#have not stopped thinking about fire escape metaphors for months

[mykimouser]

Leo stared down at the fourth floor drop and thought, the fire is my life and I need to escape.

Fanart for take one for the team by the one and only @remedyturtles

(please mind the fic's tags!)

[clappingandcheering]

(Luke Castellan x Reader)

After the betrayal

Warnings: None, Angst. Talk about fire, but it's metaphorical.

It was a cold night on the edge of the camp—the kind of chill that made the fire flicker erratically in the middle of the clearing, casting long shadows against the trees. You sat on a stone near the campfire, the warmth of the flames licking at your skin, but your thoughts were miles away.

Luke Castellan was pacing back and forth in the shadows of the trees, his posture rigid, shoulders tense, like he was carrying a weight only he could feel. The moonlight cut through the branches, illuminating his face just enough for you to catch the hardened expression there—something between anger and regret.

You’d been watching him for a while now, unsure of what to say, if anything. The air between you had been thick with unspoken words for weeks, months even. Ever since the betrayal had come to light, ever since everything had fractured into pieces that no one could quite put back together. Luke had made his choices—choices that had cost him the respect and trust of everyone, including you—but something in the way he looked at you now made you wonder if he regretted it all.

You rose from your stone, silently walking towards him, unsure whether you should even be here. Luke didn’t often let anyone close these days, but tonight felt different, like the walls he’d built around himself were starting to crack, just enough for someone to slip through.

"Luke," you said quietly, not sure how to start but knowing that you had to say something.

He didn’t turn around immediately, his back still to you. But when he did finally face you, his eyes were unreadable—dark and cold, the edges of his jaw sharp, a permanent scowl etched into his features. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice laced with frustration.

You could feel the pull in your chest—that familiar ache. “I should be asking you that,” you said, matching his tone. "You’ve been avoiding everyone, including me."

Luke scoffed, the bitterness in his laugh like acid. "What, you think I’m supposed to just talk to people after everything I’ve done? After everything I’ve—" He stopped himself, taking a sharp breath. There was heaviness in his chest, like he was trying to keep something from spilling out. But you knew better.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said, the words more of a question than a statement. “We’re still your friends, Luke.”

He looked at you then, really looking at you, like you were some kind of puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking to the fire and then back to you. “I ruined everything. And now I’m supposed to just act like I didn’t burn it all down?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. There was that old, familiar sharpness in his voice—the one you hadn’t heard in a long time, the one that felt like it was coming from somewhere deeper than just the betrayal. It was coming from guilt. From regret.

You took a step closer, but he held up a hand, the gesture cutting through the space between you like a cold wind. “No,” he muttered. “Don’t. I’ve spent too long trying to fix something that can’t be fixed.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, but the rawness in it was undeniable. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I went to the other side, if I followed the path that promised power, I could protect everything—everyone. But I... I destroyed everything instead.”

You stepped forward, your heart tight in your chest. You wanted to say something, anything, to reach him, to make him understand that it wasn’t too late, that he didn’t have to be alone. But Luke had built these walls, brick by brick, and you couldn’t force them down.

"You didn’t burn everything," you said, your voice soft, trying to keep it steady. "Not yet. It’s not too late."

Luke shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the fire, his eyes distant, before he turned back to you. His gaze was sharper now, colder.

"Do you think I don’t know that?" he spat. His words were like daggers. "I’ve been watching everything I’ve ever cared about burn to the ground. And all I’ve been doing is pretending like I didn’t light the match."

The weight of his words landed between you like a bomb, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, absorbing the truth in his voice. The anger, the guilt, the hurt. It was all there, bleeding through the cracks in his mask. But it wasn’t just rage that made him burn everything. It was a kind of desperation, the kind of fear that drove him to make choices that felt right in the moment but were destroying him now.

He stepped back, the space between you growing wider. "I’m the one who destroyed everything. And now I’m the one left in the ashes."

You didn’t know how to answer him, not with words. There was nothing you could say that would make it better, not right now. But you took a step forward, closing the distance, and placed a hand on his arm, a gentle touch. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t move.

For a long moment, you stood there in the silence, both of you surrounded by the wreckage of everything that had come before.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered, almost to himself, as if the words were a confession, a burden that had been too heavy to carry. “I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

You let the silence stretch, the fire crackling behind you. And then, in the quietest voice you could manage, you said, "Then stop burning yourself alive, Luke."

His eyes flicked to you, searching for any sign that you meant it. And maybe it wasn’t the grand gesture, the promise of redemption, or the vow to fix everything. But it was a beginning. A crack in the walls.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Luke let his guard down just a little, and for the first time, he let himself be seen.

And in the silence that followed, you could almost hear the sound of something shifting between you.

It wasn’t over. Not yet. But it was a start.

[fea-resources]

Best SAO Abridged Lines As RP Starters Pt.1

"I am going to burn this fucker to the ground."

"I have a feeling you get beat up a lot."

“Fuck you, man, that’s like the pig from Hell!”

“The legacy of the pebble lives on.”

“Well, thanks for the quick tutorial on pig slaying, and the not-so-quick tutorial on... rocks.”

"Come on, I can't alt+F4 this shit!"

“...And the sky is bleeding.”

“Well Ballsy, I believe the locals call it a... hex...a...gon? Not sure if I’m pronouncing that right I’ll have to get back to you.”

"Man, they're really working for that M rating."

"Much like the World of Warcraft, you're not here by choice anymore. Unlike WoW however, you're being held here by me, not by the need to escape your empty fucking life."

"Sometimes things are born. They live... and then they stop. Forever."

"Yeah I'm just gonna keep that tabbed."

"As... tempting as that sounds, I really should stick with my friends back there. They're about as skilled as I am so I figure we have a better chance of surviving if we stick together."

"Well, monkeys and typewriters..."

"You might be the most unbearable asshole I've ever met, but you are really good at this. We could use you in our group, what do you say?"

"So many poor souls came to an abrupt and tragic end... some, by bad luck, others by sheer stupidity. I mean really, why would you just stand in fire?"

"Oh wow, what brilliant insight. That's so deep it loops right back around to being stupid."

"Its all bullshit metaphors with you."

"He cried... not knowing the difference between a simile and a metaphor."

"The tininess of his brain dwarfed only by the tininess of his di--"

"You can silence me but you can't silence the truth!"

"Oh jeez I am just making things worse."

"Pssht. Evidence... I don't need no evidence. Isn't that right _____?"

"Its pronounced ______, and... I don't know you."

"______, huh? That's a... pretty masculine name."

"Shouldn't be. Its a woman's name."

"...'kay, I dunno how to talk to you."

"Good, then you can shut up and listen."

"Good rule of thumb: if someone asks for money two seconds after meeting you, front lines. If they hijack conversations to rant about their political views, front lines. If they ask women to see pics of their boobs, front lines."

"Jesus, who wrote this thing?"

"Okay, so the guide's a bust, but it'll be fine! I'll come up with a great plan for us!"

"Well, we could--.... uhh... I'm open to suggestions!"

"We could group up, and hit it til it dies!"

"Fuck it, group up."

“What, a whole month? How have you survived this long?”

"HOW DO I EAT YOU?"

“It’s been...a challenge.”

"Oh I have lots of reasons for not grouping up. Mostly because they're a bunch of mouth-breathing neck-beards who think L M A O is how french people laugh."

“You sure have a way of... eh... speaking from the heart?”

"Funny, I thought I was speaking from my mouth, but shows what I know about biology."

"No one else wanted you in their group, did they?"

"Shut up, it was mutual!"

"Fine, we leave at the crack of... 2:30... I guess."

"Okay, so... apparently there were a few more stairs than we realized."

"Jesus... why don't you just take a cheetos and mountain dew break and we'll reconvene in an hour."

"Damn it I was kidding! You weren't actually supposed to actually take an hour!"

"Stop attacking from the front! Do you even know what 'Flank' means?!"

"For fuck's sake, stop playing Bejeweled!"

"Alright, this last part's going to take careful coordination... which is why I'm just gonna do it myself!"

"While both are primarily slashing weapons, a Talwar was favored by cavalrymen, as opposed to an Odachi which was mainly used for dick measuring."

"And why couldn't you say that first?"

"I like to think of myself as a teacher."

"Our best player is a girl who thinks DPS is some kind of sex thing."

"I've been doing this a long time, and if there's one thing I learned, its that lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Just take that little voice in the back of your head that tells you to be tactful and understanding, and shoot it. Shoot it in the god damn face."

"Here's what we'll do. One counters his blows to knock him off balance, and the other switches in to attack. Rinse, repeat, victory."

"You came up with that but you can't open a menu..."

"Congratulations! That was even more impressive than that cat that learned to play."

"Oh my god, you guys can see it too?! So I'm not crazy!

“Isn't that right _____?"

"That's right ______! Now... kill them all."

"As you command my lord."

"We have traveled far, and up many stairs to get to this point, fighting side by side, noobs and elites alike. I'd like to take a moment to say I couldn't have done it without the help of each and every one of you... of course I'm not a liar, so I'm not gonna say any of that."

"I mean to be honest I could have done this whole thing myself, BUT, to be fair, I guess you DID absorb a bit of damage for me, which was nice."

"You were an adequate meat shield, and no one can ever take that away from you."

"Fuck... fuck! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Shoot for the stars! It'll make it more fun for me when I kick you back into the dirt."

"You're not better than us!"

"My sweet ass coat begs to differ."

"No, its not fabric I can cut, its a bunch of 1's and 0's."

"Fine, then give me the 1's."

"Fuck you I want the 1's."

[buckyownsmylife]

Young and Beautiful - Steve Rogers smut

The one where you were supposed to be a one-night stand, but Steve won't let that happen

Warnings: smut, and a little bit of angst.

A/N: this was our first ever patreon-voted fic, chosen for the month of May! My patreons at the $3 tier get to send me their ideas once a month and two of them end up being voted so I can write one of them each month. June’s fic is the one where Ransom needs to get a sugar mommy, and if you want to suggest a story for our July’s fic, please consider becoming a patreon! Thank you to my darling @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for reading this over for me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The first time wasn’t a mistake, I could admit to that. Steve had been coming to the same bar where I worked for almost a year now. I knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew - he was hard to miss. But I think what he liked about our run-down place is that no one seemed to care about Captain America and the things he did when he didn’t have a bottle of beer in his hand.

Over here, he was just Steve. And Steve tipped well and drank a lot - I was sure he couldn’t get drunk, no matter how many beers I served him, but he never stopped asking me for more.

So, needless to say, he was adored. Adored by my boss, who was always around to keep watch of his customers and keep them in line. Adored by Luke, who guarded the entrance, for all the nights Steve helped him get rid of men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. And adored by all the waitresses, for precisely the same reason - and because I always shared my tips with all of them.

Even the kitchen staff adored Steve. Besides, it’s not like he was hard on the eye - all the girls (customers and staff) were constantly fawning over him, but he was nothing short of a gentleman, always.

Actually, he seemed to avoid the members of the opposite sex as best as he could, clearly not interested in whatever it was that they planned to possibly get to do with him. Well, except for me.

He never avoided me. I always figured it was because I was the guardian of the alcohol - we’d even joke about it sometimes, when he came to sit by the bar after politely declining someone’s advances.

“It’s just hard to understand how to date nowadays,” he commented one day after a pretty girl actually asked him out on a date right in front of me, but he refused. I shrugged as I wiped the counter, thinking if there was any advice I could give him.

“It really isn’t that hard. You go out to dinner, walk her home and when you step in front of her door, you ask her for some coffee. She’ll usually do it herself, but if you want to show your interest…” His frown was amusing, to say the least, but I held back my laughter so he wouldn’t be even more uncomfortable.

“A coffee?” Giggling, I nodded. “Before bed? But…”

“It’s a metaphor, Steve. A lady can’t very well invite you into her sheets, now can she?” He blushed three different shades of red when I winked, another giggle escaping. “I mean, she can, but we like to keep some things unsaid - innuendos can be very sexy.”

Two months had passed and if Steve made use of my lessons, I wouldn’t know. He never brought anyone to the bar and never left with any lady who approached him either.

“What can I get ya, Steve?” I’d always ask. I’d never once called him Cap or anything other than the name he used to introduce himself - even though I obviously knew who he was. He always took his time before answering my questions, even if they required a simple yes or no, which amused me to no end.

For a while, I actually believed a gun or one of the buildings the Hulk had undoubtedly thrown in his direction had left him with a difficulty of hearing. But then after my first question, he never seemed to have any problem understanding me at all.

“Just a beer,” he’d say, a small, soft smile as he tried not to stare too much at me, fingers tapping on the counter while I got his order. I appreciated his effort not to make me uncomfortable - I knew he’d seen how often men did that to me. I had no doubt that was why he only ever looked me in the eye from under those huge eyelashes of his.

“There you go.” Always the same routine, we never once deviated from it. Until one night when I was supposed to close the bar and he heard my boss instructing me to be careful.

“There’s been a lot of robberies this late at night. Make sure you lock everything up properly.” I saluted in jest, making the old man laugh and shake his head at me. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

There were only a handful of customers - Steve included, and he was the only one by the bar, so I threw him a quick smile as I wiped the glasses and started to clean the counter.

“Can I get you anything else?” I offered, but he only grimaced in response, leaving me confused. “Is there something wrong?” He stared directly at me without answering for a while before he was able to snap out of whatever it was that had frozen him.

“You’re supposed to leave by yourself at two in the morning?” I chuckled lightly at his concern, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t see how it warmed my heart that he’d be preoccupied over me, someone that was a little more than a stranger to him.

