#close enough to zoom and still get clarity

[scorpiussage]

The Director’s Cut (Neil Lewis/Fem!OC)

Pairing: Neil Lewis/Fem!OC 

Summary: Neil tries his hand at filming with some unintended results. 

Warnings: Smut - Unintentional Sex Tape 

Neil has been wanting to do this for a long time now— make his own noir short film. He’s splurged on an old film camera and made you visit various antique stores for months until you put together proper 1940s outfits for the two of you. 

And to be clear, you’re really only going along with this because you love your boyfriend, not because you have any interest in the art of noir films nor acting. But Neil gave you that hurt puppy look and you couldn’t say no. So now here you are, dressed to the nines as the mysterious dame to Neil’s detective. 

Every shot is carefully placed by Neil before he runs to his spot. (While you were helpless to Neil’s sad face, Johnathan and Lucien were not.) The two of you have been at this for hours and all that was left to film was the big climax where the two characters would declare their love for each other and passionately kiss. 

“Okay, baby, really give the kiss your all,” Neil instructs from behind the camera he’s adjusting, zooming in so that the two of you would be the center of the frame. Setting the camera to record, he races to to his place in front of you. 

His character, gruff and stern, says his lines before wrapping you up in his arms and capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. Whatever you’re supposed to do next completely leaves your mind as you lose yourself in the passionate make out. Neil has never kissed you like this before, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. 

It’s the kind of kiss that immediately makes you weak in the knees, leaving you no choice but to throw your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. And it seems that Neil is not immune to this moment because he doesn’t pull away when he’s supposed to, instead burying one hand into your artfully styled curls and the other slipping down your body to grasp your ass firmly. 

The two of you lose yourselves completely in the moment, forgetting all about your characters and the still rolling camera. 

Breaking away to breathe, Neil’s lips travel across your jaw to your neck, licking and sucking with single minded focus, seemingly intent to mark you as his. 

“Fuck, Neil,” you gasp, your hands scrambling to push his blazer off. And it shows how lost the two of you are in each other that he doesn’t try to correct you to use his character’s name. 

Shucking his jacket off, he reaches under you and hoists you up, letting you wrap your legs around his trim waist while he backs the two of you onto the love seat nearby. The next kiss you share is a filthy one, full of tongue and bites that smears your lipstick everywhere. His fingers slip up your stocking covered legs, hooking into the straps of the garter belt you’re wearing. 

That’s when you regain enough clarity to remember the still filming camera. 

Trying to push Neil back, you squeak, “Wait! The camera!” 

He pulls away from the hickey he was giving your throat to look back at the camera. That’s when a rather naughty grin stretches across his face. 

“Fuck, good idea,” he gets up off of you and dashes to grab the camera off the tripod, slipping his hand into the strap and making his way back to the love seat with you still splayed out on it. 

You quickly close your legs and start trying to shove your skirt back into place. 

“No, no, no, baby, c’mon,” he cajoles, the camera still focused squarely on you, “Let’s keep going.” 

You’re certain your face is unattractively red as you stutter, “But what if—I can’t—“ 

Neil gives you gentle little shushes, his face finally peaking out from behind the camera to look at you directly, “It’ll be okay. No one will see this but you and me.” 

Biting your lip you contemplate your options. On the one hand, the fear that someone will see this is quite high, but on the other, the thought of getting fucked by Neil on camera is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard of. 

Coming to a decision, you give your boyfriend a timid nod and try to relax. His grin is victorious and lecherous as he returns to operating the camera. 

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty,” he tells you, one hand leaving the camera to squeeze his tenting cock in his pants. 

Scooting forward, you reach out to undo his pants, gasping when his cock springs out red and hard as you’ve ever seen it. You pump the length a few times, memorized by the glistening head and the bead of precum spilling out of it. 

“Suck me, baby, please?” He begs, the camera focused squarely on you and the cock at your eye level. 

Deciding to fully commit to what the two of you are doing, you lean forward and lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, moaning at his salty taste. His hips jut forward, encouraging you to take him into your mouth and you do with relish. You love sucking Neil’s cock and the way he becomes a begging, stuttering mess every time you do it. 

He throws his head back as you suck him down, his moans loud and his words filthy, “Fuck, that’s it. I love your mouth, god, you feel so good!” 

Emboldened by his response, you begin sucking him with enthusiasm, taking him as far down as you can and swirling your tongue over the slit. His one free hand gathers your hair up, gripping it firmly and guiding you up and down him with increasing force. 

Pulling off of him with a pop, you lick your lips and say, “Use me.” 

You barely get your mouth open in time for him to start fucking your mouth in earnest, his grip on your hair just shy of hurting and his litany of praises soaking your pussy. You don’t look away from the camera once, keeping your eyes firmly on that shiny lens. 

You’re alerted to Neil’s impending orgasm by his stuttering hips and the way he pushes you to take him all the way to the root, making you bury your nose in the trimmed hair at the base. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” He chants, shoving himself down your throat and cumming loudly and wantonly. 

He pulls you off of him just as you’re about to run out of air, your face a mess of cum and spit as you pant. 

“Take off your clothes,” Neil tells you, sitting down onto the loveseat next to you. 

You stand up on shaky legs, trying to regain your wits about you as you begin unbuttoning your dress. The camera captures it all as you peel the fabric from your body and let it drop to pool around your feet leaving you in the vintage lingerie set. 

Neil doesn’t stop his monologue of praise at all, telling you how sexy and beautiful you are as you shed each piece of clothing until you’re entirely bare before him. His cock is already hard again and he’s lazily fisting himself while he films you. 

He motions for you to get onto the couch, directing you to lie back. 

He’s apparently taking an artistic approach because he slowly traces your form with the camera, the fingers of his free hand running over your body reverently. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, leaning away from the camera to leave gentle, biting kisses along your stomach. 

You spread your legs to accommodate him, revealing your most intimate self to the camera when he sits up fully and looks down at you. 

“I need you, Neil,” you whine, your hands cupping your breasts in what you hope is a seductive manner, your fingers pinching the buds of your nipples. You needn’t say more than that apparently, because he’s quick to line his cock up with your sopping entrance, the head of it teasing your opening by pushing in slightly and pulling back out. 

“Gonna give you what you need, baby,” he promises before pushing into you fully, your cunt sucking him in to your tight heat. 

You throw your head back and arch your back in pleasure, that feeling of finally being full, of finally having that spot deep inside of you rubbed electrifying from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. 

The camera is fully focused on you, on your bouncing tits, on his cock pushing in and out of you, on your gasping mouth. 

This video is going to be Neil’s holy grail. He’s going to watch this video till the end of time— till the tape fucking gives out. 

His free hand snakes down to start rubbing furiously at your clit, matching the brutal rhythm he’s fucking you with. You moan and spread your legs wider, pulling your knees up to your chest and nodding frantically. The new position lets him sink even deeper into you, his balls hitting your ass. 

“‘Let me cum in you, please, fuck,” Neil begs you, his hand holding the camera getting shaky as he begins to peak. You’re close too, that building pressure low in your belly beginning to become too much. 

“Please, Neil, I’m so close!” You try pushing up into his hand that’s still rubbing you, that’s dragging you to the edge. 

You cum just a moment before he does, your cries echoing around the room and the camera clattering to the ground as Neil drops it and braces himself over you. 

You stare at each other for a long time, your foreheads touching. 

“I love you,” he tells you not unlike how his character declared earlier but this time real. 

“I love you too.” 

[sirfrogsworth]

I was worried the TV would be too big, but it honestly feels like watching a big movie screen at the theater and it is so immersive. Like you are *in* the frickin movie.

And even in the 2 years since I got my other TV, the picture quality has improved quite a bit. All of the issues I had with my other TV are pretty much resolved. The only thing it can’t do perfectly is deep inky blacks like an OLED screen. But it comes really close and it gets much much brighter than any OLED, so lasers and lightsabers just look soooo cool. Like they could melt your face off.

I am also finally able to notice a difference between 1080p and 4K. Though it is still subtle and I wish people wouldn't think 4K is the ultimate measure of clarity and quality. Resolution has become one of the least important aspects of picture quality.

I mean, our phones can film in 4K. An Arri Alexa cinema camera can also film in 4K. Do you really believe a $1000 smartphone and an $80000 motion picture camera have equivalent quality?

The goal of higher resolutions is to resolve more detail to provide a sharper image. So imagine a tiny tree in the background where the leaves are all mushed together in a blur in a low detail image and the individual leaves can be seen in a high detail image.

What allows you to get that high level of detail?

Teamwork!

You need a really good sensor with a lot of photosites or pixels. And you need a really good lens with a great design and perfect glass. Bigger is better in both cases.

There is this concept called "perceptual megapixels." This is a measurement of how much detail a camera lens can resolve. So if you have a 50 megapixel sensor but a lens that can only resolve 20 megapixels worth of detail... then you are getting a 20 megapixel image.

The dirty secret of smartphone advertising is that while their sensors might *technically* be 4K or 8K or 100+ megapixels, none of those tiny lenses have the resolving power to support those resolutions. That's why a Samsung with a 100 megapixel sensor does not look significantly sharper than an iPhone with a 12 megapixel sensor. And that's why if you took an old DSLR with a 12 megapixel sensor and slapped a Zeiss Otus lens on the front, the image detail would trounce any smartphone.

But honestly, detail and sharpness really only come into play when you are pixel peeping and zooming way into images. At normal viewing distances, pretty much any modern camera or lens is sharp enough to give you an acceptably detailed image.

If you are looking for a quality TV picture, ignore the Ks and look for things like brightness (nits) and black levels (contrast ratio) and color gamut (number of colors) and HDR interpretation (tone mapping). A great site that breaks all this down is rtings.com. They have the most detailed reviews of anyone and they test various aspects of picture quality. You can decide which aspects are important to you and choose a great television accordingly.

[hedgiwithapen]

im sure youre so tired of hearing this year after year but i truly adore all your cisco stuff<3 I probably stopped watching years ago and still will go back to check yours out. maybe something whumpy for him if youre in the mood? maybe barrys there and sad about it

LITTERALLY am never tired of hearing this. I adore you, anon, and it means so much to me!! never stop :) scream at me all year round if you want. for you, this is set in place of what actually happened at the end of "Enter Zoom"

The light shifted blue, and Cisco squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for whatever memory or vision to wash over him and let him go. He was tired of the visions, and just wanted to sleep. At least when the visions--vibes, he was calling them--were in his dreams he got some rest. 

Instead, pain shot across his skin as a hand closed around his throat. Cisco's eyes popped open and if he'd had air to scream he would have. Zoom held him at arm's length, blue lightning arcing off his clawed glove and dark suit.  He lifted him easily, just high enough Cisco's feet couldn't touch the imaginary safety of his bedroom carpet.

Cisco kicked out, both hands scrabbling at Zoom's fist, clenched around his windpipe. He needed to get his phone, hit the button, but it lay on his bedside table, inches away and yet miles out of reach. Zoom shook him, hard. Cisco wheezed. 

"What--do you--want?" he managed. Zoom didn't answer, but instead took off running. Cisco didn't have superspeed like Barry's, nothing to slow the moments of running down so he could be aware of where they were going. Cisco didn't have a suit like Barry's, either. One moment they were in his apartment and the next Zoom was dangling him over the side of the balcony in the Central City Police department. Pain burned through Cisco's feet and legs where he'd been dragged across pavement for miles in a single heartbeat.

"The days of the Flash protecting this city are over," Zoom's voice grated at Cisco's ears, the deep bass of it tugging at something he couldn't quite reach in his bones. Below, he knew without seeing that the Captain and Joe were staring at him. Cisco tried again to lift a hand, not even sure if he could survive the fall, but needing to do something. Zoom's grip was unrelenting. 

Cisco understood in a moment of awful clarity. He's the example. He wasn't sure when he started crying. He heard, over the sound of his own labored breathing and panicked heart, over the sound of the hum that radiates from Zoom, the sound of gunfire. And then the world blurred again, blue lightning blinding him.

Cisco knew the roof of STAR Labs well. Zoom stared at him, the dark eyes of his monstrous mask glittering. "A shame you had to go and start getting your powers now. I can't have you interfering with my plans." Under the doubled echo, Cisco realized he knew the voice. Jay. A trick.  Zoom's mask twisted into a smile. "None of you were ever going to survive me." Cisco heard, far below, Caitlin's scream. 

And Zoom let go.

Cisco heard the crunch before he felt it, and then nothing at all.

[tpglighting]

Christmas Lights & Tips To Help You Take The Best Pictures

The holidays are a time for family, friends, and celebrations. While you're likely to be snapping photos of these special moments on your phone or digital camera, there's no better way to capture them than with a DSLR camera.

You'll have more control over the light in your photos and can take advantage of wide-angle lenses or zoom in close to get the perfect shot. If you're looking for inspiration for taking some amazing Christmas light pictures this year, don't worry! We've got you covered below:

How to Create Stunning Christmas Light Pictures?

Use a tripod.

Use a wide-angle lens.

Use a flash.

Set your ISO to low (100 or below).

You can also use manual mode, which allows you to control all aspects of the image and gives you more flexibility when taking pictures of Christmas lights.

Best Camera for Holiday Photography

If you want to take professional-looking holiday photos, your best bet is to use a DSLR camera. I know it's an investment and can be intimidating at first, but trust me: DSLR cameras are the only way to go if you want crisp, clear images that will make your friends and family ooh and ahh over on social media.

Point and shoot cameras aren't up to par with DSLRs in terms of image quality—they just don't have the same capability for capturing detail or depth of field (how much is in focus). If you're looking for something more affordable than a DSLR, consider upgrading from your point-and-shoot with lenses that give you more control over light exposure.

Smartphones are also not good enough for this type of photography; even newer iPhones still struggle with low lighting situations (such as holiday lights), so if nothing else helps...you could try turning off automatic stabilization on your smartphone! It might help cut down on blur when shooting handheld shots too

Use a Tripod

A tripod is a great tool for creating sharp images. It helps reduce camera shake and makes it easier to take long exposures without blurring the picture. Tripods are also useful when you're taking photos in low light because they give your camera steadier support, which means less blurry shots. If you're planning on photographing fireworks or other fast-moving subjects, a tripod will be especially useful because it will allow you to keep your camera steady while shooting at slower shutter speeds than usual.

Taking Amazing Christmas Photos Outside

Use a Tripod. If you're taking photos outside at night, it's best to use a tripod so that your camera can be as steady as possible. The more stable and still your camera is when taking photos, the more likely you are to get an image with great clarity and definition.

Make Sure It's Stable. A good rule of thumb for making sure your tripod is stable: if it can easily be rocked or swayed back and forth by hand, then it probably won't hold up under the weight of your camera during photographing either!

Avoid Shooting Into The Sunlight. Try not to take pictures while shooting into direct sunlight because this will cause lens flare which makes it difficult for other objects in the frame look sharp and crisp compared to objects directly lit by an artificial light source (such as Christmas lights) next door."

Capture the Entire Light Display with a Wide-Angle Lens

If you want to capture the whole scene in front of you, a wide-angle lens is the best lens for this type of photography. The light display is supposed to be seen from far away and so you want your photo of it to also show everything around it. Wider lenses help achieve this effect by creating an image with a wider field of view than normal lenses do.

Capture a Single Light Bulb in the Dark

You can use a wide-angle lens to capture the light in its full glory. If you have a tripod, this is the time to use it. It will help keep your camera steady so that you can get great shots even in low light. Make sure to bring your flash along, too! You'll want to aim it at the bulb so that it doesn't cause any shadows on its own or cast glare on other objects nearby. Remember: if you want to capture the whole scene with your light bulbs, make sure they're placed far enough away from each other so that they don't overlap too much when taking pictures!

TPG Lighting LLC is your one stop shop for all things Christmas Lights. We offer services for commercial, residential and event rental customers in Orlando and Central Florida. We provide holiday light installation and removal by top notch professionals with years of experience in the industry.

TPG Lighting LLC is Orlando's best trusted christmas light installation orlando company. Our friendly, professional staff can get you set up with all the lighting you want in no time.

TPG Lighting LLC 4150 Incubator Ct, Sanford, FL 32771, United States 407-917-7748 http://orlandochristmaslights.net/

[bookinsey]

I was doing all these things, but I didn’t know anything about myself. Isn’t that weird? Like, you try to learn about everyone but yourself? Isn’t that weird that you love everyone but yourself? Isn’t that the weirdest thing in the world? Maybe... Maybe it’s time that we do love ourselves just a little bit, yeah?

