, whom you’d seen plastered on the covers of gossip magazines. 

There was an instant friendship between the two of you that flourished as the months went on— a sisterly bond you’d never had being an only child. 

Weekly chats developed into spending not only more time with Diem, but with Wren as well. Dinners and movie nights became a regular thing, rotating hosting duties while Wren always had the final say in the movie. You shared your love for art with them as much as you could, making sure to invite them both when a new artist had their latest installment showing at one of the many galleries in town, Wren always so captivated with your interpretations of the art on display, encouraging her to seek out her own. If Diem ever found herself in a pinch with the hotel, you were more than excited to spend more time with Wren, especially on the warmer days where you both could take advantage of the pool and soak up the California sun. 

You felt like an instant local and less of a transplant after a few months, building your own connections with merchants and finding your own niche outside of teaching within Ojai— you were a welcomed presence. 

“I’m sorry Diem, I just have flashbacks to seeing him slumped over on the bathroom floor, high out of his mind— That look on your face ate me up inside.” You sigh at the recollection of your first meeting of her brother Dieter, all disheveled and extremely inebriated. Diem had cried on your shoulder for hours after everyone had left the party, but you did your best to comfort her as time went on. “I’ll be here for you if you need anything.”

She reaches over to you and gives you a hug, reassurance that she appreciates you always having her back. 

“Thank you. I promise, any little inkling of something being off and he’s out. Just try to be a little nice to him, give him a chance to prove himself. He said he’ll be here in a few weeks and I’d love for you two to get a proper meeting, so let me know what your schedule is looking like.”

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” You playfully roll your eyes at her, but you would really try to be as open as you could be, especially for her and Wren. 

“Okay, enough about me and my stuff. What’s new with you?? Any hot dates??”

Your dating life was near nonexistent. Yeah, you dated, but that was as far as things went. 

Your last relationship had ended in a breakup before your move. Both of you wanting different things, you wanting him to move with you and him wanting to stay rooted, while also refusing to try the long distance thing, deciding a clean break was best for the both of you. 

“Ugh. I went on one the other day. One of the teachers cornered me in the break room and insisted on setting me up with her neighbor.”

“And?”

“And, it was a disaster. He was late to the restaurant and then he was excusing himself every fifteen minutes to go to the bar to watch some sport’s playoffs. He also ordered for me off the kid’s menu, said he thought the restaurant was overpriced— he picked it mind you. Safe to say there was nothing ‘hot’ about the date. I literally give up. I’ll live the rest of my life alone— maybe I should get a cat or two.”

Your body slinks back amusingly into the couch cushions. 

“Oh my god. Stop!” She swats jokingly at your limp arm. “You’re so dramatic. Firstly, don’t accept any dates from colleagues— those are always bound to be disastrous! Secondly, you won’t be alone forever. You just have to open yourself up to the possibility of something just happening organically— like fate! Thirdly— no cats! Wren’s allergic and I can’t deal with that mess of meltdowns from her wanting one of her own.”

“Why do you always have to be my voice of reason?!”

“Because that’s what friends are for… Babe!”

“I hate you!” You’re both in a fit of giggles as you toss a pillow across the couch at her. 

“Oh! I do have some good news though! The gallery said they’re holding one last artist showcase before closing the doors and they offered it to me.”

Reverie Studio, a cute little art gallery and workshop space, had become a sanctuary for your creative imagination to live freely. They offered classes throughout the year to varying types of artists, novice to well seasoned, in their workshop space in the back of the gallery. 

The gallery itself was spacious and washed in white, perfect for featuring painted canvases, framed photographs or ceramic sculptures. Giant bright windows facing Main Street, allowed for ample viewing for visitors. 

You’d taken a few classes as a way to submerse yourself into the community, hoping to build some connections with like minded individuals. At one point you’d noticed the bulletin board that held a plethora of business cards, class schedules and other various information about town happenings, had a help wanted flier for the studio itself looking for someone to teach a few classes. You, being a teacher already, as well as an artist, decided to seek out more information. They hired you on the spot and allowed you to decide what classes you wanted to offer. 

The latest flier was informing that the owners decided they would be closing their doors soon. If you had the means, you would have put an offer on the business to keep it open, unfortunately with your salary as a teacher it wouldn’t be feasible. While you were sad you’d be losing Reverie, you were grateful they considered your art to be shown as their last installment. 

“What?! That is amazing! Finally people can see the amazing things you paint— I’ve been dreaming of this moment for you!! Also, I told you my brother’s an artist right?”

“Like, ‘I’m an actor, art is my passion’ while having zero idea how watercolor works…” Air quotes adding emphasis to your mockery.

“I thought you said you were going to be on your best behavior?” She tosses a pillow right back at you, nearly knocking over your empty glass in the process. 

“Sorry, I had to get it out.” Thankfully she could sense your campy tone. 

“I’m going to head out, there’s a stack of papers calling my name that I need to grade.” You state, grabbing your purse and making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you at drop off.” Throwing her a wave as you walk down the path leading to the main sidewalk. 

“Oh! Before I forget, Wren asked if she could come paint sometime. Told her I’d run it by you first and see if there was any space for her.” 

“Of course— Anytime!”

“Perfect. We'll chat more about it later then. Text me when you get home!” Diem leaning into the door frame, practically shouting as you cross the street, knowing you live a less than five minute walk down the block. 

“Oh! And I want to have you over for dinner when Dieter gets here!!”

“Goodnight Diem!” Throwing a lax wave back at her. 

*

Dieter can’t remember a time he’d slept so well. Could be the comfortable pillow top mattress, or it could be due to the fact this is the most relaxed he’s felt in years. 

There’s clanking coming from what he can only assume is the kitchen, followed by the strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Diem is awake, still the early bird that she’s always been. 

He begins to extricate himself from the cushy bed, swinging his legs over the edge, his body following suit into a somewhat hunched over sitting position. His fingers pick at the tiny sleep crystals embedded in the corners of his eyes, a few blinks to adjust to the light, his sight still a bit blurry. 

An audible lazy yawn works its way through his mouth, sleep still ruminating within him for the time being. He reaches over to the side table to grab his black framed glasses, a few swipes over the lens glass with the crumpled top sheet before he’s lifting them to the window for a quick smudge inspection— passable and now snug to his face. 

He convinces his body to rise to his full height, joints and muscles adjusting to their proper positions after several hours of a sedentary vacation. A quick roll of the neck and overhead arm stretches ramp up his alertness. 

Stepping over yesterday’s clothes still plopped in the middle of the floor, he digs through his bags in search of something to cover his boxer clad body with the intent to make the trek through the house to a cup of rich amber heaven. 

The air has a slight chill to it, not an uncommon occurrence being tucked in a valley on a California morning. He pulls on his favorite lounge pants, dark stripes pair with a thin cottony fabric worn in from years of wearing— a security blanket of sorts. Throwing his giant fuzzy overcoat over a wrinkled shirt while taking a few deep breaths, schooling his trepidation and the fact that a new life awaits him on the other side of the door. 

*

Sure enough, Diem is busy moving about the kitchen. A mom through and through multitasking her way through the morning— coffee made with mugs set out, breakfast of eggs and toast plated waiting to be eaten,  and a million other little tasks that seem to keep her attention focused. 

“I can’t believe you still have that damn coat, I beg you don’t wear it in public.”

“Good morning to you too!” That first sentence a bit gravelly as he looks down to inspect the coat Diem had just insulted. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

“It makes you look— a little tacky and less ‘I’ve finally got my life together.’” He shakes his head at her remark, deciding he’ll leave out the part that it’s just a house coat these days. 

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Best sleep I’ve had in awhile. Gonna need to know where I can get one of those beds for home.” Grabbing one of the mugs and pouring himself a decent amount of coffee, then positioning himself onto one of the barstools in front of his awaiting breakfast. 

“That would be a “we’re so proud of you, here’s a bed” gift from mom and dad.” He can sense her somewhat sore tone as she wipes up the counters. 

“You hear from them lately?” 

“Aside from the gifts they send regularly for Wren and a few emails updating on their whereabouts, they seem to be living up to the absentee status quite well.” 

He doesn’t expect the weight of her response to hit him so fiercely, knowing his own presence had been equally lacking as well. 

“I’m sorry.” It seems like the only adequate answer. 

“For what? It’s not your fault our parent’s decision to be unavailable the majority of our lives. I mean, I love them and I know they love us, but they sure have a weird way of showing it.”

“Yeah— well, I can’t say my track record has been any better over the years.” He wishes he could omit the guilt, but acknowledging and accepting his own absence seems like a more appropriate approach to mending the past. 

“Hey, no! I’m not trying to project any of my thoughts onto you.” Her movements halted, giving her full attention to the conversation. “You made an effort, regardless of your— your situation through the years, you still made time for us. We see them maybe twice if we’re lucky. Sometimes they surprise Wren with a FaceTime call, probably so she doesn’t forget what they look like.”

His fork scrapes through his runny eggs, taking his anger out on them seems like a better alternative to a seething phone call to his parents. He’s not sure they’d even answer if he did call. Communication between him and them was tenuous, having sent them a few emails while in rehab, their only response was “That’s great. We love you!”

“Plus, you’re here now. Look at it as a second chance to make up for lost time.” 

Before he’s able to give much thought to the prospect of a second chance, the trotting of tiny footsteps is heard coming from the hall. 

“Uncle Dude!!! You’re here, you’re here!” Wren’s tiny little body launched into his chest as he tried to squat down to her level. 

Uncle Dude. When Wren was younger, she had trouble with his name when her vocabulary started to expand, certain letter patterns fairing more difficult than others. Dieter joked around with the idea of her calling him ‘The Dude’, The Big Lebowski being one of his comfort films. Diem tried everything in her powers to make it not happen, but it only took an entire weekend of Dieter coaching the then 3 year old and Uncle Dude came to be. 

“Hey Birdie! Gosh, you’ve gotten so big!”

“I know, mama said I hafta eat all my vegetables ‘cause they will make me grow and grow and grow.” She wraps her little arms around his neck, squeezing him tight before pulling back and fully inspecting him. “You brought teddy jacket wiff you!!” Her little hands running through the brown sherpa fabric of his coat, which she claimed felt like a teddy bear— Teddy Jacket. 

“Brought it just for you.” He shoots a sarcastic smile over to Diem, who is doing her best to not make her eye rolling obvious, then plants a kiss to Wren’s tiny forehead.

“Okay Miss Wren, you’ve got to eat breakfast and get dressed for school.” Diem pulling out the mom voice, making both him and Wren exchange a brief scrunched expression. 

Wren climbs the legs of the barstool and settles into its seat. “But I wanna stay wiff Uncle Dude! He always gets me donuts for breakfast!” Her little voice floats through the air and wraps itself around his heart, clenching over how much he’s missed her. 

“Uncle Dude is actually taking you to school today, so you’ll have plenty of time before school to hang out. And we can do donuts a different time, eat your eggs then go get yourself dressed.” 

“Are you gonna be here when I get home too?!” Looking at Dieter with pleading eyes. 

“Heck yeah! I’ll be here for a while!” Dieter leans in close enough so only Wren can hear. “If you hurry up, we can get donuts before school, our secret!”

“YAY!!!” 

Diem looks over her shoulder at the two of them, an eyebrow cocked at Wren’s abrupt excitement, then looking at Dieter and only getting an innocent shoulder shrug from him. 

“I’m going to head out then if you’ve got this under control.” Dieter nods in agreement, finishing off the remainder of his coffee. “Perfect! I already left a message with the school you’d be dropping her off. No need to worry about picking her up, she has a wellness check with her doctor, so I’ll take her to that before we head home.” Diem scurrying around, grabbing items from different areas of the room and tossing into her oversized tote, before giving a kiss to Wren and quick hug to Dieter. “I’ll see you both later. Love you, bye!!” The door shutting quickly behind her. 

There’s a beat of silence as Wren and Dieter exchange looks, as if they know what each other is thinking. 

“DONUTS!!” Both announce in unison, high fives and uncoordinated movements as they both flail about. 

“Alright Birdie, let’s get dressed and go!”

“Let’s go!!”

*

As promised, donuts were a designated stop on the way to school. Wren’s excitement was written all over her face as she peered through the bakery case deliberating on her choice. Dieter missed this, moments spent with her as she explored the world around her. Thinking back to his conversation with Diem, this instance is proof second chances exist. 

“Thanks Uncle Dude for the donut!” He glances back at Wren in the rear view mirror, buckled securely into her booster seat, flakes of pink donut frosting smeared around her mouth, curls slightly bouncing as she bobs her head to the music she requested as Dieter buckled her in. 

“No problem Birdie. Here, why don’t you wipe your face— hide the evidence.” He hands her a napkin, hoping she can manage on her own— she seems to do a good enough job of it. 

“Donuts make me happy.” 

“They do, do they?”

“Yeah! They make me smile. Mama says being a movie star makes you happy.”

“She did?” 

“Yep! Does it?”

He thinks it does, or it used to at least. There was a time when the love he had for acting was limitless— he would eat, sleep and breathe acting. Getting sought after roles, memorizing pages worth of lines, stepping into character the instant the director said action. Acting filled a void in him that had been vacant for years. 

“It used to make me really happy.”

“But it doesn’t anymore?” 

“I don’t know, still trying to figure that out.”

“Mama says your heart knows when it’s happy, so just listen to your heart Uncle Dude!”

“I’ll do that, thanks Birdie.”

*

Most of your school mornings ran the same way. You tend to wake before your alarm ever has a chance to alert you, you’ve made such a habit of it you’re not sure why you bother setting one. You read somewhere about how cold showers at the start of the day help wake your mind, could be total bullshit but for some reason you believe it works— they’re the longest 2 minutes of your day. Being a private school teacher, the attire on school grounds tends to lean more conservative than your ‘normal life uniform’ of sundresses, distressed jeans and comfy band tees, but it makes for a quick selection of dark slacks and a comfortable top. 

The coffee machine has already run through its cycle by the time shoes are on and your school tote is securely placed on your shoulder. Grabbing your favorite coffee mug that reads “Let It Gogh”, a gift from a student last year, you fill it with an adequate amount of coffee and a splash of cream before you're out the door. 

The local bakery is your only stop before work, offering a good selection of breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and an enticing selection of donuts— you may or may not add one to your order of an egg and cheese sandwich some mornings. 

You tend to breeze through your class preparation before the bells ring for the start of school. 

The day's lesson plan already looked over, worksheets separated and ready for the students, and the whiteboard cleaned and daily tasks written out— you find it helps deter your students from having to ask “what are we doing today?” more than necessary. 

There’s usually a good 30 minutes of quiet before the first student arrives, and if there’s no need for you elsewhere on campus, you take the time to read your latest book you picked up from Bart’s Books and hope you can get through a good amount of it the short time you have. 

Like clockwork, your students trickle in with their ‘good mornings’ and vibrant stories about their world. 

Some parents opt for a quick ‘drop and go’, while others linger a bit in the back of the class until you’re ushering them out when the bell rings. You enjoy the parent interaction. It’s usually spent answering homework questions or sharing upcoming events happening in the class, with the occasional non-school related discussions when Diem swings by with Wren— you both getting caught up in some story that is not really relevant to anything school related. 

There’s a quick flash of a familiar little face, Wren placing her purple backpack on its assigned hook, then running back to where you’re standing at your desk. 

“My Uncle Dude brought me today!”

“Your Uncle Dude?” Diem hadn’t mentioned not being able to bring Wren this morning, and you’ve never heard of this “Dude” person before. 

“Yeah! He’s a movie star!!” Her little frame is buzzing with excitement, not able to stand still as she bounces on the balls of her feet. Before you’re able to question her further, she zips off towards her table, waving to someone over your shoulder. “Byyyyye Uncle Dude!!! See you later!!” 

You’d been so wrapped up in your brief conversation with Wren, you hadn’t noticed the man standing at the door to your classroom. 

He doesn’t seem to notice you staring as he leans against the door, watching Wren getting herself situated with her fellow classmates. 

Dieter Bravo. Or at least you think it is. No it definitely is.

The images of your first encounter with him flood your mind. You’re not really sure what you expected when Diem said he was clean and sober now, but you definitely didn’t expect to find him attractive on any level. 

He looks healthy and like he might actually sleep regularly, his eyes seemingly less sunken in from what you can see with his glasses perched perfectly on his face. His hair slightly shorter and still a little bit of a mess but purposefully, it seems to suit him though. 

Your eyes roam a bit further down, noticing he seemed to have traded his disheveled clothes for a more put together yet laid back style. A white t-shirt under a black blazer that seems far too formal for school drop off and a snug pair of dark wash jeans. 