“It’s part of the job,” I reassured him. “Well, usually it’s part of Luke’s job. But whenever he has to leave early, it’s my duty to fill in for him.” He nodded, but didn’t make any movement towards leaving. Usually, he would be gone by now, but it wasn’t that extraordinary for him to stay until the hour I left.

This was the first time he stayed this long though, considering I wasn’t the one responsible for closing the bar and I only realized it when I looked around and noticed we were the last two people left in the room.

“Planning on drinking much more?” I joked, trying to gauge if he was going to be much longer, but he seemed startled by my question, looking around to verify the same thing I’d just noticed.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” I smiled, thankful that he was conscious and wouldn’t force me to stay even longer after my shift had finished. “I just figured I could walk you home. It is pretty late, after all.”

My heart warmed up at how sweet and thoughtful this man was. He had no reason to wait for me to finish my job just to walk me home, yet here he was. “Thank you, Steve,” I acknowledged, sending him a grateful grin. “Let me just check the bathrooms real quick. I’ll grab my purse and we can leave.”

He nodded, watching me do as I said and in no time at all we took off together in the direction of my apartment. I wasn’t worried about making small talk with him on the way there - I knew he was a good conversationalist from all the times he had stayed by the bar instead of taking his beer to a table, and I adored the stories he told of his missions just as much as I appreciated how he genuinely cared about what I had to say.

The walk to my place seemed shorter than ever before, and in a few minutes we were standing in front of my door as I searched for my keys in my bag.

“C-Can I…” He murmured as I looked for it, glancing up at him and smiling to signal he should continue even though I couldn’t give him my full attention at that moment. “Would you… Do you have some coffee?”

I was so shocked that my head whipped up to stare at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. Did Steve… Did he… Did he want to have sex with me? “I mean… in your apartment, do you have some coffee in your apartment?”

The thought was so extraordinary that the second I realized his intentions, a fire of desire warmed my lower belly, not because he was Captain America, but because he was an attractive and sweet guy that was way out of my league and I couldn’t believe he was into me.

He kept talking as I kept blinking at him, trying to process what was going on. “’Cause I’d really like to have some coffee… with you… If you want some too…”

His voice got smaller the longer it took for me to answer him, until it disappeared completely and he cleared his throat. “Nevermind.” He was about to turn around and make a run for it, I was sure, but I was able to grasp his wrist just in time, signalling him to stop because I had something to say.

“I would love to make you some coffee, Steve.”

So yeah, the first time wasn’t a mistake. He was way too fucking sweet and I got hot just by seeing how nervous he was to ask me for some “coffee”, incredulous that I was capable of affecting this giant man that much.

So as soon as we were in my apartment, I tied up my hair with the little hair tie I always kept on my wrist during work and got on my knees for him.

And I cherished every fucking second of it.

The way his mouth fell open in a gasp when I reached for his jeans, the little moans he let out as I licked his member… I couldn’t close my eyes, too transfixed by his expressions to miss anything.

The way he pulled me by my hair to devour my mouth, hands so eager to undress me that he ended up ripping my blouse, but it only made me giggle.

The way his groan sounded almost painful when he picked me up, shoved me against the door and penetrated me, filling me so beautifully I hit my head back against the wood and didn’t even notice it.

He got me to cum without almost no preparation, just from the thrill of it all, the stretch of his member inside of me. When I urged him to cum in my pussy, the look on his eyes was enough to get me to cum again, milking him dry as he emptied himself with a growl, forehead dropping against mine while he tried to catch his breath.

I was expecting him to leave immediately or maybe stay for an actual coffee. I wasn’t expecting him to pull out, drop to his knees and start lapping his cum from inside of me, eyes as focused on mine as I had been for him only minutes before.

Burying my fingers in his short locks, I tried to keep myself up despite the way my legs trembled, but Steve just adjusted them so they’d be over his shoulders and held me up with his face buried in me.

I had never cum so many times in a row. But then again, I had never had a man eat his own cum out of me.

I fully intended it to be a one time thing, and that was my plan. I thanked him for eating me out, made him some coffee, giggled at his stories about his friends and for a second it almost looked like we were back at the bar, only the counter was my kitchen table and I was allowed to sit on the other side.

He didn’t ask to stay the evening and I breathed a sigh of relief after I closed the door behind him, ignoring the slight empty feeling that momentarily hit me. This is what I wanted, I reminded myself, and by acting the way I expected him to, he had made it clear that he understood the rules of the dating world he claimed to know so little of.

This was a one time deal. Nothing more.

But then the first night we saw each other at the bar again, it was when he burst through the door to punch some guy who came in just as I was closing, trying to steal the money we had in the vault. I was so fucking relieved to see his face that all I could do was tremble in his arms after the police came to get the robber, and of course I couldn’t let him go after that.

He walked me home and I didn’t even ask anything, just stood on my tiptoes to kiss his lips, using my grip on his shirt to pull him in as he helped me with my clothes.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” He moaned, and perhaps that should have been my first sign, the one that alerted me to stop what I was doing and not make this into a mistake I couldn’t take back.

He hadn’t talked the last time. He had never complimented me before.

“God, your ass…” He groaned as he palmed it, helping me over his lap when he took a seat on my couch, until I could fuse the both of us and ride us to hysteria.

But I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind because it felt so fucking good to be desired by him, to have him inside of me, cumming deep into my pussy only to eat it all out of me again.

It didn’t take long for me to learn about the errors of my way, though. In fact, it started the very next day, when he walked into the bar grinning from ear to ear and made a beeline in my direction.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and my eyes went wide as two saucers, especially when I saw him lean over the counter like he intended to peck my lips.

“Hello, Captain.” I quickly turned my back to him, facing the shelves of liquor to pretend that I was looking for something. My heart sank to my stomach as I took in what was happening, what I had just done in my effort to put some distance between us as if last night had never happened. “Can I get you anything?”

The time it took for him to answer almost had me looking at him from over my shoulder, but I restrained myself. “Yeah, you,” he finally said, and I breathed out in surprise. “Why are you acting this way?”

I panicked for a few seconds, reaching up for an already clean glass to attack it with my rag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tried to reassure the both of us, still incapable of looking him in the eye.

But I could see his massive body by the end of the counter from the corner of my eyes, where he always sat, and I saw him tap the old battered wood with his fingers - fingers he had used to spread me open for his tongue to reach - as he thought.

I hoped he would let it go. I hoped he would not.

“Fine,” he relented, and I froze, uncertain of what he meant. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” My head snapped up just in time to watch him leave, and he didn’t even look over his shoulder.

I tried to tell myself it was for the best. He needed some time to get over whatever the hell it was that he thought he was feeling and tomorrow things would go back to normal. But that wasn’t what happened.

He came back with flowers the next day, and I didn’t have any reasonable excuse not to accept it. He didn’t push for anything, just gave me the bouquet before asking for his usual drink. And then he proceeded to stay the entire evening right there, where he always sat, carefully watching my every move.

For the first time in a while, I broke two glasses in a single evening.

The day after that, he came with a box of chocolates. I couldn’t hide the smile because they were my favorite - I didn’t know how he knew it until he reminded me.

“You told me you liked them right when I started coming to this place.” His eyes were so heavy with a sad feeling that I couldn’t recognize that I had to avert my gaze. It messed with my heartbeat, it left my throat feeling dry.

“Thanks, Captain,” I softly acknowledged it, and I saw the way his grip on the box tightened. I saw it in the way it was slightly crumpled when I took it from his hands, but he didn’t say a word.

There was only so much that he could take, though. And I knew that. It didn’t help that my boss had caught onto his intentions and started to push me to go out on a date with him.

“Why don’t you give the poor guy a chance?” He’d incite, much to Steve’s utter glee.

“Yeah, Y/N. Why don’t you go out with me?” Steve urged, and although he never asked when my boss wasn’t around to initiate the teasing, I knew he wondered.

And the truth was that I wondered about it too. Because everything was screwed up now. When I gave him his beer and our fingers brushed, mine were left tingling. When I looked his way to find his gaze already on me, I shivered.

So yes, the second time was undeniably a mistake, but there wouldn’t be a third time. I’d make sure of it.

Steve’s P.O.V.

I was tired of waiting. I knew I had wanted her since the first time I laid my eyes on her, when I decided to stop at this rundown bar in the hopes of one night of crappy beer without being bothered by anyone asking for autographs or pictures.

I’d come here almost every night when I could escape the tower to watch her work, slowly getting her to warm up to me, and I fell for her personality in the process.

The way she clearly saw me as Steve, and not my title.

The way she always laughed at my stories and shared what had happened in the previous nights with the raucous customers.

The way she seemed to care about everyone and everything that came into contact with her.

So what started as desire became something deeper and for the first time since I was unfrozen, I found myself eager to understand what dating in this new century was like. I asked Sam for advice, and even Tony for any tips he could give me, but their general ideas didn’t matter to me when all I wanted was one single person.

Her.

So I asked her for her thoughts on the matter and was surprised with myself when I put them into practice. I was even more surprised when she accepted my advances and welcomed me into her embrace.

I was sure I’d never been happier than that evening.

But to have her pretend nothing had happened and even worse - treat me like a stranger after I had learned the taste of her skin? Nothing hurt deeper than that.

And still, I understood. I realized then that she hadn’t seen the situation the way that I had. She had thought all I wanted was a one-night deal - well, two-night deal - because I had never shown her anything to make her think differently.

So I set out to do just that. My way this time. And I was just about ready to ask her on a proper date when I was forced away for a whole damn month, having to resort to my hand and my memories of her body to get through the cold nights on the field.

The second I was back in the city, I only had one thing in mind. To get what I wanted, in whatever way she would let me.

“Can we talk?” My voice sounded clipped to my own ears, and maybe that’s why her mouth opened in surprise - or maybe it was seeing me at the bar so early, when there was barely anyone around, after being absent for so long.

“Sure,” she finally accepted, shrugging like it was no big deal, but I knew better than that. She might not know it, but I could read her perfectly, and I knew she was hiding her true feelings even to herself. I knew those feelings were deeper than she had ever felt. I knew they made her scared.

“Not here.” She stopped cleaning glasses then, frozen for a second before she looked around, taking in the fact that no one else was going to need her for a while. There was nowhere to run and maybe I was a jerk for doing this during her work hours, but I was a desperate jerk and I couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Okay.” She sounded small, and I knew what she was expecting to get out of this conversation. Closure, in one way or another. For me to finally let go of her. But I wouldn’t.

I wanted her too damn bad to let her escape like that.

“Go out with me.” I asked the second that the office door was closed behind us, and she immediately started shaking her head. “Yes, please,” I insisted. “Let me show you that I want more from you. I want so much more.”

“I can’t give you more,” was her answer, and she still avoided my eyes as she spoke. “One night, you even had two. That’s all I can give you. Please don’t ask me for anything more.”

“Why?” I asked, and the frustration in my voice was enough to get her to meet my eyes for the first time that evening. “Why are you trying to avoid this? I know you want me, Y/N. You wouldn’t have slept with me if you didn’t. So just tell me why.”

“I can’t,” she insisted, moving towards the door, but I grasped her hand to stop her before she could slip through it - much like she had done that first night, when I thought I’d screwed up any chance I had to ever be with her.

“Tell me why you’re holding yourself back from me,” I ordered, anger and desire creating an explosive cocktail inside of me, making my voice hoarse. I saw her shiver. I watched her break.

“Because it was too fucking good and I swear to God, if you get your mouth on me again, I’m gonna marry you.” Our expressions mirrored one another, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. She couldn’t believe she had let out her feelings like this. I couldn’t believe there was all there was to it.

I dropped to my knees before her.

“Come here.” I shoved her jeans all the way down to her ankles, sending the button flying somewhere. I couldn’t tell where and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to show her that there was nothing wrong with wanting this, with wanting me because as long as she allowed me to, I’d give anything to be with her.

My tongue was so hungry to taste her sweetness again. I licked a stripe between her lower lips before I could even get my hand there, spreading her with my fingers for easier access.

God, she was heavenly. I watched her let her head fall back against the door, much like the first time I was able to be in this position, and my heartbeat fluttered at the realization that this time, I was much closer to getting what I really wanted from her.

“I’ve been terrified of my own feelings for long enough,” I decided to confess, parting from her clit to be able to speak but slipping two digits inside her hole, filling her up, preparing her to welcome me. “I can wait for you to come to terms with yours. But I can’t keep myself away,” I warned, quickening my movements as I chased away the taste of her in my tongue. “So don’t ask that of me.”

Her moan had my eyes sparkling with excitement. I lowered my head to suck her button, see the way it made her thighs tremble on each side of my face.

“So fucking sexy,” I moaned against her cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Drench my face.” Her little cry of ecstasy denounced she was about to do just that, so I twirled my tongue around her clit, rubbing my digits against her sweet spot as her body tensed under my ministrations.

“There you go…” I whispered, fascinated with the way she looked after her release. It was like she glowed from the inside, muscles relaxing to accept my caresses when I finished cleaning her with my tongue and rose to my full height.

“Next time you try to pretend something between us didn’t happen, I’m gonna bend you over the counter and spank your ass in front of all of the other patrons,” I warned her before nibbling her earlobe. “Go out with me,” I tried again, and she took a deep breath before answering, looking up at me from under her eyelashes.

“Okay.”

[dameronology]

6 from the angst prompts with frank please🤲🏾

frank castle + 6) "why does my mind go back to when you used to hold me?"

ok. i'm gonna be real with you. this started by following the prompt, then it...it went somewhere else entirely. but we move.

You should have been happy in your lover's arms.

Anyone else in the world would have been fucking elated; wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa with a five-foot-eleven guy, with his ginger tousled hair and broad arms. Your first date together had been a favour to your sister, but you'd never found a reason to stop seeing him. After all, he looked after you. Texting you to make sure you got home safe, bringing you lunch at work, fixing your broken kitchen cabinet in your shitty little apartment. He was nice. Too nice. He was a sensible t-shirt made out of husband material.