- jae park, hitc la '22

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x11 thoughts

For an episode that ends with a journalist Ted trusts but has (understandably) recently lied to warning Ted that he’s publishing an article about his panic attacks, it was fitting that this episode seemed entirely about what all of these characters choose to tell each other. And after most of a season of television that Jason Sudeikis has described as the season in which the characters go into their little caves to deal with things on their own, it turns out they are finally able to tell each other quite a lot.

Which is good because, um, wow, a lot is going to happen in the season finale of this show!

Thoughts on the things people tell each other behind the cut!

Roy and Keeley. I absolutely loved the moment during their photoshoot in which they bring up a lot of complicated emotional things and are clearly gutted (“gutted”? Who am I? A GBBO contestant who forgot to turn the oven on?) by what they’ve heard. We already know that Keeley and Roy are great at the kinds of moments they have before the shoot begins, in which Roy builds Keeley up and tells her she’s fucking amazing. From nearly the beginning of their relationship, they’ve supported each other and been each other’s biggest fans. But their relationship has gone on long enough that they’ve progressed from tentative arguments about space and individual needs into really needing to figure out what they mean to each other and how big their feelings are and what that means in relation to everything else. Watching these two confess about the uncomfortable kiss with Nate, the unexpectedly long conversation with Phoebe’s teacher, and—most painfully—the revelation that Jamie still loves Keeley didn’t feel like watching two people who are about to break up. (Although I could see them potentially needing space from each other to get clarity.) It felt like watching two people realize just how much they’d lose if they lost each other, which is an understandably scary feeling even—or especially—when you’re deeply in love but not entirely sure what the future holds. Not entirely sure what you’re capable of when you’ve never felt serious about someone in quite this way, and are realizing you have to take intentional actions to choose that relationship every single day. I’m excited to learn whether Roy and Keeley decide they need to solidify their relationship more (not necessarily an engagement, but maybe moving in together or making sure they’re both comfortable referring to the other as partner and telling people they’re in a committed relationship) or if things go in a different direction for a while.

Sharon and Ted. I’ve had this feeling of “Wow, Ted is going to feel so intense about how honest he’s been with Sharon and is going to end up getting really attached and transfer a lot of emotions onto the connection they have and that is stressful no matter how beneficial it has been for him to finally get therapy!” for a while now. And Sharon’s departure really brought that out and it was indeed stressful. But the amount of growth that’s happened for both of these characters is really stunningly and beautifully conveyed in this episode. Ted is genuinely angry she left without saying goodbye, and he doesn’t bury it some place deep inside him where it will fester for the next thirty years. He expresses his anger. (I also noticed he sweared—mildly—in front of her again, which is really a big tell for how much he has let his carefully-constructed persona relax around her.) He reads her letter even though he said he wasn’t going to, and he’s moved. I don’t think Ted has the words for his connection to Sharon beyond “we had a breakthrough,” but Sharon gets it, and is able to firmly assert a professional boundary by articulating her side of that breakthrough as an experience that has made her a better therapist. And is still able to offer Ted a different kind of closure by suggesting they go out before her train leaves. No matter how you feel about a patient/football manager seeing their therapist/team psychologist colleague socially, I appreciated this story because IMO it didn’t cross big lines but instead was about one final moment in this arc in which both Ted and Sharon saw each other clearly and modeled what it is to give someone what they need and to expect honesty and communication from them. I liked that Ted ends up being the one saying goodbye. (The mustache in the exclamation points!) I like that whether or not Sharon returns in any capacity (Sarah Niles is so wonderful that I hope she does, but I’m not sure), the goodbye these characters forge for themselves here is neither abandonment nor a new, more complicated invitation. It’s the end of a meaningful era, and although the work of healing is the work of a lifetime, it’s very beautiful to have this milestone.

Ted and Rebecca. So, maybe it’s just me, but it kinda feels like these two have a few li’l life things to catch up on?! (HAHHHHHaSdafgsdasdf!) I really adored their interactions in this episode. I maintain that Biscuits With The Boss has been happening this whole time (even when Ted’s apartment was in shambles, there’s biscuit evidence, and I feel like we’ve been seeing the biscuit boxes in Rebecca’s office pretty regularly too), even if it might have been more of a drive-by biscuit drop-off/feelings avoidance ritual. It was really lovely to see Ted on more even footing in Rebecca’s office, joking around until she tells him to shut up, just like the old days. And GOSH—for their 1x9 interaction in Ted’s office to be paralleled in this episode and for Ted to explicitly make note of the parallel in a way Rebecca hears and sees and understands?! MY HEART. In both of Rebecca’s confessions, she is not bringing good news but it is good and meaningful that she chooses to share with Ted. In both situations, Ted takes the moment in stride and offers acceptance equivalent to the gravity of what she has to confess. And in both situations, he’s not some kind of otherworldly saint, able to accept Rebecca no matter what because he’s unaffected by what she shares. He is affected. When he tells her about Sam, you can see a variety of emotions on his face. Rebecca is upset and Ted is calm, and even if I might have liked for him to try to talk about the risk the affair poses to the power dynamics on the team or any number of factors, I also really liked that he just accepts where she is, and—most importantly—does not offer her advice beyond examining herself and taking her own advice. A massive part of being in a relationship with another person (a close relationship of any nature) is figuring out how to support that person without necessarily having to be happy about every single thing they do. It’s so important that Ted connects what she’s just told him about Sam back to what she told him last season about her plot with the club. These both feel like truth bombs to him, and he is at least safe enough to make that clear. These are both things that impact him, things that shape how he sees her and maybe even how he sees himself. He cares about her and is capable of taking in this information; he has room for it. But it’s not something he takes lightly, and neither does she. See you next year.

Tumblr user chainofclovers and the TV show Ted Lasso. My brain is going wild thinking about all the ways the next “truth bomb” conversation could go in 3x11 or whatever. Maybe they go full consistent parallel and Rebecca confesses something else, this time about her and Ted or some other big future thing that impacts him as much or more as the other confessions have. (The same but different.) Maybe the tables turn and Ted has something to confess to her. While the 1x9 conversation ended in an embrace and the 2x11 conversation ended with a bit more physical distance (understandable given the current state of their relationship and the nature of the discussion), the verbal ending of both conversations involved voices moving into a sexier lower register while zooming in to talk specifically about their connection to each other, so I have to assume there will be some consistencies in s3 even if the circumstances will be completely different. I don’t really know where I’m going with this and I obviously will go insane if I sustain this level of anticipatory energy until Fall 2022 but I have a feeling my brain and heart are going to try!

Sam and Rebecca. I know there’s been a lot of criticism about whether this show is being at all realistic about the power dynamics and inevitable professional issues this relationship would create. On some level, I agree; I like that pretty much everyone who knows about the affair has been kind so far, but you can be kind and still ask someone to contend with reality. But I also think that in nearly every plot point on this show, the narrative is driven by how people feel about their circumstances first and foremost. (It’s why the whiteboard in the coaching office and the football commentators tell us more about how the actual football season is going from a points perspective than anyone else.) This episode reminded me how few people know about Sam and Rebecca, and how much their time together so far has been time spent in bed. The private sphere. I thought this episode really expertly brought the public sphere into it, not—thank goodness—through a humiliating exposure or harsh judgment but through an opportunity for Sam that illustrates not only all his potential to do great things but how much Rebecca’s professional position and personal feelings are in conflict with that. Could stand in the way of that. I don’t have a strong gut feeling about where this will go, but I do think Sam’s face in his final scene of this episode is telling. He started the episode wanting to see Rebecca (his most recent text to her was about wanting to connect), and Edwin’s arrival from Ghana really exploded his sense of what is possible for his life. If he’d arrived home to Rebecca sitting on his stoop prior to meeting Edwin, he’d have been delighted. Now he’s conflicted, and whatever decision he makes, he has to reckon with the reality that he cannot have everything he wants. No matter what. And Rebecca—she has taken Ted’s advice and is attempting to be honest about the fact that she can’t control Sam’s decisions but hopes he doesn’t go, and even saying that much feels so inappropriate. And I’m not sure how much she realizes about the inappropriateness of the position she’s putting him in, although maybe she’s getting there considering she exits the scene very quickly. I’ve honestly loved Rebecca’s arc this season. I think it’s realistic that she got obsessed with the intimacy she thought she could find in her phone. I think it’s realistic that her professional and personal ambitions are inappropriately linked. (They certainly were for Rupert. It’s been years since she’s known anything different; even if she’s done some significant recovery work to move on from her abusive marriage and figure out her own priorities, she’s got a long way to go.) I know there are people who will read this interaction between Rebecca and Sam as a totally un-self-aware thing on the part of “the show” or “the writers” but what I saw is two people who enjoyed being in bed together and now have to deal with the reality that they’re in two different places in their lives and that one has great professional power over the other. If that wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t be able to see it or feel so strongly about it.

Edwin and Sam. I really enjoyed all the complexities of this interaction. Edwin is promising a future for Sam that doesn’t quite exist yet, though he has the financial means to make it happen. He offers this by constructing for Sam a Nigerian—and Ghanaian—experience unlike anything he’s found in London. Sam is amazed that this experience is here, and Edwin’s response is to explain to him that the experience is not here. Not really. The experience in Africa. Sam has of course connected to the other Nigerian players on the team, but this is something else entirely. I’m really curious if Sam is going to end up feeling that what Edwin has to offer is real or not. That sense of home and connection? So real. And so right that he would want to experience that homecoming and would want to be part of building that experience for others. But at the end of the day, he went to a museum full of actors and a pop-up restaurant full of “friends,” and is that constructed authenticity as a stand-in for a real homecoming more or less real than the home he’s building in Richmond? (With other players who stand in solidarity with him, and with well-meaning white coaches who say dumb stuff sometimes, and an a probably-doomed love interest, and a feeling that he should put chicken instead of goat in the jollof, and the ability to stand out as an incredible player on a rising team.)

Nate and everyone. But also Nate and no one. Nate’s story is so painful and I’m so anxious for next week’s episode. For a long time I’ve felt that a lot of Nate’s loyalties are with Richmond, and a lot of his ambitions are around having given so much to this place without getting a lot back, and having a strong feeling that he’s the answer to Richmond’s future. But now I’m not so sure; his ambitions have transferred into asking everyone he knows (except Ted, of course), if they want to be “the boss.” But Nate is all tactics and no communication. When he wants to suggest a new play to Ted, he hasn’t yet learned to read Ted’s language to learn that Ted is eager to hear what he has to say. And while Ted has been really unfortunately distracted about Nate and dismissive of him this season, he clearly respects Nate’s approach to football and was appreciative of the play. Nate just can’t hear that. The suit is such a great metaphor of all the things Nate is in too much pain to be able to hear clearly. Everyone digs at him for wearing the suit Ted bought him (including Will, who’s got to get little cuts in where he can, because he’s got to be sick of the way Nate treats him), but when he gets fed up his solution isn’t to go out on his own and find more clothes he likes; he asks Keeley to help him. And then crosses a major line with her...and no matter how kind she was about it, she was clearly not okay. Everything is going to blow up, and I’m so curious as to whether Nate will end up aligning himself with Rupert in some way or if he’s going to end up screwed over by Rupert and in turn try to screw over his colleagues even worse than he’s already done. Or try desperately to make amends even though it could be too late for some. Either way, I’m fully prepared to feel devastated. (And there’s no way I’m giving up on this character. If he’s able to learn, I truly believe he could end up seeking forgiveness and forging a happier existence for himself. Someday. Like in season 3 or something.)

Ted and Trent. Trent deciding to reveal his source to Ted is a huge deal, and I’m torn between so many emotions about this exposé. I’m glad it’s a Trent Crimm piece and not an Ernie Loundes piece. I’m glad that Trent made the decision to warn Ted and let him know that Nate is his source. I fear—but also hope—that this exposure will set off a chain reaction of Ted learning about some of the things he’s missed while suffering through a really bad bout with his dad-grief and panic disorder. The things Ted doesn’t know would devastate him. I wonder if Ted will want to figure out a way to make Nate feel heard and reconcile with him, and I wonder how that will be complicated if/when he realizes Nate has severely bullied Will, gets more details on how he mistreated Colin, etc. I wonder if Rebecca, whom Nate called a “shrew” right before she announced his promotion, will be in the position of having to ask Ted to fire him, or overriding Ted and doing it herself. So many questions! I have a feeling it’ll go in some wild yet very human-scaled, emotionally-nuanced direction, and I’ll be like “Oh my GOD!” but also like “Oh, of course.”

This VERY SERIOUS AND EMOTIONAL REVIEW has a major flaw, which is that none of the above conversations include mention of the absolute love letter to N*SYNC. Ted passionately explains how things should go while dancing ridiculously! Will turns on the music and starts gyrating! Roy nods supportively! Beard shouts the choreography like the Broadway choreographer of teaching grown men who play football how to dance like a boy band. Everyone is so incredibly proud when they nail it. I love them.

I cannot believe next week is the end. For now. I’m kind of looking forward to letting everything settle during the hiatus, but I’ve really loved the ride.

[girlwiththereapertattoo]

begin again - part four

Jax Teller x female!Reader

Summary: After the return of her abusive ex-boyfriend, the reader plots her escape

Word count: 2,9k words

Warnings: bad language, alludes to the death of a minor character, physical & verbal abuse & kinda angsty

Author's note: Enjoy the fourth installment and all feedback is welcome! :)

If you’re in an abusive relationship or you suspect that someone you know is being abused, speak up and reach out to the correct people!

Beta read by @crucifixedbitch

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

💀💀💀💀💀

You examine your face in the mirror, pleased with the job you’ve done to conceal the marks left by B/N. Last night was brutal and you would do anything to erase it from your memory. To never have it happen again.

“Toots!” A loud pounding sounds on the bathroom door, “Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I-I’ll be there in a second.” Moving quickly, you pack your makeup back into your cosmetic bag. “I just need to grab my bag.”

“Five minutes, okay?” he sounds irritated with you. “We’ll wait outside.”

With a shaking hand, you zip the bag closed and leave the bathroom for the bedroom. Your handbag is on the bed but your phone’s not on its usual spot at your bedside table and you just know B/N has something to do with its disappearance. And you know that it’ll be a while before you see it again. You’re so upset, it brings tears to your eyes but there’s no time for them. He’s waiting for you and being late will lead to trouble.

S/N and B/N are on the small patch of grass outside the house, kicking around a ball.

“You gotta kick the ball to me, okay kid? You gotta kick it hard.”

S/N scurries towards the ball and kicks it so hard, it zooms between B/N’s open legs and bounces off of the fence. They both cheer from excitement, and S/N runs straight into B/N’s open arms.

“That was amazing, buddy!”

You clap your hands, drawing their attention to you.

“Did you see that, Mommy?”

“I did, ace, and it was so good.” You walk over to join them on the grass, “Hey, sweet boy.”

You haven’t seen your son all morning. You lift him off the ground and hug him to your chest, it feels good to hold him so close to you, and for the second time in the last five minutes, you feel you might cry. The three of you make your way over to B/N’s rental SUV parked on the small driveway.

“Mommy, are you feeling cold?”

You briefly glance over to B/N who’s prepping the baby car seat. “A little. Mommy’s not feeling too well.”

“Do you need chicken soup?”

You chuckle and press a kiss to his forehead, “Will you help me make it when we get back?”

He pinky promises you to. You hand him over to B/N who buckles him into the car seat. It’s not his intention, but you can’t help but feel humiliated by S/N’s question. A turtleneck and jeans in the dead of the summer in Charming, California? That’s sure to raise suspicions.

“Baby, do you not think I should stay behind?”

B/N turns in his seat, brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

Pointing at your turtle neck, you explain, “It’s going to draw attention. It’s summer and I’m dressed for winter.”

“And you care what these people think of you?”

Yes, a lot. It’s your fucking hometown, of course, you care! You want to scream at him, claw at his face, but you’re weak. Pathetic. You can’t even muster the courage to get away from him.

“Sweetheart, no one’s going to be looking at you. Trust me.”

Ouch.

“Don’t ruin this outing by being so self-obsessed.” He starts the car’s engine and backs out of the driveway, “Do you want to listen to some music, buddy?”

Today’s your last day in Charming, B/N’s orders. Later on today, you’ll embark on a five-day road trip back to North Carolina. The idea of being trapped in the car with B/N has you regretting every decision you have made in your life that has led you to this point. Forty fucking hours? The car just isn’t big enough and no amount of eagerness from S/N can change your mind.

“When we get back, I need to see Mabel.”

Mabel’s a friendly neighbor who lives down the street from your mother’s. She moved to Charming a few months before your escape to Charlotte, and since your return, she has been a great help.