You shouldn’t be ogling him like this, but your brain is having a hard time controlling itself. 

“Hello?”

You must have zoned out pretty hard because you didn’t realize he was standing so close now, and attempting to get your attention. 

“Oh— H-hi! Sorry, I was lost in thought there for a second.” You can feel your face heating up, trying to get your thoughts together. 

“Hi, I’m Wren’s teacher—“

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle—“

You both attempt to introduce yourselves, speaking at the same time, hands knocking into each other awkwardly before properly situating for a shake. 

Heat begins to rise in your body, you’re completely flustered by his subdued energy and the way he’s looking at you with his soft brown eyes. 

“Sorry— you first, please.” 

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle. Diem asked if I could drop her off, said she already had it called into the front office.” 

“Yes— yes! Sorry, I must have not looked over my notes thoroughly this morning and missed that message.”

“I like your mug.” Pointing to your Van Gogh mug you forgot you were holding, he laughs as he reads the message on the front. 

As if you didn’t know what was already on it, you instinctively lift the mug to view it, like it was your first time seeing it. 

“T-thanks, a student gave it to me last year and it’s kind of become my favorite one to use for school, I’ll be sad if something ever happens to it.” You internally cringe at your tendency to over share, words just aimlessly falling from your mouth, trying to mask your nervousness. 

“Keep it safe then. Anyways— I’m an actor, as Wren so kindly informed you. I normally live down in LA when I’m not shooting movies, but I’m—I’m taking some time off, no movies or anything at the moment, going to spend a few months with my sister and Wren, help out however I can.” 

Ah! There it is, the “I’m an actor” spiel making the attraction you felt towards him flee instantly. While he may be a new cleaned up version of the Dieter Bravo you met a year ago, he’s still just a typical Hollywood actor who likes to talk about himself at any chance he can get. Having had your fair share of run-ins with actors before, they’re all the same as far as you’re concerned— his career holds zero significance to you in any way. 

Releasing a heavy sigh as you remember Diem’s plea to be on your best behavior, you school your annoyance at his mentioning of it.

But unbeknownst to you, he can sense your lack of interest in what he’s saying and decides his introduction is over. 

Thankfully, you’re literally and figuratively saved by the bell. 

“Well, I better let you get to your class then.”

“Yeah— I’m sure I’ll see you around Mr. Bravo. Have a great day.” 

You turn towards your desk hastily placing your mug down in exchange for a stack of worksheets, then making your way to the front of the class to get your lesson started. 

“1-2-3, eyes on me! Good morning everyone! Please get a pencil while I pass these papers out.” 

Dieter stands in the doorway, observing your interactions with your students, a stark contrast to the coldness you’d given him at the end of your conversation. 

*

The rest of the day flew by once it started, the short interaction with Dieter unfortunately flitted through your mind more than you'd have liked it to. But you didn’t let your aversion towards him have any effect on your day. 

After closing up your class and dropping off attendance sheets in the front office, you made your way home, looking forward to an evening of drinks and gossip. 

A quick change out of your school clothes into some jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops, you filled your canvas tote with a chilled bottle of white wine and the cheeses you’d told Diem you’d bring over. 

Being that it’s roughly a 5 minute walk from your house to Diem’s. The neighborhood is quiet most days, giving you a chance to really enjoy the ambiance of everyone’s front gardens and a few neighborly ‘Hello’s’ as you stroll down the sidewalk.

Nearing Diem’s house, noticing her car in the driveway, a sense of relief washes over you at the thought of Dieter being out and the chance of running into him would be slim. You were ready to unwind for the evening. 

Front door unlocked, you let yourself in— both of you exchanging keys early on in your friendship in the off chance there was an emergency or one of you showed up to a locked door. 

Hearing Diem rustling around in her pantry, not hearing your arrival, you decide to start unpacking your tote and announce your presence. 

“You have no idea how much I need this tonight Diem!”

Not hearing a response from her, you continue placing things on her counter and continue to spill to her. 

“Also! Would have been nice to have a heads up that your brother would be dropping Wren off— was not prepared for that. But what a difference a year makes, he looks good, definitely was attracted to him for a split second— sorry I know you don’t want to hear that, but honestly such a difference from my first interaction with him being when I was yelling at him for being strung out in your bathroom.”

Still no word from her as you open the bottle of wine and unwrap the cheeses in preparation for the evening. 

“You’d be so proud of me too! I was on my best behavior despite how much I was annoyed with listening to him talk about himself— Hey, did you happen to get those crackers with the figs and olives?? I grabbed that honey goat cheese that we like to eat with them.”

The silence carries on from the pantry. No more movement. No sign of Diem. 

“Diem? You okay? Hey, I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have mentioned your brother being attractive— and I honestly was really nice to him. I mean, at least I think I was.”

You can hear Diem finally making her way to join you in the kitchen. 

Only when you look up, prepared to give her a big welcoming smile, your face immediately fades into a look of surprise when you realize it’s not Diem at all— it’s her brother, Dieter. 

“Diem’s not home.”

“Oh fuck—”

Next

[123pixieaod]

Tried to write a fun little fic about why Daniel unfollowed on Instagram Zak, Michael, Fernando, and Nicki, the most random quartet possible, only to end up with this lol

Daniel finally answers a call at just gone 4.30am, Max's time. It's 5.30am, Daniel's time, which admittedly is only marginally better, but maybe the hospital he's in has some crazy Get-Up-And-Seize-The-Day sort of ethos. Although from what Christian has told him, Daniel might not be seizing anything, metaphorically or otherwise, for some time.

"Daniel," Max says as soon as he hears the line clicking through. "How are you? How do you feel? Is your wrist alright? Do the doctors and nurses take care of you, do they speak English, or did Red Bull send a Spanish translator and I hope I have not woken you up and-"

He cuts himself off. There's a sort of stunned silence on the other side of the line. Sometimes, Max thinks his need for Daniel is a bottomless pit, something that has hollowed him out and leaves an ache echoing through him.

"Max?" Daniel says, incredulous. High, drugged up, gone on pain medication. "How did you get into my phone?!"

Max squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth is twisted, making some shape. A smile, a frown? He doesn't know, nobody can see him in his old childhood bedroom.

He wants to be with Daniel. He wants to brush a hand through his curls and run his fingertips along the lines of his faded tattoos like how a child would first begin to trace letters and numbers.

I miss you, he wants to say

I want you

I need you

"I'm not in your phone," he says instead, tone light and soft. "I called you. I am in the Netherlands."

"Oh," Daniel says, as if the fact Max had not been magically transformed into his phone is mildly disappointing. "What are you doing there?"

"We had a race, remember?" Max says. He's stretched out on his old bed. His feet dangle just slightly off the edge, and each year, he's promised a new one, bigger and larger and finally a grown-up bed. But it never materialises and Max has stopped bringing it up now.

The room is unchanged. Around him, the faces of former racing legends watch him, tapped to his wall. Above, stars look down, stuck to his ceiling in haphazard patterns. The day his father got to play God and created universes and cosmos splayed above his head.

"Of course," Daniel huffs good naturedly. "You won, Maxy."

"I know," Max replies softly.

"It was your ninth consecutive win," Daniel continues, his tone strong and proud, as if it's Daniel who has achieved it. Maybe he's so high on meds he thinks it is, that him and Max are some sort of Jeckyl and Hyde being, two sides of the same life. Max doesn't know. A headache is building behind his eyes. He hasn't really slept since Friday, three days previous.

"You're now equalling Sebastian Vettle. If you win the next race, you'll beat the record." Daniel continues before pausing, as if realisation is only just dawning. "I don't think I'll be there."

"No," Max murmurs. "I don't think you will be either."

"My wrist is really fucked," Daniel goes back to his jubilant tone, like a child with the best show and tell in school. "I have a metal plate in it, isn't that neat?"

He laughs. Max closes his eyes, just listening to the sound. "Imagine if it goes off at every airport security, Maxy? How annoying with that be?" He laughs again, the prospect sounding delightful to him in that very moment.

Max hums softly, and then shifts on the bed, turning away from the stars his father hung up for him. Instead, he moves to his side, facing a giant poster of Micheal Schumacher celebrating one of his championships. At the bottom, Max, to great things! MS. He was six. It was one of the best Christmas presents his dad had ever gotten him.

"How do you feel?" He asks. Daniel is humming a tune under his breath, the theme song to some gameshome Max barely recognises. He stops at Max's question.

"Good," he says happily. "I have gained deep clarity."

That shocks a laugh out of Max, as only Daniel, even doped, drugged Daniel, can do. The longing feels physical, the hole never ending in his chest. He closes his eyes, blocking out the stars and racing legends whose shine has faded and whose records he's now beating.

In another life, he thinks, he would be there. He'd be the first face Daniel would see, the first hand he'd get to hold, the first for nearly everything, just like Daniel had been for Max.

But instead they're a time zone apart and Daniel is alone in a country where he can't even speak the language and Max is in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his family who are fast sleep and utterly oblivious to the fact he's gay, let alone in a relationship with Daniel Ricciardo.

"Clarity," Max forces his mind back on track. "How so?"

"Oh you know," Daniel says with ease. "Cleared my mental space."

Max huffs another laugh. His chest aches, empty. He wonders does Daniel know how hollowed out he is without him.

"Go on."

"Well, I deleted a shit ton of apps. That wellness app you made me download last year? Sorry Maxy, but that went," Daniel makes a popping noise. "And the fertility tracking app Scotty downloaded at his bachelor's party."

"Presumably he just got his and your phones mixed up, right?"

"No Maxy, it was a prank because I -" Daniel breaks away, finally understanding, laughing as if Max has made the funniest joke possible.

"Okay so you cleared up some space on your phone," Max prompts him.

"Oh yes, and then deleted twitter and went to WhatsApp and left about a billion groups and then I went to Instagram, and went through who I followed, and unfollowed tons of people."

"Oh? Did I make the cut?"

Daniel tutts as if Max is being purposefully dense.

"Naturally Maxy. In fact, I sort of debated unfollowing everyone except you, but then figured you might've been pissed at me."

Max can't tell if Daniel is joking or not. He doesn't know which he wants it to be.

"So firstly I unfollowed a bunch of people I had met years ago at business deals and stuff, and then Craig and Rebecca from school because I never really liked them anyway and they definitely never liked me and then Zak because the vibes were Not It and then my high-school teacher who I definitely only ended up following on a dare and -"

"Zak," Max says, picking out the familiar name in the sea of chatter. "As in Zak Brown?"

Daniel hums. "Yeah, the vibes were Not It. And then I also unfollowed Fernando -"

"Alonso?" Max splutters out another laugh of disbelief. "What on earth did he do to you?"

"I don't like how he acts around you."

"Me?!" Max voice goes up an octave. "What? But he's always nice to me Daniel. I like him."

"I know Max, that's the point," Daniel says, and before Max can even begin to comprehend what he means, he's continuing. "And then also Richard, from McLaren because I swear he used to tell Zak everything I did and then Michael, and then Sam, this old hookup, and -"

"Michael," Max cuts in, sure he's mistaken, "as in ..."

"Yeah," Daniel says after a beat. "That Michael."

Max swallows. Michael has been a constant strain on their relationship, the fly in the otherwise smooth ointment. Max had told Daniel he wasn't good for him, he wasn't looking after him. That friendship and business rarely mixed, and that in this case, it had congealed into something of neither, a strange, interdependent relationship which drained them both.

Daniel had said Max hadn't understood it, hadn't gotten how much Michael helped him, how good it was to have a physico who was also his mate. Max replied by saying that as far as he was concerned, Michael was proving himself to be neither.

Jealousy. That was what Daniel had pinned to him, had washed all rationality away with. Max was jealous.

He remembers feeling like he had been slapped. Jealousy. Fucking jealousy.

He never mentioned Michael again.

"But," Max begins slowly, mind whirling. "You had lunch with him last week." Even though you never mentioned it, even though I had to find out through fans' blurry photos.

"Yeah," Daniel draws the syllable out. "But... the vibes were not immaculate."

"Right," Max says, hating how terse the single word sounds. And the vibes were fine when he encouraged you to do that fucked up intermittent fasting? When he recommended yoga and gym sessions instead of therapy?

"And then I unfollowed Nicky Latifi, because unfortunately, he's going to do a masters in London, and following him online will simply remind me of all the missed possibilities I had in the academic world," he goes on.

"Daniel," Max says, trying to force his mind to move on, Daniel has unfollowed Michael Daniel has unfollowed Michael. "You dropped out of school when you were seventeen. In the most loving of ways, I would hardly call you an up and coming scholar."

"Details, Maxy," he says, but then goes quiet, and so does Max. He opens his eyes. His room is painted in shadows, sunrise still distant. The trophies he won as a child are carefully displayed in neat rows, their plaques opaque with dust, now thick and heavy. He remembers winning them, young and already starving for more, remembers the weight of plastic, the way sugary pop soda dried sticky on his skin.

"I think you were right," Daniel says softly. Max nods, face pressed against his pillow.

"I mean about him. Michael."

"I know who you meant," Max murmurs.

"Okay good, because you're definitely not write about my academic prowess, I was one hundred percent on track to be this world's Stephen Hawkens."

Max laughs softly. "It's Hawking not Hawken."

"Once again Maxy, details."

There's another exhale of quiet between them, and outside Max hears the world beginning to rise. Birds waking, their whistles winding their way through the crack in his window.

"I miss you," he says softly, as if the words are barely permitted to be spoken aloud.

"I love you too Maxy," Daniel replies with ease. Then - "you should come. I think it would be nice. If you were here too."

"I think so too," Max says. The longing grows. The trophies are dusty on his shelf, forgotten. His feet hang off his childhood bed. Birds begin to sing.

"So will you?" Daniel persists. Max squeezes his eyes shut.

"I don't know. I do not think you would be saying this if you weren't off your head on pain meds," he tries to joke. His chest aches. Hollowed out, always wanting more than he's allowed.

"Of course I would," Daniel says confidently, even though he ends it with a yawn. "I anyways want you around."

Max keeps his eyes still tightly shut. He tucks his knees up, bringing them to his chest. When he was very young and his parents were still together, he'd do this. Curl up on the bed with his eyes squeezed closed. The door shut, their shouts muffled; as distant as the bird song is to him now.

"Maxy?"

His sister said the same. Maxy? Climbing on his bed, tugging at his arms. What are they talking about? Nothing, nothing, it doesn't matter.

"How's your wrist?" Max asks. He opens his eyes - the room has grown lighter, dawn finally creeping in.

"Good," Daniel says, already forgotten what he said. Like a butterfly, moving onto the next topic, nothing permanent. "Sore. I'm on some strong shit though." He laughs. It sounds so near.

Max imagines it. He could do it. Book the ticket to Spain. It wouldn't even be that bad. People know him and Daniel are mates, and mates visit each other in hospital. And that's if it even comes out, which it might not. Nobody has to know.

"I love you," he blurts out, cheeks warm. Daniel laughs again, soft and delighted.

"Good, because my right hand is currently out of action, so I might need help over the next few weeks with a few particular things."

Max laughs, cheeks warm. He's not being quiet any more. His family can probably hear him through the walls, just like he could hear his parents all those years ago.

He can imagine his sister asking him, echoing their childhood as she questions him on words she's grasped through walls. This time, though, he thinks he will tell her the truth.

"I've heard Spain is very beautiful at the end of August," he says.

Daniel hums, "I've heard something similar, Maxy."

Outside, birds sing. The dawn continues on, filling the emptiness of night.

[mouthsfullofsharpteeth]

warning signs

cross posted on my ao3. can be read as platonic or romantic. enjoy :3

For as long as Jay had known Alex (which was an awfully long time, mind you; since Elementary school, since they both had long hair, since people still used OCD to mean washing your hands a lot), Alex had been a bit of a germaphobe. 

He didn’t like getting dirty. He didn’t like his living space to be dirty. He was the tidiest teenager Jay had known in high school, his floor always devoid of crumbs and trash, and bed always made. Unlike Jay, who had lived in what Alex described as “complete filth, what the hell is wrong with you?”. 

Alex would scrub his hands for multiple minutes if they felt sticky, and would scold Jay for just dumping his stuff on the floor whenever he came over. Jay didn’t always understand it, but he respected Alex’s need to keep things nice and clean. He thought it was admirable how, even when they were both moved out and Alex had three random guys as his roommates, that his kitchen counters were shiny and his floor was swept. Sure, it was annoying when Alex complained about Jay’s own messy house, but that usually ended with him taking matters into his own hands and dedicating an afternoon to ‘fixing it’ for Jay. Which was awesome. Multiple comments were made about getting Alex a little feather duster and apron, how he could dress up as Cinderella whenever he did this. 