So what did that make Frank Castle? The leather jacket that your parents had forbade you from buying? The stupidly ripped jeans that made your relatives ask dId yOu bUy tHeM lIke tHat?

But truthfully, there was no stupid, cliche metaphor for Frank Castle. He was absolutely indescribable; a walking contradiction, a fucking confusion. He was rough and soft and giving and taking all at once. He stole the air from the lungs and breathed it right back into you; stole the show, but never came out from behind the curtains. He'd ruined your life for twelve straight months and yet, you looked back on that year as the best time of your life.

Frank was gone now - gone to the wind, wherever his next crime took him. You still thought of him, though. Constantly. About how your new boyfriend's arms didn't hold you as tight; about how his hair was a lot softer than Frank's, and didn't scratch you in the same way his did whenever he buried his head in your neck. His hands weren't as large and protective. He didn't make you black coffee every morning - oat lattes and fancy cappuccinos, yeah. But not the shitty, sugarless crap that Frank served to you in a chipped Coney Island mug every day at 7AM. The new guy cared enough to walk you home, but not enough to elbow his way into your apartment at 3AM because he'd heard sirens four blocks away and panicked. Frank Castle had had a weird way of loving you - and now, everyone else's attempts at it paled in comparison.

Like I said before - anyone else would have been infatuated with the new man sat beside you. Admittedly, you'd only found one problem with him.

He wasn't Frank.

"I'm just going to make some tea," you said. "I'll be back in a second."

The auburn man looked at you. "Should I pause the movie?"

"It's okay, I've seen it before," you forced a smile.

Shrugging off the blanket, you stood up and stalked through to the kitchen. It was a separate room from your living area - Frank had always given you spiel about how cramped it felt. But the minute you spotted a pair of combat boots on the fire escape? You were just thankful for the privacy it now gave you from the man you should have been falling in love with.

Hopping up on the counter, you slid open the window and stuck one leg out onto the metal stairs. Frank naturally leant forward to help you, a large handing wrapping around your wrist and pulling you up. The sky was pitch black, lit only by the starry facade of the Lower East Side. Hell's Kitchen was beautiful from this angle - probably because the man who constantly tore it to pieces was stood on your fire escape.

"You look like shit," you greeted him. It was true; his hair was cropped and neat, and he was clean shaven like usual, but there was a fucking massive shiner on his left eye.

"So do you," Frank shot back. "Who the fuck does that t-shirt belong to?"

"None of your business," you said.

"It belongs to your ginger friend, doesn't it?" he deduced. "What's his name?"

"Again - none of your business."

"Fine. I'll just call him Ron, then."

"Okay, Frank," you huffed. "Why are you turning up on my fire escape at 1AM and giving me spiel about Harry Potter?"

"I was just checking in," he shrugged. "Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"No."

"Fine," he held his hands up in defence. "But I know you're thinking about me."

"I'm not thinking about you," you countered. "In fact, the first person I think of when I hear the name Frank is Frank Reynolds from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia."

"You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," he reminded you.

"It's true. I really love Danny Devito-"

You abruptly stopped talking when Frank grabbed you by the waist, pulling you towards him. Your lips crashed against his - warm and familiar and chapped - in a passionate kiss. Time might as well have fucking stopped in that moment. It was a feeling you'd craved for so long; begged for, prayed to every god you believed in and even those you didn't.

"You love me more," Frank murmured. "More than the man inside."

"Frank," you murmured.

"Just say it," he pushed. "I know you love me - not him."

"Is that why you came back?" you asked. "Because you were worried I'd found someone else?"

"I came back because I missed you," he confessed.

"You went upstate to get away from all this," you half-heartedly gestured to the city below.

"And I came back for all this," he gestured to you with a large hand. "It's nothing to do with you being with someone else. It doesn't mean I don't want to left hook the guy for putting his hands on you, but..."

Frank trailed off. You, meanwhile, were still in disbelief. It had taken so much effort to move on; to force his remaining belongings into a box under your bed. Even more so to let another man in to said bed.

In a swift movement, he'd taken off his hoodie and pulled it over your shoulders. The zip was done up in mere seconds, thick hood pulled over your head. It smelt of Frank - domestic Frank, not I've gone bat-crap crazy on a gang in the middle of the night and come back looking like the prom scene in Carrie Frank. It was a mixture of cheap laundry detergent and a little of his spicy aftershave. He rarely wore the stuff, but you deducted he probably put it on for tonight. What kind of fucking weirdo put on expensive aftershave just to creep around on his former lover's balcony? Frank. The answer was Frank. Just...quintessentially him.

"You really hate the look of me in his clothes, huh?" you teased.

"You looked cold," Frank lied. "Does Ron give you his hoodies?"

"He'd give me his damn wardrobe if I asked."

He snorted. "Yeah, okay. I'm glad to see you that you still enjoy dancing around important conversations-"

"- you know I love you, Frank," you cut him off. "But I'm not skipping into the fucking sunset with you at 1AM when it's freezing as shit outside. Especially not when there's a man on my couch, who thinks I'm making a cup of tea when I'm actually kissing a man out on the fire escape."

"I love you too," Frank gave you a lopsided grin, completely ignoring the second half of what you said. "I'll come back in the morning."

"Yeah, okay," you pressed another kiss to his jaw. "See you then."

You slipped your hands away from Frank's, sliding your legs back through the window and onto the kitchen counter. Leaping off the side, you shut the window and reached to turn on the kettle - you did have the whole cup of tea lie to keep up with.

And with a smile on your face, you reached for the chipped Coney Island mug on your shelf.

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Prickly Situation

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Scott, Alan

Alan was terrified, but at least he was unhurt.  Scott would do everything in his power to keep the latter fact that way.

Next up for @whumptober-archive with day 4 “Trust Fall”, somehow using all three prompts: “Do you trust me?”, taken hostage, and pushed.​  Will this get a follow up?  Who knows - it depends on the rest of the month’s prompts.

The cliff edge was right behind his heels; as his weight shifted, pebbles wriggled loose and tumbled down, landing in a rustle of disturbed foliage.  Scott wasn’t sure how far down it was, or what was at the bottom, and he wasn’t particularly interested in finding out, either.

Alan was near tears. Scott couldn’t blame him; a gun to the temple was terrifying, and they’d both heard the click of the safety coming off when Scott hadn’t complied with the demands instantaneously enough for the owner’s liking.

If it was just him, he’d probably have considered fighting back, but he hadn’t come out alone, and as he looked into the too-bright eyes of his terrified youngest brother he regretted the decision to bring him out as well.  Alan was far too young to be exposed to this sort of situation, far too young to be used as a hostage to force compliance.

Scott shivered, and it wasn’t just fear for his brother.  Beside him, folded up with military precision, sat his flight suit, with the rest of his gear stacked up neatly on top.  Alan’s was in a scruffier pile, partially due to his personality, and partially due to the gun kissing his skin the entire time.

Even still wearing the undershirt and shorts, the wind was cold.  Beneath his bare feet, the cliff edge crumbled a little more.

“Thank you for your co-operation.”  The man was alone, but alone with a gun still put the power in his hands, especially when he had it pointed straight at Scott’s youngest brother and a pincer grip on the teenager’s shoulder to hold him in place.  Despite his terror, Alan was smart enough to know to stay still rather than try and escape, although having been instructed to step back to the cliff edge, Scott was concerned about their survival chances regardless.

Certainly he was looking at an imminent drop unless a miracle occurred.

“Now that I have what I need,” the man continued, finger threateningly perched on the pistol’s trigger, “I don’t need you.”

Scott’s heart leapt up into his mouth and he frantically scrambled for a solution, a way to save Alan at the least even as he met wide blue eyes.  Help me, they begged, moisture beading and threatening to overflow. Scotty, I’m scared.

At the end of the day, Alan was still a child.  Scott knew that, even when Alan was wearing IR Blue with his signature red baldric. He couldn’t forget that his youngest brother, no matter the feats he pulled off as part of International Rescue, shouldn’t be worrying about anything more important than his homework, not facing life and death situations almost daily.  He certainly shouldn’t be facing his own death.

“Don’t-” he started, breathless and desperate.  “Not him. He’s just a child, please-”

A bark of laughter cut him off and his eyes tore themselves from Alan to look at the man.  There was a crazed grin on his face, and something calculatingly vicious in his eyes.

“How easy it is to get the Commander of International Rescue to beg,” he drawled.  “Move.”  The word was aimed at Alan, alongside a kick to the back of his legs that had him stumbling forwards a pace, held up only by the vice-like grip on his shoulder and the gun still pressed to his head.

Another step and he’d be in Scott’s reach.  The metaphorical chasm that yawned between them felt far more dangerous than the literal one beneath Scott’s bare heels.

“If you don’t want him to die,” the man continued.  “Then you’d better think fast, Commander.”

The hand left Alan’s shoulder, then thrust into his back, sending him staggering him forwards, towards the cliff edge.  A foot joined the effort, and Alan’s arms pinwheeled in a vain attempt to keep his balance.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Scott was moving before his thoughts caught up, the ground falling away beneath his feet as he threw himself between Alan and the cliff edge.  The action left him off-balance, too.

Alan slammed into him and then they were both falling.

It wasn’t a long drop, Scott discovered as his back crashed into something leafy, crushing it beneath his body as he came to a stop that stole the breath from his lungs.  Safely encased in his arms, Alan was tucked up against his body, shielded from the impact as best Scott could manage.

For a brief moment, it felt like they’d escaped unharmed.

Then his nerves set on fire.

Every inch of exposed skin burned, including where his undershirt appeared to have ridden up his back slightly at the contact, and a gasp erupted from Scott’s throat unbidden.

“Scott?” At Alan’s small, scared, voice, he tightened his grip further, pinning him in place.  “Scott, are you okay?”  He wrenched open eyes he didn’t recall closing to see a mop of blond hair rising from where it’d been tucked under his chin.  Stray strands tickled his lips as Alan looked up at him with big, blue eyes.

He couldn’t say he was fine, not when his skin was crawling like a colony of fire ants had decided to hold a festival on it and his lungs were constricted by the resultant pain combined with the brother on top of him.  He wasn’t sure he could say anything at all, but he had to try.

The first thing out of his mouth was a hiss of pain.  “What,” he started, gasping the word more than saying it and watching Alan’s already wide eyes widen further, “did… did I, land on?”

It had to be some sort of aggressive foliage to hit his entire body at once; an upset animal bite would have a specific epicentre, and it was definitely an external cause, not an injury – the same foliage that was objecting severely to his presence had cushioned his fall enough that he didn’t think he’d seriously injured anything, although there would definitely be several bruises.

“Huh?”  Alan moved, shifting his weight and inadvertently pressing parts of Scott’s body further into the plant below.  He swallowed back the resultant hisses.  “Oh.”  He started wriggling to get up and Scott pinned him down as firmly as he could as his biceps started trembling from the prickle of fire assaulting them from below.  “Uh, Scott, it’s a giant nettle patch.”

Well that explained the fiery sensation crawling across his skin.

Alan tried to escape again, but Scott grit his teeth and held on.

“Scott, let me up!” his brother protested.  “We have to get out of here.”  

He couldn’t argue with that, but he could and would argue at Alan wandering through a field of nettles in bare feet and shorts.

“Stay still,” he grunted.

“But, Scott-”

“No point-” he broke off with a gasp, chest heaving, “-both of us, ah, getting stung.”

“I don’t think that’s avoidable,” Alan mumbled.  “There’s a lot of nettles.”

Scott didn’t care how many nettles there were; he’d failed to protect Alan from the man with the gun, he wasn’t going to let him get hurt by nettles, of all things, as well.

“Shift your… weight,” he instructed with another gasp.  “On my stomach.”

“Are you sure?” Alan still sounded uncertain, but Scott was sure he could hear a touch of relief underneath it. “Can you carry me with all those stings? You don’t look too hot.”

“Do you… trust me?” Scott pressed with a wheeze, knowing that the answer had to be yes, or he might just break.

“Of course I do!”  The response was lightning-fast and soothed a spike of anxiety before it could take hold, even if it couldn’t sooth the prickling burn of nettle stings as they sank deeper into his skin.  Scott had been stung before, although never on this level, and knew that it’d be days before his body recovered from this torture.

The affirmation of his trust, however, seemed to be the catalyst Alan needed to get moving, shimmying off of Scott’s chest to coil up on his gut.  The air squeezed out of his stomach was alleviated by the sudden ability to get air into his lungs, and Scott drew in several deep breaths before approaching the challenge of moving.

His palms shrieked as he sacrificed them to the nettles for leverage, unable to use just his abs to sit up while Alan was sitting on them.  At the same time he drew his knees up, blocking Alan from sliding too far down, and as soon as he was sat vaguely upright he shuffled his hands around until only one was needed to keep him semi-vertical.  The other wrapped back around the back of Alan’s knees, holding him in place like a much younger child as he gasped an instruction for Alan to hold onto him.

Thin, child’s arms wrapped around his neck, uncomfortably tight but Scott wasn’t going to tell him to let go.

Instead, he groaned with dread before finding all the strength left that could be mustered and thrusting his torso up and forwards to force himself to his feet.

He almost overbalanced entirely and ended up flat on his face, as though half his body was annoyed at missing out on the stings, but thankfully a couple of staggers and a second hand wrapping tightly around Alan kept him upright.

His back wasn’t appeased, despite no longer being in direct contact with the nettles, and none of the rest of his body was, either.  The soles of his feet screamed as they were roped into the punishment of crushing stinging nettles with every step, but Scott was good at working through pain and kept staggering forwards, taking the shortest looking path out of the patch.