“Who’s Mabel?”

“She lives down the road.”

“Why do you need to see her?”

To use her phone to call Jax. “I want to give all my mother’s old furniture to charity. She offered to help me organize it.” It’s a believable lie, “It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

After a dragged-out silence, he murmurs a soft ‘okay’ and warns you not to do anything stupid. “I might not be able to stop myself this time around.”

The chilling part is that it’s not an empty threat. You look back at S/N who’s softly singing along to ‘Old MacDonald Had A Farm’, gazing out the car window. Leaving Charming was a decision you made for his sake, to protect him from his father’s world. To give him a shot at a normal childhood, to raise him away from gangs and violence. Instead, you found yourself in the clutches of a wicked man who will one day kill you.

“Mommy, will we see Abel before we leave?”

“No,” B/N responds before you can.

God, you fucking hate him. Your feelings towards him are violent, and you’ve got to come out of the car before you act recklessly.

“Stop the car.” You unbuckle your seatbelt prompting the seatbelt alarm to go off. “Stop the car, B/N, now!”

He pulls into the empty parking space in front of a bridal shop. You frantically open the car door and stumble out of the vehicle, gasping for air. So glad to have distance from the devil you call your boyfriend.

“Toots, what’s wrong?”

You take a step away from him, needing the space. “I need to breathe, B/N.”

That upsets him. “What are you trying to do? Huh? Get in the fucking car so I can drive to the grocery store.”

You pace around in a circle on the sidewalk, contemplating your next move. You can’t run off, B/N could easily catch you and S/N’s still in the car. You can’t leave him, even though you know B/N would never harm him. He loves him too much. Think, think, think! You have a moment of clarity when you look across the street and see who you believe to be Bobby Munson sitting at an ice cream shop. What are the odds?

“Ice cream and candy!” You spin to look at B/N who’s shooting daggers at you. “I want ice cream and we need candy for the road trip, don’t we?”

“What are you doing, Y/N?”

You walk back to the car to open S/N’s door and start unbuckling him from his car seat. “D’you want ice cream, ace?”

His face lights up. “Ice cream! Ice cream!” he chants.

“Alright. Come on.” You shut the car door, S/N clutched tightly in your arms, “It’s just a small pit stop. Do you want any?”

B/N looks furious but there isn’t much he can do to you out in the open. He’s starting towards you when his work phone starts ringing. He has to take the call and so he tells you to go ahead, he’ll meet you inside the shop. You flash him a smile and make your way to Scoops & Sweets. Now that you’re closer, you’re certain it’s Bobby, and he’s standing behind the counter with his arm in a sling, drinking beer.

“Bobby?”

“Y/N?” His stony expression morphs into a smile, “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Bobby.” For the first time in the last 12 hours, you feel safe. “I thought it was you.”

“Who’s the kid?”

“This is S/N,” you look proudly at your son. “Say hello to Bobby, ace?”

Bashful, he waves awkwardly at Bobby before concealing his face in the crook of your neck. You casually look over your shoulder to check if B/N’s still on his call before you turn back to Bobby.

“Bobby, is there a phone I can use? I want to call Jax, there’s something I want to tell him, and my phone’s broken.”

He looks out the window to B/N who’s pacing next to the rental. “Why didn’t you ask your friend to use his phone?”

“He doesn’t like to share.”

Bobby looks back at you. “Jax’s upstairs. Come, I’ll take you up to him. Bring the kid.”

Bobby calls for Chuckie who emerges from what you assume to be the staff break room. When you last saw Chuckie, he had fingers.

“What happened to your fingers?”

“Chinese cut them off,” he holds up his prosthetic hands. “These were a gift from Gemma.”

You regret asking. Bobby orders him to keep watch of the shop and starts leading you towards the flight of stairs.

“Uh Chuckie, a man will come in here looking for me. Could you tell him I went into the bathroom?”

Chuckie nods and you continue on your way with Bobby.

“Is this the new clubhouse?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Bobby leads you and S/N down a short hallway and stops in front of a closed door. He knocks once before he opens it, “Visitor for Jax Teller.”

The men in the room, consisting of Jax, Chibs, Tig, Happy, and Juice, all turn to the door. From their expressions, you’d swear they’ve just seen a ghost. You might as well be a ghost.

Jax raises off his chair and crosses the space to join you at the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Hi, boys. I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting,” suddenly, coming to Jax seems like a bad idea. But B/N. You put S/N on the ground. “I just wanted to see you before we leave this afternoon.”

Jax scowls.

“We’re headed back home to North Carolina. Driving.” You throw your arms around your ex, wincing at the discomfort you feel at the contact. “I’m so glad I could see you again.”

He returns your hug, holding you flush against him and you don’t care that you’re in pain. You’re vaguely aware of the fact that the bottom hem of your sweater’s risen, probably exposing the bruises on your lower back. There’s a pang of pain in your heart when he releases you. The tears blur your vision. God, you hate that you’re so emotional today.

“How are you getting home?”

“B/N arrived last night, he’s waiting for us downstairs.” Probably impatient and suspicious. “We should probably get going.”

Downstairs, B/N’s at the counter listening to Chuckie recount the time he had his fingers cut off by Lin’s men. S/N leaps out of your arms and runs over to B/N.

“Here’s your candy.” Chuckie slides two bags of candy to you, “Don’t worry about paying, it’s on the house.”

You smile at him. “Thank you.”

B/N snatches the candy from the counter and the three of you make your way out of the shop. It’s a short trip to the grocery store and luckily for you, there aren’t a lot of people buying groceries whilst you’re there. The tension from earlier has subsided, and the ride back to your mother’s house is a sing-along with S/N leading you. You’re helping B/N unload the bag of groceries from the car when you spot a familiar van at the end of your street.

“When will you go to Mabel’s?”

“After lunch,” you start unpacking the groceries, “I’m sure you boys are hungry.”

“Starving.” He leans over to press a kiss to the side of your head, “I’ll have a beer with my lunch.”

He leaves you in the kitchen to join S/N who’s building Lego in the living room. You’ve just finished laying all the lunch ingredients on the counter when you hear the thunderous roar of a motorcycle outside your house. Shortly after, a knock sounds.

“I’ll get it,” you call from the kitchen.

Unfortunately, B/N beats you to the door. He angrily signals for you to go back into the kitchen.

“Do as you’re fucking told,” he warns through gritted teeth. “Go back to the kitchen.”

You open your mouth to protest but he marches over to you, grabbing your arm harshly, and drags you through the kitchen to the laundry nook.

“You’re hurting me!” you complain, struggling in his firm grip.

The sound of the back of his hand connecting with your cheek bounces off the walls of the small space. You forcefully shove him away from you and try to escape but he hooks a strong arm around your waist and hauls you back into the nook.

“Let go of me!” you claw at his arms and the pain causes him to release you.

“You little bitch!”

He lunges towards you but you’re quicker than him. You grab the first item in your reach which happens to be an iron and whack him on the head with enough force to make him cry out from the pain. You dash past him and run to open the front door at the same time Jax is about to shoot at the door.

His scowl deepens at your disheveled appearance. “Where is he?”

“In the laundry nook. I hit him on the head but he’s still conscious.”

“Where is the kid?”

S/N! You run into the living room, your eyes frantically searching around the space for your little boy. His Legos are strewn on the floor but there’s no sight of him. “S/N?”

“Mommy!”

He’s behind the couch. You find him curled up, his eyes closed and his hands covering his ears.

“My baby.” You scoop him in your arms and carry him towards the front door. “Jax?”

He calls back from the kitchen and tells you to go outside. “Rat’s got the van out front.”

“But Jax–”

“Go!”

You rush out of the house, S/N cradled in your arms. You’ve just stepped onto the patch of grass when you hear grunts coming from the house. Ratboy meets you at the gate and takes S/N from your shaking hands to carry to the van. He helps you into the vehicle before he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Where are you taking us?”

“Gemma’s.”

💀💀💀💀💀

S/N and Abel are asleep in Jax’s old bedroom and you’re sitting at Gemma’s dining table staring blankly into space. If you had been told a week ago that you’d be seeking asylum at Gemma Teller’s home, you wouldn’t have believed it. You replay the last twenty-four hours in your head, you’re somewhat in disbelief of all that’s happened.

Gemma places a gentle hand on your shoulder, drawing you back to reality. “Here you go sweetheart,” she places a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of you, “it should help calm your nerves.”

“Thank you.” You place both of your shaking hands on the mug, watching as Gemma takes her place across the table from you. “Have you heard anything from Jax?”

“No,” she reaches for the box of cigarettes on the table. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

You nod, your eyes dropping to the mug. “Did he… did he tell you why he had Ratboy bring me here?”

“Psycho boyfriend,” she takes a pull from the lit cigarette. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

The shame brings fresh tears springing to your eyes. It makes it worse to know that this time around, S/N was awake to hear it all. You feel like you’ve failed him, exposed him to the very thing you vowed to protect him from when you left Charming all those years ago.

“What do I tell S/N?”

“Nothing,” she stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with that right now. You should try get some sleep, you can worry about that tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.” You take a small sip of the hot tea and sigh, “This is all my fault.”

“Sweetheart, no.”

“It is and now I’ve gone and gotten Jax involved in this mess.” The frustration is eating at you, “I just–”

You’re cut off by the kitchen door opening. Jax’s back. Thank the heavens! Gemma rushes over to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Joining you at the table, Jax pulls you into him and tenderly strokes your back. All your fears and concerns are alleviated once you’re in his arms.

“Did he hurt you?”

He chuckles and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You shouldn’t be worrying yourself with that.”

“I can’t help it,” you laugh through your tears.

“You should get some rest.”

“All my stuff is back at my mom’s.” The thought of returning to the scene of last night’s brutality has you shuddering. You pull away from Jax and roughly dry your tears. “I don’t… I can’t–”

Jax pulls you back into him, holding you tighter than before, and gently rocks you. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

Guilt. You feel a tremendous amount of guilt. Is he dead? Possibly, and your guilt deepens when you recognize a small part of you overjoyed by the possibility. He deserves it. How could you even think that? No one deserves to die — not even B/N.

“How are you going to get rid of the body?”

He doesn’t respond to your question, instead, he tells you that he’ll get Rat to bring yours and S/N’s bags to Gemma’s.

“Jax, don’t leave,” you plead, the surge of panic hits you like a freight train and has you fisting the hem of his shirt. “Stay.”

He presses a kiss to your covered shoulder. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you.

💀💀💀💀💀

PART FIVE

tag list:

@princesssterek @derangedcupcake @furiouscopshepherduniversity @crucifixedbitch @holl2712 @sweet--catrastrophe @marvelsmylife @brittjulianne97 @few-proud-emotonal @zozebo @lovinnholland @adaydreamaway08

[stuckwith-harry]

cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

��I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

Let me tell you about my Saab III

Let me tell you about my Saab. I was turning over moon rocks, the wreck of Moonbase 4 still sending plumes of black smoke up into the atmosphere, the orbital flares glowing red to indicate to the shuttles that containment had been breached and that the cleansing fires of the Nuclear Protection Network ought to soon be rained down mercifully upon the surviving population for the good of us all. I was alone with just my thoughts and a fully charged plasma carbine when into my field of vision hopped a moon creature. Not just any moon creature. Half Time Slim, the trickiest moon rat this side of the Sea of Tranquility. Slim was a piece of work. A real fuck. A tricky fucking piece of shit, was Half Time Slim. You couldn't talk to Half Time Slim without leaving the conversation a hundred bucks lighter. You couldn't enter a deal with him without the point of a knife cuddling up to your windpipe. You couldn't think about the guy without tossing and turning in your bed. The very last thing I wanted sliding in front of my space helmet from stage right was Half Time Slim. But here he was.

"You've had your eyes on my Saab for a while, human," he croaked. This was an understatement. He'd seen me tenderly massaging chrome oil into its paintwork while it was parked outside the former Moonbase 4's former tavern and nearly killed me over it. He knew I'd do anything for it. Not to have it, just to care for it. I'd do anything it needed. I was putty in its angular silver chassis. But time wasn't on my side.

"In a hurry, Slim," I told him, dropping the moon rock I was holding and sliding its Helium-4 crystals into my saddlebag. "No time to talk chariots." He shook his head smugly. "You'll never make it to the perimeter on foot now, human," he said. I looked up. I couldn't see the shuttles on account of the smoke but with sudden grim clarity I realised he was probably right. I'd scavenged too long. There might be only half an hour until every unprotected molecule in the AtmoDome was incinerated. There might be less.

"So what's the play, Slim?" I asked. "This isn't a donation, is it?" He laughed a horrible gluggy little wet laugh, like a chunk of gristle being sucked down a drain. "You want my Saab," he said, "and I want a keycard for the anti-atmosphere turret to keep the shuttles off long enough for some associates of mine to prise open the Moonbase 4 bunker." I gasped. What he was talking about was mass murder. The anti-atmosphere turrets would bring down the unsuspecting NPN shuttles with no resistance. It would take six hours for the gunships in high orbit to arrive on the scene - all the time in the world for Slim's goons to break in and lay waste to the Earth Federation diplomats cowering in the bunker.

"Tell me why I shouldn't ventilate you now," I snapped, pointing my plasma carbine at him. He laughed again.

"Because I own the only Saab on the moon, and you'll never have it," he croaked. He knew my weakness.

"Take me to it," I said. He led me to a squat hangar in the shadow of the flight tower and there it was: silver, angular, perfect. The car of my dreams. Overhead a sexy mutant model on a holobillboard nodded encouragingly as I reached for my wallet. I tossed him the keycard and hopped behind the wheel. "The very best of luck to you, Slim," I said, roaring out of the hangar towards the interbase highway. As I hit the tarmac I floored it. I'd given him the wrong keycard, and he probably suspected it, and he was probably scanning it right now and as soon as he did he'd be after me. He probably EXPECTED me to give him the wrong keycard. He probably never intended to really part with his Saab. Up ahead the tunnel under the crater lip loomed, and I swerved off onto unsealed moondust. If I was him the tunnel's where I'd plant my goons to recover the Saab and kill the driver. I gunned it up the steep incline. At the top I wrenched the handbrake and looked back. A line of hoverbikes raced up the interbase, but it was impossible to say whether they were Slim's. Then I caught the yellow spark of a missile erupting from the barrel of a pocket launcher. Guess it wasn't impossible.

Overhead, three huge pod-shaped shuttles were slowly swiveling into formation, spacing evenly to extract maximum efficiency from their nuclear payload. Ten minutes, optimistically. And now I had a missile to I'd need to outmanoeuvre. I revved the engine and screeched out over the lip of the crater, only to find a cliff instead of a slope.

Slowly, gracefully, my Saab drifted down 40, 50, 60 metres onto the floor of the crater. I braced myself for impact. When it came it wasn't pretty. My head smashed onto the fine black leather of the steering wheel. Blood cascaded into my eyes and onto the gorgeous black plastic cupholder. I saw stars. I saw flames. I scrambled to undo the seatbelt, then realised the flames weren't from my Saab. Ahead, the missile had exploded harmlessly on moon rocks. With an aching head I turned the ignition and drove. I joined back up with the interbase. Behind me, the hoverbikes swung into view. I swung my carbine out the window and squeezed off a few rounds. One of the goons exploded into green goop. I was reminded of a tender memory from my childhood. My mother calmly helping my brother and I tuck our legs up into a small oxygen vest compartment and closing the doors with a sweet smile. The moment before they clicked together I saw a sliver of her profile turn a beautiful bottle green as a bandit's plasma round struck her. Then she was gone. Up ahead the moondust churned on either side of the highway as a gyrocopter landed. Well, shit. It was Half Time Slim.

"Out of the car, pal," he ordered through a megaphone. Not an option. The edge of the AtmoDome was still a five minute drive away. An unbearable slog on foot through the moondust.

"Forget it, Slim," I yelled back. "I know you'll never goop the car." I revved the engine.

"I'm giving you a chance," Slim called. "There's a kill switch. I could have ejected you long ago. But you have something I need." It was a good story, but I wasn't in the market for good. I needed perfect. "And what is that, Slim?" I shouted back. He paused for a moment, and I realised. I was all he had. Like me he'd left his plan too late. He'd counted on sitting out the coming atomic firestorm in the bunker, and he thought he had time enough for me to betray our deal. But he'd miscalculated. Now he needed a ride out of here.