This behavior started to decline around when the filming of Marble Hornets picked up. Jay didn’t think much of it at first. Alex left his obsessively organized director’s binder spread out on the floor, copies of scripts and critiques from professors circling it, pens and pencils and highlighters a jumbled maze leading from his door to his bed. Jay didn’t notice when Alex started to leave his backpack and jacket and shoes in a pile by the front door, nor did he notice when his socks picked up dust and dirt as he walked across the kitchen floor. 

Jay paid no attention to when he had to navigate across piles of dirty clothes in order to get to Alex’s desk. He didn’t notice when Alex retreated to a messy nest of blankets and sheets on his bed, absentmindedly making Jay brush some crumbs off in order to sit. 

Alex’s cleanliness was such an ingrained part of him, that honestly, Jay just stopped noticing the behavior after a while. And so, he just… didn’t pick up on the change. 

Not until July. 

“Alex?” 

The front door was unlocked. None of Alex’s roommates' cars were in the driveway, only Alex’s. Parked on the curb, haphazard, a few feet away from being lined up. 

Jay walked inside, listening for the sound of Alex from anywhere inside the house. It was dark, and warm, like the A/C wasn’t running. The couch was gone from the living room, and boxes were spread around the halls. 

“Alex? You in here?” He flicked the lightswitch, and the entryway illuminated. Clothes were piled up in the corner, dirty and damp looking, like they had been used to clean something up. Jay could see one of them was the Deftones t-shirt Jay had given Alex for his 19th birthday. 

“Your car was out front.. Uhm. You missed filming today. The guys are all kind of pissed..”

He began to walk upstairs, a little unsure. Was Alex even here?

The carpeted stairs were dirty and stained. Dog hair covered them. 

“Dude, where are you?” He reached the top of the stairs, about to turn on another light switch, when his wrist was suddenly grabbed. “AH!” Yelped Jay, gasping when Alex stepped out of the dark bathroom, hand cold and tight around Jay’s wrist. 

“What are you doing here?” Alex asked, a stormy look on his face. 

“I-I just told you! We were supposed to shoot today, and you weren’t there! I texted and called you, like, a million times! What’s going on??”

Alex finally let go of his arm, and turned away, heading towards his bedroom. Jay followed, incessant. 

“Alex?”

“I was busy.”

Jay stepped over what looked like a broken pile of wood from a dresser drawer. He could see the knob on it. There were wood shavings around it, splinters and scratches on the floor. 

“Well, you could have, you know, communicated that?”

Alex turned on the light in his room, and Jay followed him in. It was a complete disaster. His desk was stacked on top of his dresser, blocking the window. His dresser was missing two drawers. Clothes covered the floor like a second carpet, papers and food wrappers and water bottles piled up with no order to them. The sheet had peeled off one corner of Alex’s bed, the mattress showing underneath. A pillow was on the floor, and the blankets were squished up to the foot of the bed. The room smelled stale and sweaty. 

It was safe to say, Jay noticed now. 

“Jesus Christ, Alex. What happened in here?”

Alex shook his head, walking to his bedside table and picking up a video camera. Jay could see the red light blinking. 

“Wha- why are you recording? Alex, seriously. What’s going on?”

“Stop asking questions, you’re giving me a headache,” grumbled Alex. Aiming the camera at Jay. He sat down on the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead. Alex was wearing shorts, two different socks, and a black t-shirt with a drooping neckline. Jay didn’t even know what shirt that was. It looked like it might be inside out. 

“Alex… are.. are you okay?” Jay asked in a softer, gentler voice. Face all creased up and worried. He stepped around the disaster on the floor, coming to Alex’s side, and sitting down beside him. Alex’s camera lens followed his movement, his hand angling it to focus on Jay like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Jay felt unnerved, and uncomfortable being filmed like this. 

“What would you say if I wasn’t.” Alex’s words were flat, lifeless. Not even a question, just… resigned. Like he thought Jay would ignore the horrifying implications of what he’d just said.

“I wo-would say that, uh, that I’m worried? That I’m here for you, and want to help. That I will help, as soon as you tell me what’s going on?” Jay’s heart was steadily picking up speed. This was feeling an awful lot like sophomore year of high school, when they both learned what being transgender was and then what intersex looked like, when Alex stopped getting out of bed and looked moments from death for months until he was allowed to cut his hair. 

Alex scoffed. “Alright, Jay. Sure.”

Jay frowned. “I mean it. Something is clearly wrong, and I’m your best friend. I want to help.”

“Did Brian put you up to this?”

Brian? Jay’s eyebrows creased. 

“No..? What does Brian have to do with this?” 

“He came by yesterday, with Tim. Made a big show of how worried he was, how he wanted me to talk. How he’d noticed how bad I was getting. Fucking liar.” Alex’s voice was dark and angry. Jay shivered. Alex used to talk about Brian like he was the sun in the sky. Why was he so mad that Brian had come by?

“Well… no, he didn’t ‘put me up to this’. I didn’t know he visited. Neither of them said anything when we met to film today.”

Tentatively, Jay put a hand on Alex’s back. It bowed underneath his touch, but Alex didn’t shove him away. Jay relaxed, letting his palm rest there. Rubbing a little. He could feel Alex’s spine. Had Alex lost weight? They had gotten lunch together not that long ago, he thought. Or… no, the last time was in June. Was Alex eating poorly? Alex had a job still, didn’t he? The last time he’d lost his job and couldn’t afford food, he had kept it a secret for ages… what if that was happening again.

“Why are you here.” Jay could feel Alex swallow. 

“I wanted to check on you. You’re my best friend.”

“Am I?”

Jay’s entire body stiffened. His hands felt cold.

“Yes. Yes you are. What’s going on, Alex? Please talk to me.”

Alex looked up through his shaggy hair. His haircut had grown out a lot. His glasses had slid low on his nose. 

“I wish I could,” he said softly. Staring up at Jay. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Jay started back. Heart sinking. 

“You don’t have to say anything… I… uhm.” He puffed out air. “Want me to clean your room for you?”

Alex blinked. His face twitched a little. God, he looked exhausted. Eyes all bloodshot and veiny, deep dark circles beneath them. Face a little waxy and hollow. “What?” He asked, like he hadn’t heard Jay. 

“Do- uh, do you want me to clean your room? I can run a load of laundry for you, uhm. I can vacuum? Help you change your sheets and stuff?”

Alex stared at Jay. Seemingly in disbelief. “Uh. I- I guess- are you sure?”

Jay nodded quickly. “I’m positive. I’ll do it right now. You don’t have to do any of it, I can do it.”

Alex sat up a little more. The camera lowered from how focused it was on Jay. 

“Uhm.. okay. Okay, I guess. If you really want to-”

“I do, I really want to.”

Alex swallowed, staring at Jay like he wasn’t convinced Jay was real. “Okay, then. Uhm. Go ahead.”

Jay smiled, a little nervous, a little relieved. Progress was progress. Whatever was going on with Alex, Jay would get to the bottom of it. He would never give up on Alex. 

[spell-cleaver]

No. 12 WHAT COULD GO WRONG? “Mayday, mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail

Read it instead on AO3 or on FFN!

Han slammed his fist against the walls of rocks again, shouting more from frustration than pain when it came away bloody. With how often he’d pummelled, punched, kicked, hit, and body slammed the rocks by now, it was honestly a miracle he hadn’t broken anything.

“If you keep at that, you’ll just bring more rocks down on us,” Luke said weakly from the wall. Han cast him a worried look—he sounded so much worse than he had a mere few minutes ago. Chewie had him cradled in his lap, keeping him warm and entertained with light conversation, but even then it didn’t look good.

Han didn’t respond. He just hit the rocks again, this time with his full body. One of them shifted; he yelped in triumph.

More rocks fell from above. Chewie leaned over to shield Luke, and Han dived to the side; they barely avoided getting crushed even more.

Luke coughed—hard enough Han thought he was going to lose a lung. “I told you—”

“You’ve told us a lot of things, Luke,” Han snapped. “Oh, don’t go into that cave, we’ll get stuck in there. Don’t bother using the comms, no one will get our mayday calls, and we’ll drain our batteries. We’re gonna die alone in here. I don’t wanna listen to you anymore.”

Chewie chastised him for being mean, but Luke didn’t respond. He just leaned back and stared at the ceiling of the cave with glassy eyes.”

“I don’t want to be a downer, Han, but— but—”

“But what?”

“I keep seeing things!” Luke snapped. “These caves, this place. High Command said the Empire was interested in this planet because of their mines, right? They thought they had kyberite veins.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all attended the briefing. At least, one of us did. You were clearly asleep, because the Empire abandoned this place because it wasn’t that precious substance they were looking for, it was… that other one.”

“Ranite.”

“Whatever.”

“They were wrong.”

“High Command? Yeah they were wrong. Look at us!” Han thought of Leia’s face, pleading with him to go check out this one potential base for them, and take Luke too, while you’re at it? He needs to get out a bit and you’re the best person to keep an eye on him… “The caves aren’t dangerous. Right.”

“Not as dangerous as your kriffing toolbox,” Luke muttered.

Han winced at that. There was no proof—which he would declare later, loudly and proudly, once Luke was fully healed and happy—that Luke had got sick from rooting through Han’s absolutely filthy, haphazard toolbox. The fact that Chewie refused to go near that thing aside, Luke had sustained only minor injuries from the random blades and screws and nails in there; it shouldn’t have caused an infection this… this…

Oh, who was he kidding?

“The Empire were wrong,” Luke reiterated. At least he wasn’t talking about the toolbox. “Ranite’s similar to kyberite, but this isn’t ranite.” He glanced up at the ceiling again, where cracks in the dark rock revealed the transparent rock above them. “It’s kyberite.”

“I didn’t know you were such a geologist. You got this stuff on Tatooine?”

“No, I—”

“Why don’t you go tell the Empire they were wrong? Betcha they’d love that.”

“Kyberite produces kyber crystals. They’re the source of power for a lightsaber. I found it in Ben’s diary.” He closed his eyes. “This is kyberite. I can sense it. The Force is… acute… here.”

“Fairy tales are never cute, kid.”

“I can feel myself dying, Han!” Luke snapped. “I can feel the infection moving through me! I can’t do anything about it, I can’t stop it because I never learned how, I can’t do anything but watch, because the volume of the Force is turned up to max and I can’t turn it down!” He broke off with a sob. Chewie grabbed him before he bent over double, hurting himself. He looked almost feverish, his skin white and beaded with sweat, hair dark with it.

“Kid,” Han tried. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“I can see the future! So many different endings! It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope.”

“I never got the appeal of those,” Han said. “They weren’t that fun to play with.”

“You hit that wall and brought more rocks down on us,” Luke snarled. “If you hit it again, you’ll bring the kriffing ceiling down!” Han cocked an eyebrow, raised a hand, and Chewie barked at him don’t you dare. “If you comm for help—”

“Y’know what? That’s a harmless one. We’re not gonna die here, Luke. Your hokey visions are concerning, yeah, but maybe you should get that checked out. There’s no magical energy field running through those rocks,” he pointed upwards, “or through you. I’m gonna comm for help.”

“Han—”

“You’re dying, Luke. I’m gonna comm for help.”

“It won’t get through.”

“We’re not that far into the cave,” Han retorted, rooting around in his pockets for the emergency comm Her Royal Highnessness had given them for this mission. “We’re not that far in, and we’re not that far down. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He dialled for help. The comlink buzzed, but nothing happened.

“Kyberite distorts signals,” Luke said. “The more impurities—and there’s plenty of impurities here, I can sense them too—the worse it is.”

“What, you read about that in one of those wizard’s journals? I think he had permanent sunstroke. I definitely never saw him wearing a hat like yours.” Han dialled again. Again, nothing. Still, he tried to speak into it: “Princess, get the hell out here, Luke is—”

“It didn’t suit his style,” Luke said, not missing a beat, but also not smiling. “Ben didn’t write about it. I saw it in my visions.”

“Can your visions tell us how to get out, then? Because the comlink’s a dud.” He tossed it aside. It flickered and died. No power left.

Luke grimaced.

“We die in all of them,” he said quietly.

Han sucked in a breath through his nostrils. “Oh? And that’s the only option, is it?”

“I don’t know, but—Han, stop!”

Han seized the nearest rock in the barricade, hefted it up, and staggered back before the cascade of smaller rocks crushed him. “I’m getting us out of here, Luke. You’re not dying in here.”

He had never known Luke to be defeatist in any sense of the word, but the power that delusion had on him was depressing. “No! If you do that, my visions say—”

“Your visions are weird!” he told him. “I don’t want them! I don’t want to hear about them!”

“You think I want them either? You think I’m as weak as this because of the disease? Dying hurts, Han, and hearing how I’m gonna die over and over hurts even more!”

“Are all Jedi like this?” Han asked Chewie.

He didn’t expect an answer, but Chewie gave him one. Apparently, no. Force visions were usually vague, and one shouldn’t feel themselves dying in as much detail as that. That seemed like a terrible curse to bear. Perhaps their little Luke was significantly more in tune with the Force than other Jedi.

Han pointed a finger at him. “Not helping. You’ve never even met a Jedi, furball.”

Chewie had, actually. His life didn’t begin when he met Han, a fact which Han hissed out a breath and rolled his eyes at.

“Don’t listen to Chewie,” Han said. “Force or no Force. You’re not dying here. I don’t know anything about visions, but I know that.”

Luke’s crushing despair was probably the most disturbing part of all of this. He could deal with the kid staring into space. He could deal with the kid talking to himself. He could deal with a friend who was a little mad—weren’t they all? But hells if he knew how to deal with a kid who knew exactly what was gonna happen.

It’d be a weird kinda hell, knowing when and how he was gonna die. It was an even weirder hell being friends with the guy who was living in it.

“You’re in pain. I get it, Luke. I don’t know why it hurts so much; I don’t know what these magic rocks have to do with it. But you’re gonna get better!” He said it as an order, channelling General Rieekan. Annoyingly upright as that man was, he was a kriffing good leader. “We’re gonna get out of here, Luke.”

“But—”

“I told you before! There ain’t no mystical energy field controlling my destiny!” he shouted. “And I’ll be damned before I let it control yours!”

Luke stared at him, face slack, mouth agape.

All of Han’s fight left him. He shifted, self-conscious. “What?”

“I had a new vision,” Luke said, staring in that creepy-as-hell way again.

“Yeah, well, look at me properly and tell me what it was.”

Luke’s eyes focused again. “Keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Taking away the stones.”

Han frowned. “Aren’t you afraid…”

It was Chewie who cut him off, telling him to just do it. Chewie gave Luke a pat on the head and shuffled out from underneath him, coming up to help Han as well.

Han shrugged, still confused, and yanked the first stone out. He ducked, shielding his head against the inevitable barrage of stones—but they never came.

He poked his head up. They were hovering in mid-air. When he glanced behind him, Luke had forced himself to his feet, hands outstretched, staring at them with that spacey expression again.

“What the hells?” Han asked. Chewie told him to shut up.

“You’re right, Han,” Luke murmured. Han saw something like rippling white light fall over his blond hair, his flight suit; when he looked up, he could’ve sworn the kyberite veins above them were glowing. “The Force doesn’t control our destiny. We control the Force.”

His eyes seemed to glow as well, in this strange light, vivid and blue.

“Keep going.”

[anotherjobwelldone]

A Trip to the Mall

[I wrote this during s1! So it sorta has that energy, it's pre-ep6, but I figured I'd launch it out of drafts during the hiatus because it's cute lol]

If anybody had announced an angel visitation at the Emerald Square Mall on a random August day, the cameras and busy-bodies (if any showed) would have surely gazed up at the glass-paneled ceiling or waited expectantly in the parking lot. But they would’ve missed the whole event. The angel sat in front of the Cool Kidz Fun Zone playground, next to the JC Penney, eating a whole cheese cup from Auntie Anne’s like a big fruit gusher.

Occasionally, children did point and stare and laugh, but it wasn’t Ariel they were noticing. On either side of the angel, who wore a haphazard bundle of perfectly normal clothes, two young men were arguing pettily about nothing, and both wore loud suits despite their lack of class.

“I saw something scurrying around in there and you know it, what’s wrong with Victoria’s Secret?” This was Lev, who wore a sky blue suit, and looked a little bit like a balloon animal in its folds.

“You’re kidding. You want to go in the bra store, and you want to make us come with you. You’re always right after all, you’re especially right when you want to waste time at the boobie mart when we already know where it is!” Silas pointed at Lev with a half-eaten pretzel, scattering salt onto Ariel’s lap.

“I liked that store,” Ariel said. “I don’t see anything wrong with it!”