Alan’s hold on him tightened as he swayed, although whether it was reassurance or fear, Scott didn’t like to guess.

(It was probably fear, his mind hissed anyway.)

The burn wasn’t fading even though his skin – tormented and abused feet aside – was no longer in contact with the cause.  How many minor barbs, hairs, whatever nettles used to sting, were buried in him he tried not to think about.  The answer was too many, enough that his body was shaking, limbs supporting his and Alan’s weights trembling, and the nettle patch could likely be justifiably referred to as a nettle forest based on its footprint.

Too big, too agonising, too everything.  He staggered more than he walked, more than once his vision blurring or even whiting out entirely, but they had to get clear before he could risk setting Alan down. He didn’t want to set Alan down at all.

His body disagreed, despite his best efforts to the contrary.  Adrenaline, stubbornness, and anything else he could use to force the dregs of his body to forge through the prickling, rushing, fire of thousands of nettle stings, could only get him beyond the border of the nettle patch by one, single, step.

Knees hit the ground hard, one hitting something hard and sharp that was probably a stone and splitting open to let liquid run down into the ground below, as though it really needed any more feeding.  He barely released Alan in time, little brother scrambling backwards on his palms with blue eyes just as wide as they’d been throughout the entire experience as Scott crashed down onto his front.

“Scott!”

They were clear of the nettles. Alan was clear of the nettles.  Scott had no idea how they were going to get any further; their comms were gone, just like the rest of their gear.  He couldn’t even summon Thunderbird One to pick them up, let alone call John for help.

He could do nothing except lay in a somewhat crumpled heap, vaguely grateful that his front wasn’t also being assaulted with nettles as Alan fussed worriedly, and hope that their bad luck was over for the day.

[nighthaikyuu]

heartbreak hours

— synopsis: various scenarios of heartbreak between y/n and haikyuu boys 

— characters included: kuroo, timeskip!oikawa, ushijima, timeskip!atsumu, 

— genres: angst angst angst!

kuroo

watching your best friend who you are in love with, fall in love w someone else

you wouldn’t wish this upon anyone else. 

even your worst enemy. 

you stood there by the gates, biting back the tears that threatened to spill as kenma beside you gave you a look of pity, knowing well that you were trying to put on the bravest face you possibly could. 

you didn’t know how kuroo kept breaking your heart; after what seemed like months, you thought there had been nothing left to break. but clearly that wasn’t the case as you felt the sharp ache in your chest return, watching as his face flushed deeply, leaning in towards the girl who stood in front of him. 

the first time was unlike no other; your body went completely still, the rush of your blood drumming in your ears as your brain slowly comprehended the words that came out of kuroo’s mouth. 

“so guys...remember mina? we did that chem project together? well, I think I kinda like her...” 

eyes widening, your gaze snapped up from your phone to kuroo’s face and oh did you regret it almost immediately. rubbing the back of his neck, he gave you a lopsided grin as a soft blush spread across the boy’s cheeks, a completely rare sight for someone who always appeared so cocky and confident. 

you wondered how kuroo didn’t notice then. just how the light completely left your eyes. just how your face went ghost white, hands trembling at your sides as you sat there, heart shattering piece by piece. 

months later and there you were, an empty shell of who you once used to be. days and weeks went by hearing about mina this! mina that! and every time you listened, despite each word only shoving the knife deeper and deeper into your already bleeding heart. 

but you were tired. 

turning around, you let the tears fall freely, choking back a sob. you felt Kenma’s hand on your back, patting you in soft reassurance yet you only cried harder. 

“w-why couldn’t it have been me?”

oikawa

watching yourself grow distant with your s/o

slowly stirring your coffee with one hand, you stared outside the window as you watched the snow peacefully fall from the sky. bringing the cup to your mouth, you blew gently before taking a small sip, the sweet liquid tricking down your throat. 

a soft ding! broke your trance, your eyes falling on your phone beside you. 

[oikawa_tooru just posted a photo]

pressing your finger to the home button, you click the notification as instagram pulls up. within seconds you were met with a smiling oikawa, his arms wrapped around his teammates as they appeared to be at the beach. looking at the location tag, you realized he was in Brazil. 

what used to bring a soft smile to your face as you’d take in the love of you life, instead you felt a deep sadness wash over you, lips tugging into a frown. 

he hadn’t told you he was going to Brazil. 

clicking the lock button, you turned your phone face down before turning your attention back towards the window as you continued to stare emptily at the streets and the people who inhabited them. 

a certain couple caught your eye. both of them wearing their school uniforms, one you immediately recognized as aoba johsai’s, you watched as they walked hand-in-hand, the girl laughing at something the boy had said. stopping in front of the bus stop, the boy suddenly unwrapped the scarf around his neck before turning to his girlfriend and placing it around hers. face flushing, she looked away shyly before giving him an embarrassed smile, her mouth mouthing a warm thank you. 

tears pricked the corners of your eyes. you wanted to look away, look away from the scene that unfolded before you that so achingly felt familiar; the way their eyes sparkled, fingertips within constant grasp, cheeks a soft flush of red. 

before you knew it, a certain wetness washed over your cheeks as your chest tightened. blinking, you felt the tears escape your eyes as you sat there, still and unmoving. 

by the time you took another sip of your coffee, it had gotten too cold. 

you almost let out a bitter laugh. 

oh, how metaphorical. 

you and oikawa loved like fire. every single second of every single day was filled with so much love, that literally nothing would be able to put it out. 

until he decided to go to argentina. 

the devil in you didn’t want him to go. you wanted him here, to yourself, by your side. but you could never do that to him. so you told him to go for it, you told him you’d be here waiting and supporting him. 

and so he did. 

the both of you tried. but with your studies and his practice, plus the time difference and a million other uncalculated things, daily phone calls became weekly, weekly facetimes became monthly, and coming back home suddenly didn’t seem like it was going to happen. 

and just like that, with nobody to tend to the weakening fire, the heat sizzled out, replaced with a coldness like no other. 

you placed the cup back down, your grip tightening as the bitter taste of the coffee stung your throat. turning back to look at your phone, you reached out to grab it, barely noticing the way your hands shook as they did so. 

pulling up your messages, before you knew it, your fingers began typing a message you knew was long coming. 

[6:27] you: hey tooru, we need to talk. 

ushijima

watching your s/o fall out of love with you

looking down at you shoes, it took every bit of strength in you not to cry. 

turning around, hands trembling at your sides, you simply nodded before weakly whispering, “okay.” 

please leave, I have more important things to do

I have more important things to do....

more important...

the words echoed through your mind as you walked out of the gym, lips trembling as you sniffled. staring up at the sky, you blinked repeatedly, forcing the tears to just go away but as your mind played the words for you like a broken tape recorder, again and again and again. 

the tears only fell faster. 

brushing them away with the back of your hand, you slowly walked back to dorm as the last few weeks played like a painful movie in your head. 

one. 

“do you want to watch a movie, toshi?” you asked him, pushing yourself up with your elbow as you laid across his bed. 

pausing the video on his laptop, he responded shortly, “no, not really.” before clicking play again, his eyes not even once moving away from the screen. 

��oh, okay.” you said dejectedly to yourself, a frown appearing on your face as you realized he didn’t even hear just how upset you sounded. getting up from his bed, you walked over to the door. turning around slightly, you let out a scoff as he continued to watch the video, gaze unwavering. 

two.

frowning, you stared at your messages in disappointment. scrolling through the number of birthday texts you received from several of the other volleyball members, your classmates and relatives, your eyes were only looking for one specific name. 

and it didn’t show up. 

“he probably went to bed early...” you reassured yourself, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

the next morning when you woke up, you grabbed your phone in excitement hoping to see the text message you so earnestly waited for all night, yet the second you clicked on your messages, it looked the same as it did last night. 

nothing. 

three. 

“how was your day today—?” you started when you heard him sigh softly, muttering words under his breath that you couldn’t hear. 

turning your head to look at him, eyes slightly wide, he finally muttered, “let’s just not talk today, okay? I'm not in the mood.” 

“oh...” your brows furrowed in concern, “did something happen—?”

“did you not hear what I just said y/n?” he asked sharply. 

gulping, you nodded before averting your gaze to the ground. 

you didn’t know why it took you so long to realize it. but it finally hit you like a shit ton of bricks, each one breaking your heart into a million little pieces. 

the light you used to see in his eyes whenever he looked at you, had disappeared. 

ushijima changed. 

and so did his love for you. 

atsumu

watching your s/o cheat on you

with a click of the door, you heard him walk inside, his usual endearing words echoing through the room until his eyes fell on you. 

“what’s going on here—?” 

“was I not enough?” you whispered quietly from the couch, your grip on the suitcase handle tightening. 

“wait, what?” 

you closed your eyes together as you took in a shaky breath. the images ran through your mind; her lips on his, his hands on hers, their bodies molded together. 

placing your phone on the coffee table face up, you watched as he walked over to where you were, his confused gaze finally falling on the picture you had pulled up on your phone. 

his eyes widened in horror as the realization dawned upon him, his pupils shaking, “Wait, that’s not what it looks like. I can expla—” 

lifting your hand up, you said coldly, “there is nothing to explain. I'm afraid the pictures do enough of that atsumu.” 

getting up from the couch, you grabbed the suitcase that sat beside you, filled with all the clothes and trinkets that belonged to you that you had thrown together in the little time you had left before Atsumu came back. 

“y/n, please. let’s talk this out—” atsumu pleaded softly, his hand circling your wrist. 

flinching at his touch, you pulled your wrist back before turning to look at the boy before you whose eyes widened as for the first time that night, he really looked at you. 

your bloodshot eyes stared at him in quiet rage, fists tightening at your sides as you struggled to find the words to say. you wanted to cry. you wanted to scream. most of all, you wanted to know why. 

but you knew it would break you. 

“fuck off atsumu.” 

turning back around, you made your way towards the door when you atsumu moved in front of you, blocking your path with his body, “please don’t go. please.”

“move.”

before you could take another step, atsumu wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you to chest, caging you in. 

“atsumu—” you started, voice cracking as the tears you held in slipped past your eyes, staining his shirt as you felt his grip around you tighten. 

no. you couldn't do this. you couldn’t let him do this to you. 

gathering every ounce of strength left in you, you pushed him back. your hand remained on his chest in efforts to create distance between the both of you. looking up, you saw his eyes flood with tears as he stared at you painfully, “y/n, please—” 

“atsumu?” you whisper softly, the boy in front of you nodding furiously, “y-yes? what is it?” 

your hand made its way up to his cheek, cradling his face as your thumb slowly swiped away the tear that had escaped his eyes, your own eyes welling up again. 

“don’t keep overworking yourself, alright? and if you need anything, you know Osamu’s only a call away right?” 

atsumu’s heart stopped, “y/n, what—?”

“mm and I wasn’t able to really get everything so, um, if you can put whatever isn’t yours in a box for me, I’ll have Suna pick them up for me.” 

“y-y/n.” 

“also, stop eating out so much. you know it’s not healthy and you need the right nutrients so you can keep playing volleyball, you understand?”

“y/n! please—!” 

"oh and—” you leaned in, resting your forehead against his. closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to his, the kiss tasting like both of your tears as you pulled away. 

“I hope you’ll be happy.” you whispered, your voice trembling with each word. 

grabbing your suitcase, you stepped out of atsumu’s weak grip before moving past him and towards the door. hand resting on the doorknob, you said your final words, “goodbye atsumu.”

and then you were gone. 

general taglist: @cinnamonrusts @postsfromthe6 @lady-snavely @02hhsailor@killuaking @rae0fsunshine1317 @sugawaaras @voids-universe @yams046@visaintes @simpforsaeko @honeybacon @kuroosbabie @verblueht @captain-janeway

character-specific taglist: @mkkhaikyuu @bluelightningxiii @ushiwakasvball  @findityourselffsworld​

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

tommy is definitely the most self conscious out of the trio while also being the least likely to say anything about it, anything said about his intelligence, appearance, weight, anything really just goes straight to his heart and eats at him. it leads to some amount of friction between him and billy bc while steve’s known tommy his whole life and has had ample time to analyze all his reactions (and is generally the most emotionally intelligent of the trio) he tends to simply praise tommy when flirting. billy just genuinely has no idea and loves to playfully tease tommy as a form of flirting, and even just in general for banter bc that’s just who he is. tommy almost always ends up crying in his car and it ends up taking his self image issues to a degree they haven’t been at since middle school and it goes on for MONTHS until anyone even realizes he’s hurting

instead of leaving off on an abrupt and non-comfort ending again, i’ll offer a nicer one this time. scouts honor. probably.

—

tommy had always been a second choice. besides for a short while when he was steve’s first choice. that was when it mattered.

steve would call him if he was lonely. steve would call him if he had new plans for a party. steve would call him if he was horny. they had their thing.

and then billy hargrove came along and steve stopped calling him as often. and then altogether it ceased.

for three weeks.

“hey, tommy,” steve slipped an arm over his shoulders. all smiley in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. like his mother’s.

tommy stopped himself from shrugging the touch off, decided to enjoy it while it lasted. “hey, how have you been. haven’t heard from you in a while.” he offered the comment as a passive reminder and steve took it. actually looked shocked, like he sincerely hadn’t even realized the passed time.

he took his arm back in but left his hand on tommy’s other shoulder, “i’m so sorry, tom.” his eyes lost their wrinkle and morphed into that deepened look he got when he messed up. tommy knew it very well. steve knew when he made a mistake, could tell easily and it tore him inside. tommy knew that. so he metaphorically bandaged it up per usual.

“it’s alright, man.”

steve linked their arms. tommy glanced around to make sure none of the big-shot homophobes were lurking. steve didn’t seem to care.