"Moon rats don't get evac clearance, human," he shouted over the noise of his copter. "Let me in and we'll call it even." I didn't even think about it. Help a fellow creature escape vaporization? That was one thing. But help one who'd shank me and toss my body out onto the highway the second we were clear of the AtmoDome perimeter, all for payback and a little memento of Swedish auto engineering? No deal. I floored it. He hit the kill switch and my body was sucked upwards to the sunroof but I'd already lashed one hand to the wheel with a jumper lead. With my free hand I reached down and leaned on the gas. The car jumped forward. A minute later the vacuum closed up and I slumped back into the seat. A kilometre to the edge. Slim's copter was right overhead, but the ceiling was getting lower with every passing second. Then he was zooming ahead, landing the thing right in front of the perimeter gate, climbing out hands raised imploringly, except there was a grenade in one of them but I was already in moondust, swerving around him, through the automatic gates with his face a mask of insane rage as the rolling cloud of dust smashed him into the AtmoDome force field. A second later I was wincing and cowering as the blast from the simultaneous nuke drop, brighter than the sun, smashed and roiled against the inside of the dome. Not a lick of heat escaped. That's how I got my Saab.

[crystaljins]

River lead me home | 07

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 7.3k

Synopsis:  Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Hey all! Long time no see! I’m not really sure why I took so long to post... I just felt like I put so much work into this fic that I didn’t want it to be over so easily, and I was like “after this there’s only one more chapter!!” AND THEN! I went into my WIPs folder and made a discovery! THere’s 9 parts to this fic!! So now I feel a little better.

ANyway, PLEASE let me know if you like this chapter because I definitely feel like it’s the emotional climax of the whole story. ALl the stuff that happens from this point on is just... like a really long epilogue. 

Tags: @blue1928​ @veeparkersstuff @nello-rie (soz it won’t tag you!) ​

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

You may be a guardian, but even you have your limits. Despite your best attempts to move quickly, the pain in your shoulder rapidly becomes overwhelming. 

Jin, frustratingly, picks up on it far sooner than you would prefer. 

“I think we need to stop for a break.” He comments. The three of you have barely been walking for an hour and at any moment the Saishta’s could be upon you, ready to take you to their queen. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to protest. 

“We’re so close though! It’s only a little while longer!” He points out, glancing nervously across the expansive plains. The benefit of them is that you’d spot any Saishtas from miles away, given the hulking, monstrous beasts they tend to use as their mounts.

Jungkook folds his arms. “I think it’s a bad idea to stop now. We need to get to the river and we’re sitting ducks out on the plains like this.”

Jin shoots Jungkook a withering look- this is nothing new, but the venom in Jin’s eyes surprises you. As much as he pretends to hate the tiny pixie, he doesn’t actually mean it. 

Jungkook shrivels a bit but doesn’t back down. Luckily (or rather, unluckily), their stand-off is halted by your legs deciding they are no longer strong enough to hold your body up. Blood loss and extreme pain will do that, apparently. 

Jin catches you as you crumble, smoothly scooping an arm around your waist and gently tugging you towards him until your weight is supported by his frame. The entire time, he does not tear his gaze from his stare-off with Jungkook. And apparently your weakness is the convincing Jungkook needs to show it’s time for a break. He glares at Jin for another couple of moments before releasing an annoyed huff. 

“I’ll cast a disguising spell on you two and scout out the area for any of those annoying reptiles. Don’t move from this spot or the spell will become ineffective.” He announces through grit teeth before zooming off like an angry mosquito. 

When he’s out of earshot, Jin turns his gaze to you and gently lowers you to the ground until you are seated amongst the stiff golden stems. He doesn’t release you from his carefully hold, however. Instead, he shifts until he is sitting almost nose-to-nose with you. 

“That was strange of Jungkook.” You observe, in an attempt to cover your discomfort at his proximity. You wonder if Jin knows how powerful his good looks are up close. He probably does- he’s never pretended to be anything other than devastatingly handsome. 

“He’s scared.” Jin answers with pursed lips. His gaze isn’t on your face, however. It’s fixed on your injured shoulder. Slowly, he raises a hand and gently rests his palm against the front of your shoulder. “You would be too if you could see how terrible you look right now.”

If you are surprised by the single tear that rolls down your face in response, it is nothing compared to Jin’s horrified reaction as he realises what he has done. Apparently, this whole being in love thing sucks. 

“W-wait!” Jin protests, absolutely horrified. “I-I didn’t mean it like that-“

You quickly scrub at your face with your uninjured arm. You know, in theory, that Jin didn’t mean that you looked terrible as in that he thought you were ugly. And you know in theory that it is therefore stupid to cry over it. But for some reason, that’s where your mind had gone- reminding you like an ever present shadow just how misplaced you look next to him, how there’s nothing you can give him that he can’t find in a million other girls, and just how little he thinks of you. 

You’re surprised when his hand replaces yours, far gentler than you had been as he wipes the tears from your face with a careful swipe of his thumb. 

“Hey,” he calls, grabbing your chin in his hand and angling your face until you’re forced to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that you... that you...” he voice cracks and he hangs his head, dropping his hands so he can clench his fists in his lap. “It’s not fun being reminded of how close we came to losing you.” Jin finally says. He drops his hand and his shoulders slump like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You don’t know this Jin. This terrified, uncertain man. He’s never once, in the entire time you’ve known him, shown this vulnerable, fragile side of himself. But you know you’re in trouble because you love this side of him too. The part of him that gets scared, that shows weakness, that can break. As much as you hate the fact that it is you who has made him like this, you are grateful that he trusts you enough to show himself, warts and all, and you feel something molten in your chest as you silently promise yourself that you’ll protect him. No matter what, you’ll keep him safe. Even if you’re not particularly smart or pretty or charming. You’re not the model-like, glamourous, genius girls he normally dates, and you never will be. You’re unemployed and clumsy and socially awkward and you’re selfish and childish on top of all that. But this is what you can offer him: your heart, as pathetic as she is, and the promise to protect him, no matter where he goes or ends up in life. 

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. I... just... It’s stupid.” You sigh at yourself before lifting your gaze to watch him. “Are you scared?” You finally question, changing the subject as the last of your tears dry. Jin frowns, nodding slightly. 

“A little.” He admits, his tone a bit dry like he’s severely understating his feelings on the matter. And you don’t know why, but something prompts you to reach forward and wrap your hand around his. Perhaps it is the slight shake he tried to hide by gripping the material of his pants so hard his knuckles go white. His hand is surprisingly much bigger than yours- you don’t know why that surprises you, but it does. 

“Don’t worry.” You reassure him. “I’ll protect you.”

The corner of his lip quirks and he shoots you an oddly fond look. It’s one you’ve seen before, although not directed at you. You’ve seen him look that way when he speaks about a particularly endearing coworker, or he recalls something silly that Namjoon has done. This is the first time you’ve been on the receiving end.

“In that state?” He questions with a raised brow. You feel yourself bristle a little defensively at the slightly patronising way he is coming across.

“Are you laughing?” You press, slightly offended. “You don’t think I can?”

“No.” Jin answers, turning to you with an odd sort of expression to his face. “I know you will. That’s the problem.” And then, in spite of himself, he offers you a full-blown smile, cheerful and happy like you’ve never really seen before. You are momentarily struck speechless, mesmerised by the sight before you. “But thank you. I’m glad, that I can count on you.” 

Something warm and eager blooms in your chest at his words. You cup your hands around his face and you admire the openness of his smile. How great would it be, if you could capture that smile in a picture and keep it forever? If you could preserve the way he’s looking at you right now, so that you always remember with clarity that even if he doesn’t love you, Jin can look at you like this. Like you are something precious and adored. This is the man you get to love. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you’re still happy. You feel like this love is a happy thing. 

“I’m starting to think you only wanted to rest to pull the moves on her.” Jungkook announces his presence, seeming thoroughly unimpressed. He folds his arms as the air shimmers around him, signalling the dispersion of his illusory magic. “‘Let’s go see the river, Jungkook. It’ll be fun. I’ll get over my trauma.’ If you’d told me being a third wheel was in the job description, I never would have come.” Jungkook grumbles as Jin quickly pulls away. You don’t quite catch the way his ears go red and his face seems to burn where your hands had gently cradled him, but Jungkook does, and he merely rolls his eyes at the sight. “It’s time to go.” He urges. 

Jin clears his throat awkwardly, scrabbling to his feet and dusting off his trousers before extending his hand out to you. 

“C’mon.” He urges, though his tone seems gruffer than before. “Jungkook’s right. The Saishtas will find us at this rate.”

You hesitate, just a moment, before gratefully accepting his hand as he tugs you to your feet. 

Oddly, though you expect him to release your hand once you are standing, he does no such thing. Instead, he wraps his hand around yours and uses it to tug you along as the three of you once again set off. 

“It’ll be easier for you to keep up.” Is all Jin offers as explanation for why he continues to grip onto your hand as though you’re planning to flee from him the second that he releases you. You stare in confusion for a moment, trying to puzzle out Jin’s behaviour, but he provides no further insight. 

The three of you set a much more rapid pace this time, and after your brief rest, you cope much better. Jin eventually releases your hand when it becomes clear you’re gradually regaining your strength as your enhanced healing kicks in. The sun begins to draw close to the horizon and the brilliant blue above begins to deepen into a soft pink. But you realise something, as you continue your advance. 

There’s no sound of a river. Over the expansive plains, the river song should carry easily on the warm, sweet breeze. And it should be in view by now, but it’s not. Instead, what you see is a dark, jagged line slicing through the plains like a gaping wound. It’s the edge of a ravine- there’s no river in sight. 

“Something’s not right- “ you breathe, only for the breath to be knocked clean from your lungs as Jin throws his full body weight at you, unprompted. You roll a few times from the force of his tackle, before finally landing with his body crouched over you protectively. Your eyes widen in shock, glancing over to where you had stood moment before, only to see the end of an arrow lodged in the ground.

“See!” Jin croaks, hovering over you. “How hard was that? Tackle, don’t push, (Y/N)! If you’re gonna be saving people at least take that on board.” He scolds, in what is clearly the beginning of a Jant. (Jin rant)

“Now’s not the time, Jin!” Jungkook screeches. 

“I’m just saying,” Jin cries, as he scrambles off you and yanks you to your feet by your good arm. “How hard would it have been to tackle me instead of taking an arrow to the shoulder?” 

His Jant is interrupted by the dreadful sound of the Saishta hunting horn erupting from behind you. Only, this time, there is nowhere to run. Yes, you could easily outrun them, but to where? You have long left the safety of the forest where there are endless places to safely conceal yourself once you’ve outrun them. But here is only open plains, followed by a sheer cliff face. There is a bridge across the river, in the maps you’ve seen, but those maps have also told you there’s a river where there’s nothing but a deathly ravine. Still, the bridge is supposedly about a kilometre south of where you now stand, and it’s your only hope. But will you be able to run that far in this state?

The ravine hovers on the edge of your vision, out towards the west, and you can now make out the hulking forms of the Saishta mounts, as their hunting party makes its slow, arrogant prowl towards you. The mounts of Saishtas do not run- they believe that persistence will allow them to eventually capture any prey. Eventually, all targets must tire, or reach the end, and that is when the Saishta can make the kill. They seem confident that that’s the situation the three of you are in now. You could flee, but if you give away that your destination is the river (or ravine?), you’ll never be able to safely see it, for they will guard it until the end of time.

“Sssurrender!” They call, now barely a hundred metres away.

“We’ll have to fight.” You announce to your companions, who both whip their heads around to glare at you with incredulity. 

“Are you crazy?” Jungkook cries. 

You clench your teeth as you slip into a familiar stance, holding up your arms as you prepare to fight. 

“It’s our only option.” You point out, wincing as your shoulder protests at the stance you are currently in.

Jin takes one look at you and the advancing Saishtas and then he does possibly the most unexpected thing he could have done. 

He throws you over his shoulder like you are a sack of potatoes and legs it. 

“This way!” Jungkook encourages, zooming southwards towards where you know the bridge is.

“Jin!” You cry in protest, but he doesn’t respond. “Jin, stop! I was going to fight them!”

“No!” Jin snaps. “You were going to die. Or at least, you were going to try to and this time I’m not letting you.”

You stop struggling, slumping against his back. 

“Not again.” Jin promises. “You won’t get hurt again. ‘I won’t stop and think while you’re in danger.’” He tells you, echoing your earlier words to him. For some reason, it leaves you unable to retort. “Now if I set you down, will you run with me, or will you do something stupid?” 

You purse your lips in annoyance, trying to hold yourself stable as you flop around on Jin’s shoulder. You can see the Saishta making their slow, confident prowl behind you. They won’t shoot any more arrows at this proximity- after all, their aim is to capture you, not kill. 

“I’ll run.” You silently agree. Jin gives you absolutely no warning as he practically flings you back onto the ground, grabbing your hand as he tugs you on in a full-on sprint. 

“We’re almost there!” Jungkook cries, zooming slightly ahead of the two of you. Ahead, the great stone structure that comprises the great bridge that can carry you to safety on the other side of the ravine. You swallow your desperate, heaving breaths, ignoring the way your weakened body protests at the exertion. If you can just get to the bridge, there’s a forest on the other side of the river. The three of you can easily conceal yourselves there, and then come back under the cover of night and investigate why there’s a ravine here instead of a river. 

The ground firms beneath you as it transitions from soft, loamy soil to a firm, well cut stone path. An arrow whizzes just past your ear and bounces off the stone path- a warning shot from the pursuing hunting party. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the three of you reach the edge of the bridge. The ravine is huge, and the bridge stretches ahead of you. 

And then it sounds. Another hunting horn, a sound that will probably haunt you for the remainder of your days. But this one is from the opposite side of the bridge, where you are fleeing to. 

Jin’s footsteps slow alongside yours, and Jungkook’s frantic buzzing becomes a slow, confused flutter as the three of you gradually draw the same conclusion. 

You’re trapped. There are Saishtas awaiting you on either side of the bridge. No matter which way you try to break through, you will have to fight through them. No wonder they were so confident they could catch you.

“We’ll have to fight.” You breathe, trying to slow your exhausted, rapid breathing. Jin is soaked with sweat and even Jungkook seems flushed with the exertion of your desperate sprint. 

“We can’t.” Jin reminds you, out of breath and still gripping onto your hand so hard it hurts. “You’ll die.”

“We’ll die if they capture us too!” You point out. You can now see the Saishtas on both ends of the bridge, closing in on the three of you like a pack of hunting dogs. “I’m so sorry Jin- this is all my fault! It’s not even a river- it’s some kind of ravine! I dragged us all the way here for nothing.”

“Jin!” Jungkook calls, but you ignore him, too caught up in the realisation of what you’ve done. 

“He told me nature doesn’t change but that was stupid! Of course it changes- it’s been 1000 years and I just believed like an idiot that the river would still be here.” You cry, tears flowing down your face. 

“Jin!” Jungkook calls, and this time, Jin claps free his hand over your mouth to stop your desperate monologuing. 

“What now?” Jin demands of the small pixie. The pixie in question bites his lip and looks from side to side at the Saishtas who watch you almost lazily across the length of the bridge. They have all the time in the world, after all- where can the three of you go except over the edge of the bridge, where you will surely meet your demise?

“‘The river loves those who take the plunge.’” Jungkook recites, gesturing out to the endless, gaping ravine behind you. 

You stare in confusion, but understanding dawns in Jin’s eyes as he leans over the low stone wall and stares down at the bottomless pit. He goes white and his hand tightens on your own to the point you are wincing with pain. 

“(Y/N),” Jin calls, not lifting his gaze from the ravine. “Do you trust me?” 

You blink, glancing over at the Saishtas who draw closer and closer with each moment. You’re not sure why he’s asking this now of all times, but your answer still comes easily. 

“With my life.” You answers solemnly. He glances at you, surprised by your words, before his gaze softens and he smiles weakly at you. Then, he releases your hand and slowly he lifts himself up onto the stone wall. 

“Then take the plunge.” He tells you, holding his hand out to you. 

Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s trying to do. You glance at Jungkook, who merely nods at you, and then at the Saishtas who chatter in confusion at Jin’s actions. 

And finally, you look up at Jin, into the eyes of the man you love, and you know that even if it’s crazy, you really do trust him with your life. 

He tugs you up onto the wall and pulls you close, cradling your head in the palm of one hand and wrapping his other arm around your waist to hold you close. It reminds you of when you had arrived in this realm. He’s always held you like this, you realise. Like you are something precious to him, something he could never bear to lose. 

You lift your gaze to him and meet his eyes, filled with fear, and he smiles. The Saishtas realise what is happening right as Jin takes a step backwards, off the edge of the bridge. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the two of you plummet down into the ravine below, Jungkook in close pursuit. 