Lev rolled his eyes. “Now I don’t wanna go in. Y’know, I thought it might be nice to do something lower-stakes for once, but no, it’s still all about wasting time. Whose time are we wasting here? And maybe I did want to go in there Who could blame me?”

Silas’ nose wrinkled and he let out a light, yet somehow threatening, little laugh. “Okay, Lev. Whatever you say!”

At that moment, Ariel swallowed the remains of a napkin and sat up straight. If they had visible wings, they would’ve jumped. “Hey, look over there!”

A puffy, grey tumbleweed—very hairy and rotund—scrambled up an escalator. Soon it was out of sight, gone onto the next ring of shops one storey above the ground floor. Damningly, the thing had a pink thong stuck in its fur, along with a lollipop and someone’s keys.

“I told you!” Lev shouted, louder than he should have. 

The kids in the play area stopped to look at him. “Mom, what’s wrong with that guy?” one of them asked.

Silas snorted, ignoring everything but the escalator. The sooner they could finish this dumb creature off, the sooner they could get back to meaningful endeavors, which may or may not involve necromancy. But that was Silas’ prerogative, and Lev didn’t need to know.

“I’ve got it,” Ariel called, leaping up the steps. 

Several meters away, the grey ball bowled at top speed through an earring rack in front of Claire's. At the end of the walkway, it bounced off a kiosk like a pinball, obliterating a mannequin. With a set of pointy white teeth, the creature began to gnaw on the mannequin’s arm, looking like a bootleg Pacman.

Customers fled from the creature, some yelling for security. Ariel made a dash for it, but in an instant, the ball glanced up (or presumably glanced, since no eyes could be seen through its fur) and tore off into a Forever 21.

“Dammit.” Lev sighed, a little out of breath. “We gotta corner it.” While they would usually have guns, the mall security would be on their backs in no time; and seeing as the creature was mostly harmless, Lev wanted to catch it without hurting it.

“I wish we could murder it,” Silas said wistfully.

Ariel frowned, starting after the ball. “It’s just a little guy. I like little guys.” Ariel had, at first, also wanted to do violence to the ball. But if there was still any semblance of a celestial Plan for Ariel to follow, Lev’s word was at the center of it, and ought to be followed. If Lev didn’t want to see the beast harmed, it was out of the question.

In the Forever 21, they followed a vague trail of disarray across the sales floor. “Wow Lev, some of this stuff would really fit you,” Silas said, his voice saccharine. He picked up a very bright tropical shirt with a deep collar. He used his powers of suggestion, reaching into Lev’s mind and planting—I dress like a homo.

“No I don’t!” Lev snapped, going pink. Ariel blinked, looking confused, before shrugging and pushing on. Silly Lev was always saying stuff like that.

Lev did not dress like a homo, or that’s what he tried to convince himself. His look was carefully cultivated, it had a cultural resonance, it was fitting and masculine! Didn’t everybody match their hat-band to their pocket square? His look had no bearing on whether he was a fruit. Silas had no idea what he was talking about.

But what if that thought had been his own and not Silas’? It was getting harder to tell these days. For a small moment, Lev wished he could put his own thoughts into Silas’ head, just to give him a taste of how it felt. What could it be like in Silas’ mind… Lev could barely imagine, but he got distracted trying.

“I have an idea,” Ariel said quietly, picking up a big, thick woolen coat from the clearance rack. The ball had rolled into the changing area. Following along, the three of them crept into the row of stalls. A shadow stopped at the end, snuffling softly.

Silas and Lev shared a look, then glanced in the direction of the ball. Unfortunately, they did not actually grasp Ariel’s idea before going into action, Lev trying to tackle the creature and putting his head through a bit of drywall, Silas nearly grabbing it but getting flattened in its wake.

Still, when the ball attempted to escape, Ariel leapt onto it with the coat, quickly zipping it up and creating a lumpy sack. The ball, knowing when it had been caught, went sadly limp.

Lev pulled his head out of the wall, dusting off his hat. “Nice,” he said after a moment. “Now how the fuck are we gonna get it out of here?”

[pawsitivelymiraculous]

Don't give up on me (Part 1)

Secret santa gift for @blondie-4404 I hope you like it! Also thank you @buterflies-and-ladybugs for beta reading!

Marinette didn't have a soulmate.

She had realized in the worst way possible for a ten-year-old. It was her birthday, all her friends were sitting with her in a circle talking while eating ice cream when someone brought up their soulmate. Immediately, everyone started talking about their soulmate and showing off any writing or marks on their skin that were made by their soulmate.

It became painfully obvious to Marinette everyone at her party knew at the very least that their soulmate existed. Meanwhile, Marinette's skin remained spotless, aside from her own doodles, her skin never showed any sign of her soulmate's existence.

But Marinette wasn't one to give up easily. She continued to write and draw on her arm every day in hopes that one day she would see something that wasn't hers.

She had grown used to writing on her skin, more out of habit than anything else. It also kept people from asking about her soulmate, she could just show them her arm and make up a lie. Whether it was reminders, random thoughts, or passing ideas she had, she always jotted them on her arm.

Five uneventful years had passed when Marinette received the Ladybug Miraculous, and her whole life changed. She carried a literal city on her shoulders with the help of Chat Noir. One thing led to another, and Marinette found out that her partner was actually Adrien, her classmate who everyone knew she was crushing on and shipped her with. After the reveal, they grew closer, at one point Marinette was pretty sure she was in love. But then, he found his own soulmate in someone else, and Marinette decided she was not going to stand in the way of true love.

Then there was Luka. From the moment they met, she could feel a connection to him. After helping him and his band Kitty Section for a while he asked her out. Marinette could tell he genuinely liked her, and she couldn’t help but love him for it. They were together for a couple of months when Master Fu passed the role of guardian to her. That’s when Marinette hit her lowest point. She wasn’t strong enough to protect Fu. he had been in danger because of her. Basically, all of her classmates had been akumatized at least once. It was becoming painfully clear that anyone close to her was in danger because of who she was. Including Luka, besides one deserved to be with a person whose main priority was not being a good girlfriend, but instead to run off in order to save the city.

On the night she broke up with Luka, Marinette shakily grabbed a sharpie as tears ran down her cheeks and wrote ‘I GIVE UP’ across her skin, extending from her elbow to almost her wrist. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was giving up on. Maybe it was love? Or the lie that she could one day be a normal teenage girl who didn't have to worry about the fate of the city? Either way, it felt right.

Across the room, Tikki looked at her holder as guilt and sorrow washed over her. How was it possible that the literal reincarnation of luck would be the only unlucky person on earth who didn't have a soulmate? She didn't know, but she swore to do anything to fix it. She deserved at least that much.

~♡~♡~♡~

I GIVE UP

Damian felt those words burn into his skin as his world shattered.

It was incredible how three simple words could hurt the heir of assassins more than anything he'd ever endured. He had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, even murdered.

Soulmates had always been a complicated subject for him. Damian still remembered the first time something had appeared on his skin. It was a haphazard drawing of a flower, done in a pink glittery ink. When he first saw it he freaked out, having never seen anything like it before in his life. So he dutifully showed it to his mother, who looked troubled and told him to never tell a soul about it.

Later that day, he was called for an audience with his grandfather and informed about what soulmates were, and how they were a weakness to someone as important as the Heir to the Demon. Ra's ordered Damian to never let ink touch his skin, that way his soulmate would give up trying to connect with him.

If he disobeyed, the league would track down the little girl and kill her.

Damian would never allow that to happen. He wasn't sure why, but just the idea of a little girl dying just because she was unfortunate enough to be his soulmate made him feel sick. So, he hid all the doodles and scribbles that appeared on his arms.

At the age of ten, Damian learned the identity of his father and started to live with him. His father's world was very different from his. He was Batman after all; a vigilante who took pride in sticking by the one rule of never killing. Being raised to be an assassin didn't really help Damian with gaining his favor.

It took a while, but eventually, Damian began to see the world in a different way. He was no longer expected to be the heir of assassins. He was now Robin. He helped people, not hurt them.

He had a lot of help making this transition. Alfred always gave him the best advice, his brother Dick taught him about kindness and being empathetic, and his father showed him that it was truly honorable to do the right thing.