“are you sure? are you free friday night? billy and i are going bowling at six. you wanna join?” tommy could lose himself so easily in steve’s eyes. it was infuriating. what was also infuriating was billy. he loved the dude. stared at him just as much as he did steve probably.

but he seemed to never catch steve’s eye anymore.

he cleared his throat and slithered a hand up to steve’s back, “yeah, i’ll be there. same lane as always?”

steve ruffled his hair, earned a laugh out of tommy with it, “definitely. would never let it go. there’re too many memories of ours there.” tommy nodded in agreement and then halted unsurely at steve next words. “maybe we can even start including billy in them now, hm?”

the way he said it. wasn’t even remotely insinuating that tommy should take any hints other than more. but. what if they dropped him. what if steve just forgot about him entirely. what if billy did?

he looked right at steve after those backtracks. and he found only softness. no. they wouldn’t just let him fall off a ledge like that. steve would never.

when steve’s face started to fall he pinched his hip and laughed with him when he head butted tommy’s chest to escape it, he whispered into steve hair. “yeah, more the merrier. right?”

steve grazed his lips across tommy’s collar bone as he stood back up, that smile was the prize.

bowling on friday turned...not exceptional.

billy was a beast, as he was usually. tommy had to watch as steve touched all over him in the beginning. they got all unapologetically close and handsy to his dismay. steve looked at him exasperatedly after a while of billy not taking it seriously, he didn’t know if it was joking or not.

“can you come show hargrove how to steady the ball please. like you taught me. remember?”

tommy did remember. he frowned though, suspicious. the night tommy had tried that move on steve, had ended in their first kiss together. that was special.

but he stepped up and gently nudged and maneuvered billy’s calloused fingers into the ball. he bent his elbow slowly and tapped his shin to indicate the slightly kneeling stance. all while silent.

billy looked rather amused when tommy stepped back to continue, “are you shy? i like your voice, bud, use it.” it sounded more like an order than the flirty tease he was seemingly trying to produce.

tommy coughed and brought billy’s bent elbow back so the ball was closer to the ground, “you aim and you let the ball slip out. put some fire behind it or it’ll gutter. okay?” his tone was rushed but billy was staring at him intensely.

he felt steve’s familiar hand take hold of his bicep and tug him back. didn’t step away and kept close as they watched billy make his play.

he got a strike and threw them both the bird, “told you i didn’t need instructions.” tommy couldn’t hold his smile like steve could.

he cried silently against his pillow that night, thinking back on it.

billy was the one to catch him again three weeks later. the three of them had been going strong. closer due to steve, and even occasionally billy, making sure to invite him to new outings. threw his arm over his shoulders just like steve would normally. he found he liked how there was more muscle weight.

“your face got all red today during practice, have you been drinking enough water?” he poked tommy’s cheek lightly with his index finger. he couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or happy that billy was being so caring.

“i have a, uh, water bottle in my car,” he pointed off to the parking lot.

billy waved a hand dismissively, “steve’s meeting us at the fountain. let’s go there instead.” tommy smiled when billy’s arm grew more relaxed around him. tommy’s own limb was squished into billy’s side by how close they were. billy chuckled to himself and squeezed his hand around tommy’s arm. “you’re so plump,” he commented. tommy felt himself flush in humiliation. “so soft,” he thought he heard him whisper. but after that, billy didn’t say any more and he didn’t remove his hand. seemed content in a way tommy couldn’t understand.

he ended up sobbing in his car after their casual gathering. scratched at the part of his arm billy had held, willing the demeaning thoughts away. plump plump plump. pig.

steve kissed him again another three weeks later. right in front of billy. hugged him so they were hip to hip and so his hands were to the roots in tommy’s own feathered puff of hair.

he gripped the back of steve’s shirt with both hands. felt someone pry them off and hold them not too long after. when they broke off he saw billy staring over steve at him.

“don’t rip the polo now, big boy,” billy grinned and leaned his chin on steve’s shoulder. made a pucker sound and kissed the air towards him. steve turned his head and accepted a peck from billy before facing back to tommy. he felt his heart already shattering though.

steve hummed a pleased laugh with his eyes still closed and placed a hand behind tommy neck before guiding him right to billy’s mouth. his eyes were frozen open as billy’s closed and their lips touched for a short, dry moment.

tommy pulled away with a forced shove. stared right back at the wide open blue and brown eyes. he grabbed his coat off the back of steve’s desk chair and ran out. bawled his goddamn eyes out on the drive home. had to stop at a stop sign longer than he needed to just so he could clear his eyes enough.

don’t rip it. big boy. big. big. big. don’t rip it now. big. big. boy. boy.

he ignored both their calls.

two weeks later he allowed steve to walk with him to their cars.

“you look nice today,” he complimented after they’d been walking for a minute. “always did think yellow was your color.” tommy returned his smile, slowly. and then steve had those sunken eyes again, “i thought you liked him too,” he started off, tommy could tell he wasn’t sure how to carry the conversation.

“are you sure he likes me?” he asked.

steve gave an odd look, “are you kidding? he’s missed you so much he’s about to break into your house at this point.”

tommy blinked twice, “excuse me?”

steve scratched his temple unsurely, “he wants to apologize. we both do. we thought you felt the...same.”

“the same,” tommy repeated.

“tommy!” steve closed his mouth and they both looked over to where billy was jogging over.

steve nudged his arm, “see?” he gestured. billy reached them before tommy could step out.

“tommy,” billy breathed out with a small smile. not a smirk, a smile. “how are you?” the downturn of concern present in his eyes threw tommy off. this was new.

“i don’t really know anymore,” he responded. looked back at steve who hadn’t even turned away. they held their own contact, steve took his hand hesitantly. linked their fingers even slower.

“i’m sorry,” billy rushed out, captured all their attention with it. “it was my idea, to lay one on you.” they all squinted at the wording uncomfortably. tommy wasn’t sure if he was having trouble looking billy in the eye or billy was with him.

he took in a breath and felt both pairs of eyes on him, “i do like you. like...like that. but....” he closed off. but then steve rubbed his thumb across the back of his. the way he always did when encouraging him. so he went on even if he felt unconfident. “i think you’re gorgeous and funny. but, you say things sometimes that...i don’t know,” he excused, even though he did. he tightened his grip on steve’s hand, “it makes me feel ugly.”

he heard steve’s voice harden, “you’re not ugly. you’re the most handsome person i know.” tommy expected billy to make some comment about how he wasn’t even considered.

but what he heard instead was, “the damn cutest i’ve ever seen.”

he looked up at the two of them, took in their smiles and kindling eyes of adoration. aimed at him.

he realized it then, fully, “you both like me.”

steve opened his car door, “mhmmm,” he carefully tucked himself inside the backseat and pulled tommy with him.

tommy blankly watched as billy assisted him in the middle seat and closed the door so they were all inside. together.

billy cupped his cheek, “can i get that kiss by chance, sweet thing?”

he felt steve press a kiss onto his shoulder before he nodded vigorously. billy didn’t disappoint. none of them did.

[shima-draws]

At last, here she is...best girl Olivia!

As usual, all of her info is under the cut c:

Olivia

Age: 18

Hair color: White (with pink/purple streaks)

Eye color: Green

Element: Fire

After a lot of debating I decided that Olivia is actually Jasper and Mouna’s daughter--if you don’t know them they’re two older OCs that I’ve had for a while! (I figured I might as well give her parents already existing within the ATS-verse anyway, and I planned on Jasper and Mouna getting together and having a child somewhere down the line so it fits.)

When she was born, Olivia was very weak, and most healers feared that she would not make it—similar to how weak and frail Jasper was when he was born. Because of this, Jasper and Mouna are both fiercely overprotective of her (Jasper more intensely) so she was sort of suffocated by their attention. She grew up within the Spinelrose Guild and was treated more delicately by the rest of the guild members, especially because of how slow her development was and how often she was ill as a child. She originally had a difficult time making friends because Jasper was so afraid she’d get into trouble and get hurt, and the other kids didn’t want to accidentally put her in danger. Olivia was pretty isolated from her peers as a kid, and that frustrated her, because she didn’t want to be treated differently from everybody else just because of her fragility. Unfortunately she was never really strong enough to make her point, and just ended up being coddled by the guild as a result.

As she developed into a teenager, Olivia eventually outgrew her sickly physique and started to become stronger, both mentally and physically. She started to speak up about her parents’ treatment of her more—she knows that they just want to keep her safe, but she feels smothered by their hovering tendencies. Mouna eventually realizes how important this is to her and starts to back off, realizing how strong her daughter has become. Jasper, however...it’s harder for him to let go lol because she’s his only child and he knows how difficult it was to grow up as the weak link, the one who got ostracized because of their general health and well-being. It doesn’t help that Olivia is very clumsy and gets into little accidents all the time, which just makes his stress skyrocket.

Even worse, Olivia is a fire elemental, which is considered to be one of the most dangerous simply because of how destructive it is without proper control. When Olivia was a kid Jasper forbade her from practicing any of her magic, too worried that she’d end up hurting herself. Of course, Olivia has a bit of a rebellious streak, so she tried it once by herself and inevitably ended up burning the side of her face with her magic. (By now the scar is almost faded, but you can still see it.) Both of her parents flipped their lids, and Olivia was so terrified that she decided to never use her magic again, viewing it as a curse. Mouna tries to tell her that her magic is a blessing, something that encompasses life, and that she just wasn’t ready to use it so freely without any training. But Olivia is insistent—scarred both in the literal and metaphorical sense, she refuses to use her magic, scared that she’s going to hurt herself again, or worse, somebody else. 

As the years pass Olivia starts to feel more and more unsatisfied with her current life—she likes the guild, likes her friends and her family, but she feels as if there’s more she could be doing with her life. Since she’s refrained from using her magic all these years, and because of how much of a klutz she is normally, she’s not really a strong fighter, and is pretty useless on guild missions. Seeing the rest of her guildmates put their all into what they do, and being able to succeed in it, drives her to eventually seek escape and try to start off with a clean slate. When she turns 14, Olivia decides that she’s going to leave the guild and travel to someplace new in an attempt to be more independent and maybe find a purpose for herself.

Of course she realizes that if she tells her parents this they’ll probably refuse her, so she corners her uncle Terrence instead. Seeing her drive, Terrence decides he’s going to escort her to make sure she arrives safely. Olivia initially refuses because this is something she wants to do on her own, but Terrence warns her that the world is a dangerous place, and since she doesn’t know how to fight or use her magic the trip would be near suicidal if she went on her own. Terrence tells her the best option is going to stay with Spinelrose’s sister guild, Amethystus, and receive proper training in order to hone her magic and her fighting skills. That way she’d still have a direct line with Spinelrose in case something goes wrong, but she’d be far enough away to be independent.

Olivia prepares to sneak out in the middle of the night, but she gets caught by both Jasper and Mouna (because Terrence is a good uncle and he told them lmao). Fearing that they’re going to stop her, Olivia stands up for herself and makes it clear that this is something she needs to do. Much to her shock, Jasper and Mouna encourage her to follow her dreams and come home a new woman. It’s a very soft moment when they all hug each other goodbye, and there’s lots of tears :’) Olivia leaves home knowing that her parents are worried, but they’ll support her decisions because they love her.

After their crazy trip (where Olivia second guesses herself a million times and wonders if she can really survive out in a world this chaotic), they finally arrive at the Amethystus Guild! Olivia literally bumps into Ginni and from there, they form an instant close friendship. Ginni respects Olivia’s desire to be independent and is somewhat envious she made the decision to leave her guild in order to become stronger. Olivia admires Ginni’s confident personality and her fearlessness. Together they get into LOTS of trouble lol, mostly led by Ginni who is a notorious troublemaker within the guild, with Olivia just along for the ride.

During all this, Olivia meets the guild’s official blacksmith and, upon seeing the incredible things he can create by using fire magic, starts to rethink her opinions about her own “cursed” fire magic. The blacksmith, normally a very closed off, grumpy, and rude person, notices Olivia’s conflict about fire, and decides he’s going to train her in order to help her overcome her fear. Through a lot of practice and very intense sessions, Olivia is finally able to confront her trauma and move past it—leading to her discovery that she’s a talented natural at using elemental magic, finding that it comes very easy to her and is something she can control without thinking too much. This is a rare skill, for normally it takes an elemental years of practice and training to have perfect control over their magic. On top of that, her fire is very pretty and beautiful to look at, a reflection of her soul. Her master berates her from hiding something so beautiful and pure for so long lol

Olivia finds passion in blacksmithing, and trains under her master in order to create beautiful and powerful weapons. She does get burned a few more times during this, leading to some relapses, but her master tells her it’s part of the job and something that every elemental will come across: they aren’t always the perfect masters of their magic, and sometimes can hurt themselves without meaning to. But being able to understand what went wrong and how to fix it will make her stronger. Within a couple years Olivia flourishes and evolves into one of the guild’s most fiercest fighters, with an excellent handle on her abilities!

Olivia and Ginni grow up together in Amethystus, and are pretty much inseparable. When Ginni gets kidnapped by the Forces and is missing for several weeks, Olivia is beside herself with worry. After Ginni returns with Kaz in tow, Olivia is one of the first people to accept him and trust him fully, because she believes in Ginni more than anybody else. (Kaz develops a soft spot towards Olivia because of this, and is forever grateful for her support.) Over time Olivia starts to realize just how awful Kaz’s life at the Forces was, and grows very sympathetic towards his situation. She understands wanting to start over somewhere new with a clean slate, though Kaz’s circumstances are much worse than hers, because she still has a loving family and home to return to someday. Olivia becomes determined to make Amethystus a home like that for Kaz, as well as Hiro, who they discuss recruiting to their side from the Forces. As Kaz continues to reveal more of his past, as well as Hiro’s, Olivia and Ginni both get very gung ho about going to fetch Hiro LOL because they both want him to be safe (though Kaz assures them Hiro isn’t in any sort of danger, being the colonel, as well as too intelligent to put himself in trouble).