The last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you up is the desperate, furious roars of the Saishtas, thwarted once more.

++

When you come to, it is on a slightly damp, sandy surface. Jin is still unconscious next to you, with an arm thrown protectively over your waist. As you sit up, his arm slides off you, and you move away, taking in your surroundings.

You’re on a sandy riverbank- dark, inky waves lap at the surface in what is largely a calm, but dark river. 

Overhead, you can see the clear, starry sky peeking at you through the jagged crack exposed by the top of the ravine. The river before you catches small flashes of starlight, but otherwise the area is largely dark. 

That is, until a torch beam lands on you and you are nearly blinded by the sudden, intense light. 

“Ow!” You cry out, unable to see who is on the other side of the beam. 

“Sorry!” Jungkook hastily apologises, struggling to hold up the weight of your pompompurin torch. “I was looking for something.”

You rub at your eyes, which are now streaming with tears. 

“Looking for what?” You ask, when your vision is finally cleared enough to make out Jungkook’s outline in the meagre lighting. Jungkook is silent for a moment, before hoisting the torch up even though it’s larger than him and directing it at the wall. 

“This.” He says, and then he turns the light on.

You don’t know what you were expecting with Jungkook’s actions, but what you find is dozens of inscriptions along the cliff wall. Some are deeply engraved, and some are mere scratches, but they all seem to have different messages. 

“What... what is all this?” You question in wonder. 

“Messages.” Jungkook answers. He turns to look at you, dropping the torch into your hand so that you can freely exam the numerous inscriptions. “That’s what people come to the river of stars to do. To leave a message that will last through all of time.”

You blink and turn to look at the river behind you. It just looks like a normal river, albeit at the bottom of a ravine. But there’s no glowing plants, and if you hadn’t just plummeted off the edge of a bridge, you wouldn’t even know there was a river. 

“This... isn’t what I expected, when I pictured this place.” You finally say. “How did we survive that fall, Jungkook?” 

When you turn to look at Jungkook, he is gazing out across the river with an almost forlorn look upon his face. 

“Well, you’ve probably guessed this isn’t a normal river.” Jungkook says. “It’s actually got special magical properties- that’s how those glowing plants are able to grow here. And how you were able to survive the fall- this place is so filled with magic that amazing things can happen, like people plummeting hundreds of feet and surviving the fall, or beautiful, rare plants growing. Or rare mythical creatures being born.”

Jungkook turns to you and fans his arms out on either side of him, gesturing at the space around him. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. This river has another name, (Y/N).” He tells you. “It’s known as Gebulfen, the birthplace of the pixie. This is where I was born.” 

“Where you were born?” Jin groans, sitting up and rubbing at his forehead. Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the guardian in question. 

“Is there an echo here? Why are you repeating what I just said?” He pouts. But he zooms over to Jin and lands on his outstretched knee. “Good work though. I wasn’t sure you’d work out what I meant when I told you that old saying, but you did!”

“You could have just said it outright.” Jin grumbles, hoisting himself to his feet. His gaze briefly flickers over you, assessing for injuries. 

“Then the Saishtas would have worked out we were planning to jump.” Jungkook shrugged. “The only reason we had as much time as we did was because they thought we had nowhere to go.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” Jin grumbles, lifting his gaze to where you can just make out the outline of the great stone bridge you had plummeted from. “I guess they probably think we are dead now. Maybe it’ll be easier to get home.”

Home... that’s the next step of the journey for you. Jin’s words trigger the revelation for you- you’ve reached the end of your journey. You’ve finally made it to the River of Stars, like you’ve dreamed about for so many years. You stare in bewilderment across the smooth, dark surface of the river, taking in the soft sounds of the rushing water. 

Gebulfen... the pixie birthplace. You had never heard that name before, nor had Jungkook ever chosen to share any information with you about his life in this realm. 

“Are you disappointed?” The pixie in question asks, hovering close to your ear so that the rush of air from his wings tickles your ear. He flutters around to face you, before leaning in close and smiling. He hovers in the space between your eyes so that you have to go cross-eyed to focus on him. “That there’s no lights?”

“Ayla said there wouldn’t be.” Jin says, coming up to stand level with you. “I didn’t want to believe her, but it looks like-“

“Not so fast,” Jungkook hastily corrects Jin, fluttering forward to hold his tiny hands over Jin’s mouth so that he can’t talk anymore. “Ayla was incorrect. I can’t blame her, because it’s been over a thousand years since anyone has remembered the truth of this river. The lights do exist. But the plants only light up in response to a special kind of magic.” 

“What magic?” You ask, unable to hold back your curiosity. You had come all this way to see the river lights, after all. Jungkook smiles, releasing Jin so that he can flutter up to you. 

“I’ve always known you didn’t listen in your tutoring classes as a child because you didn’t know how I was born.” He tells you, instead of telling you what magic needs to be performed to see the lights. “Pixies are born of wishes, and they come to life at this very river. And our purpose... is to see the wish that birthed us come through.” 

“What does that have to do with the river ligh-“ you protest but Jungkook cuts you off. 

“Hush. I’m getting there. That’s what the plants respond to. Pixie magic.” He finishes his explanation. “Not my silly illusory spells, but real, ancient, powerful pixie magic.”

“So, to see the lights, and for (Y/N) to be able to go home, we... we have to grant whatever wish you were born to fulfill?” Jin asks, having always been a bit quicker than you to put things together. Jungkook nods, shooting two finger guns at the two of you playfully. 

“Bingo!” Jungkook cries cheerfully. “You’re smarter than you look! Perhaps there’s use for you yet.”

An odd feeling fills you at Jungkook’s words, however. You’ve known the pixie for a long time. Despite his best efforts to appear constantly unbothered and joking, there’s a lot that Jungkook hides behind a smile. Like his longing to be human... his loneliness... the fact that there are hopes and dreams he’s always longed to fulfil but knows he never can. Jungkook has always hidden behind a smile and right now he’s hiding again. 

“What... what are you hiding?” You ask. Jungkook looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before he quickly conceals the expression. 

“Shouldn’t you ask me what wish I need to grant? So that you can see the lights?” He points out. You shake your head, stepping in close, but Jungkook moves backwards, out of reach. His posture is now defensive, and you know, more certainly than ever, that Jungkook is hiding something. Why else would he not have mentioned the wish he was born to fulfil, in thirteen years of knowing you? Why is he only telling you the truth of Gebulfen now, after an entire journey travelling to see it? 

“Jungkook...” you say softly, your voice barely audible above the rush of the river. He deflates at the soft, concerned tone of your voice. You hold your hands out to them, and he lands in them. 

“I’ve always been really happy being with you, (Y/N).” Jungkook says, as you raise him so that he is eye level with you. He stretches out a hand and rests it against the tip of your nose. “With you, Taehyung... with your mother... even with that big oaf and his family over there. It’s been really fun. Even if I had to live in the human realm, I’ve always had friends. And I know you guys care a lot about me. So... I was never brave enough to bring up my wish. I wanted to stay with you guys, and to keep having fun. To keep learning to dance off YouTube, and to keep bringing your houseplants to life when they died... I liked stealing the cookies from your upstairs neighbour when she left the room and I liked swapping Jin’s shoes around before he left for work in the morning-“

“I knew that was you, you little twerp-“ Jin cries in outrage, but you silence him with a glare before turning your attention back to Jungkook. For some reason, he suddenly seems small and fragile in your hands in a way he never really has before. 

“I knew... a part of me was always afraid that when I granted my wish, it would be goodbye.” He confesses, and for the first time in his entire life, a tear trickles down Jungkook’s face. You can only stare in bewilderment, barely processing his words. 

“Goodbye?” You echo. Jungkook nods, with a teary smile. 

“I don’t know what happens, to a pixie who has granted a wish. I’ve tried to research it- I’ve had Taehyung bring me back books from this realm, and I’ve studied the history. But in the entire history of this realm, of my race... there’s no mention of what happens to us after. There’s no pixie settlements or communities. There’s no monuments to our names... there’s nothing. It’s like we... it’s like we vanish.” He confesses, and the tears are coming full force. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should have granted this wish years ago but I was scared that I-“

“You might die?” You fill in for him. Jungkook hesitates for a moment before nodding. 

“I don’t know.” He says. “There’s no pixie manual. I just know that I have to grant the wish and then-“

“Screw the wish!” You cry, cutting him off. Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“What?” He asks. You release him, stepping back and gazing around the ravine. 

“Screw the wish.” You repeat, now searching for an echo. “Why risk your life? Why would I want you to risk your life? If you don’t know what happens if you grant the wish, then we’ll just never grant the wish and you’ll be fine-“

“(Y/N),” Jungkook calls sternly, zooming so that he’s in front of you. “I have to grant the wish.” 

“Why?” You cry, and you realise there are tears sliding down your face. Jin watches the whole exchange in silence. “Why do you have to grant the risk? Why do we have to risk you vanishing? Why would you go that far over a stupid river?” 

Jungkook smiles gently, reaching up one arm to wipe away the fat tears that spill down your face- it soaks the entire arm of his jacket. 

“It was your father’s wish.” He tells you gently, still smiling the whole time. 

You feel like the world around you freezes. Like for a moment, you heart stops beating and the world stops turning. You stare, frozen in shock, as Jungkook continues. 

“He came here when you were first born. It’s a tradition for the Qu’var to journey to this river when they want to leave a message that will withstand the test of time. The river, and the unique magic that flows here, will protect it. But anyone who comes here has the river magic in them. And when those people make an earnest wish, from the bottom of their heart, then a pixie is born in this river. And your father, in his dying moments, many, many years after coming here, wished with all his heart that he could have shown you this place. That he could have shown you the message he wrote to his baby daughter. And that’s how I was born.” 

“It’s not fair.” You sob, crying in full now. Jin is silent- he chooses not to step in. This isn’t about him, after all. “Why did he have to do that? Why could he have just lived and shown me himself? Why do I have to lose you too? Why can’t we just never see the message and then you can stay?”

“Because of the spell.” Jungkook reminds you. “You can’t go home until you see the dancing lights because of the charm I put on you. Do you remember?”

More tears spill down your face as you remember the spell in question. You had thought at the time, that it was Jungkook just trying to force you to get over yourself. You had believed him when he said he’d cast it so that you couldn’t chicken out of something you wanted to do. But you realise now why he cast that spell- it was so that he couldn’t chicken out. So that, no matter what, he’d grant his wish and get you to see that message. 

“We’ll stay here. Jin can tell my mum what happened, and we can live out the rest of our days here!” You plead, desperate. “Then you don’t have to-“ 

“(Y/N).” Jungkook comes in close and presses on your cheek, until you are facing the cliff wall with all the inscriptions on it. Then he flutters over to the discarded torch, heaving it up in his arms with a huff, and holding it out to you. “It’s ok. It’s really ok. I want this. I’ve had my fun with you guys, but it’s not like I’ve really been living a proper life like this. The only people I can talk to are guardians, and they’re so scattered across the human realm. I spend my days watching YouTube videos and talking to moths and waiting for you guys to come home from work. I’ve lived this life as much as I can, but now it’s your turn. I want you to live a full and happy life, and for you to have a family and grow old in the human realm. I don’t want you to be trapped here with me so that I can live half a life for the rest of your days.”

“But,” you protest tearily. “You’re my best friend.” 

“And you’re mine.” Jungkook says with a beam. “But now it’s time.” 

And then he pushes your arm until the torch lands on an inscription with handwriting you thought you’d never see again. 

Your father, even back then, even on stone, has always had beautiful writing, like he could have been a calligrapher if he had the time or resources. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to leave you a written message. You step forward in disbelief until you can read the inscription, the words of the man you’ve missed so much. 

(Y/N), 

My precious, beautiful daughter. 

Your mother didn’t want me to make this journey, but she eventually gave in because she knew how important it was to me. 

I wonder what kind of situation we’ll read these words together in? What kind of woman will you grow up to be? Will you be married with children when I finally take you here? That little Seokjin is only a toddler but he’s already charming all the ladies in the village- maybe you’ll marry him! Or I hear Jihye is pregnant. Perhaps her child? 

But the reason I wrote this is because I want you to know that no matter what happens, or what roads we walk down in the future, that I will love you and protect you with all of my heart. You are the most beautiful and precious thing I have ever laid my eyes on, and I hope you will always know that. 

I love you. I hope that one day, even if it’s without me, that you get to see these words and know, that from before you were born, I have loved you. 

Please, please, whatever situation you read these words in, please be happy.

From your father. 

The inscription is rough beneath your fingers as you smooth your fingers over it. It hurts to see those words, to know the moments you can never have with your father because he’s gone. And you’ll never get him back. There’s no magic spells or special river or pixie magic that can bring him back to you. 

But, for the first time, you find yourself smiling. Those memories don’t have to be painful. Because you fulfilled his wish- you’re happy. As you read these words, despite everything, you are happy. You have friends and family who love you and who you treasure beyond belief. And it took you a long time to realise it, but you’re so grateful. You’ll never get your father back, and you’ll never fill the hole that he left, but you can be happy. You can move forward with a smile on your face because that’s what he wanted.

Strong fingers wrap around your outstretched hand, and you turn to find Jin reading the words alongside you. 

“He was a good man.” Jin tells you softly, and you smile at him. Jin looks like he has more to say, but he is interrupted by the brilliant glow coming from behind you. 

You turn around and find Jungkook hovering before you. He glows brightly amidst the darkness of the ravine, almost as brightly as the stars overhead. And slowly, the river reacts too. One by one, bursts of light in different, brilliant colours appear and race down the length of the river, like bright, shooting stars. “The dancing river”, one of its many names, suddenly makes sense, as the lights zip and glide along the surface of the water. 

“You did it!” Jungkook cries, and his smile is brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. You scramble forward, but the glow intensifies, and a brilliant light wall springs up between you and Jungkook. 

“No!” You cry. “Please! Don’t go, Jungkook. We still have so much to do together! Please!”

“Be happy, (Y/N).” He calls and then the light brightens until you can see nothing but pure white. 

And then it goes dark. In the absence of light, you can’t see anything before you. Jungkook is gone- he’s gone. Your best friend, your constant, pesky companion, is gone. 

You fall to your knees, sinking into the soft, damp sand, sobbing hysterically. 

“Jungkook.” You cry, your eyes squeezed shut. “Jungkook!”

Your friendship with Jungkook has always been a funny one. You first met him in the dingy room of a motel your mother had managed to book into, those first few nights in the human realm. You hadn’t been able to sleep- the air was uncomfortable and dry and felt leeched of the warm, buzzing magic that had been your constant companion.

You’d snuck out of the room that night and wondered onto the rooftop. Even the stars are dull, in the human realm, and for some reason it had hurt to see that. You’d gazed up into the sky, tear streaming down your face when a voice had sounded beside you.

“What are you looking at?” The little voice had asked.

The rest is history. You’d attempt to swat Jungkook, thinking him to be a mosquito hybrid, one of the weird creatures of this new realm. But he hadn’t been. He was a pixie. And from there, Jungkook had never really left your side. At night, he would sleep on your pillow beside you. When you’d gotten your own room, you’d made a little doll house for him to sleep in, but he’d always slept by your side. He would come with you to school, nestled in your pocket. Some days he’d take some space, but it had reached the point where you can barely remember spending time without him.

And now… could he really be gone? How can he? What does life even look like without him? You can’t fathom it.

You don’t know how long you sit there crying hysterically for, but eventually you feel warm, strong arms wrap around you. It must be Jin, comforting you through the pain of losing your best friend. You bring your fingers up to grip at the material of his shirt.

“(Y/N)!” Jin cries in alarm. But it’s not coming from the proximity you’d expect, considering that he’s currently holding you. No, his voice is coming from somewhere behind you. 

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, and the sleeves of the jacket are not the sleeves of Jin’s jacket. Nor do the arms holding you belong to him. Slowly, you trace the arms up to the shoulders, and then you meet the face of the person holding you. 

It’s Jungkook. But at the same time... it’s not Jungkook. Jungkook was a tiny pixie, with iridescent wings like a dragonfly. With a tiny, round face. He was the size of your hand. 

But the person who holds you is human. There are no pixie wings in sight, and he’s the same size as you- no, he’s even bigger. He rivals Jin’s size. 

But the face is unmistakeably Jungkook. You’d know those round, doe eyes anywhere. 

“J-Jungkook?” You question softly. He pulls away and nods, staring at his palms in confusion like he’s never seen them before. “W-what happened?” 