All the new discoveries helped Damian realize that he had made the right decision to protect his soulmate. She didn't need him, or his problems in her life, Damian was sure of that. Even though the league was not a threat anymore, he figured it was for the best if she never found out he existed.

~~~

Damian was starting to worry about his soulmate.

For the last 5 years, he had figured out her pattern. He had seen how her drawings had improved, how she gained an interest in fashion, and how she always had to remind herself to deliver pastries and cakes on time. But it was always that, a mixture of reminders and doodles that allowed him a glimpse of what his soulmate was like.

Until the pattern changed. The fun doodles started to disappear, as more and more reminders piled on. Any drawing that did appear, was either sad or ladybug-themed. Maybe he was just taking things out of context, but it seemed like his soulmate was getting overwhelmed with life.

Then for about a month, his arm was covered with hearts with M+A written in the middle. It didn't take a detective to know that his soulmate was smitten with someone else. It was unbearable, but he couldn't be mad because it was his own fault. So Damian tried to scrub it all off. It didn't work, unfortunately.

But as fast as it came, all the lovey-dovey stuff disappeared. It wasn't much of a victory for Damian though, because it seemed like his soulmate went back to her old routine. He was almost positive that it would lead to burnout.

This continued for about a year, her scribbles becoming more strange as most of them were about discovering Hawkmoth's identity. Damian was sure that all the information he needed to gain clarity was a click away, but he reminded himself that he needed to stay away. For her safety.

Then once again it seemed that his soulmate found a suitor. Except that instead of all the love-struck doodles, they were mainly a mix of reminders about dates, doodles of guitars, and more Hawkmoth expectations.

Then one day there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Which was very worrisome since Damian was pretty sure there had never been a day when there wasn't a scribble of some sort in his body.

The next day passed and there was still nothing. A day turned into two, and suddenly it had been a week.

Damian started to panic. What if something had happened? What if this Hawkmoth person found her? What if she was hurt? Or worse?

He'd sworn to protect her. Whatever he had said about not making contact be damned. He needed to know she was okay. So he grabbed a pen, but just as he was about to write, three words appeared on his skin. They were enough to bring him to his knees. I. Give. Up.

Sure they could be referring to anything. But it was pretty clear in Damian's mind as he pieced everything together. His soulmate probably finally gave up on the idea of his existence, he didn't matter now that she had found someone new. That's why she had stopped writing. She had given up on him.

Part of him was relieved because now he knew she wasn't in danger. But most of him hurt. He felt an unbearable amount of pain as he realized what he had lost. There was no point in being angry, it was what he deserved.

Damian sighed as he sat there on the floor. "Take care of her." He whispered to the wind.

~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent Tag List ~♡~♡~♡~

(If you want to be added please let me know)

@charme-de-malchan , @theatreandcomicfreak, @m3owww , @elliebelliegirl , @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha , @t1dwarrior-of-earth , @waffleyunsure , @technicallyburningarden , @azuremayscarlet , @vroomtaka , @emistar0 , @ichigorose , @maskedpainter , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @alysrose-starchild , @jayjayspixiepop , @abrx2002 , @nathleigh , @icerosecrystal , @jumpingjoy82 , @adrestar , @toodaloo-kangaroo , @animegirlweeb , @bakergirl13 , @unoriginalmess

[chdarling]

CH DARLING WHAT YOU CAN’T JUST POST THAT AND SAY “IT DIDN’T END UP IN TLE2” Why do you always choose violence

*batman voice* Violence chose me.

In my defense I did not expect anyone would like it or care that much!! 🙈

ok tell you what as penitence for my Life of Violent Crime and because I'm maybe on the unk side of drunk I will share the rest of the Plot That Was Not. You should know that this is genuine penitence because it is physically painful for me to share my decade-old writing lmao. A WHOLE DECADE. That is so many years. Ten, in fact. 😬

It was never fully written (and some parts I simply can’t bear to share publicly lolll) so you’re getting haphazard bullet points and random snippets alas. The perfectionist in me is in a full-body cringe right now fyi. Good thing she also has wine.

ok ok here:

Lily is helping out a charity stand for one of her mother’s many causes idk

her mother is alive in this scenario because have i mentioned this is very old

anyway Lily is v bored when all of a sudden

“All right, Evans?” said a familiar but distinctly out-of-place voice.

Lily looked up from her book and her jaw dropped. “Potter?”

For indeed there he was, looking very much at ease with a giant cloud of candy floss in one hand, while the other gave his hair a careless ruffle, a gesture that infuriated her for reasons not entirely rational. She gaped at him, momentarily speechless. It made about as much sense to see James Potter standing in the middle of the Cokeworth Funfair as it would to see a Hippogriff directing traffic in central London.

“What are you — how did you — what are you doing here?”

James gave an expansive shrug and glanced around the fair. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d have a look around, see the sights. And here I am,” he concluded, smile quirking as his eyes landed back on her. “Seeing them.”

“You were in the neighborhood,” repeated Lily in disbelief. “What utter rubbish. There is no way you just happened to bump into me here of all places.”

“All right, fair enough. I stopped by your house first, and your sister told me you were manning the dunk tank at the funfair, and that was when I realized that three years of Muggle Studies had utterly failed me, because I didn’t know what any of those words meant.”

“You talked to my sister?”

“Yeah, and no offense, but she’s not very nice. I told her I was a classmate of yours and she all but shut the door in my face.”

“Oh, my god.” Lily buried her hands in her face. After a beat, she looked up, an important question arising quite suddenly in her mind. “How the hell do you even know where I live?”

“Er — Remus.”

Lily groaned. Of course. Remus Lupin was one of James Potter’s close friends, but he was also a friend of Lily’s. It was perhaps the only thing she and Potter had in common. Lily had given Remus her address, so that he might write her the Muggle way. Petunia made such a fuss whenever an owl arrived that it was hardly worth the letter the bird brought.

James grimaced and rubbed his neck, a guilty line across his brow. “Don’t be cross with him. It’s not his fault. I’ve been told it’s nearly impossible to say no to my pout.”

“Funny, I’ve never had that problem.”

“That’s ‘cause you have a heart of ice, Evans,” said James with breezy sigh.

Lily glowered at him. “I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I came here to talk to you. But then I discovered candy floss and now my prime objective is to consume as much of this stuff as I possibly can before I throw up.” He tore off a bit of the candy floss and pressed it to his tongue, closing his eyes in satisfaction as the sugar melted on his tongue. “Bloody delightful. Who knew Muggles were so innovative?”

Lily ignored this. “What could you possibly have to say to me that would justify coming all the way to Cokeworth uninvited?”

“How about an apology?”

Lily’s expression hardened. “I don’t want your apology. I told you that before.”

“Yeah, you did. I was hoping you’d reconsidered.”

“Well, I haven’t.”

and then I didn’t write the transition

but a group of muggle girls that Lily knows from primary school show up and Lily’s all:

“Shit,” she muttered. Then she turned to James and said hastily, “Okay, listen. Those girls are my old school friends. They’re very nosy, and everyone around here thinks that I go to some super elite school up in Scotland. Saint Adrian’s College — that’s what my mother told everyone. So you go there now too, okay? You study um…” she struggled for a moment. “Theoretical Physics.”

James raised his eyebrows; whether at the subject or Lily’s sudden frantic behavior, she couldn’t be sure. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Yeah, well, neither will they, that’s the point. If they ask, just…use words like quantum theory and…er…continuum…and particles, I don’t know.”

“Theoretical physics,” he repeated, looking amused. “All right.”

“Don’t mention anything about Hogwarts, or magic, or Hogsmeade, or Quidditch, or…anything, okay?”

“Evans, I got it.”

“Maybe just don’t talk?”

“Evans,” James was laughing now. “I’ll behave.”

and then they talk with the girls and James does a Very Good Job and the girls mention that Lon Tucker is looking for Lily and Lily is like GROAN please tell him I’m dead, my funeral was last week etc

She drags James away because she doesn’t want them to continue to interrogate him about school and he’s all

“Who’s Lon Tucker?” asked James once they were out of earshot.

“A git who won’t leave me alone.” She shot him a bitter glance. “I seem to attract those.”

“Okay, ouch.”

and Lily tells James he needs to GTFO of Cokeworth and James is like hmmm....hey cool what’s that! And what it is is a ping pong toss game but James is looking at the table lined with goldfish and he is capital-B Baffled. Lily explains that they are prizes for the game.

“Is the goldfish a symbol of triumph in Muggle culture?”

“No.”

“Are they valuable?”

“No.”

“So why are they given as prizes?”

“I don’t know, they just are.”

“Seem like a rather rotten deal for the goldfish. You’re just swimming around having a perfectly nice goldfish day then someone pops a ping-pong in your bowl and then BAM, you’re off on an adventure.”

“Potter, please.”

she tells him again he’s gotta go but James is like “if I win you a goldfish, will you let me apologize?”

And Lily is like NO but it’s too late he’s at it, ping pongs a flyin

Except just as he’s about to win (Quidditch skillz) who else but the dreaded Lon Tucker appears DUN DUN DUN

And James has sort of cottoned on to the Lon sitch at this point and he’s like cool cool I’m gonna be a dick to you

James is dick to him

And Lon is very aggressively like who are YOU?

And James is all cheerful “James Potter, nice to meet you.”

And Lily is DYING because she maybe sort of kind of told Lon that she had a boyfriend at school so that he’d leave her alone and when he interrogated her on the name she said the first one that popped into her head and that was James Potter because she was SO VERY ANGRY with him, not because she fancied him at all, oh no, certainly not, it simply never occurred to her Lon and James would MEET

so Lon is like “oh. You’re the BOYFRIEND >:(“

And James is like ok ok ok ok ok ok play it cool potter ok “YEP THAT’S ME”

Lily recites a brief prayer to god to end her suffering

god does not

Lon interrogates James about school

“So you what do you study, then?”

“Theoretical Physics,” said James, as though he lied about the natural sciences every day.

“And what’s the point of that?”

“Oh, you know. Quantum theorems. Particles. And — er — math.”

“But what IS IT?”

“Well, I reckon it’s a bit like magic,” said James, looking unbearably smug.

Lily gives up on god and makes her plea to satan for the earth to swallow her into hell etc

Lon tries to intimidate James by talking about sports, and Lily can tell that James is about to break and starting talking Quidditch so she grabs his arm and drags him off towards the rides. “Hey,” he protests, “I’d almost won a goldfish!”

Alas no goldfish

“So, any particular reason that this Lon fellow thought I was your boyfriend?”

“God. I was trying to get rid of him and said the first name that popped into my head.”

“I see.”

“It meant nothing. Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not reading into it. I’m not even reading. As a matter of fact I’m illiterate.”

obviously James is internally losing his mind but he PLAYS IT COOL

Idk some stuff happens they do bumper cars and general fair shenanigans and whenever they run into Lon, James plays up the boyfriend thing and Lily is kinda agonized but also kinda into it

Anyway eventually the evening is coming to a close and James has stopped trying to stealthily slip in an apology and Lily has stopped demanding that he Leave Immediately and they’re just sort of having a nice time, watching the fair wind down

They stopped to watch the carousel go around again, though this time there was no one riding it and it looked rather lonesome.

“So what do you think of your first muggle funfair?” asked Lily, leaning against the back of a stall, watching the ornate horses go round and round.

“Fascinating,” said James enthusiastically, and Lily laughed. “Although I’m still confused about the goldfish. And physics.”

Maybe it was the strange quiet of the closing festival or that continuously discomfiting feeling of two distinct parts of her life colliding, but something compelled Lily to turn to James and say, “How come you’re not nice like this at school?” The moment she said it she wished she hadn’t, and she looked hastily at the ground, her cheeks burning.

James was quiet for a moment. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said finally.

Anyway that’s it I never wrote an ending 😱

wait hang on

Then James takes his shirt off because it’s Shirtless James May according to the jily discord

And Lily is like ok sure whatever I’m not questioning this

good job on your arms sir

and then they live happily ever after and no one dies

THE END

sober me is going to be so mad at midnight me tomorrow

[gumnut-logic]

Alan was bored.

It wasn’t often that he found himself with a lack of things to do. Life was generally busy with Thunderbird maintenance, rescues and backup duties.

Of course, he could always kill some zombies, but he was feeling restless. Gordon was off the island with Grandma so that didn’t help. Scott was buried in paperwork and John was still hiding on Five. Virgil had disappeared.

Wandering out onto the balcony, Alan eyed the pool a moment before throwing the idea out. Without Gordon it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.

Maybe he could go for a walk. Scott had been nagging him to get into a more regular exercise routine and, hey, he hadn’t seen the other side of the island for a while.

Darting up to his rooms, he threw on some loose clothes, decent shoes and a hat. A quick note to John to say where he was going and he was out the back door and crunching gravel up the side of the mountain.

While he had no objection to the great outdoors, Alan had no particular preference for sun, surf or bush walking. Not that he didn’t love a splash in the ocean with his brother, or even a jog around the island with Scott, it was just that many of his interests lay in the confines of the virtual world.

Or space.

Part of him didn’t want to admit he was like Johnny, but he was in many ways, but where John adored seclusion, Alan loved people. Basically, Alan was happy doing pretty much anything as long as it was with someone, preferably someone he loved.

So, he would really be lying if he said he took his route at random. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more just what he knew was going to happen regardless.

Virgil had some favourite places on the island to sit and just be. Alan didn’t quite get it any more than he got John’s love of solitude, but he knew his brother liked it and he stored the information for when it was needed.

Today Alan wanted company, so he used the information he had at hand.

Clambering around on the rocky island was not for the faint-hearted. There was no doubt that he was getting a good workout just by going for a simple walk. His first stop was a small cliff beyond Thunderbird Two’s runway. It was Virgil’s favourite, just on the other side of the mountain. He could often be found here just staring out into the ocean thinking who knew what. The scene had been painted, scribbled and, in one case, mosaicked onto a table. This was definitely Virgil’s favourite place.

He wasn’t there.

But Alan still had his list.

Two more Virgil spots proved empty and Alan had managed to work up quite a sweat. He was beginning to wonder why he was even bothering when he caught sight of a figure almost completely hidden in a grove of palm trees.

Virgil sat on a rock, his sketchpad on his lap, completely absorbed in his art. He was up a cliff overlooking a good chunk of the island, the twin peak at an angle even Alan could appreciate.

Alan eyed the climb and with a deep breath began the trek to reach his brother. He kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him. That would be a good way to get his head ripped off. But if he approached from just the right angle, he should be able to see what Virgil was actually drawing.

It took actual rock climbing in a couple of places, but Alan eventually found himself situated behind his brother on top of the cliff, and as expected the view was breathtaking.

It was late afternoon and the entire side of the island was lit up by the sun. Gulls were wheeling in the air above the forested slopes, catching rising air. Far below, raw Pacific collided with the rocky shore in places and wrangled with reefs in others.

Virgil had certainly found a spot.

Quietly Alan made his way closer to his brother. Virgil drew on, showing no sign of knowing Alan was there. The cliff was a slope that had Alan descending towards his brother. Virgil was facing away towards the scenery, slightly hunched as he drew. Because of that slope, Alan was actually able to see his brother’s hand, this time his right, sketching pencil lines on the paper.

For a moment Alan was content to simply watch, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t come all this way just to spy on his brother.

“You do know it is rude to stare.”

Virgil’s voice was always soft yet possessed a strength that could be startling. Alan stiffened, annoyed at being caught so easily.

“What? Do you honestly think all that rock clambering would go unnoticed?”

“Dunno.”

His brother had yet to look up at him, simply continuing to sketch as he spoke. You gonna come and sit down?” Virgil held up a hand. “Just be very quiet, I don’t want you to disturb them.”

Alan frowned. “Who?”

But that hand didn’t answer, just beckoned him over.

Alan did what he was told and found himself sitting on that rock beside his older brother.

Virgil was scratching lines furiously onto the page, but the subject wasn’t what he expected. All that beautiful scenery and Virgil was drawing a haphazard pile of sticks?

Whispered. “They’re sea eagles. I’ve never been so close.”

Alan’s eyes darted from the sketchpad to a slither of rock a stone’s throw away from the edge of the cliff. The pinnacle stood alone and defied gravity almost to the point of disbelief. On its very top sat a huge nest. From this angle he could see the two chicks waiting for their parents to return.

Breathed out quiet. “Cool.”

Virgil was sketching madly and under his practised hand, one of the chicks slowly came to life. Simple line instinctively placed, shaded and shaped. It was a little mesmerising.

Alan, of course, had watched Virgil draw before. Amongst all the other things. His brother was usually fiddling with something. He had to have something in his hands, whether it was a pencil or paintbrush, piano or Thunderbird, Virgil tended to always have something playing between his fingers.

When Alan was little there had been many a Kansas winter night snuggled up by the fire, curled up beside his brother watching him draw. Sometimes he would dare him to draw outrageous things like Pedro the Peanut-Killing Pickle. There had been odd stories and scribbled down comics. Alan had even tried his hand under a little encouragement from his brother, but he didn’t have the enthusiasm that Virgil had for the art.

Besides, Alan was quite happy to just sit and watch. Rare quiet moments shared with his artistic brother.

They had been getting rarer and rarer.

“Can I sit with you, Virg?”

A brown eye with an arched eyebrow peered at him. “You’re already sitting.” The curve of a smile. “But sure. Just be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Respectfully whispered. “Okay.”

So, they sat for an unknown length of time. Virgil drew the second chick, and as one of the parent birds landed with the evening meal, its strong wings, talons and beak appeared on the page. Alan watched as the pencil lines grew darker, surer. Virgil switched pencils and they grew darker still, the birds emerging out of the page into three dimensions.

Down below the two chicks guzzled food from their parent.

A loud, awkward screech from above and another eagle was circling overhead, likely the other parent.

In the corner of the page, the bird quickly appeared, wings spread wide, soaring.