Kaz meets with Hiro, who was actually sent out on a mission to fetch him, and they negotiate Hiro acting as a double agent for Amethystus to spy on the Forces. Hiro had already been planning on leaving the Forces at some point, so he sees this as a perfect opportunity to get back at them for years of mistreatment. Over the course of the next several months, Hiro routinely reports back to Amethystus of the Forces’ plans, their current hideouts, and everything he knows about the higher ups. During all this he and Olivia meet, and at this point Olivia has started to refer to the colonel as ‘Hiro’ in her head, because it’s too confusing for her to call him the colonel, and she reasons that since Ginni gave Kaz his name she might as well give Hiro his. (Also because she believes that he’s a true ‘hero’ for enduring all of that suffering for so long, so it fits ;D) She calls him Hiro by sheer accident, but luckily he takes to the name well haha and they start to grow closer >:’) Hiro comments on how close Kaz and Ginni have become and the two start betting on when they’ll get together lol

Eventually Hiro’s position as a double agent is discovered by Mallary and so he finally breaks away from the Forces (and Mallary’s manipulation) and starts living permanently at the guild. Olivia’s pretty happy about this. She can’t explain why but she feels very safe and at ease around him, and she’s the person he’s the gentlest and softest around—unbeknownst to her, this is because he’s fallen in love with her, but she’s completely oblivious to his feelings. She’s pretty dense when it comes to romantic stuff like this whoops. Olivia finds Hiro’s intelligence incredible and likes that he’s such a skilled fighter despite not being that strong physically. Hiro likes watching her do her blacksmithing duties and always has expert things to say on her craftsmanship. They get along very well! Olivia’s never felt more at home than with Ginni, Kaz, and Hiro, and likes the tight knit little group they’ve formed. She becomes very fond and protective of them and, upon realizing how important they are to her and how much she’s changed because of them and because of her decision to join Amethystus, she decides to cut her hair as another sign of her growth as a person, and as a sign of change! She finally discovers what she wants to do: become a master blacksmith, and work alongside her friends to protect everything they can, including taking down the Forces to set free all of the people forced to work for them, and bring peace to the land.

When the time comes to finally take down the Forces, Olivia starts to develop feelings for Hiro as well, though it takes her a while to figure out because she’s never really been in love before, and mistakes a lot of her attraction for simple admiration. As Hiro continues to put his life on the line for their group and do anything he can to protect them, Olivia starts to discover that maybe she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him. There’s a point where Hiro gets injured so badly in battle he’s certainly going to bleed out, so he pleads for her to use her fire magic to cauterize his wound. Olivia’s trauma comes crashing back in and her worst fears are confirmed: her magic will end up hurting the people most important to her. Hiro tells her that by doing this, she’s going to save him, that her magic is life itself. Encouraged by his words, Olivia burns Hiro to save him, though it’s an extremely painful thing for her to do :’( But it’s at this moment she realizes that she definitely is in love with him, and would sacrifice anything for him.

Not long after that, Mallary attacks, enraged, and accuses Olivia of stealing everything important away from her. It’s a really emotional battle;; Mallary basically vents out about being the one left behind, the only one who couldn’t find a happy ending, and who had the only people she cared about taken. She says some really nasty things to Olivia about Hiro lol and this really makes Olivia mad, so they basically duke it out over Mallary’s twisted feelings for Kaz and her perceived ownership of Hiro. And Olivia’s just like. Bitch you don’t own him!! He’s not an object or a toy for you to play with!! Yeah. It’s nuts

After the grand battle with the Forces comes to an end and everything is resolved, Olivia decides to confess her feelings to Hiro, but it doesn’t...really go as planned. Hiro gently rejects her, but Olivia takes it the wrong way, still not realizing how head over heels for her he is. Shortly after this, Hiro and Kaz part ways with the guild, deciding to go on their own personal journeys of self discovery. During the year they’re gone, Olivia laments over her feelings for Hiro, miserable that she didn’t realize how she felt until it was too late, and miserable because she might never see him again. Eventually she tries to move on from that, but Ginni repeatedly tells her that Hiro is literally holding a torch for her lmao and that she shouldn’t let it go so quickly. Olivia protests constantly and strives to work harder to become a better blacksmith and stronger guild member, trying to put her feelings aside and ignore them. 

Of course, when she and Ginni eventually reunite with Kaz and Hiro, Olivia realizes that shit I’m still in love with him and my feelings haven’t gone away, they’ve just grown stronger during the year we were apart;; luckily for her Hiro’s gone through a lot of self reflection and feels ready to be in a relationship with her, so, after a rocky road of awkward confessions and pouring out their feelings, they FINALLY get together. 

The four of them go on a journey together! There’s some problems when Hiro runs into his childhood friend and first love, Lorelai, but in the end he shows he’s pretty damn dedicated to Olivia and it’s super soft. I just. I just love them so m u c h //shakes fists

AND THAT IS ALL FOLKS!! Most of it anyway lol

Extra personality traits:

-Very compassionate and caring about others—she’s a very motherly type. She’s able to get people to open up to her easily because of how friendly she is. She also settles disputes within the guild often, being the mediator between arguments

-A social butterfly. Probably the most social one out of the group, and the one most used to conversing with other people

-She’s got a lot of self-esteem issues because of her upbringing (and really, I promise Jasper is not a bad parent!! He’s just concerned), but she’s learned how to handle it better. She’s definitely way more confident than she was before!

-Tends to be very indecisive when it comes to big decisions, and is hesitant about fighting—though she will put her all into it if the stakes are high. She CAN whoop your ass 

-Super passionate about blacksmithing! It’s her true calling, and something she throws herself into fully. She’s very artful with her work and makes gorgeous pieces, and tends to ramble on about the specifics even when nobody understands lol

-A bit oblivious and airheaded sometimes. She’s completely unaware of several of the guild members’ feelings for her, including Hiro’s.

-VERY affectionate. Because she was isolated from other kids as a child, she’s very touchy feely and loves expressing her affection through casual touches. And lots of hugs!

-Since she’s the sweetest and nicest person in the group, she is terrifying when she’s angry. She’s super protective of her friends and won’t hesitate to leap into action to keep them safe, often getting very fierce when she does so

-She hates being alone. Being raised in an atmosphere with so many people around, she isn’t used to being by herself, and her instant source of comfort is being near others

-Isn’t afraid to tease her friends or state her opinion when it really counts

[that-was-anticlimactic]

i’ll leave the pairing and whether it’s platonic or romantic up to you, but 56. “come back soon” please !! :)

"Come back soon" + platonic suki & aang

Suki shuddered, gasping for air as quietly as she could while she stumbled out of her room at Ozai’s beach house on Ember Island.

She crept past Sokka who was slumped on the couch with Zuko beside him—the two such a tangled mess of intertwined limbs that the only reason she could tell what body part belonged to who was because Sokka’s skin was darker. Normally, she would have smiled and chuckled at the sight, but tonight, it only made the sob pulsing at her throat stronger.

Finally, she made it out of the house, nearly collapsing on the porch. Only then did her emotions get the best of her, and she was crying but she wasn’t crying. It was some odd mixture, some strange sound that she couldn’t quite describe. It went on like that until she was hyperventilating, her hands clawing at her chest, pulling away at the fabric. She felt like she was suffocating.

Nights usually weren’t that hard—it was the day when she flashed back the most. Each time the sun's rays shone down on her, when she heard noises in the market, worse yet when she saw people firebending…

Nights were easier, especially when she could relish in the cool air and look at Yue until she was tired. For whatever reason, after Sokka had told her the tragic tale of Yue’s sacrifice, Suki found herself turning to the moon for comfort—even when she was locked away in Boiling Rock and couldn’t see Her.

Tonight, though, something must have happened. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she had woken up in a panic, desperate to escape from… well, there wasn’t anywhere to escape from, but she needed to get out of the house immediately.

She’d never been claustrophobic, but it seemed like the walls were closing in on her, coming closer and closer and closer and—

“Suki?”

She flew to her feet faster than she thought possible. Standing in the doorway was Aang, rubbing his eyes… his suspiciously red eyes.

“Hey,” she croaked, brushing herself off if only to do something with hands so they would stop trembling. “Can’t sleep either?”

Aang shrugged, his heel bouncing restlessly against the ground. “Can I… can I join you?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied. “Let’s sit.” Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground this time so she was sitting on the edge of the porch, her toes brushing against the sand below.

Aang sat beside her, sniffling.

“Everything okay?” she asked after a minute. While Suki didn’t know Aang nearly as well as Katara or Sokka, she knew him well enough to know that this wasn’t normal. The poor boy always wore his heart on his sleeve, so it wasn’t that hard to notice that something was obviously wrong, but this silence and metaphorical stillness surrounding his demeanor was eerie.

Aang blinked, shoving his feet into the sand and flicking it around. “I don’t know.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I—I don’t know,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes at the sand and digging his heels into it with more force. “You okay?”

She paused. That wasn’t supposed to happen—she wasn’t prepared for that. Normally, she would’ve brushed it aside—that’s what she was supposed to do, being older than him and all but…

He looked so scared, so exhausted and vulnerable that Suki felt the urge to share, even if it was more watered down than to spare him more grief.

And maybe if she shared with him, he’d feel like he could share with her.

“No,” she chuckled, gripping the edges of the dock so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. “Not really.”

Aang peered at her curiously, tilting his head, as if he were expecting her to lie too. “Oh. What’s… what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Even when Aang was in the middle of stress and hurt, he still cared for everyone else. It made Suki’s heart break, knowing that the most gentle, caring, compassionate person she’d ever met felt like he had a duty to place everyone else’s happiness above his own.

“Not really, I just… I guess I’ve been having trouble, um…” she trailed off, taking a long, careful breath. “I haven’t been processing my time at, uh, at Boiling Rock well.”

Even saying the name of the place made her shoulders tense and her heart race at a frightening speed.

Simply thinking about the place sent her into an unnatural state of panic. Talking about it was a whole different level of coping that she wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for.

In the span of five seconds, a myriad of emotions flashed across Aang’s face: confusion, realization, horror, and guilt.

Guilt—it pained Suki in so many ways, seeing Aang’s innocent (and it wasn’t fair that really, they weren’t so innocent anymore, not after all he’s seen) eyes wide and heavy, carrying not only the burden of the world and the burden of a war he had no part in starting, but also the weight of her own personal grief… it wasn’t fair.

(It never was for them, was it?)

Aang cleared his throat uncertainly. “Oh, I didn’t realize… I didn’t really think about how you felt after that… I was so excited that Sokka and Katara got to see their dad that I…”

Suki held back a wince.

It had stung, watching everyone launch themselves at Hakoda instead of her—even at Sokka and Zuko. And she couldn’t be mad, not really. Hakoda was their dad—of course they’d be worried sick about him, knowing he’d been captured and not having a single clue about where she was (aside from vague taunting from Azula).

It was the curse of being a nonbender, the one hardly anyone knew (and that wasn’t fair—not when Sokka and Hakoda were nonbenders too).

(but even that couldn’t push down the jealousy she felt towards Hakoda—he had been there for a day. She had been there for months. It wasn’t a fair comparison, but that didn’t matter when she was left alone with her thoughts.)

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice flat but sincere. “You weren’t even there—there was nothing you could’ve done.”

It was true. The life of one measly Kyoshi Warrior wasn’t worth risking for the sake of the entire world. That’s what it’s like, growing up in war, knowing that your life would never be as important or essential as the movement you were fighting for.

She peered at Aang who was scrunching his nose so intensely it had to be painful. If anyone knew that feeling, that feeling of worthlessness but expected usefulness, it was Aang.

“Hey, quite that,” she gently chastised, lightly placing her hand on his knee. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Aang wordlessly complied, which honestly worried her even more. Yes, she was glad that Aang ceased the physical anguish he was putting himself through by thinking so long and hard about something out of his hands, but she had expected some sort of fight—some protest or joke relating to how he wasn’t actually in pain.

Just resigned obedience.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply sitting side by side. Suki watched the night sky, staring at Yue, hoping to forge any kind of connection with her.

“Suki…” Aang finally said, glaring at the sand surrounding his feet. “Have you ever… have you ever thought about what would happen if you took off? Never look back?”

Yes.

She thought about that a lot, what would happen if she just stopped fighting. What would’ve happened if Aang and Sokka and Katara (and Zuko’s men attacking her village) hadn’t convinced her and her girls not to stay neutral in the war. Suki dreamed about being back on Kyoshi Island, swimming when the unagi was away and practicing applying her makeup, stitching the holes they made in their uniforms with the girls.

Life was easier back then.

“Sometimes,” she replied instead, side eyeing him. “Do you?”

“There are… sometimes, I think it’d be easier,” he admitted, voice small. “I’m tired. And I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

He shrugged choppily. “I’m the Avatar,” was all he said.

“Do you ever wish you weren’t?” Now it was Suki’s turn to ask the question that couldn’t really be answered. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to say, even without seeing the confliction flash across his face and the way he licked his lips.

“Sometimes,” he eventually said, repeating Suki’s ambiguous answer from minutes earlier.

“I can’t even imagine what being the Avatar is like,” Suki stated, and tentatively, she reached her hand out and gently grabbed ahold of Aang’s nearest one.

She held on loosely enough to allow him to pull away if he wanted, but it seemed like he clung desperately to the contact.

Aang’s hands were soft, which didn’t really surprise her since he was an airbender at heart and all, but she could feel small patches of calluses around his palms. His fingers were long and lean, probably longer than hers.