“I... I don’t know.” He answers, running his hands over himself. He’s wearing the same clothes as before, and he looks exactly the same as he always has, just... human sized. 

“I... I’m human?” 

“It must be the effect of granting the spell.” Jin calls, edging closer so that he can examine Jungkook with wonder. “Maybe... maybe the reason there’s no record of any pixies after they grant the wishes... is because they stop being pixies?”

Jungkook can only stare in confusion. 

“Isn’t your dearest wish to be human? To be able to talk to people and make friends and form human bonds?” Jin continues to reflect. “Maybe... maybe the outcome of a pixie granting a wish... is that they get their deepest wish granted?”

Jungkook just stares with a bewildered expression, glancing over his shoulders for wings that aren’t there. He then scrambles over to the edge of the river, staring in wonder at the human reflection that stares back, from the normal, rounded ear tips to the lack of wings. 

“I’m human?” He questions. Tears fill your eyes as you realise that what Jin is saying is true. 

“You’re human!” You agree. “Jungkook! You’re human!” 

His whole face lights up in excitement. 

“I’m human! Oh my goodness! I’m human! I can go to dance classes! I can study in college! I can get a job! I can... I can...” his expression darkens with mischief and that’s the only warning you get before he hooks an arm around your neck and gives you the most painful noogie of your life. “I can get my revenge.”

Needless to say, the aftermath of such a transformation is absolutely chaotic, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to be mad. Jungkook goes after Jin next, and as Jin flees for his life, you find yourself smiling, despite everything. 

Please be happy, is what your father had pleaded, in the magic of this mystical river. 

I am, dad. Is what you answer from the bottom of your heart in the magic of the river. 

Because you are. 

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 

I’d officially hit rock bottom. 

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 

A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 

The bones. 

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am. 

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 

Valerie. 

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 

She was so close. 

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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[tickle-bugs]

Reignite

Summary: Dean stumbles--or is cosmically shoved, more like--back upon the largest loose end in his life. This is one knot he won’t leave untied.

Took me a year (couldn’t resist the dad joke) but here’s my SPNFluffsgiving fic! I ended up writing two fics and frankensteining them together because I wasn’t happy with either on their own, and I think, all things considered, it turned out well!!! Tried something new with the present-tense vs my usual past tense, which was very, very hard for some reason. Anyways, enjoy!

Spoilers for Supernatural episode 15 x 19 through the finale ahead!

“What’s eating ya?” Bobby takes a swig of his beer and eyes Dean sideways. 

“Nothin’.” 

“We have all of eternity to sit here. Don’t think I won’t.” Bobby flicks the bottle cap at him and chuckles when it bounces off his shoulder. 

“I like it here. It’s nice. Quiet.”

“But…?” Bobby looks at him in that very Bobby-like way, that strange blend of impatience and kindness that leaves no room to doubt that he cares.  

“Something is just...wrong? I dunno. I felt a little better when Sam got here, but I still have this weight on my chest. Like something is missing. I dunno.” Dean taps his fingers against the beer bottle and slumps down in his chair. He heaves a breath that gets stuck somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“You’re saying ‘I don’t know’ a lot for someone who seems to know exactly what’s buggin’ ya.” Bobby raises his beer in a silent ‘I’ll drink to that’. 

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” Dean grumbles, kicking a pebble off of the Roadhouse porch. Bobby whips off his hat and smacks Dean’s arm, then his leg, then his stomach which really wasn’t cool. 

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry! Back off!” Dean raises his arms to shield from Bobby’s wrath, biting back a comment about Bobby being a crotchety old man. 

“Think about it. Who’s the only person you haven’t seen since you made it here?” Bobby makes a little bird with his hands and raises his eyebrows as if Dean’s first thought wasn’t of teary blue eyes.

“Cas is in the Empty, Bobby. He’s gone. It just swallowed him like--like nothing.” Dean’s voice breaks and he knocks back his beer to hide it. 

“Jack must have built this magic box wrong. You’re supposed to feel it when a loved one arrives.”

“What?”

“Cas is here, Dean. He helped put this all together.” 

The world shrinks to a pinpoint. The beer bottle slips from Dean’s fingers and his attempt to catch it sends it soaring into the road, where it rolls far enough to qualify as a lost cause. The image of a teary Cas, seconds before destruction, grabs a swift and tight hold of the front of his mind. 

I love you.

“Bobby-”

“Are you really gonna waste your breath arguing with me when I just told you that he’s out there? This may be heaven, but I can still kick your ass.” Bobby narrows his eyes at Dean. 

Why does this feel like a goodbye?

Because it is.

“But-”

“Go after him, Dean.  You made him wait this long already.” Bobby squeezes Dean’s shoulder and shakes him a little, fixing him with those kind-but-tough eyes. Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, hissing when cold metal pokes him in the eye.

Baby’s keyring dangles from his finger, clinking gently as it collides with his palm. He sighs and shoves it in his pocket, making sure to shake the little ring off of his finger. 

Weird. 

“Can’t escape what your heart wants.” Bobby gestures towards Dean’s hand with an infuriating little smirk, like he knows something Dean doesn’t. 

“That doesn’t mean jack shit,” Dean grumbles. 

“Sure, and I’m President Roosevelt.” Bobby rolls his eyes. 

“Which one?”

“Teddy, obviously.” Bobby leans back in his seat with a chuckle. Dean scratches at his cheek and grunts when, once again, metal digs into his skin. Baby’s keys jingle menacingly at him, like a pushy set of windchimes, and they don’t budge when he tries to shake them away. He turns his hand upside-down and scrapes the keys off like a stubborn piece of gum, but they reappear in the other hand.

“What the fuck?” He holds them up to eye level and they sway in the breeze, jingling again. He drops them and they zoom right back into his hand, like a lame Mjolnir, and okay, someone has to be messing with him. He shakes them a few times to detect any evil (a foolproof method, in his opinion) and Baby’s car alarm starts blaring much louder than it should.

“Dean.”

“Alright, I’m going!” He trudges away from the porch, grumbling under his breath, and the car’s alarm shuts off with a pleasant chirp.

“Tell him I said hi!” Bobby waves and watches the Impala pull onto the open road, raising his beer until he disappears from Dean’s rearview. 

…

Dean cuts the ignition and slides out of the Impala, squinting against the sudden warm breeze. It’s quiet out here. If it wasn’t for the constant tugging on his soul, like a bratty kid demanding attention, it would be nice. Peaceful, even.

He leans against the bridge railing and closes his eyes against the next gust of wind, this one much more powerful than the first. Everything in the vicinity rustles as the wind dances by. He leans his forehead against his hands and sighs.

What the hell would he even say?

There’s no manual for this, no prior experience or family legend to consult. Jesus, he’s like a teenager trying to apologize for standing up a date. He’d ditched Cas at the celestial prom, and now he has to face the music. No more asking Dad to leave early for the next hunt so he wouldn’t have to face whichever girl he dumped. Grown-ass men face their weird, divine love affairs with dignity, not revenge hookups in the girl’s locker room. 

Highschool Dean would call Present Dean a bitch for even trying to chase after Cas.

Highschool Dean was a dick, anyway. 

Okay, he needs a gameplan. Stay calm, cool, and collected--like he’s working a case. Cas doesn’t need to know about the butterflies rioting in his stomach. Dean would be smooth and chill. They’ll talk like adults--yeah, that’s it. Grown-ass men, and whatnot. He’d just send Cas a message on angel radio, he’d zip on down, and they’d be hunkydory--

“Hello, Dean.”

Shit.

He whips around, his throat already closing up in mutiny. Just seeing Cas is a punch in the gut--he looks just as Dean remembers, if not better. It’s as if not a day has passed since the Bunker, and god, Dean might not be qualified for this. 

Cas smiles timidly as he steps forward, hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. His head’s bowed, as if he’s in trouble, as if Dean would scold him for who fucking knows what, and his blood boils at the thought. 

“Dean?” Cas tilts his head.

Something grips Dean, something powerful and terrifying in its ferocity. A force he doesn’t understand surges at the bounds of his body, welling up into his throat, his heart, his lungs. Tears spill from him at a terrifying rate but he’s numb and aching all at once. He’s shaking--no, trembling--and he pulls Cas into a kiss before he loses his nerve. 

If he could quantify the triumph of nearly two decades of suffocating pining, he’d say it tastes like stale peppermint. He makes a mental note to lecture Cas about his choice in gum later—spearmint is obviously superior. 

Dean pulls away when his gross, sticky hiccups start to interfere with the sweetness of the kiss. He feels disgusting but he couldn’t stop crying if he wanted to. 

Definitely not one of his highlight moments. 

“Cas,” he croaks. Cas, Cas, Cas, loops in his head, interfering with the static everything else he needs to say. A tumultuous wave of words presses against his lips and he focuses all of his energy on getting them out. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands, swiping away tears with his thumbs, but he’s sobbing so hard that it doesn’t make a difference. His ‘calm, cool, and collected’ plan is effectively blown to hell and he curses himself for it.  

“You shouldn’t have gone out like that, man. Fuck, I should have said something-”

“Dean, it’s alright--”

“No, it isn’t. I screwed up, Cas. I screwed up so fuckin’ bad.” Dean blinks at a tear-warped Cas, gripping his forearms as if he’d disappear in the breeze. 

“When you said...what you said, I thought it back. It was easier to say in my head but I should’ve said it out loud. You deserve to hear it. You deserve everything.” Speaking his mind is like willingly chugging motor oil. He swallows thickly as his thoughts start to align into some semblance of clarity. 

“You deserved more time,” Cas murmurs, and he has the nerve to look upset. He always wanted to give Dean more, so much more than he ever deserved. 

“Shut up,” Dean growls. Some switch flips in him, some bristly protectiveness that has him wanting to shake the angel like a margarita until he finally admits his worth. 

“Dean--”

“Nope. No more heroic bullshit. You’ve given enough, Cas. It’s enough. You’re enough.” Dean grips Cas’s shoulders and stares him down. Cas opens his mouth to retort but whatever expression is on Dean’s face presumably shuts him up. 

“You’ve always had me, Cas. You will always have me. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.” Finally, finally, the words tumble out without a second thought. Dean’s death grip on Cas’s shoulders loosens. He did it. 

“I love you too, Dean. I’ve loved you since the very beginning.” Cas smiles, as if it’s simple. 

“Gross,” Dean quips on instinct, and he regrets it the second it comes out. 

“You’re gross,” Cas fires back, squinty eyes and all, and Dean barks out a laugh that startles them both.

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, cradling the back of Cas’s neck with his hand, and resolves never to let him go. Never again.

...

“Dean Novak ain’t bad,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over Cas’s bare shoulder. The angel’s nestled into his side, huffing warm breaths into his collarbone, and he would rather die again than forget the feeling of Cas’s sleepwarm skin. 

“Mm. Castiel Winchester.” His lips graze over Dean’s chest in a low effort sort-of kiss. 

“You shouldn’t have to carry that name, after everything.”

“Hyphenation isn’t uncommon. Winchester-Novak?” Cas tilts his head up and scoots just slightly, trying to preserve his warm spot in Dean’s arms. He presses a proper kiss to the base of Dean’s throat and hums when he twitches away. 

“Sounds less like a name and more like a spell.” Dean snorts, and Cas swats his shoulder.

“I fell in love with you, Dean Winchester, and it would be an honor to carry that name. Even if it is completely ceremonial.” Cas turns Dean’s face down towards him, forcing their eyes to meet. Dean’s a little more than breathless at the way Cas’s eyes catch the moonlight but he still manages to grin. 

“Winchester is a dumb name, sorry.” 

“You are blatantly disrespecting my fiancé.” Cas squints at him. 

“Hmm, am I?” Dean’s eyes flit down to Cas’s lips, tongue flicking against his teeth. 

“Yes.”

“Your fiancé is a dumbass for not proposing to you sooner.” Dean cradles the back of Cas’s head, absently scratching his fingers along the scalp.

“He absolutely is. But only I get to say that about him.” Cas’s face settles into a steely neutrality betrayed only by the sparkle in his eye. Dean leans in closer but Cas stops him with a finger over his lips.

“Apologize.”

“Wh--are you serious?” 

“Apologize, Dean.” Cas pushes himself up on his elbow and cocks his eyebrow.

“You want me to apologize...to myself?” Dean chuckles in disbelief, waiting for Cas to admit he’s joking, but all he receives are wide, blinking blue eyes. 

“Perhaps you need some encouragement,” Cas murmurs, his lips quirking into a smirk. Before Dean can protest, Cas throws his leg over Dean’s and buries his nimble fingers into his ribs. 

“Wait, Cas--ahaha!”

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t kind towards yourself, I don’t want to hear them.” Cas leans up to nip at Dean’s ear, burying a few chuckles directly behind it. His fingers trail down Dean’s body, pinching every inch of his ribs and sides.

What leaves Dean next is less words and more a verbal error noise. He arches away, desperately shoving at Cas’s shoulders. All he does is turn himself around, and Cas is very quick to wrap him up in his arms. His fingers press into Dean’s lower stomach and trip over one another like he’s gliding over piano keys. 

Dean curls, arms folded over his middle. Cas manages a cheeky pinch to the back of Dean’s thigh and he squeaks--apparently Cas likes that noise because an avalanche of more pinches follow. 

Dean doesn’t expect him to find that devastating spot near his armpit on the first fucking try, but Cas is full of surprises and Dean is full of laughter. He clamps his arms to his sides but it barely makes a difference. Fireworks overwhelm his nervous system. In Cas’s arms, he feels like he’s flying--but he can’t tell if it’s the lack of air or the endolphins. Endorphins. Whatever. 

“Cas!” His name floats out of Dean, blanketed in crinkly-eyed, heartwarming laughter. It’s all he wants to hear for the rest of eternity. 

“You are everything to me.” Cas doesn’t expect Dean to hear him over his near-violent giggles, but Dean squeezes his wrist twice to acknowledge him where his voice can’t. His fingers slow, gently trailing over pinkened skin, and Dean slowly remembers how to breathe. 

“We can renegotiate the name thing. Maybe,” Dean wheezes, and his shit-eating grin is nearly audible. Cas rolls his eyes and scribbles at Dean’s exposed hip, following each turn, twist, and twitch. For the first few moments, he’s concerningly quiet, only squirming with strangled noises, but within seconds his laughter catches back up with his brain and he’s cackling into the mattress. 

“Maybe? Is that your final answer?”

“Nonono, please Cas!” Dean shrieks, kicking his legs as if it will help. He flails all the way to the edge of the bed but Cas is quick to pull him back into his arms. His tickly touch turns calming in an instant, tracing over muscle lines and battle scars as they both resettle. 

“We’ll work on it. Together.” Cas flips him over and steals a quick kiss, drinking up the leftover laughter. Dean’s joy is sweet on his tongue. 

“Together,” Dean murmurs, leaning their foreheads together. 

Holding his lover—Castiel, his Castiel—in the moonlight is all that Dean Winchester-Novak could ever ask for.

There was happiness in the having, after all. 

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) There are things that we can have, but can't keep DC

A03

Hal isn’t on Earth when Barry dies. He’d been in deep space, running a mission for the Guardians that needed him to go completely radio-silent for a month and a half. It had been an absolutely miserable time, but he’d managed, telling himself that with every day that passed he was closer and closer to being able to go back to Earth, that soon he’d be able to sleep in his own bed and hold his boyfriend close. He doesn’t even  know until he’s returned to the Watchtower, and goes looking for him.

He’d been confused, at first, when he’d noticed the strange looks the heroes he passed sent him, the way they parted as he’d passed. He’d been confused until John and Diana had pulled him aside and broke the news to him as gently as possible.

Barry was dead.

Barry had died while Hal was in space, not even a week after he had gone radio silent. He’d died saving the world, over a month ago, and Hal  hadn’t been there. He’d had a hero’s funeral, there was talk of setting up a statue in memorial in Central City. He  died while Hal was in space; Hal had spent the month telling himself that soon he’d be able to see him again, soon he’d be able to touch and hold him again.

Barry was  gone.

Hal can’t remember what the last thing he had said to Barry was. He couldn’t remember if he had told Barry that he loved him, if he had said something deep and meaningful or something light and sarcastic. He knows they had had dinner before he’d left, he knows that Barry had smiled at him and kissed him goodbye, Hal knows that he had laughed and told Barry that he’d see him soon, but he can’t remember the conversation they’d had in full. He feels like he should, that he should remember the last moment he’d seen the man he loves in perfect clarity, because it’s what Barry - the amazingly kind and gentle man he’d fallen in love with, who loved Hal despite all the things he’d fucked up in his life - deserves.