The quiet was amazing. Alan wasn’t one to sit still for any length of time, so perhaps he was missing the obvious, but the sound of Virgil’s pencil, the tease of the breeze and the call of the eagle above had only to compete with the waves far below and the rustle of the scrappy forest.

And a pair of squawking, complaining eagle babies.

Gordon would probably have loved this. His fish brother loved the sea, but he loved all the creatures contained in it even more. Despite this preference for water breathers, if you shoved a puppy or a panda in front of him, the man melted into a gooey puddle. Eagle babies would definitely be on the goo list.

“This is nice, Allie.”

“What?”

“Bit like old times, you sitting and watching me draw.”

Alan shrugged. “I’ve always liked to watch you draw. Guess we haven’t had as much time lately.”

The pencil paused. “Yeah.” His brother turned to look at him. “Well, it is good to see you out here. Nice to have your company.” A gentle smile.

“Anytime, bro. Kinda nice out here anyway.”

That smile grew a little before softening. “Well, unfortunately we have to head back now.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up Gordon and Grandma.”

Alan checked his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? He’d been out here…three hours! “Wow, didn’t expect it to be so late.”

Virgil didn’t comment, just smiled a little more as he packed up his sketchbook and pencils.

Alan stood up and stared out across the ocean. A flicker on the surface of the water and he caught sight of a pod of dolphins frolicking in the swell. He stared.

“It’s amazing what you can see if you stop and look.” His brother’s soft voice so close to him made him jump.

“Virg, personal space.”

His brother snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think such a thing exists on this island.” That smile again. “Probably why John hides on Five.”

Alan grinned. “You’ve got a point.” And despite his earlier protest, he dropped his head against Virgil’s shoulder and for just a few more moments, they both tracked the dolphins as the cavorted past the Island.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure.” Virgil slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Great.”

Silence fell, and they stood there a moment longer until Virgil squeezed a little and let go. “C’mon, sprout, time to clamber down the mountain.”

Virgil took the first few steps and Alan followed, throwing one last glance back at the nest now full of the entire family of sea eagles. A sharp beaked head turned in his direction and glared at him.

Alan couldn’t help but smile at the bird before he hurried after his brother.

-o-o-o-

[taizi]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

#

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

#

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

#

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

#

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

#

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.  

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Purple Lilacs

ayooo it me! Here is jasonette july saturday challenge: Hurt no comfort!

Maribat Masterlist  AO3

word count: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of body fluids, sickness, vomit and death. 

without further ado:   

Jason stumbled into the gas station restroom on shaky, unsteady legs. His chest ached and his vision swam, blurry with unshed tears. The dirty mirror and pale blue light couldn’t capture how disgruntled the fourteen year old boy was. He was still wearing his Robin suit, dirty and sweaty from breaking up fights and catching would-be criminals. His skin felt flushed but his blood was chilled to the bone. The fluttery pressure behind his ribs was a painful reminder of why he was here. He took a haphazard inhale of air and choked on it when he exhaled. His throat itched. The tears were beginning to fall behind his mask. The infallible Robin was unrecognizable in his reflection. His domino mask shielded himself from the agony that clouded his eyes. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, thoughts fragmented and disoriented. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. God, why couldn’t he breathe?

He ripped off his mask, tossing it without caution and splashed water on his face. He scrubbed at the sweat and exhaust that caked his skin, hoping, praying to wash this burning sensation away. He still couldn’t breathe.

He felt his stomach churn. He felt the bile clawing just beneath his adam's apple, desperate to escape. He barely had the strength to lean over to the nearby toilet before emptying his stomach. The smell burned at his eyes as the taste burned at his throat. He was left dry heaving for a moment, but that was all his body needed to expel what was clogging his airways. The petals floated pathetically in the waste in the toilet bowl; they were small and pale and stood out against the disgusting mix of vomit. Purple lilacs, first love. How fitting.

He had wished that the best week of his life wouldn’t end this way. He had wished, wished upon the stars in the skies and wished upon every dandelion he found in the manor gardens, that he could have something, someone, that was entirely his own. But her heart belonged to another and his heart was sick because of it.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her name was a breath of fresh air, a spring breeze in early May. He had met her on a Monday, her class was taking a tour of Wayne Tech. She was the cute yet clumsy class representative with an iron will. She was alluring and charming and Jason was swept up in her eyes of ocean tides. He never spoke a word to her that first day. Choosing to just observe her joke and laugh with friends. He didn’t dare interrupt her. He saw her again Tuesday. She was in a teahouse that was close to her hotel. She was with her brunette friend, Alya, he remembered from when he overheard her chastising the girl for saying something embarrassing. That was when he found out about her crush on the model boy. Jason didn’t think much of it. He didn’t think he would have to. His sudden attraction was only fleeting, he reminded himself.

The first time he actually spoke to her was Thursday night. Her class had stayed out later than expected so he watched them from a distance during patrol, making sure she got back safely. Making sure they got back safely, he corrected. He didn’t plan to stop by her window when she was safe inside and he definitely didn’t plan to strike up a conversation. She had a quick mind and a sharp tongue to match. It was striking and it seeded something deep within his lungs. They spoke for hours, time lost to conversation, that it wasn’t until Agent A called into his ear that he realised how long he’s been strayed from his patrol route.  He had bid her a good night and she wished him a safe one. He had found a friend in her and the joy carried him throughout the night. He hadn’t expected to fall hard and fast for her within the week. By Saturday his instinctual attraction had grown into sweet yearning. The weight in his chest as he waited for her class to gather in the Botanical Gardens grounded him in his spot. He had to remind himself that she spoke to him as Robin and that Jason Todd-Wayne was nothing more than their sponsor’s recently adopted son. He couldn’t speak to her about her favourite novels as he technically shouldn’t be privy to that knowledge. He wasn’t deterred by that, however. In fact, it spurred him on to get to know her more. It granted him the opportunity to relearn her interests all over again and watch her eyes blaze with passion.

He never got the chance. Her attention was divided between the garden’s attractions and the blond that stuck close to her like a burr. He watched her giggle and swoon as the boy complimented her. He watched as Adrien, he had learned, plucked a flower and tucked it gently behind her ear. It was a purple lilac. The colour complimented her midnight black hair and made her pale blue eyes shine. He felt his throat go dry as he watched on, his words withering on his tongue. The scene was truly adorable, straight out of a movie with a happy ending. He was happy that she was receiving the attention she deserved. But it still hurt that it wasn’t him lavishing her with it. He was the outsider lucky to be watching. Their tour ended with an exchange of business-friendly smiles and memorized platitudes.

Now it was Sunday night and he was gazing at the products of his foolish heart. He could count how few the petals were that mocked him in the toilet. He could taste them in the mix of bile that sat on the back of his tongue. He could breathe easier now; his lungs were no longer heavy but his heart was still so. How cruel, his first love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had died. He hadn’t remembered much of what came before or of what came after. It was all tangled and fractured. He remembered fighting with Bruce a lot and threatening his new ward. Jason was awful, a danger, but he was also angry and confused. He was hurt and lonely. It took awhile to find some common ground with his family again. It took awhile for him to feel normal again. It was hard work but it was worth it.

A lot had changed in Bruce’s nightlife. The Justice League Jason remembered and the Justice League that he returned to were worlds apart. It was jarring and he continued to long for some familiarity in his life. It was genuinely a surprise when he was invited to join their ranks, after years of struggling, but he accepted the offer with a tearful hug and grateful smile in the privacy of the batcave. He was introduced to the other new recruits, taken aback at how the community had grown during his absence. One figure stood out to him the most.

Her name was Ladybug, a Parisian heroine with some connection to Wonder Woman. Her personality was bright and bubbly and she looked like the poster child for the Justice League. She and Jason had hit it off quite well, slipping into easy banter and trading battle stories like old-age friends. Their time spent together left him feeling light and free. It was casual and comforting. Until it wasn’t.

One night after patrol, he stood staring at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He was running through a checklist in his head of all the mundane things he had to do in the coming days. A trip to the drugstore for some cough drops, a couple cases to report and file here, some League meetings there. It was his new normal. He liked it. The thought of the Justice League led to the thought of Ladybug. Ladybug and her laughter at his jokes. Her half-hearted sneer at his puns. Her going on rants about fashion and the little twitch in her nose when she was frustrated with something. It was endearing, and enticing. It was always a delight watching someone who flung cars for a living lose their patience over mundane things. He was lost in thought when a coughing fit took over, bringing him back to the present. When his shoulders stopped shaking with the force of the coughs he felt something in his mouth. It felt like a piece of paper, thin and small. Thinking nothing of it, he spat into his sink and felt his heart clench. It was a single flower petal. A daffodil, meaning rebirth and new beginnings.

The  melancholy was instant, the resignation almost stopping his heart. How cruel, his second love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had decided to ignore the signals his body was sending him. He ignored the scratchiness of his throat every time he thought of her signature pigtails. He ignored the ever growing collection of petals that would decorate his toilet, or his bathroom sink, or his kitchen sink, or his shower floor. He ignored how blood had started to appear every now and again. Ladybug was his friend and he valued her friendship. He wasn’t going to let some biological imperative prevent him from making any meaningful connection with her.

It was a random conversation one day, the topic of little importance, but it had drifted to a discussion of identities and living the double life. He remembered telling her his real name, secret identities among League members being a matter of personal discretion at this point, and the flash of faint recognition in her eyes made him curious. She told him how she recognised the name from a school trip she took years ago. Apparently they had met once or twice during her time in Gotham. Her name was Marinette, she had said, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

It was as if the air in the Watchtower was being siphoned out the room as the seconds ticked by. He remembered that name, and he most certainly remembered the pain that name had brought him. He died with his feelings for her trapped between his ribs but they were long forgotten, withered after his resurrection. That is, until they crashed into him at the mere utter of her name. The longing came back in full force and he felt it weigh heavy on his tongue as his nose started to burn with the effort to breathe. He didn’t remember much after that conversation beyond a hasty excuse of himself. He made it into a restroom on some random floor and all but flung himself into an available stall. His mask was ripped off his face and the room echoed with the sounds of him hacking and heaving.

His heart was a cacophony of emotions; the feelings of teenage infatuation for Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the mature adoration of Ladybug blended into a concoction of purple lilacs and daffodils. Tears pricked at his eyes as he felt his throat get burned raw from his emotions. It was stifling and all-consuming. He felt like he was drowning and free-falling all at once. Unable to breathe. His face was flushed and sticky and he felt shivers begin to creep up his spine. It was disgusting how his own feelings would betray him like this. Peeling himself off the floor was herculean. Jason felt weary and his bones ached with the burden of his own body. Superman was already waiting for him outside the stall, a water bottle in hand and silent condolences smeared all over his face. A silent agreement was forged between them. How cruel, his one love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jason was younger he never associated love with pain. Love was always warm hugs and soft touches. It was gentle words whispered in the dark and saccharine sweet smiles. Love made flowers bloom in spring and the sun shine bright. How foolish he was. Now he knew. Love was a deep ache in his chest that pulsed in rhythm with his heart. It was a strangled gasp as he tried to breathe and it was tears that won’t stop falling. Love made flowers bloom, sure, but they bloomed in the deepest parts of him that he wished he could rip them out and everything attached straight from the roots. Love burned and festered and invaded everything that made Jason himself.

He couldn’t drown out the sensations no matter what he tried. A masochistic part of him was convinced he was addicted to the pain. Addicted to the reminder that he could love so strongly, so deeply. The idea that someone as callous as he could love someone so much that it could tear him down physically and mentally. Have the force of his own heart mold him into nothing but a garden of devotion. There was a part of him that didn’t want to lose the feeling of having feelings. The immediate times after his resurrection were wrought with nothing but mind-numbing emptiness so much so that his subconsciousness convinced him that he would settle for suffering as an act of love.

The tulip petals were beautiful, but worrying. He choked up an entire bud this time. His throat was still itchy and his fever had yet to be broken but the head of the flower in his hand was a distraction to all that had ailed him. Tulips, meaning opportunity and adjustment.

The voices on the television called his attention. It was some celebrity gossip channel and he couldn’t remember why he was watching it in the first place. He moved to change the channel when he saw her, Marinette, on the screen. She was attending some red carpet event and she looked beautiful. He wondered if she had made that dress; a memory of teenage ambitions floated to the forefront of his mind. A smile crept to his face against his will. He couldn’t help it, red was truly her colour. Then he saw him, her blond partner, waltz up beside her like he belonged there. He did, he reminded himself. The blond was her childhood crush turned boyfriend of a few years. She had told Jason stories during one of their many talks about him. He was funny and smart and a real casanova, she had said. Jason had pretended like those words weren’t thorns puncturing his lungs as he listened along. She looked at the model the same way Jason knew he looked at her. He was happy for her, truly.

His fever was back tenfold as he watched on and he was sweating a puddle into his couch. He couldn’t finish his meal and the coughs had returned. His shaking had overturned his food that was in his lap and it made a mess on the floor. He keeled over and added the contents of his stomach to the pile. Petals of lilacs and daffodils and tulips were pouring from his lips in clumps and he momentarily couldn’t breathe. He was becoming too accustomed to holding his breath during these fits. Becoming too accustomed to the lightheaded feeling inside his brain, the numbing feeling in his toes and the burning feeling in his heart. How cruel, his true love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She was supposed to get her happy ending. She was supposed to grow old with her boyfriend turned fiance while Jason buried himself with his feelings. He cradled her close, feeling her faint exhales on his neck. He felt her body tremble and writhe beneath him. He was crying over her, gasping his breaths and gagging on emotions. She stared, eyes unseeing beyond him. She was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of his pulse in his ears. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was a simple job, a covert job that was only information retrieval. Everything was planned to perfection and every deviation was accounted for. Everything was accounted for except his body failing him. He was attacked with a sudden coughing fit that he couldn’t get under control and it drew their target’s attention to them. Guns were aimed and fired at them and he couldn’t get his own body to cooperate with him. Ladybug had taken to shielding him until he recovered but she was overwhelmed too quickly. Her suit wasn’t bullet proof, she was still vulnerable and the shot was in a critical place. She was bleeding profusely. He. Still. Couldn’t. Breathe.

He gathered what little strength he had and dragged her body behind a wall. He was hunched over her struggling to control his breathing and the situation. He couldn’t leave, too weak to carry her. He couldn’t fight back, too dizzy to focus on any targets. He couldn’t think, too lightheaded from the lack of air intake. It was a bad situation that was only getting worse. He was crying and heaving and she laid beneath him bleeding. The flowers in the back of his throat were choking him without remorse. He took off his mask and tried with all his might to breathe in. It was scratchy and rough and it felt more like a wheeze than an inhale but it was something. With this moment of clarity, he had an idea. It was really a last resort that Ladybug had told him about. He reached for her yoyo that was held in her hand and pressed the center dot that was actually a hidden button. It was a distress call that would signal to her partner and doubled as a homing device. It was a call for help. He didn’t know how long it would take for aid to arrive but this was all he could do at the given time. His lungs were still stuffed and his throat was overflowing. The petals were stuck between his teeth, their earthy taste rooting him. His limbs were growing heavier by the second and his vision was getting hazier.

He watched as the light faded from her eyes. As the shimmering blue dimmed permanently. He watched her rosy cheeks grow pale as blood poured out from the wound in her chest. He tried to cradle her closely, to offer her some form of comfort in her last moments but he could barely move. Another coughing fit racked his frame and involuntarily had him doubling over. The petals were flowing freely now, unrestricted from his relaxing airways. They were beautiful in colour as they joined the ever growing pool of her blood, only tainted by the dark red tinge of his own.

A new petal had joined the ones he had grown so familiar with. Yellow chrysanthemums, neglected love. In France, he thought, his mind muddled by a discordance of feelings, chrysanthemums also meant death; they were given as tokens of grief and comfort. How fitting.

Oh and how cruel, his last love.

[pearl-blue-musings]

Crystal Clear

Hi hi

I’ve been struggling to write for the last couple of months, so have a drabble I’ve had notes on for awhile now

Pairing: Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic) x fem!reader

Warnings: brief manga spoilers, angst, fluff, mentions of character death (again manga spoilers), not a warning but reader has black hair, survivors guilt, written in one go so :/