She tightened her grip and Aang gave her a little squeeze in response.

“I like having you around,” he spoke up after a minute or two of silence. “You’re really nice to everyone, even Zuko and he burned your village down. You’re really strong. I’m glad Sokka was able to find you.”

I am too, she thought.

Then, his words hit her: “you’re really strong”. It was obvious with the way he said it that he didn’t mean her physical strength—that was always her highest praise from everyone back home, even when she got out and travelled a bit more. It was always “you’re really strong for a girl” or “wow, you’re really strong”. Always her physical strength. She knew she was strong, she worked hard to get to where she is, but that isn’t what Aang meant, she could tell.

“Not really,” she confessed quietly. “Sometimes I see Zuko with his arm around Sokka and I just see red and want to get him as far away from Sokka as I can. Or I’ll see him spar with Toph and he’ll bend fire and I want to grab my fan and pin him to a tree. Whenever I’m around him, I smell my village burning to the ground. Whenever he bends, I see…” Suki trailed off, shuddering and using her free hand to swipe at the invisible tears filling her eyes. “I see the sun and it’s burning me and it’s grabbing me and it’s—”

Aang squeezed her hand, and the touch was enough to bring her back to the present away from the boiling island that haunted her—following her around as a ghost, always over her shoulder, always plaguing the back of her mind.

“It’s not Zuko.”

“You don’t have to forgive him yet,” Aang told her. “Forgiveness takes awhile sometimes.”

“I want to forgive him,” she said truthfully. “But I’m not sure if I can forgive his people. Or his sister. Especially not his sister. He is nice, infuriatingly nice. It feels like he shouldn’t be. That’s all I’ve ever known—the firebenders will burn you, the Fire Nation will take everything from you. Maybe he did once. But he isn’t anymore. I just don’t know how to change—if I want to change.”

Aang groaned, leaning forward so that his head was almost pressed against his knees (he still held Suki’s hand). “I wish it all made sense.”

“You can say that again.”

“No, Suki. I don’t want to fight the Fire Nation. Does that make me a bad person?” Aang’s voice broke, but he too did not cry.

Oh.

When Suki peered down at him, he looked so young—he was so young—and to think the entire world expected a twelve year old kid to willingly kill maybe thousands of people (or, thousands more. Sokka told her about what happened at the North Pole. Neither he nor Katara had the heart to tell Aang how many fatalities there were then) and then sit down and fix everything while also being the last Air Nomad alive was… well, when she put it like that, it was disgusting.

“I don’t think it does,” she said, and Aang lifted his head, his big grey eyes staring at his in something akin to disbelief. “You’re a kid.”

“I’m the Avatar—”

“You’re a kid, Aang.”

He shut his mouth, eyebrows scrunched while he pondered what she said. “Am I really?”

Those three words broke her. The helplessness, the exhaustion, the resignation Suki heard made her want to hide him away from the world, wrap him up in an embrace so big that he would be sheltered and protected.

“I think you are. Do you?”

“I don’t know. I want to be. I thought I was.”

He stopped, but Suki nodded at him to continue, if he wanted to.

So, he took a deep breath and continued: “Growing up, the Fire Nation was full of friends and familiar faces. Then, they all became blank. Then Zuko joined us and we danced and he became just as familiar as Kuzon once was. I went to school and saw the kids and they don’t know that they’re wrong. And now we’re here and we walk through town and everyone hates me—they hate the Avatar—but they smile at me when I pass and when I wave to them, they wave back. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” Suki began, “this sucks. And here I thought life wasn’t supposed to be this complicated until we were older.” Because she was still processing everything Aang had said and it’s so much and she didn’t know how he did this every day. She didn’t know what else to say, there was nothing that she could say to make things better.

Aang chuckled, it wasn’t as full of life as it usually was, but it was still something.

“Thank you for listening, Suki,” he told her, looking at her earnestly. “I know you don’t think you’re that strong, but you’re the strongest person I know.”

Suki snorted. Opening her mouth to disagree, but he beat her to it.

“No! You are! You’ve been through a lot of really bad things. You were in one of the worst places a person could possibly be, and even though sometimes you can’t look at Zuko without seeing the guy who ordered the destruction of your village or the prison guards that hurt you, but you never hurt him. You still talk to him and eat with him and… I don’t know. It makes me think that maybe something good can come out of all of this.”

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Suki sucked in a breath. “Well, if you really think that—”

“I do!”

She smiled. “Well, then I need you to know that you’re the strongest person I know. I haven’t been around that much, but Sokka tells me stories. He’s told me about how you always make friends with your enemies, or you try to. About how you believed in Toph when no one else did. How you risked the Avatar State for Katara… I don’t know anyone else who could ever do what you do. I’m proud of you.”

That did it.

Aang burst into tears, hunching over as his body wracked with sobs.

Suki didn’t let go of his hand, but she used her unoccupied one to pull Aang into the hug that she longed to give him, holding him tightly and securely.

His free arm found its way around her back, and suddenly Suki felt a couple of tears escape her too. She was never a loud crier, something she was thankful for, but she didn’t pull away when one of the few that fell hit Aang’s skin and for once, she wasn’t scared that he’d notice or hear.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours, his head buried in her neck and her cheek resting on the top of his head. They clung to each other, wordless and messy and vulnerable and real.

They held each other until Aang’s sobs died down, his voice rough and cracked.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Then, Aang coughed, a harsh and angry sound.

As much as she didn’t want to, Suki let go of Aang (and his hand) and stood up. “I’m going to get you some water,” she told him before he could worry that he did something wrong. “You sound like you need it.”

Even still, as she started to walk away, Aang’s eyes widened and reached out, grasping her wrist so tightly that his nails were digging into her skin. “Suki…” he began, voice cracking. “I—“ he cut himself off, lips quivering.

Gently, Suki pried his hand off of her. “I’m not leaving, okay?” she whispered, and she meant it.

She felt Aang nod against her chest and she pulled away.

“Come back soon.” He spoke delicately, carefully, but that didn’t prevent the grief from seeping through his words.

Suki bent over enough to give Aang a quick kiss on the top of his head, before crouching so she was at eye level. “I always will.”

When Zuko woke up the next morning, he walked outside to meditate and found Aang and Suki coiled together on the porch, her hand draped protectively over his chest and his hand intertwined with hers.

He woke Sokka up, and the two sat with them, waiting for them to wake up.

----------

petition to let friends platonically kiss each other’s heads for comfort 2k21

but uhhh if you know me, you know i love the suki and aang friendship potential. so, may i present some platonic suki and aang:)

wow this got so long and so angsty i am so sorry haha!

also sorry it took so long, i uhhh got really busy and didn't have reliable service for a couple weeks! i am working on all of the other prompts as well!

101 ways to say i love you prompts

[captaincravatthecapricious]

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie.  I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write!  Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

It’s been six months.  How has it been six months?  

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time.  Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?  

It doesn’t feel like that.  

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?   

He sighs deeply to himself.  It doesn’t matter.  

It doesn’t matter.  

He’s alive.  

He’s fine.  

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently.  And that’s good.  He thinks?  Maybe?  

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim.  He wants to believe it…  But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there.  He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?  

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings.  With people.  

Not to mention he’s been Gone.  With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.  

Even if he and Martin could possibly have…  Could possibly have had something.  Of some unknowable sort.  That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him.  But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.  

And maybe Tim is trying again with him?  But how can he be sure?  When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.  

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger.  Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore.  Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.  

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie.  The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen.  The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.  

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas.  Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him.  Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him.  Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries.  Or he thinks it is?  How is he supposed to be certain.  How can he trust anyone?  How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking).  When Martin is working for a literal monster.  When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel.  He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her.  And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.  

There is no one.  

Georgie doesn’t understand.   

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy.  After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.  

He is in the breakroom.  Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around.  Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.  

What does it all mean?  

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out.  Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces?  It was maybe resigned?  Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what?  Is he ashamed of something?  Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in?  It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.  

But it sounds too good to be true?  When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim.  He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.  

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.  

And Georgie is there.  

Jon shrinks back on himself.  Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable.  But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other.  Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision.  Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America.  Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.  

This is the price of him waking up.  

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back.  Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.  

He doesn’t know what to do.  Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.  

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.  

He’s trying!  

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands.  Worse than it ever has.  He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.  

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this.  Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.  

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.  

What does he do if she wants to talk?  She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe.  Even when they were fighting.  But she hasn’t been there for him.  No one has, of late.  Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger.  That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.  

“Hi Jon.”  

He can’t say anything.  He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen.  Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze.  Has he always been such a coward?  

Yes.  

Yes he has.  A miserable coward since he was a child.  Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.  

Christ he’s dizzy.  But she’s still talking.  

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here.  You don’t look well.  Shouldn’t you still be resting?  That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy.  Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her.  Or start crying.  Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all.  “I need to be here,” he says quietly.  Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.  

“And why is that?  Really Jon, I swear…  Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees  you here at all hours.  Why?  What is this all for?  It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever.  You see this?  This is why I can’t deal with you right now!  Not to mention what you did to Melanie.  What the hell, Jon?  You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t?  Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable.  Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first.  Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around.  He should put down his tea.  He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it.  He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in  the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps.  He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor.  Careful not to say anything that could compel.  Just wanting to get out.  “Have work to do… sorry.”  

“No you don’t!  Look at yourself, Jon!  Work can wait!”  

Jon just wants to leave.  He wishes it could!  He does.  He wants nothing more than to take a vacation.  To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life.  A home.  Safety.  Normalcy.  And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them.  “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”  

He backs away.  Fuck he’s dizzy.  

“No, Jon I don’t.  Explain.  What am I missing.  Why do you have to do this?  Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave?  It’s already basically killed you.  Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I…  I need a Statement….”  Well so much for getting away.  He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own.  “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.”  He holds his cane out to her.  

She takes it confused.  

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.  

When he comes around, his head is pounding.  

Georgie is touching him.  He is on his side, and he is being yelled at.  He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit.  He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there.  Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon.  Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.  

But then Martin is there.  And Tim.  

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space.  “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”  

Well…  correct.  

“What the hell just happened?”  Georgie.  

“Well… it happens sometimes.  Did he say anything?”  Martin again.  

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”  

“Sure thing, back in a mo.”  Tim.  More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time.  Tim helping him?  If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.  

“What, you’re just going to go along with it?  Let him work himself to death?  Look at him!  He isn’t well!  …I don’t know why I am arguing this.  He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this.  It isn’t my job to baby sit him.”  Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze.  In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.  

“Look.  I know we don’t know each other well.  But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me?  I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live.  I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction.  But … he doesn’t do well without them.  And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here.  And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America.  Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one.  He didn’t know until then.  But… you have to know we can’t quit.  And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these.  And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it.  You don’t have to like it.  Or talk to Jon, although you should.  You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system.  And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice!  Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will.  And you!  The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him.  Blames him!  Maybe you should try listening?  I get it… you can’t deal with him right now.  Fine.  I get it.  Do what you have to.  You don’t have to look after him at your own expense.  But don’t be cruel.  …Oh good.  Tim, thanks.  When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.”  Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.  

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.”  Tim is crouched by him.  

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise.  Just… just getting my bearings.  I’m fine.  I’ll be up soon.”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion.  Take your pick.  

“It’s okay, buddy.  We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest.  Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?”  Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.  

Jon… doesn’t know what to say.  After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again.  Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.  

Georgie looks down at him.  He can’t read her expression.  She looks at him for a long moment.  

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself.  But Jon feels exposed on the floor.  Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”  

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.  

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen.  I… still can’t do this with you right now.  But… I’m sorry.  I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?”  And she leaves.  Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.  

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.   

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything.  And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.  

[tanoraqui]

okay I have to do this today because even I wouldn’t do it after the godforsaken finale airs, and it’s basically my specialty and I did spend like an hour thinking about it last night while washing dishes. Definitely partly inspired by @words-writ-in-starlight​‘s insightful post on everything Supernatural did wrong, and apologies in advance to all the characters for dragging them into anything related to Christian mythology:

Wei Wuxian’s parents die in a house fire when he’s 6(? I refuse to look anything up) months old

Jiangs are a hunter family I guess? That whole disaster of a family dynamic, except WWX dips out at some point to be idk an environmental activist bc at the time, that seems like the larger threat to the whole world. “Mom and Dad went on a hunting trip and they haven’t come back”, “bitch” “jerk”, 2 brothers in a beat-up old car, you know the drill

Jins are also an old hunting family, but more Men of Letters energy - they have a fancy bunker and do research and avoid getting their actual hands dirty. Jiang Yanli ducked out of the active hunting life a few years ago to be happily married to her peacock and settled down with a baby and she’s fine. We’re not going to bother Yanli. She’s safe and happy and doesn’t need to involved in any of this

so, WWX is the demon blood child developing exciting new abilities like telekinesis, mind control, exorcising demons by sheer force of will...etc, and Jiang Cheng is the Righteous Man. Lucifer, Michael, etc.

s1-3 probably proceeds more or less as spn canon...which I more or less remember...by the time they find their parents at the end of s1, Jiang Fengmian is...ugh, we probably shouldn’t kill him offscreen, I mean, we should probably meet him before he dies. I guess. Madam Yu lasts longer because I’m way more interested in her. But we do know that both Jiang parents are totally inclined to fling the boys into a metaphorical or literal escape boat and go hold the line for as long as possible, so...that’s spn energy...