Hal’s legs had given out on him, the green energy of his ring sputtering out and dying with his will as it had all sunk in. He’d dropped like a stone, numb with horror and eyes wide and unseeing, and it was only John’s strong arms looping around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug that had stopped him from hitting the unforgiving floor. He’d probably been in shock, because he hadn’t cried, hadn’t screamed or shouted or gotten angry, he’d just gone numb and silent, staring at the wall blankly as John had held him. He’d gone quiet, he hadn’t uttered a word, and simply let John herd him towards the zeta beams and take him back to Coast City, back to the apartment Hal rarely stayed in, because he was usually in space, or at Barry’s small house outside of Central City.

He knows now what was in their eyes -  pity. Pity because they all had some idea of the relationship between Green Lantern and Flash. It wasn’t like he and Barry hid the fact that they were a couple. They ate together, took missions together, watched each other’s backs and hovered over each other in the medbay; honestly, it was pretty obvious, even if there were a lot of people who wondered just how the mild mannered Flash and hot headed Green Lantern managed to get along long enough to begin a relationship in the first place.

But not a lot of people knew them as Hal and Barry. Didn’t know them beyond the masks they wore.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though, because Barry is dead.

Barry is dead, and Hal is alone.

Hal shuts himself away; he locks himself in his apartment, takes a leave from the League and the Corps, and stays huddled away in a darkened room, mind racing through regrets and memories. He wouldn’t even be able to go out if he wanted to, not as Green Lantern, because he hadn’t been able to light his ring since he’d learned, barely made it flicker despite it being a full charge, so John and Guy pick up his slack. Sometimes, he feels something other than the numbness of loss when he sees them on the news, doing his job for him, but even that isn’t enough to make Hal will himself to move again. Alan comes by, sometimes, but it doesn’t change anything, only makes him remember to eat because the older Lantern is always bringing food and has  mastered that look that makes Hal listen to what he’s saying.

He’s worrying them, he knows, worrying his fellow Leaguers too, but Hal’s never handled loss well, even since he was that kid staring at the flaming wreck of his father’s plane. He obsesses, the therapist had told his mother, back when they were still trying to pry into his head to pull out his thoughts so that he’d stop dreaming of flying someday, because his mom didn’t want to lose anyone else to the fires of a crashed plane but Hal was too stubborn to listen. Back then, Hal had been standing outside of the door, listening listening to his mom cry and beg the psychologists to  fix him, to make him normal; he’d been quiet and numb then too, because even back then, even at eight, he’d known that while his mom loved him, he was too much like his dad and that was all she could see in his eyes.

Hal had shut down back then, and he shuts down now too.

The what-ifs are loud, an ever-present shouting in his mind that he can’t block out. He wonders what could have happened if he had been there, if he’d been on Earth when Barry had run so fast that his body had burned up. Could he have stopped it? Could his ring have saved Barry?

They haunt him almost as much as Barry does.

When the door to his apartment opens, Hal barely looks up from where he sits on the lumpy old couch, staring out the window and watching the cars zoom past. He’s used to it at this point, the comings and goings of his fellow Lanterns, so he just keeps staring, hoping that whoever came to watch him stew in his depression would leave him to it. That is, until his visitor speaks up.

“Uncle Hal.” Hal jerks, head snapping up and around at the young, wrecked voice. Wally looks horrible, and Hal isn’t surprised - though he does feel guilty that he had forgotten about the speedster that had once run at Barry’s side. Wally had been Iris and Barry’s son in all but blood, and then, after Zoom had killed Iris, he’d only had Barry.

Barry, and Hal, who hadn’t let Barry out of his sight if he could help it.

But Hal had forgotten - so caught up in himself that he forgot about the boy Barry had been raising. God - Wally wasn’t even twenty yet, and he’d lost both of the closest things to actual parents that weren’t pieces of rotting shit he’d ever had, and now he was stuck with  Hal of all people.

“Wally.” He croaks, stumbling to his feet with all the grace of a newborn colt. Wally is pale, almost gray, with dark circles under dull eyes; he looks like he hadn’t slept since Barry’s death. “Shit, kid - I -” Hal stutters slightly, guilt burning in his gut, “- I’m sorry.” For not being here. For not helping Barry. For not being on Earth. For not being there for him in the aftermath.

Wally’s smile is shaky, and almost heartbreaking to look at, “It’s okay.” The kid says, shrugging. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around Hal’s torso, and folds himself against the Lantern, pressing his forehead against Hal’s collarbone. “Nightwing told me you were planet-side.” The words aren’t even accusing, but God knows Hal deserved that and more. They just sound tired, a soul-deep exhaustion out of place in such a young man.

Hal lets out a shaky breath, holding the young man close. Shit, he’s horrible - leaving Wally on his own, and not even having the balls to tell him that he’d come back. “I’m sorry.” Hal says again, uselessly. “How’re you holding up?”

Wally lets out a shuddering sigh, “I’m holding.” He says, bitter amusement in his voice. “Jay’s been - he’s been running patrols.”

“Yeah.” Hal sighs. Alan had told him, during one of his earlier visits; at the time, it had angered Hal, knowing that someone other than Barry was protecting Central, but now he’s come to terms with it. Barry may be dead, but crime wouldn’t have stopped, no matter how much the twin cities adored the Flash.

“I -” Wally’s voice cuts off. He goes quiet, hesitates, and pulls back, fiddling with the heavy golden ring on his finger.

His Flash ring.

Green eyes flash, harden, then Wally meets his eyes head-on. “Jay can’t do it all.” Wally says, “He’s retired. But -” he grows hesitant, “- but the world needs a Flash.” He finishes quietly. “And it needs to be me.” Wally ducks his head again, and Hal’s heart thunders in his chest. “I - I just - I’m not  him. It feels wrong.”

It was inevitable, Hal knows, that Wally would become the Flash. Barry had always told him that his sidekick had always had potential, had the goodness inside of him needed to be a hero, that he would make an amazing Flash.

But he’d always hoped that Barry would be here to see it happen.

“You’re not Barry.” Hal finds himself saying, then he winces.  Way to go, Jordan, just fuck it up all over again. He scrambles to recover, “But you can’t get your confidence from  him.” Wally looks at him with sad green eyes, and Hal reaches forward, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You’ve got to find it in yourself, Wally. You’re the Flash now, and that name means something to people.” Hal lets out a slow breath, forcing himself away from the foggy cloud of numbness he had fallen into. “I know it’s going to be hard, it’s going to be a heavy weight to carry, a heavy legacy.” He thinks of Abin Sur, and the expectations that had come with being his  replacement. “Barry - he was - he was the best. Not just as a hero, but as a  human being . That’s a lot to live up to.” Wally nods, but Hal isn’t done yet. “But you know what kid? You’re gonna do it. You know why I know?”

“...No.” Wally whispers, voice thick, and Hal moves his hand to gently press against the kid’s cheek, like Barry’s had.

“Because  Barry believed in you.” Hal says with a surety that he hasn’t felt since the moment Diana had told him what had happened. “He knew you’d be great. Always said that you’d be better than him, and I believe him.”

“What if I can’t be?” Wally’s voice shakes miserably, eyes shiny with tears, “I’m  not Barry.”

“There’s not going to be another Barry, kid.” Hal’s words tear past his throat, shredding his heart with them, “He’s dead. You’re not Barry, because you’re  you.”

Barry’s dead. He’s dead and gone, and Hal wasn’t there for him. He’d promised that he’d be there for him, once, and had planned to keep that promise; but, well, everyone had always told him he had commitment issues, hadn’t they? That he broke promises as easily as breathing.

May as well live up to that.

[neakco]

Wait For It

AO3 Fanfiction.net

Inspired heavily by the song "Wait For It" by Leslie Odam Jr from Hamilton an American Musical.

Red Robin calls a meeting for the Justice League. Everyone is there except Red Robin. Instead one of the monitors flickers to life.

Brief mention of some past character deaths. Very mild violence.

The Justice League had gathered when Superman looked to Batman, “Red Robin called this meeting, since he isn’t here what's this about Batman?”

Before he could answer a screen flickered to life. The angle was strange and it took a few moments for them to realized that the camera was attached to a person.

The person wearing the camera appeared to be setting up a larger camera. A women's voice could be heard from off screen speaking in accented English.

“Are you sure this is a good plan Birdy?”

“I am just worried. What if Batman shows up to take you away?”

“Positive LB.” The voice of Red Robin answered.

There were a couple confused or shocked faces around but no one looked away.

“I have been gone over a month and no one has called or tried looking for me, I promise no one from the Justice League are going to interfere.”

Batman frowned, he was sure he had seen Just the other day. Had it really been a month.

Tim turned and they could see a women in red and spotted black spandex with a wide smile. “If he was too busy keeping Gotham in line to notice than he can keep Gotham, you're all mine Birdy.”

She came forward and the screen filled with red for a moment as she was too close to Tim for it to pick up images properly.

When she was fully in frame again had a look that she was heading to her death.

“This is the last fight LB, everything is set, we just need to wait for it.”

The women, LB, smiled nervously and spoke softly, “Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime.”

“Pareil ici LB. But nothing is going to happen, we planned this months ago. Now get in position, I will let you know when we are world wide.”

Batman was frowning harder at the screen. Tim had been in contact with this LB for months apparently. Did Alfred know?

He replaced the camera on his suit and started pressing keys rapidly, there wasn’t much for the league to see but when anyone tried to speak Wonder Women glared them down.

Red Robin appeared to sit down in a TV station’s control booth, but from what they could see an entire wall was missing. The camera moved suddenly and Red Robin's face came into view, his mask appeared slightly different than normal but it was clearly him.

“If any of the league interferes and ruins this plan then I will use any and all blackmail I have to ruin all of you. You are watching as witnesses only, don’t you dare forget it.”

Another monitor flickered to life. This one showed Paris, or what was left of Paris. Buildings were crumbling, the Eiffel Tower was on its side, dust filled the air and not a speck of movement could be seen. Then the camera changed to show the women in Red standing tall on a pile of rubble near the tower.

Batman was thankful, it meant he had time to think of the answers to questions he was sure they had.

“Okay LB, we are live in 3…2…1”

Someone let out a gasp, the women who had appeared okay before was now badly injured. One arm hung limp at her side, there was a long gash freely flowing from her shoulder, she was limping and a bruise was forming on one of her cheeks.

Yet she stood tall and proud as she addressed the camera in her accented English.

There was a gasp, though Batman couldn’t place it, he was too focused on the screen. How did no one notice this was happening? He had more questions then answers at this point.

“My name is Ladybug, I am one of Paris' heroes. Many that know of me will be able to tell you that I have been protecting Paris for ten years now with my partner Chat Noir. What many of you don’t know is that we were 13 when we were chosen. You don’t know that my father was a baker, my mother an amazing women that commanded respect with her very presence. They are both gone now, all I have is left is their legacy.” She gestures at the rubble with her good arm, “Thankfully they died in a fire so they never had to see me fail all of you so badly. There is some good news, the original villain, Hawkmoth, also died before this. The fire was devastating, it didn’t discriminate between the sinners and the innocent.”

Her look grew murderous, “But I live, like bread I rise. I refuse to break, even when all of my loved ones have died.”

The women, Ladybug, shifted painfully before smirking, “Despite all you have done and thrown at me I am still here. Try as you might you can not be me, I am I am inimitable, Paris's original hero.” She threw her good arm into the air, “Here I am Lila! My arm is broken, I can barely walk, so now is your chance coward! You have taken everything from me but my life and my pride. So here I stand, just as you asked.” She chuckled darkly, “I'm not even late. I am standing still, lying in wait. You take too long and blood loss will get to me long before you do Rossi.”

The camera changed to the wider view they saw at the beginning. Though now you could see the red that was Ladybug. You could also see a bright spot of purple making its way towards her through the rubble.

The camera switched to a third that was still zoomed out but now you could see that the person in purple moved like they knew they had won.

The villain began yelling in French. Thankfully Red Robin was typing out subtitles for the world with very little delay.

The members of the league were all tense, they didn’t like what they were seeing. Only a few were more relaxed, Red Robin had said there was a plan, surely he wouldn’t be idly sitting by if it was falling apart.

Ladybug laughed insanely drawing all attention back to the screen as she addressed the figure in purple.

“Is this what you wanted Lila? Countless dead, everything destroyed? All this, just to kill me because I asked you not to lie about me in front of a boy. So relentless.” The last part was barely audible.

“I worked hard to get this win. Paris is everything I deserve, it is my reward. All I need to do is take your earrings and then I can fix everything.”

“They won’t love you. Hawkmoth was bad, yes, but you raised the stakes. You chose to thrive off all this death and chaos.” Ladybug stood straighter with a wince and glared, “You, Lila Rossi, will never be a hero.”

The purple villain, Lila, finally stood before the weaponless and defeated Ladybug. The camera changed again so that everyone could now see what was happening with clarity.

“Now hand over your earrings and I may let you live.”

Red Robin was moving fast now, they could hear the grapple. Was this part of the plan or was everything falling apart enough that he was panicking and moving to save the women that loves him?

Ladybug laughed, “Is what you have left me with really living?”

“Fine, give me the earrings and I will kill you painlessly.”

When Ladybug didn’t move Lila backhanded her and sent her sprawling on the ground.

Batman was frowning at the monitor Something was odd.

“The earrings now!” Lila pulled a sword from what they thought was a cane, “Don’t make me take your ears too.”

“Cataclysm.” The pike of rubble they were standing on collapsed into dust at the exact moment a yoyo came and wrapped around Ladybug to prevent her from hitting the ground far below.

“Go ahead and try bitch.” Ladybug spat.

Batman’s eyes widened when he saw it, Ladybug wasn’t wearing any earrings.

Lila hit the ground hard and was pinned by some of the rocks that hadn’t dissolved. Two figures landed gracefully in front of her.

Ladybug no longer looked broken and bruised. Her black outfit was pristine and shone like scales in the sun as the light illuminated her. She had small cat ears and a more reptilian tail. Red Robin's outfit was similar to normal except it was subtlety spotted and he seemed to have gained a fox tail.

Through the main camera it looked like Lila was cowed but through Tim's camera they could see the raw hatred on the women's face.

“Congrats Lila.” Ladybug smiled, “They world now knows your name, just as you wanted.”

Red Robin approached and plucked a broach from her. A bright purple light engulfed her as she transformed into a regular women. “Enjoy your infamy in prison.”

“You think I am going to prison then you are delusional. I will be free in an hour.” The women spit as she slowly reached for something.

Ladybug kicked the downed women’s arm hard enough to break it. Tears in her eyes as she glared. “That was for unknowingly killing Chat Noir in one of your senseless fires. I should let the kwami curse you.”

Red Robin placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her the yoyo.

She shook her head and walked behind Lila as she started to take something out of a baton.

While they were focused on watching Ladybug they didn’t see what Red Robin had done but suddenly a white butterfly was taking off out if the yoyo. He threw it in the air, “Miraculous Ladybug.”

There was a light and magic swirled out from him. The Justice League watched in awe as buildings repaired themselves and people appeared uninjured in the streets.

Lila glared in shock as Ladybug zipped her arms together.

Red Robin laughed, “Did you really not notice us defeat your akuma?” he opened up the yoyo to briefly reveal a computer screen where he appeared to send something. “Police now have all the video evidence they need to keep you locked up for a long time Rossi.”

Ladybug used her baton while Red Robin used the yoyo as a grapple to land in front of the camera.

Batman tried to study the weapon. It had some sort of dimensional storage, a computer, and worked as a grapple. He refused to be jealous of his son.

Red Robin put his arm over Ladybug's shoulders as they smiled for the camera.

They spoke together, “We are proud to announce to the world that Paris is finally free of emotional terrorism. We thank you for bearing witness to this historical event.”

The livestream ended but Red Robin's camera was still going for the Justice League. He removed it and turned it so they were both in the shot.

Ladybug smiled, “Hello Justice League, I assume you are familiar with my partner.”

He laughed as he looked to her, “You assume they are intelligent, the costume change may throw them off too much.”

“On topic Renard Tacheté.”

“Right, sorry Arassas.” He turned back to the camera, the soft look evaporating to a harsher one. “Don’t know if you dense lot noticed, but Paris is under our protection. So no one from the league is allowed to operate here without our permission.”

Ladybug smiled not unkindly, “If you do find yourselves needing any help though all you have to do is ask.”

The video feed ended eruptly and left the Justice League staring at empty screens. After a moment of silence everyone started to yell questions or try to find answers on there own. Batman felt a headache coming on as he tried to answer questions he didn’t know the answer to.