~~~~~~~~~~

It was too early in the morning for you to be up but here you are. You were sleeping peacefully until your loud blond boyfriend woke you up at 4:30 in the morning. 

“Babe? You do see what time it is right?”

“I know,” he whispers, “but I couldn’t sleep after my radio show and I wanted to go on a drive. Can we?”

You reach for a nearby lamp and turn it on to dimly illuminate the room. You see Yamada next to you, half dressed and bright green eyes lacking their usual sheen which makes you worry. You don’t miss the bags under his eyes that have slowly become more and more common with him over the last year. He tries his best to keep smiling at you but you’re aware of the nightmares he has and you’ve surmised that he’s had another one. His typical cheeky grin has been replaced with a melancholy smile that doesn’t quite reach the crease of his eyes and it hurts you more than you’d like to admit. 

You reach out your hand to his and hold his cold and calloused hand in yours giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll get dressed, ‘Zashi. Where are we headed?”

“Just wanted to watch the sunrise this morning at our favorite spot...”

You silently nod and remove yourself from the bed and head toward the bathroom. You and Hizashi were lucky he got some time off for a few days and that it was Principal Nezu approved. The hideaway you chose was a couple hours away from the school and conveniently from his favorite beach location. Once he brought that up you knew that he was doing his best to cope and comprehend the rampant emotions fluttering around in his brain.

Once you’re both ready, you pack up your things and head out to the rental car. You have one more day until the two of you need to return to the school so you can understand why he’s clearly feeling a particular way. Since you know it’s a long drive you leave your hair in your bonnet to prevent any random kinks or bends. Yamada always loves how much you care for your hair, despite whatever adventure you’re doing; it’s one of the little things he adores because he can see you completely dressed while your hair is still covered up. The blond is feeling more of the opposite this morning as he leaves his own mane flowing down his back. 

You catch his gaze on you and you can’t help but let out a low chuckle. “What?”

He matches your laugh and slides into the drivers side. “Nothing, sweet listener. I just like seein’ ya in the morning like this.”

Your eyebrows perk up at his soft and kind words. You lean over the console in the car and place a chaste kiss upon his cheek. Returning to your side of car you lean back to get comfortable before asking, “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? You did your show away from home and I know you’re tired.”

“Songbird, I wanna do this okay? I’m fine, now rest your beautiful eyes okay?”

You can’t help but agree with him as you close your eyes, the hum of the engine roaring to life but also lulling you to sleep. Along the ride, you had drifted in and out of sleep, sometimes hearing him hum to himself with the radio, or switching to a playlist on his phone that helped him focus and stay awake. Normally, trips like this with the two of you are more chatty and full of joy. But you know he needs his time to himself. No one person should have had to endure what he’s been through and you’ve told yourself that you would be there with him through all of it. 

Hizashi enjoyed driving more than people realized. And with his destination in mind, he was relishing in this journey. The sky still dark above him, the moon and stars blending in with the early morning lights of the city. The bright lights fade as they get closer to their location, already noticing the brightening of the deep purple sky switching to it’s lighter shade as the stars begin to dwindle away. There’s something to be said about the open cloudless sky. He normally doesn’t let these things get to him, being strong for his long time best friend and girlfriend. But there’s a metaphor he’s looking at right now and he can’t help but have a tear fall down to his parted lips. The taste of salt hitting him earlier than he wanted is just the icing on the cake that is this beach drive. 

When you awake you see that you’re parked at the beach’s lot and turn to your boyfriend. You’re about to speak when you catch a look in his eye you hadn’t seen in a long time. The way his green irises stare out at the vast ocean in front of him, the part in his lip, and the furrow of his brow, you can sense he’s holding something back. It’s almost as if all of the exhaustion, hurt, pain, and silence that has been eating him up is finally coming to the forefront. You retract your hand and opt to fix your hair as best you could before getting out and grabbing the blankets for you two to sit on. “Baby,” you sweetly coo at him, “are you ready?”

You see him quickly nod and get out of the car, closing the door behind him. His hands immediately go to this arms as the beach air is colder than he anticipated. You roll your eyes and grab his sweater. “You’re lucky I brought a sweater for you, ‘Zashi.”

He scoffs in fake annoyance and takes the sweater. “Well what if you ruined my plan of wanting to just cuddle you because I’m cold?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

The two of you continue to laugh as you begin your trek down toward the sand. Your hands are intertwined as you walk, the cold sand seeping in between your toes as you step along. You walk along the shore for a few minutes before finding the perfect spot and place the blanket down on the sand. You sit together facing the ocean, your head on his shoulder as your hands find each other again. He begins to draw haphazard patterns on the back of your hand, sighing contentedly before peering at the sun peeping across the horizon. The colors are absolutely breathtaking, the bright and harsh orange and yellows mixing with the purples of the early morning sky and blues of the water. The ocean breeze sweeps through their hair adding an extra calmness to the serene scene. The sunrise itself is one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen in this world and you’re honored to be sharing this moment with him. You feel him deeply exhale and tighten his grip on your palm; he’s finally ready to talk.

“I miss her.”

You merely nod against him, slightly surprised at how soft his voice is right now.

“We were all supposed to be heroes together. Her, me, Shouta...Oboro...”

You hold onto his arm harder as the volume in his voice increases.

“Shouta’s always getting hurt and I can’t do anything. Oboro, he should be here! But that would mean Sho wouldn’t be here and I’m not sure which one is worse and I..

“I just have a radio show! No physical scars to show, just my memories.” The sun rises higher into the sky, making his eyes shine brighter and have more life. “Memories of Nemuri and Oboro. You know Oboro would’ve loved you right? I know Nemuri did. Sho does too, he just won’t admit it.” The colors of midnight have disappeared completely as the sun has taken over the cloudless sky. 

“They should all be here with me! All of us should be here,” his voice getting louder as he unleashes his year long pent up frustration. “Why did I have to lose two of my best friends and have another come so close to death by losing an eye and a leg and I’m fine?!” He stands up then walking closer toward the water to avoid hurting your ears. “Society still doesn’t trust us! Just, why?

“Why me!?”

All you could do was sit and let him get his feelings out. You felt everything that has been boiling inside of him and now the teapot has finally exploded. He’s panting heavily, not from his yelling but from the release of his emotions. He was finally exposing himself to the world in the place where his friends would visit in his youth, a full year after the nation, UA, and hero society had turned upside down. Removing your ear plugs you put in earlier, you stroll up to him and hug him from behind tightly. Hizashi turns you around so that you’re hugging his front as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your hands rub his back up and down in a soothing motion. This moment isn’t for you, it’s for him. Your loud, boisterous, emotional, and fun boyfriend needed this.

“Damn it,” he huffs out and lifts his head. “I ruined this sunrise for ya.”

You shake your head and gaze into his eyes, giving him a soft smile. It’s right then, right in this moment that it feels like the stars align. The sun in your irises makes your eyes shimmer, shine, and reflect in a way that makes his stomach drop. As he looks into your eyes, he sees himself and everything that he is. You’ve taken him for everything that he is and you’re still here. 

Even when tensions were at their worst, you gave him the space to cope and heal, just like you’re doing now. The way your eyes twinkle in the sun has him falling in love with you all over again. He carefully cups your face with his hands, almost like that’s where they’re meant to be. “Darling, you’re too good for me, ya know that?” He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling together as he inhales your scent and sighs happily. “I yell at home, at work, on my show-”

“Don’t forget in bed,” you jest.

You catch his pout as he playfully pinches your cheeks, “Nah sweetcheeks that’s all you!” You share a hearty giggle as the Yamada finds himself calming down. His hands trail down your body to meet yours, interlocking your fingers together as your foreheads are still pressed together. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to come to the beach today, but he’s happy to be here with you. It’s almost like the universe was telling him that it’s okay for him to feel what he’s feeling, that he can move on with his life. Almost like his friends were finally gracing him with peace by telling him it’s time for him to be happy. Diving into this had him fearful, but with the way you look at him and love him, everything has become crystal clear for the radio hero.

“I love you so much,” he seals his words with a kiss, knowing full well he’ll be wanting to do this for the rest of his life.

“I love you too, Hizashi.”

~~~~~~~~~~

@cupcake-rogue @stratuspoof @spizawazashi

[moldisgoodforyou]

first christmas

a/n: just some fluff with these two fools sharing their first christmas together. minimal angst if you squint in this one I promise. merry christmas!!

wordcount: 1.5k

_

Sophie didn’t invite Rafe to her family’s Christmas, even though her mom told her it was okay. She didn’t want him to think she was moving the relationship along too quickly, and didn’t want to have to deal with Rafe hearing whatever passive-agressive comments her mom might make toward her.

They met up the day after Christmas to exchange gifts instead. Sophie showed up to Rafe’s house with her wrapped gifts in hand and knocked hesitantly, not her usual method of sneaking in the back door and up to Rafe’s room. She regretted it the second Ward opened the door.

He paused, trying to remember her name. “Hello. It’s Lexie, right? You’re here for Rafe?”  

Sophie smiled brightly, hoping it didn’t appear as forced as it felt. “I’m Sophie. Yes, is he here? We were going to exchange gifts.”

Rafe came running down the stairs at the sound of her voice, having just finished wrapping her present. “Soph, hey! Sorry, you’re here early!”

She relaxed upon seeing him and Ward stepped aside, letting her in. “Sophie, of course, I knew that. Rafe, a word?”

She stopped in the entryway, glancing back and forth ‘til Rafe nodded. “I’ll meet you up there.”

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Cameron.” Sophie told him quickly before going to Rafe’s room, taking a seat on his bed while he waited. She subconsciously adjusted her miniskirt and glanced at herself in the mirror, hoping she looked suitable even though Ward couldn’t even bother to remember her name. Rafe came up a few moments later, wearing a slightly sour expression.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Hey, look at you, all dressed up.” He grinned and placed both hands on her knees, leaning over to greet her with a kiss.

"Just for you.” She tugged him down to her level, making him sit next to her. “Did Ward ask you why Lexie wasn’t here instead?” She tried joking, but it came out a little too serious. He frowned. “Ah...not quite. Is that still bugging you? Did he say something?”

“No, no, I was just kidding. Sorry. Bad joke.” She dismissed it quickly, not wanting to dwell on it. “Hey, I brought your presents.”

“Okay...” He decided not to press it and got up, grabbing his gifts for her from his desk. “You open first. The big one.” The wrapping was a little haphazard, edges not really clean and tape stuck in a few random places, but she appreciated that he did it himself. Sophie unwrapped her gift and grinned when she saw it, a varsity-style Ohio State sweater of his that she 'borrowed’ often. “Rafe, no way. I can’t keep this.”  

“Yes way. That’s new, but I wore it a few times so it’s how you like it. But we can’t wear them on the same day, or James and Colin are never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

She laughed and pulled her own sweater over her head, beaming as she pulled on the new one instead. She noted that he had gotten the sleeves tailored just right. “It’s perfect, Rafe, I love it. Thank you.”  

“Looks perfect.” He grinned. “But I might like it better on the floor later.”

She rolled her eyes, blushing as she shoved his shoulder. “You’re the worst. Here, open mine. The box. It’s...well, I don’t know. Just open.”

He raised his eyebrows but accepted the box, unwrapping quickly. He smiled when he pulled out the sweatshirt, embroidered with the his fraternity’s crest small on the front. He ran his finger over it, impressed by the detail that normal manufacturers could never quite get right. “This is sick, Sophie.”

“I made it.” She couldn’t hold back her excitement, pleased at his reaction.

“Wait, no fucking way?” He held it up closer to inspect it and grinned at the handmade crest, just a little imperfect in all the right ways. “That’s so damn cool, Soph. I can’t imagine how long this took you.”

“Hey, look.” She lifted the sleeve to show him the tiny little S that she embroidered on the cuff, only an inch tall.

He leaned over and kissed her, grinning. “That’s awesome, thank you. Hey, I can wear my heart on my sleeve.”

Sophie turned red, trying to ignore how his words made her want to hide and show him all off all at once. “Cheesy.”

“Only for you.” He nudged his knee against hers. “Okay, now mine. I really hope you like it.” He passed the second gift to her, watching her face eagerly. She took her time unwrapping, carefully folding the paper and setting it aside once she pulled out the box. When she opened it, she gasped and looked up. “You remembered.” 

“It’s the right one, isn’t it?” He watched as she took out the film camera he had gotten her, complete with a box of film, a gift card for a local developer and a custom leather strap with her initials stamped in. She had told him about how in high school, she’d been really into film photography and wanted to get back into it, but had sold her precious camera her junior year of high school for extra cash to fix her car. 

Sophie nodded, taking a moment to compose herself before meeting his gaze, her eyes a little watery. “It’s perfect, Rafe, I love it.” She carefully set the camera aside before throwing her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He laughed softly and pulled her closer, turning his head to press a kiss to her temple. “Hey, no crying on my watch.” 

“M’ not.” She mumbled, her muffled reply sounding a little shaky anyways. He rubbed her back gently before pulling away to see her face. She reached up and kissed him, long and slow. “Seriously, this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. And you listened, you remembered.” 

He beamed from the praise. “I’m glad you like it. I’m excited to see your photos with it too.” 

She nodded, grinning. “Thank you, so much. Here, one more from me. Last one.” Sophie handed him a tube-shaped present and sat back, giving him space. He moved so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with her, always liking to have them touching even in a small way. Once he pulled out the poster inside and unfurled it, his jaw dropped. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Is it okay?” She asked, a little nervous, though she had already confirmed it was perfect ten times over with James and Colin. It was a poster of the movie Dead Poet’s Society, signed by Robin Williams. She had probably paid a little too much for it and went back and forth on it for weeks, but it was Rafe’s  favorite movie and he’d made Sophie watch it at least six times already. 

“Is it okay - Sophie, it’s incredible. Oh my god, this is so cool.” He carefully ran his finger over the signature, shaking his head. She smiled, proud. Rafe held it up, arms extended to check it out in its full glory. “Your frame is back in Columbus, it was easier to just travel with the tube. I figured it’d be cool to have in your room?” She asked. 

“Absolutely.” He nodded quickly, not dropping his ear-to-ear grin. “Sophie, this is - I don’t even know where to start, for real -” He set the poster on the floor before pulling her onto his lap and wrapping her in a tight hug. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

She giggled, feeling warm and bright just from his response. “Hardly.” 

“No, I’m serious. This is my favorite gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

“Well you’ve only gotten two gifts from me in your life -” 

“No, from anyone.” He kissed her like he was trying to get his point across. “Best gift ever.” 

Sophie laughed, shaking her head. “Rafe, your dad literally gave you a Range Rover once.” 

“I don’t care. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t, not nearly at all, but she wouldn’t quite understand. And how would she, really, when he hardly told her anything about his strained relationship with his dad anyways? “It’s my favorite, and you can’t tell me otherwise.” He peppered light kisses across her cheeks and nose, grinning when she squirmed away and laughed. 

“Okay, okay, put it away before we go any further. Don’t want it to wrinkle.” She took her own gifts and set them carefully on his nightstand, pausing to admire the camera once more. Once they were put away, he caught her wrist and pulled her back to the bed. She straddled him on her knees and kissed him, soft and sweet. He leaned back just a bit and rested his forehead against hers. “Hey.”

“Hey what.” She scrunched her nose a little. 

“You’re my favorite. I mean it, too. Always do.” His words held more weight than they ever did and she found herself blushing from the implication. 

“You’re my favorite too. Merry Christmas, Rafe.” 

“Merry Christmas, angel.” 

[gogtopia]

after doomsday (~1.3k)

time traveller!Karl returns to the time he belongs in and is faced with the ruins of L’Manberg, having not been here since the day before the festival. (ft some karlnapity)

NOTE: this work takes place within the dream smp roleplay. i do not ship/write fic about the actual creators, only the characters they play

Karl’s breath returned to him all at once as he popped back into the correct place in time, book clutched to his chest. He still hadn’t been able to get used to this time travel thing super well and had been popping into the wrong time over and over. But he had gotten it right this time; he was sitting in Church Prime, after all.

He went to head home, back to L’Manberg, and he lost his breath all over again. Because what laid before him was not the home that he’d left behind. It wasn’t much of anything at all other than a seemingly bottomless pit with ash still floating in the wind. The obsidian structures in the sky painted a sinister picture. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t some random accident. It was an intentional attack on his home.

How long had he been gone? The last thing he remembered before traveling through time was working with Ranboo to fix up the country for the upcoming festival, an event designated to celebrate L’Manberg as a nation. When had all of that fallen apart?

Who had fallen with it?

Karl wasn’t sure exactly where to go at first. He didn’t know who would be left standing if anyone was at all. Maybe they’d be gathered back at Eret’s castle. But, then again, if L’Manberg had fallen victim to an attack like this, the Dream SMP as a nation was probably the most likely culprit. He didn’t want to walk directly into his own execution. He didn’t think that Eret would be so cruel but, given what had become of his home, he wasn’t sure what to think.

He made his way toward El Rapids instead. His other home, though they had never really gotten very far in building it. Sparing one more glance back to the crater where L’Manberg once stood, Karl smiled half-heartedly. At least, after all of this, his Pokimane statue still stood.

As he passed through Boomerville, he was astounded at how many things seemed the same. It was like L’Manberg had been wiped off the map and everything else had simply remained frozen in time. Had he somehow fucked up time with the book?

“Karl!” a voice called out.

He turned to see Lazar peeking his head out of his home. He looked old, but that wasn’t really unusual. The fact that he was alive at all was a good sign.

“What the honk happened?” he asked him.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied with a shrug. “Vikk and I were out on a mining trip for two days and we come back and a whole bloody country is gone. I think H was there but he’s passed out in his place right now. Must have been some festival, I guess.”

Two days. That meant that he wasn’t so far off in time that everybody was gone. Unless… No. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Where is everybody?” he asked Lazar.

“No fucking clue,” he replied. “We didn’t get back that long ago. I assume they’re taking shelter in other places in the server or are off building places in the wilderness. I thought you’d know. Where have you been?”

He thought about the book in his hand and how the pages had been slowly filling. “It’s really hard to explain. But I think that I should go.”

Lazar followed his glance toward El Rapids. “Yeah, go on, mate. If nobody’s around, you’re free to sleep on my floor or something. Just don’t steal any more of my shit.”

“Thanks,” he said with an absent nod before continuing toward El Rapids.

For all that they’d done to secure the validity of El Rapids, it wasn’t much. It was a pretty small plot of land, though they claimed a few other spots to be part of the country proper, and only really consisted of two buildings: the pyramid and a smaller building that he still wasn’t sure the purpose of.

“Hello!” he called out absently as he got closer, hoping for a response and not expecting one at the same.

“Karl?” came Quackity’s voice in response and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re in the pyramid,” Sapnap added.

They were here. They were safe, and they were here.

He ran into the pyramid, dodging the creepers and spiders that always seemed to reside inside, and made his way into the small redstone room in the center of it, where he found his fiances sitting together on the ground, covered in ash as they patched each other up.

Sapnap was scratched up but looked pretty okay overall. Quackity, however, didn’t seem to be doing as well, with bandages all over and haphazard stitches that were probably done by Sapnap on his forehead. He wasn’t in good shape and would probably have to pay Ponk a visit to get patched up in the morning, but there didn’t appear to be any immediate danger to his health.

He felt like an asshole, standing there without a scratch on him as the men he loved had clearly fought very hard in the past two days.

“Where were you?” Quackity asked and Karl braced for the impact of his yelling for missing out on whatever had happened.

“Were you safe?” he asked instead.

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I was safe.”

“Wherever you were, you missed a lot,” Sapnap told him.

“George fucking missed it too,” Quackity complained. “We come back to Sapnap’s base for supplies afterward and he’s fucking sleeping. At least he didn’t get hurt, though. We came back here after so that you’d be able to find us.”

“Did something happen at the festival?” he asked.

Sapnap and Quackity shared a resigned glance.

“Look, L’Manberg is gone, that much is over. And as far as I know, everyone made it out,” Quackity told him. “I know what I think we should do going forward, even if everyone seems to have a different idea about how to approach it. Either way, the ash is still settling and for tonight, we can take a goddamn break.” “And what’ll we do tomorrow?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Quackity said with a shrug. “Regroup, I guess. All I know is that, in the end, we can’t let Dream continue doing this shit. We have to take him down.”

Karl turned his gaze to Sapnap, who he expected to push back against this point of view, even after everything that had happened between him and his friend.

But instead, a fire burned in his eyes. “He needs to know that he’s not invincible. The Dream that destroyed L’Manberg isn’t the guy I became best friends with ages ago or, fuck, maybe he was and I never saw it before. I’m not going to let the entire server suffer just because he used to care about me.”

“And what about George?”

Quackity let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “George doesn’t give a shit about anything. He won’t fight for us, not about the serious stuff. But, at this point, he’s not about to fight for Dream either. I think I speak for the group when I say that we have his back, no matter what, but I don’t know if he has ours.”

“I think, if it came down to a choice between us and Dream, George would choose us,” Sapnap said quietly. “Dream hurt him too. But if he doesn’t want to fight, let’s not force him into the fray.”

“You’ll fight with us, right Karl?” Quackity asked.

And, well, Karl was never much of a fighter in any shape or form. He lacked the physical skill and training that Sapnap did and didn’t have a scrap of the political talent that Quackity was able to weaponize. In the end, Karl was just a guy, but he was a guy that knew who he cared about.

“I will,” he promised.

“So, are you gonna tell us what that book is about?” Quackity asked.

He smiled brightly. “Would it be okay if I told the two of you a story?”

The tension in the air dissipated ever so slightly as his fiances looked at him with soft smiles of adoration.

“Of course, Karl,” Sapnap said. “Tell us a story.”

[rebsrams]

Crumble (Ethan x F!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: NSFW/18+, swear words

Summary: She has a date. It’s not with Ethan. Yet somehow she happens to show up at his doorstep, that same night.)

Word count: 2,468 (sorry!)

Author’s notes: My first time ever writing smut. Don’t really know what came out, actually. Like a lot of smut but with that touch of fluffiness in the end. Also, I’m not a native speaker so please report any mistake, I’m here to learn!

Song: Crumble by Jeremiah Daly

The air in his apartment was thick with resentment, disappointment and a bit of disbelief.

Just knowing her out with some other moron made the blood boil in his veins so hard that he could feel the heat radiate under his skin.

He could clearly see her, her legs crossed, portions of her firm thigh showing up further and further as she laughed at the asshole’s jokes, causing the hem of her skirt to slightly roll up.

He saw the asshole’s filthy hand casually resting on her thigh, on her shoulder or caressing her cheek.

Trying to think about anything else, his fists clenched involuntarily.

His mind, however, reluctantly perched on the color of her eyes, her hair in the sunlight, her plump, freckled lips all over him. Him, and only him. Anyone else was just a waste of time, for both of them.

The very thought of it stirred his soul to its very foundations, making him think and feel things that he should definitely not think and feel about an intern.

A sudden urge began to show up, which he promptly had to cast out with a cold shower and a glassful of his newly opened scotch whisky.

Half an hour later he found himself once again laid on his sofa, face facing the white ceiling and counting hours until his next shift, when a timid bang on the door awakened him from his unpleasant reverie.

Then he found her, dangerously glaring in her garish green dress, which was perfectly matching her ivory complexion while divinely exposing her décolleté and emphasizing the morbid curve of her hipbone.

He couldn’t help but taking her in, staring at her and gulping not so lightly at the sight.

“Rookie.”

“Hi.”

She gave him an uncertain smile, as if she was badly regretting the decision that brought her in front of him, whatever the hell that was.

“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here, I... G’night, Ethan. See you at work.”

She literally blurted out the words, her face becoming one with her ginger hair.

He could clearly see that awareness was dawning on her, the awareness of not having a single logical reason to be there, on a Saturday night, while a random guy, in all likelihood questionably dressed, was probably waiting for her somewhere else.

Feeling bold enough, Ethan decided to let go of the rules of logic for once in his life and took her wrist before she could step away aiming for the elevator.

“Rebecca, what happened?” he needed a moment to be able to pronounce the next sentence.

“Did he hurt you?” he let out, his voice almost a whisper.

She shook her head, lowering her gaze, and he immediately let out a sigh of relief.

First of all she was fine, and second (if he had to be completely frank with himself), he was a little too out of practice to smack a random douchebag’s nose without any inch of hesitation.

His eyes turned concerned, impatient and, if he had to say, a bit curious to learn the real reason she found herself at his doorstep in such a particular occasion.

He didn’t need to ask further questions  because she explained the situation in such earnestness that made her look absolutely endearing to his eyes, making him forget entirely that he was mentally cursing her for the sweet lines of her body and her bitchy attitude just a handful of minutes before.

“I left. I just couldn’t and, I don’t know, I felt like you needed to know this. I really don’t know what came over me, actually. That’s all. I think I need to go to bed right now.”

He couldn’t help himself from taking those words as a clearly invitation, moving a step forward and firmly grabbing her waist with both hands, his face just a breath away from hers.

“Yours…” he breathed “or mine?”

The spark was ignited.

In a split second their lips came crushing over one another, entangling themselves in a complete mess of ragged breaths and exploring tongues.

They kissed eagerly, urgently, and stopped only to regain some air and not suffocate in their almost strangling passion.

She clumsily shoved her hands under his already loosened shirt, teasing and scanning every inch of his skin, occasionally digging her red nails into his flesh.

The low and growled moans that escaped his mouth at the contact shook her at her very core, waves of warmth spreading across her body.

Soon enough, the door slammed behind them and she found herself pinned to the closest wall, medicine books, novels and fishing magazines tumbling down the bookcase.

His hands easily found their way to the zip of her sparkling dress, now laying on the shiny cedar parquet.

His fingers dug as deep as they could in the flesh of her ass cheeks as he lift her up, clinging to her as if his whole existence depended on it.

She kept her arms wrapped around his neck, tracing with the way from his collarbone up to his earlobe with heated kisses, biting the latter and making him moan loudly.

She then proceed to suck the tender spot just under it, soothing it with her tongue immediately after.

An allegory of what their relationship was.

Hurting each other but being the only one capable of soothing each other’s pain.

“Rebecca,” he groaned “what is it that you do to me?”

She got on her feet and grabbed boldly the protruding bulge now visible through the tight fabric of his pants, which he felt rather uncomfortable.

“You tell me, Dr. Ramsey.”

Letting himself escape a moan, he hastily got back to his mouth’s ministrations on hers, while his hand slipped between her thighs, caressing the tender spots agonizingly slow.

“Ethan…” she begged, thrusting her hips in response.

He once again swooped her off her feet, kissing her thoroughly while walking to reach his wide double bed.

They tumbled on it quite unceremoniously, hands in each other’s hair, trying to come even closer than they already were.

Her hands made their way to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them all and letting the item of clothing fall off his shoulders and on the floor.

His hands swiftly reached for her underwear instead, sliding  the black silky garment down her milky thighs, lightly tickling her already sensitive skin.

And instant and powerful surge of hassle shook him at the thought of her wearing that kind of panties while going out with some kind of haphazard jerk, but then he realized he was the one laying in bed next to her. The bed of his apartment, where she practically ran to when the evening hadn’t even taken off.

“Rebecca,” Ethan breathed between open mouthed kisses “spread your legs for me. I want to watch you.”

She gulped at that words, doing as told but never breaking eye contact with him, blue in blue.

“God Almighty,” he moaned in satisfaction, taking in the view in front of him “you’re so wet for me already. So amazingly wet, Becca”

With that words his fingers ran up her inner thigh, unable to contain themselves, and began to part her folds in light but firm, little circles, while he was losing himself in the sound of her moans muffled again his shoulder and the feeling of her sex wrapping around him, while he entered her with the first finger in a single, swift movement.

“Ethan…”

He could feel that she was trying her best not to scream his name out loud, keeping her eyes shut and her head tilted back as a sign of surrender.

“Becca, honey, I want to hear you” Ethan said, sliding another finger inside of her and making her back arch and her voice increase significantly.

“Look at me” he whispered on her lips, while the pleasure was unsteadily building inside of her at the slight curling of his fingers.

She opened her blue green orbits and looked at him through heavy lids, gasping loudly when his thumb find the way to her clit, circling and nudging it gently.

He then began to worship every inch of her upper body with his mouth, spreading wet kisses all over the line of her neck, her collarbone and down to her breasts and nipples, biting carefully through the thin lacy fabric of her bra.

Getting rid of the latter rather skillfully with just one hand, maybe making her wonder how many times did he do such a thing recently, his torso finally met hers without any barriers and almost melted with it, the feeling ethereal.

He progressively increased the pace of his hand on her, loud moans escaping from both mouths. His fingers seemed like dancing inside her cavity, knowing every single step of the way to her disarming climax.

Just then, the roughness of his stub brushed against the smoothness of her  inner thighs in the sweetest of contrasts and his supple tongue reached inside of her, his fingers still aiming for the spot that was slowly driving her to completion in sure, frantic movements.

“Come for me, Rebs. I need you to do this for me.”

Soon enough, everything that kept her aware of some kind of existence of the outside world shattered around her, the fierceness of her orgasm claiming her senses completely.

He looked up at her, ocean eyes sparkling with gratification, watching her chest rise and lower while she was trying to normalize her breath with her eyes kept almost stoically on the ceiling.

Usually, in moments like this she liked to keep her hands tangled in his hair, always complaining about him cutting them every month.

Ethan’s gaze immediately turned concerned at the wide gap between the two situations.

“What is it?” he asked, trying to hide that little sting of fear in his voice for what he was going to ask next.

“Do you regret this? I’m sure that prick is already having fun spending his night elsewhere, if this is what’s troubling you.”

It took an unfair amount of effort from Ethan to sound as much disinterested as possible, but the truth was he was so interested that he could even let himself go and cry at her affirmative answer, such was the emotional impact that certain moment was having on him.

“Of course not, Ethan.”

Once again, he had to put down the urge to breathe a sigh of relief at her words, though he couldn’t help but wonder what was really troubling that amazingly cumbersome mind of hers.

He didn’t have to speak, because the quizzical look in his eyes drew out all the explanation he needed from her.

“You know I don’t. How could I? It’s just that every time you hold me, every time you keep me in check like this I… I feel like I’m going to crumble in your hands, sooner or later, and that I will not be able to put all the pieces back. I feel like I’m running at full speed to self-destruction because every damn time that we hook up or make love or simply dart our eyes at each other through the corridors, you could regret everything and shut me out again after all the struggle I’ve been through to finally deal with it once. So no, I don’t regret a thing and I never will. But maybe you do and the thought of it makes my heart clench every time.”

By the end of her speech, her eyes were reddened and glistening with tears that threatened to fall at any time, while he just gaped for a second before gathering the nerve to speak.

“I’m not going to regret this, Rebecca.”

He finally managed to say, and he meant it so profoundly that his voice almost broke.

“Then show me”

She couldn’t finish the sentence that his lips were once again all over her, his teeth occasionally scraping sensitive portions of skin.

She kissed his neck eagerly, wanting more, more than she had that night and more than she ever had with him.

She wanted his soul, completely, without restraints or the fear that he could suddenly get cold feet and walk away. She wanted him whole.

“Ethan,” she breathed out, limbs aching to stay the closest she could to him, “I want you.”

She straddled him in a neat movement, pressing herself against the bulge still inside his pants while trying to get him out of them by clumsily loosen his belt.

He then lift her up impatiently, placing her on the bed as gently as he could given the urgency of the situation, and freed himself from the torture that his trousers and underwear were since the moment she showed up at his apartment in that damn golden dress, hugging her like a second skin.

A few moments later he was already placing himself at her entrance, thick and hard with the most ardent desire he had ever felt in his whole life, and scanning her face for some kind of sign to go on.

She nodded firmly and he entered her slowly, inch by inch, savoring the bliss that the feeling was bringing to the both of them.

After a few, slow thrusts, he began to increase his pace more and more, letting himself escape a nearly infinite number of low groans while she was repeatedly calling his name, as if to have some kind of guarantee that he was not going to vanish in her arms.

She began to feel once again her muscles clench around him and the tidal wave of pleasure reaching for her, drawing out cursing words from Ethan’s mouth.

“Fuck, Rebecca, I’m close,” he somewhat managed to say, panting heavily and occasionally moaning her name through her coconut scented hair.

Suddenly he lifted both of her legs over his shoulders for a different angle, thrusting deeper than ever and reaching the spot that made her finally crush down, crying out in pure delight.

He followed immediately after, hips rocking frantically while gripping at her hipbones, probably hard enough to bruise her.

They remained intertwined for what felt like a fragment of infinite, finally collapsing into each other’s arms with their eyes half shut from the exhaustion.

She kissed her forehead while he watched her drift into sleep, finally letting go of the brake that had her clutched to the conviction that he could ever regret something like this.

Things weren’t easy and they still couldn’t come out of the closet, not yet at least.

But there she was, safely wrapped in his arms and snoring lightly, making her the most endearing little thing he had ever seen.

The world around them could have crumbled down, but she would have always been intact as long as she was with him.

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

Told you the end was quite cheesy, I guess it’s kind of my trade mark ✨

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED: 2. Observation

"That your wife?"

The first time Dell was asked this question he nearly spit out his beer. That, however, was almost six months ago. Today, settling up the bill for his and April's breakfast at the diner closest to the motel, he just shakes his head and glances back at where April sits in their booth, staring out the window. "Nah. Old friend."

"Oh?" says the cashier. She's a woman of middle age, with hair leaning silver and early crow's feet complementing a soft smile. "Then you won't mind me asking where you've been all my life, hm?"

He laughs, demure. It's a rare thing for him, flirting, though to his relative confusion it's increased a great deal as he's aged. "Sorry, ma'am," he says, sliding a ten across the counter to her. "Afraid I've got to leave again just as quick."

"Oh, all the good ones do," she says with a snort and a smirk. "That's my lot. Where you headed?"

"Don't know, if I'm being honest. She's the one driving."

"You sure she's not your wife?"

"I think you'd have to hog-tie her to even get her near a ring, let alone wear one. Keep the change."

When he returns to April, she sits with her head resting against the sun-warmed glass, staring at nothing. Her shoulder, too, is warm when he nudges her and says they should get going.

---

Six years ago (God, six years, really?) Dell would have made a good deal more fuss about being driven somewhere without any particular idea of where. Even after the arsonist had proven herself more friend than foe, he certainly would not have gotten in a car with her for longer than a few minutes. Oh, he had more responsibilities then: BLU might call at any time, and he was something of a pillar in tiny Bee Cave as the best mechanic available---to say nothing of the fuss his extended family would raise if left without an idea of where he was.

That family, though, is still under the impression he is dead, as is Bee Cave. BLU is gone. He no longer has a dog to mind, as Shep is well and truly April's now.

And of course it is not the arsonist he has been riding down the flat, winding highways with for the last day and a half. The master of this expedition has a name, and a face that is not made of rubber.

This is why he does not ask April where they are going.

That, he muses as he watches her take yet another random back road, and the fact he has a pretty good idea she doesn't know, either.

---

The first time he had visited after Jeremiah's wedding had been the first of the mid-month sojourns, and at April's specific request. She had been in good spirits after the wedding, after the revelation of Tobias's park, and so he'd thought she was fine, at least as far as she went. It had been a surprise when she'd called him just two weeks after with a request that he come to see her, though less of one when he heard her choice of words: it just feels empty here.

In truth, it had been inconvenient at the time. He was house-hunting and had several appointments with several people that would all have to be cancelled. Also in truth, it was April. He went.

The house hadn't changed, of course, big and state-of-the-art and with over half a dozen chimneys leading up from over a dozen fireplaces, sitting haphazardly in a patch of land hidden from the highway's view by the acacia copse. Shep nearly got himself run over in his excitement to see his old master; the old boy's got one eye that might be going, and he's getting gray around the muzzle. He knows all this, and it wasn't a surprise.

The woman that opened the door, on the other hand, startled him. She's unmistakable, of course, but he almost mistakes her anyway, because she looks nothing so much as the arsonist that haunted his property that summer of '68. It's not the rumpled clothing or the Zippo in one hand, or even the way her blue eyes seem to have sunken in her burned face---and at least those seem to light up a little when she sees him---it's---

"You cut your hair," Dell says.

She lifts her eyebrows and touches the short black hair, hacked off by unsteady scissors. It doesn't look bad on her, but he had grown used to it long, and had liked it. Not that his opinion on what she does with herself means jack, but---it's still a startle.

---

Long roads. Long hours. But sometimes he can stir conversation out of her. Or say the wrong thing, as the case may be: he's commenting on the contents of the local paper he'd picked up at the diner when she interrupts, all brimming frustration and bile. "Why the hell do you go along with my shit?"

Dell allows himself a few seconds to formulate a response. "How do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she says, slapping the steering wheel. Shep's ears swivel toward her in alarm. "Shit like this, like driving off somewhere without saying anything. I don't know where I'm going."

He considers this. "Well," he says, "I imagine you'll know it when we find it."

"Dell," she growls. "Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not, missy."

"Don't call me tha---"

The next few seconds is a racket of sound and broken glass and screeching brakes, because one of those antlelope from the day before has just come careening straight in front of the truck.

---

The good news is the antlelope survived.

Dell's truck is a little less lucky. The hood is crumpled, and blood smears both engine and body. Through some miracle, there is only a palm-sized cobweb of shattered glass in the passenger-side corner of the windshield. April, hardware savant but hopeless with cars, paces and drags Shep away from the fascinating knots of blood and fur stuck haphazard in the grille while Dell tries to diagnose the damage.

"I think she'll take us to wherever the next town is," he says, with no small amount of trepidation. The last time he'd touched a vehicle was Coldfront, and that had been touch-and-go. "Worst case, we pick up a new one while we're there, leave this for repairs."

"I'll pay for it," April says, fidgeting with the lighter that had---of course---appeared in her hand.

"What's it matter?"

"If it doesn't matter, then just let me do it."

She is looking for a fight. "Okay," says Dell. "D'you want me to take over driving?"

---

That first visit after April had cut her hair was colored by more than the haircut.

Dell's observant, he has to be. He's gotten to be very observant of April, especially over the last year and a half: there was, after all, nothing else for him to do but observe, when Esau was holding him down. He's learned about her, how she moves, the way her mouth curves when she's annoyed or amused. In truth he knows three different Aprils, and the language of this newest incarnation is its own animal. Pyro was another; the arsonist, the first.

This is why it's troubling that he's noticing things April's never done, but that the arsonist did quite often. It's the constant fidgeting with lighters and matches, it's the short, sharp way she interacts with things around the house, it's even in how she touches Shep. Her speech is clipped and distracted. He mentions none of this that first night, after setting up in the guest room, which has not been touched since his last visit.

She asks him how he is, and it's code. Has Esau done anything? It's the first time she's been April that day, not the arsonist. He's too relieved to see her again to put as much care into his responses as he should.

He tells her about his search for a new house---he's renting in El Paso, taking his time to figure out where he wants to settle down again. "Cool," she says, absently. She has not been out to see him. "El Paso sounds nice."

"It's nice enough. How you been holding up?"

"I'm fine," she had said, and the dreadful thing is that he thinks she believed that.

---

The mechanic they find is every inch a stereotype, grizzled and gruff and covered in grease. Dell feels a mild kinship with him, but bristles at the way his eyes keep darting to April. To her scars, mainly. "A week at a rush," the mechanic tells him. "Best I can do."

Dell relays this to April; it's questionable if she really hears him.

It's a good-sized town, this place, Musabruk or something like that. Big enough that they take advantage of the mechanic's offer of a ride to the nearest hotel, and once again Dell feels himself souring each time he notices the mechanic's eyes roving over to the rear-view mirror to catch sight of April's burns. As if she hasn't got enough to deal with. He's not sure if it's for better or worse that she doesn't seem to notice.

It puts him in a mood, anyway. Enough of one, apparently, that when they finally make it to their room and he excuses himself to the bathroom, the ring of lights is waiting for him.

Dell has never suffered the dramatic effects of looking-glass syndrome that had plagued April. He hallucinates little, he has almost never had cause to doubt his faculties. This makes it all the more startling when Esau does appear, a hexagon of electric blue lights looming in space. He does not acknowledge the lights as he goes to wash his face.

You are angry.

It's a simple observation, in the same flat, observational tone that Esau's voice always takes in his head. Dell does not respond. It takes a great deal to make him respond to Esau, at least when Esau does not have any purpose to his manifestation. He knows he is angry. He does not need to be told.

She has heavy scarring. Most people go a lifetime without seeing anyone as disfigured as she is.

A response jumps to his lips---she's not disfigured---but he stifles it. But apparently he is too tired to resist him entirely, between the driving and the deer and the mechanic. "You got something to say?"

The lights flicker. Not as you intend the question. I am only curious how long you will go without addressing the problem.

"And I guess you know what the problem is?" he says, but the lights are gone.