During the chaos Diana smiled to herself and waved to Batman as she walked out. She didn’t need answers. After all, she was the one that had given Ladybug Tim's number.

Supossed translations according to google:

Pareil ici LB - Same here LB

Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime. -

If something happens to me know that I love you

Renard Tacheté - Spotted Fox

Arassas - mythical reptilian cat

[lumau]

Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: The Invisible Library - Genevieve Cogman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Irene (The Invisible Library), Kai (The Invisible Library), Peregrine Vale, catherine (the invisible library), Lord Silver (The Invisible Library), Li Ming (Invisible Library), Ao Shun (Invisible Library) Additional Tags: ilcharacterweek, Angst, Some Humor, Some Romance, all a bit trippy, but it'll make sense, potentially additional tags per chapter, minor spoilers for the dark archive and all other books Summary: 7 chapters, each focussing on one of the main / favorite characters (written for 2021 Invisible Library Character Appreciation Week)

Chapter 1 - Irene

╳

 When Irene woke up, the first thing she noticed was the scent. It was odd, how the brain zoomed in on a specific detail, while still being unable to take in the general surroundings in a helpful manner.       She instantly recognised the scent, she knew it very well – books, paper, leather, glue and ink. Wood and fabric. Stone and dust.

It was the scent of home, the scent of the Library. Yet, there was something different about it. She could not put her finger on it, and found it was likely not immediately relevant. Opening her eyes and finding out what it was that was painfully digging into her back was.

She was in a corridor of the Library, there was no doubt about that. The pain in her back came from the edge of a shelf she was leaning against. Why was she on the floor, sunken against a bookshelf?       Irene looked around. This part of the Library didn’t seem familiar, not immediately. She carefully pulled herself up. Judging from the stiff feeling in her limbs she must have been out for more than just a minute.

 How did she get here? Somehow she could not remember anything.

The ceiling was not very high, and there were no windows in the corridor. On both sides the walls were lined with bookshelves, and, by the look of it, old ones at that. A few doors led to either side, all closed. It was dead silent.

 Irene rubbed at the back of her head. She had a low, throbbing headache. Maybe she had just passed out and knocked her head on the shelf.

She felt stable enough to walk, but wasn’t actually sure which direction she should choose, as she neither knew where she was, nor where she had been going. So she did what a Librarian, or any bibliophile, probably, would do in her situation – she pulled out a book at random from the nearest shelf.

Irene stared down at the cover, dumbstruck. She knew this book.

It was “Kinder- und Hausmärchen der Gebrüder Grimm”.

Irene almost dropped it. It was the same version as the one, the      only    one she’d always remember for the rest of her life. With shaking fingers she opened the book, carefully flicking through the pages. She did not want to know, but she had to know. It did not even surprise her to read the title, when she came to the 87th story. There it was, “The Story of the Stone from the Tower of Babel”.

Irene stood frozen, unable to make any sense of her situation. There was such a thing as coincidence, but she knew this was not one of those moments. She shot a glance around her.       The corridor, the shelves, the books… Everything seemed perfectly ordinary. Yet there was a sudden prickle in the back of her neck, an uneasy feeling of another presence, of being watched.

The endless halls of the Library could be erie at times, but to Irene, they had always felt like home. Now she could sympathise with depictions of protagonists, who suddenly noticed a slight difference in their decor, or heard a creaking noise upstairs, or felt the touch of a breeze while knowing that  all the windows had been closed just a moment ago.

And then she heard it. Just a whisper at first, almost inaudible even in the silent corridor. It was the lowest of whispers, and still it hit her like a blow.

 “Ray...”

 Irene did not turn around to look for the source of the voice. She simply ran.

Irene did not know what or who was chasing her, but she knew that she had to keep running. Alberich, the name was of course the first to come to her mind. But she was inside the Library, and the one thing she could rely on was that Alberich could not enter the Library.

She felt the itch of the mark on her back, whatever it was that came after her – its presence was undeniable, old and vicious, wild and primal, more dangerous than either fae or dragon she’d ever faced.

 “Ray!”

Her name, billowing and thunderous, almost made her lose her step. She was still clutching the book in her hand. Blind panic pushed her onwards, but the corridor would come to an end in a t-junction just a few more paces ahead.

Left or right, left or right…       In the sudden clarity that came after passing through horror and arriving at desperation, she knew it didn’t matter. She didn’t know where she was and all that she wanted was to get away from whoever or whatever was chasing her. As far and as fast as possible.

Without a split second of hesitation, Irene turned the corner to her right and ran ahead through the open doorway into the room that lay beyond.

╳

“Winters!”

Irene was vaguely aware of being briskly shaken by the shoulders. Her back hurt… and her head… Oh god, her head!

“Winters, for goodness sake! Are you alright?”

She blinked her eyes open, as the shaking didn’t cease, and looked up into Vale’s face above her. His frown showed deep concern, but at least he stopped yelling.

Irene found that she was lying on the floor. A dark wooden floor, and there were shelves and stacks of books close by. She was inside the Library, and, after a moment of disorientation, she recognised the room as one close to the gate to B-395.

She propped herself up with a grunt and rubbed at her temples. What was she doing on the floor? And Vale… right, Vale!

“I think, I’m okay,” she muttered, still glancing around in confused bewilderment, “But what happened? I can’t seem to remember anything.”

Vale sat back on his heels and gave her a measuring glance down his nose.

“I was going to ask you the same. I found you here, unconscious.” His frown deepened. “Where is Strongrock?”

Irene tried hard to think, but there was a buzzing in her head that made it almost impossible to focus.                “I don’t know. He isn’t with you?”

 “I expected to find him with you. You asked for us all to meet here.”

 Irene paused, as something occurred to her.

 “Vale, what are you doing here? How did you get inside the Library?”

“You brought me in yourself.” Vale raised his eyebrows and closely scrutinised her. “Winters, are you sure, you’re alright?”

Irene shrugged, as, in fact, she was not sure. Her head was swimming, and she had the urgent feeling that she forgot something important she had to do, or somewhere she had to be.

Vale stood up and offered her a hand.

"If you can stand, then you should better see this.”  There was suddenly a cold undertone to his voice.

 Irene was thankful that Vale gave her his arm to hold onto, as she swayed a little upon getting up. What she saw immediately brought her back to her senses though. Close to one of the doors to the adjoining rooms a dark stain marred an otherwise spotless floorboards. It glistened in the overhead light, and she did not have to investigate it closer to recognise it as blood.

Vale always scolded her for jumping to conclusions, but as far as she could see, neither she nor Vale had any injuries that would account for the blood. If Kai wasn’t here, but was supposed to be with her, did that mean… Irene’s throat tightened.

The feeling that she had to do something, that she forgot something important, grew more pressing. If only she could remember…

Vale’s grip on her arm tightened.

“Do you know anything about this? Anything helpful at all?”

Irene could not look away from the stain on the floor. She feverishly tried to pull herself together, to remember, but any time she grasped for a thought, it slipped through her mental fingers. She knew she was blankly staring at the blood, but she couldn’t… she didn’t...

“For the love of god, Winters! Focus, woman!”

Vale firmly gripped her by the shoulders, his fingers dug into her arms painfully. He turned her around to face him.

“Look at me!”

The sharpness in his voice made something click back into place inside Irene’s head. She looked up at Vale. Their eyes locked for a moment. Irene felt a rushing sensation, as everything went very still and clear. The only thing that mattered were Vale’s eyes. And what lingered behind them.

“Look at me, Ray.”

Irene knew that it was never a helpful reaction in any genre of story, and generally prided herself in knowing better. But at this moment, as Vale’s mouth twitched into a fully uncharacteristic smirk, she screamed.

 ╳

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Chaos and Bloodshed Already Haunt Us

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim and Jason get kidnapped by Black Mask. Jason is too sacrificial for his own good.

Tim has been waking up tied to chairs in strange places since he was thirteen, to the point where he has been kidnapped more times than he’s been to Chuck E. Cheese. When you’re a Wayne kid and a batkid, you learn to accept regular kidnappings as a part of life, just like taxes. Is it so unreasonable that Tim would prefer to wake up in his own bed, for a change? First things first: take stock. Assess the situation. Go from there. Before he’s even opened his eyes, Tim feels for what he’s pretty sure is regular rope keeping his hands tied behind him. Unfortunately, even rope can hold a bat when said bat has no weapons to bail them out, which Tim doesn’t. His utility belt and bandoliers are missing, and any spare tools he has hidden on his person are impossible to reach with the way his arms are wrenched behind him. His fingertips are already tingly, going on numb. “Red? You up?” Tim opens his eyes at the familiar voice. Jason is tied to his own chair across from him, a mirror of Tim’s own situation. The room itself is small—gray walls, cement floor, unmarked crates stacked along the walls. Jason’s helmet is off, exposing the domino he wears underneath. Tim’s mask hasn’t been touched either. “Do you remember what happened or do you need the recap?” Jason asks.

It’s blurry at best, but Tim remembers enough. “Intel mission on Black Mask, right?”

“Started out that way. We got here and I figured out that Sionis was selling weapons to Intergang so we blew the whole shipment to hell.” “You figured it out?” That doesn’t sound right, as fragmented as Tim’s memories are. From the throbbing in the back of his head, he must have been hit pretty hard. “You calling me a liar?” “I ain’t calling you a truther,” Tim mutters, fiddling with the rope that’s been cutting off circulation in his hands for what must have been at least an hour. He can’t get Jason and himself out of here in this condition. “Did you—" “Already signaled him.” Good. Bruce will send someone to bail them out of this in no time. They just have to hold out until then. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” a chilling voice speaks from behind Tim. “You have no idea how bored I was waiting for the party to start.” Fingers touch Tim’s shoulder and he jerks away. Jason, unbothered by the newcomer, snorts. “This is what you consider a party? You need some fucking friends.” Sionis ignores the jab. He passes Tim and goes straight for the camera set up near the left wall, just far back enough to fit both Tim and Jason in frame. Very, very bad sign. He turns it on, the red light blinking. “You making a movie?” Jason says. He’s snarky, but Tim can see the fear lurking behind his eyes. Roman ignores him and adjusts the camera so it points at himself. “Hello, Batman.” Tim’s eyes snap up to meet Jason’s. “In case you were wondering, this is a live feed you’re getting now. And don’t try tracing it, you’ll just waste your energy. You’re not the only one who has talented technicians on his side.” He leans in closer to the camera, his mask nearly touching the lens. “In the spirit of clarity, let me be clear: this, right now? This is a gift. This is my warning to you to stay the hell out of my business, otherwise you and your precious lackeys will have to answer to me.” He moves out of the frame and zooms in on Tim’s masked face, then Jason’s. “Lucky for me, I found a couple of your birds messing with my shipment, and they so graciously volunteered to help me set an example.” He steps aside and gestures to a tray of tools, each one more horrible than the last. Most of them are still coated in blood from his last victim. Tim gulps. Sionis peruses his collection, which gives Tim the chance to catch Jason’s attention. He jerks his head toward the camera, mouthing, Tell them where we are. Jason nods, and Tim looks back at Sionis. “You think I haven’t been tortured before? This is just a workout.” Is it true? No. He’s terrified, actually. But Jason needs time to signal Bruce through the camera, so Tim will stall for as long as he can. “Bold words, kid.” Sionis picks up a knife, tracing the edge of it with his fingertip. “Just makes it more fun for me when you break.” He comes closer and grabs Tim roughly by the chin, pressing the knife against his cheek uncomfortably close to his eye. “I’ll bet I can make you cry.” “Hey, Blackie,” Jason calls, ripping their focus away. His eyes are narrowed, mouth twisted. “Did you hear the one about the rich dude who wore blackface?” Sionis tightens his grip on Tim’s face. “Do tell.” Stop talking, Tim tries to convey telepathically. Don’t make this worse. “It was universally agreed that he was a piece of shit.” “You should learn to keep your mouth shut when someone’s holding a knife to your baby brother’s face.” To prove his point, Roman digs the knife in, slicing a thin line down all the way to Tim’s jaw. Tim inhales sharply at the sting. “Baby brother?” Jason repeats. “You really are an idiot.” He doesn’t look at Tim, keeping his glare solely on Roman. “I barely know the guy. He follows me around, thinking I walk on water or some shit, but trust me. He’s a pain in the ass. You’re doing me a favor, really.” Sionis pulls the knife away from Tim’s face. Tim releases a breath. Sionis approaches Jason now, his knife still raised with Tim’s blood staining the steel blade. “Someone’s mouthy today.” “If you think this is mouthy, you should have heard your mother last night.” Sionis plunges the knife into Jason’s knee. Jason locks a scream behind his teeth, his face contorting in pain. “Try walking on water now,” Sionis hisses. He yanks the knife out, blood splattering on Jason’s legs and the floor. Tim looks nervously at the camera, its red light blinding ominously. Is Bruce watching this from the other side, agonizing over having a front-row seat to this display? Or is he already gone, on his way to rescue them? Tim hopes it’s the latter. “You think—think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Jason pants, his teeth gritted through the pain. “That was child’s play.” “Is that right?” Sionis looks over his shoulder at Tim. “Then maybe we should get a second opinion. What do you say, kiddo? Want to match your brother over here?” “Thank god,” Jason says. “Go over there and stay, if you wouldn’t mind. Your breath smells like dog shit. But I guess you are what you eat, so.” Roman punches Jason in the face so hard Tim can hear his teeth clank from here. He does it again two, three times, until blood streams from Jason’s nostrils and spills over his lips. Tim pulls frantically on the ropes binding him, tries to do anything, but he’s held tight. “Now, that,” Jason says, spitting out a mouthful of blood and what looks like a tooth, “was better. Still amateurish, but at least you’re not a fuckin’ sissy about it.” “Hood,” Tim snaps. “Please, shut up.” Why are you doing this? “Why should I listen to you? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place, replacement. This is your fault.” Jason’s words are snarls and his eyes burn with a tangible hatred, all directed at Tim. But Tim knows him too well. Not everyone wears a literal mask like Sionis does. Roman reaches for his tray and picks up a new blade, this one with large, jagged teeth. “By all means, keep talking, Hood. See where that gets you.” “What, are you going to stab me? Go ahead. The little shit deserves to feel guilty.” Sionis poises the blade at Jason’s shoulder, digging the tip in until Jason hisses. He leans in close, grabs Jason’s jaw with his other hand. “I know you’re not stupid. You think that if you act like a big enough asshole, you can save the runt from me.” He pushes on the knife, slowly sinking it into Jason’s flesh, ridge by ridge. “I’m very okay with that.” Roman twists the knife and Jason screams. Tim closes his eyes but he can’t cover his ears; he can’t tune out his brother screaming in agony, and he almost wishes that he were in Bruce’s position, watching this through a video feed. At least then he could turn it off. “Stop, please,” Tim begs. “He didn’t do anything, it was all me. It was my idea to blow up your shipment. I ruined your business, not him. Just—hurt me, take it out on me. Not him.” Sionis releases the blade, leaving it sticking out of Jason’s shoulder. “Told you I could make the little bird cry.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim has never felt so powerless in his life. It feels like it goes on for hours, the blood and the screaming and the sickening sound of torn flesh. It only gets worse when he escalates to the snapping of fingers, the crackle of knife through bone. He hits Jason so many times there’s more purple riddling his face than clean, unmarked skin. And every time Sionis so much as looks at Tim, Jason does something new to pull his attention back like a wasp on a string. He provokes the sadistic bastard with vulgar comments, snotty complaints that belong more in Damian’s mouth than Jason’s. And Tim can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when something crashes behind him, which he assumes is the door. Roman barely has time to drop the blowtorch he’s holding before a batarang strikes him in the center of his mask, knocking him out cold. Jason doesn’t react. He hasn’t lifted his head in so long it puts Tim on the edge of panic, just quiet groans and grunts through every new injury inflicted on him. “Tim!” Dick is at Tim’s side in an instant, already working on the ropes binding him. “Are you okay?” Bruce is tending to Jason, putting a field dressing on one of his many open wounds while he talks to Alfred through his earpiece. He’s telling him to call Dr. Thompkins and tell her it’s an emergency. As soon as his hands are free Tim is lunging up from the chair, only for Dick to grab him by the shoulders and force him back down. “Hey, hey, slow down. Where are you hurt?” Dick lightly prods around the cut on Tim’s face, which is undoubtedly going to need stitches, but Tim couldn’t care less. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jason, who lets out a groan when Bruce accidentally jostles his broken arm. Tim shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t touch me at all. Only Jason.”