Xue Yang is the one who’s like “fuck yeah, demon powers” and opens the gates of Hell, because I want him to have nice* things

*nice for Xue Yang

from characterization rather than memory, I’m 90% sure that Dean tried to hide his crossroads deal from Sam, but Jiang Cheng does it...better. I think it does come out, though. Right before the hellhounds do.

here’s where it starts to go farther off from spn canon. Jiang Cheng crawls his way out of the grave, gets stalked by a menacing presence that explodes windows for an episode, incidentally can’t find WWX...*Lan Wangji voice* “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition” (a baller line then and a baller line now)...and then the next episode starts with them all awkwardly standing around, and JC is like, “ok well let’s go find my brother then”, and you think there’s going to be an mdzs-riffing JC+LWJ Roadtrip To Find WWX...and they’re immediately attacked by like a dozen demons

in fact, the first time we see WWX in s4 is here, wherein he goes toe to toe with an angel and...holds his own. that’s new and terrifying! also is leading a squad of demons??

because here’s the thing: for the last 3(?) months, there’s been war in hell

because unlike Some People Mooses, upon finding out that his brother’s soul was legally nearly-owned by a crossroads demon, heir-apparent-to-Satan!WWX went, “actually fuck that” and kicked open the door of Hell (metaphorically, not loosing any demons this time) and was like, “who do I have to beat the shit out of to get a specific crossroads contract around here”

this did not work, obv. He didn’t know until it was too late, Lilith had already snapped up the contract, etc. etc.

obviously he also tried to offer himself instead, and got rejected for some reason

Since Jiang Cheng died, however, there’s been a war for control of Hell. Leading one side, Lilith, the Original Babe, who wants to break all 666(?) seals keeping Lucifer bound and in the meantime, break the Righteous Man so Heaven won’t even have Michael’s destined host ready for the Final Battle. Leading the other side, Wei Wuxian, infamous upstart, who wants to rescue the Righteous Man and restore him to life, tear Lilith’s guts out through her nose, and also stop her from doing the Lucifer thing because Wen Qing explained that yes, that’s a Thing, and it’s Bad.

Wen Qing! I’ve decided to combine Bela and Ruby’s roles and let WQ be both the cool badass example of how demon deals can go Bad and the demon deliberately leading our heroes astray for most of s3-4. Wen Qing is a very new demon; she used to be some sort of herbalist/witch but then she sold her soul in a crossroads deal to cure her brother of some lingering illness. 10 years of happiness and then boom, hellhounds. WQ is so obviously competent, though, that they (Lilith, I guess?) immediately offers her a job, with the promise threat that gee, that’s a nice brother you’ve got there, even with his Designated Chronic Health Condition getting all relapse-y. It’d be such a shame if something were to...happen to him...

we find this out at some point in last s3 I guess? some Monster of the Week case involves WN as a witness or something, or possible next victim, and WQ shows up to be A Normal Amount Of Invested In This, while desperately trying to avoid actually interacting with her brother (who thinks she’s dead). YES, the truth comes out; YES there’s a tearful reunion

now in s4, Wen Ning is fine actually, health-wise, bc he maybe made a crossroads deal with Wei Wuxian personally, and Wen Qing may or may not have admitted that she’s supposed to be working for Lilith to get WWX ready to host Lucifer? Or potentially that comes out later, idk. Either way, she’s 100% his top lieutenant in this exciting Hell War they’re waging

[insert whatever the hell (ha) happened plot-wise in s4 of supernatural]

we obviously mix up the relationships, too, bc it’s like, *LWJ internal monologue* I’m too young to remember my brother Lucifer as he was before he Fell, but surely Wei Wuxian is his Heir and Destined Vessel in truth, for he is Charismatic and Charming and Makes Me Feel Things, with his Clearly Feigned Righteous Drive and Compassion for All God’s Creatures and - why does heat keep pooling in the lower abdomen of my vessel when I look at his lips, which I am definitely doing a Normal and Not-Weird Amount - I’m just keeping an eye out for the famed Silver Tongue, and not in any way wondering how it would feel in my own mouth -

it’s actually DEFINITELY plausible for Lucifer to still be released even if our designated Heir Apparent is using his demon powers to his full potential and no one’s lying to each other about their motives. You just need to let Lilith be more scary too, and especially bc by “no one” I mostly mean Wen Qing; the angels are still totally hiding the fact that they, too, want to jumpstart the shit out of this apocalypse.  LWJ decides at the last minute that that’s a bad idea actually, gets himself discorporated to send JC to intercept WWX because he accidentally releases Lucifer, etc. etc. Oh yeah, the boys were def fighting before this, bc JC has actually fairly reasonable concerns about the sort of things WWX is getting up to in his quest to become King of Hell...

SO

...I neither know nor care what happens in s5

it does end with both Lucifer and Michael locked in the cage probably, bc I rather liked that solution. Fuck both of ‘em, basically.

I was toying with the idea that WWX also found Madam Yu in whatever hellish torment she was suffering after making a deal so her idiot son(s) would survive, and she was leading forces for him in the war against Lilith as well. If she came back to life somehow, body and all, it’d probably be compelling if she offered her own body to Michael - bc it’s her lineage! - and we’re all led to believe that she’s, uh, being a bitch and actually wants to risk destroying the world in order to destroy all demons...but then she seizes back control and flings herself/Michael and Lucifer into the Pit, because she’s just That Hardcore?

which means we’d actually have had her around and having characterization for most of s4-5, too, which would be fun

More importantly, it ends with newly crowned King of Hell Wei Wuxian appointing Wen Qing as Queen-Regent and ditching to go on an indefinite honeymoon with his new angel boyfriend (they’re going to fuck for like three weeks straight, then roll up their sleeves and go conquer Heaven in the name of free will), and Jiang Cheng gets to live out his hitherto-unknown-to-himself life’s ambition to be the sugar baby of the Queen of Hell. It’s very Hades/Persephone, except he goes back down to the underworld at least once a month. He gets his own demon squad whom he trains up in all the hunting techniques and it’s gr9. Wen Qing is reforming the crossroads deal process to make it more fair to the humans.

the end

Addenda:

it should go without saying but Jiang Yanli is definitely a recurring character, like, at least once a season there’s a filler episode where they go to Jiang Yanli’s for dinner and have to get along as a family, and also do the much easier job of defeating some sort of terrible demon that gets loose in the bunker and turns the evening into a horror movie. She’s their main research/emotional check-in person, a la Bobby, more often appearing in later seasons when there’s, uhhh, more to emotionally check in about.

Jin Zixuan is actually a perfectly competent hunter; he’s just a priss and we don’t Like him

we like Mianmian, though. Oh, I guess the official Hunter’s Guild or w/e tries to declare WWX a public enemy on account of the whole “King of Hell” thing and she’s like “actually what if you’re morons and assholes?” and joins hte team in s4 or 5? Yeah.

idk how the 3zun disaster happens in this ‘verse but I do encourage it to be happening in slow motion as a recurring subplot for several seasons. NMJ is a hunter, LXC is obv an angel, and JGY is...I wanna say one of the more human monsters, like a vampire? Or, you know, something that could be born from JGS sleeping with someone/something he shouldn’t have

[bluegarners]

“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts! 

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it. 

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill. 

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed. 

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of. 

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection. 

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home. 

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge. 

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl. 

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward. 

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet. 

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming. 

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it. 

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy. 

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now. 

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

.

.

.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer. 

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated. 

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more. 

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

.

.

.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in. 

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit. 

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted. 

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange. 

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands. 

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice. 

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma. 

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort. 

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person. 

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience. 

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

[goonlalagoon]

A smile in your heart (no better place to start) || Second Star to the Left

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33459862

(Spoilers through to end of ep 10 ahead)

It’s been weeks - months - and Bell’s thought about what they could say, when they’re finally on the ground and face to face with Gwen for the first time. Thank you, that’s a strong contender; they know themselves well enough to know they’re more likely to go with how did you do it? Maybe this time they’ll actually be able to say I love you, though Gwen seems adept at picking it up even when they can’t put the words to it. In their head, they planned for it to be - not dramatic, because they’re supposed to be a fugitive and they don’t want to draw attention, but meaningful. The kind of memory that’s something to think back on with misty eyes and fond words.

Capital-R-Romantic, as Gwen termed it so long ago, that first grudging conversation.

What they actually say is,

“Wow, you really do have a great jawline.”

It’s…admittedly not the worst thing they’ve ever said to someone they have a crush on, but that isn’t exactly the metric Bell wanted to measure this by. They’re standing just feet away from each other, drinking each other in. The silence starts to shade awkward before Gwen swallows, shrugs, gives a shaky smile. Bell remembers a letter, one of the first, remembers reading the clouds are all blurry and the twisting mix of regret and guilty relief, because they didn’t want Gwen to be upset but they couldn’t help but cling onto the fact that she was, that someone was upset on their behalf.

“Well, I never got to see your school graduating photos, so I had no expectations of your jawline, Bell, but hey! It’s a pretty good one too, so congratulations!”

Gods, they’ve missed that laugh.

Someone interrupts them then, of course, because the settler ship has just landed and scout Hartley is very much in demand by everyone, not just Bell. There’s a whole crew of people looking to start a new life, and all of them need their scout to tell them what to do, where to go, what to watch out for. They wave a forlorn goodbye, find a place to sit and idly look around, trying to match this new settlement (very new, scout Summers could probably gauge to the day when these buildings were set up by the wear and tear, even after all this time) to every overheard exploit they’d listened in on over the years.

Gwen had moved the settlement into the trees, combined the natural firebreak with dug trenches to add a layer of defence. There’s a clear track that Bell would bet leads straight to water by the quickest route, an escape path to the coast. They think that perhaps the two of them should put their heads together, figure out emergency bundles for evacuation protocols. Food and water, a spare repair kit for any prosthetics…by the time they find Gwen again, hours of running around helping the settlers - the other settlers - move in, Gigo has a whole list stored. Ideas and checks and suggestions that Bell got halfway through recording before realising that maybe Gwen already thought of all of this and they no longer needed to jot everything down to cram into their four hour window of contact.

They live on the same planet, now. There’s no limit on contact, except that the first several months after settlement are absolute chaos for the scout, and from what Bell recalled hadn’t seemed likely to slow down even before the apocalypse threw everything out the metaphorical window.

Maybe with two of them with scout training it’ll be less…just less. Gwen might be able to get if not the mandated six hours of sleep at least enough to average out more at four or five. They weren’t going to comment on it, but it was easy to tell she hadn’t been getting her full rest anyway - probably hadn’t for months, dark circles under her eyes like permanent bruises.

They’re standing awkward feet away from each other again, and Bell knows there’s going to have to be a conversation about that soon, because it hadn’t really occurred to them before that they know a lot of things about Gwen, years and years of stories and rambling conversations, but there’s things you don’t learn without being in person. Personal space, definitions and comfort thereof, the body language and facial expressions to interpret to know what’s welcomed and what isn’t.

“Hey, so, uh…I know there’s a protocol that I’m supposed to follow when my settlers arrive, and all, but there’s something else I want to do instead.” Bell huffs a laugh, steals a shy glance to see Gwen’s answering smirk.

“Another sworn class tradition to fulfil?”

“Nope! We never talked that far ahead except as jokes. We knew the stats, y’know? But - you told me, the first day, that I should watch the sunrise, that that was something I shouldn’t miss, my first morning. And I don’t…we don’t have that, but I’ve had a long time to find my own wonderfully inspiring views of nature here and I wanted - Bell, you haven’t been on a planet for years and you were with me through everything, but you’ve never seen any of it in real life and I want to show you all of it, and I know where to start.”

Bell thinks about muttering about protocol, for the form of it, for the joke that can be dragged out of it, familiar banter, but they decide not to. It’s no longer their job to care about protocol, and anyway the only reason they cared about the protocol was to keep their scouts safe. Gwen is standing right in front of them, leaning gently against Boots with a casually familiar stance - if they pointed it out, Bell knows she wouldn’t even have thought about it. This is just what Gwen does, when she’s standing about with nothing to do with her hands; rests an elbow companionably atop Boots, one foot hooked around a standing leg and balanced on the toe of her boot.

Gwen is standing right there, safe and alive and happy, so protocol can sort itself, thanks.

(Bell realises they have their own hands in their pockets, their own casual stance, and wonders if Gwen is noticing that too, drinking in all of the unconcious habits that it would never occur to either of them to verbalise. All the little tics and quirks that don’t translate over a FTL comms.)

It’s not a long walk, and it’s more silent than Bell would have guessed, but it’s comfortable. Novel, really, to not have to narrate things aloud because they can just look and see what Gwen is doing, can point at a bird with a dorsal fin and pause to watch it flutter around rather than try to describe it.

They can’t stop stealing glances sideways, catching Gwen more often than not doing the same, both of them collapsing into giggles about it each time. It’s just so surreal, to be walking side by side, after all this time. It feels like a dream, like one of the stories Gwen tells Boots at night - once upon a time, there were two explorers, setting out through the trees…

The light dances on the waves, well below their cliff edge destination. At some point Gwen must have rolled a fallen log over to act as a bench, because it’s too well placed to be natural and there’s a fire-pit dug and lined with careful stones. Close enough to be cosy, but far away from the treeline itself to be safe. The light is dancing on the waves and the grass is drifting in the breeze, a periwinkle blue that Bell is used to seeing in photos if they thought of it at all. Something that had seemed so wonderful and new, when scout Hartley made her first observations, but had drifted into commonplace. A detail that wasn’t worth mentioning any more.

“One day, I’m going to make a boat and go explore that.” Gwen waves grandly at the horizon; she’s leaning her head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell has decided that they will happily never move again. The two of them can just stay there, forever, Gwen’s head on their shoulder and the soft whisper of waves below. “Once my settlers are…settled, and can be left without supervision for more than a few hours at a time.”

“Already missing the solitude? Mourning all that lovely peace and quiet?”

“What solitude? I had a very efficient scout minder in my ear, I’ll have you know! I didn’t have time to get used to the peace and quiet before beep, time for another check in. Hartley, have you followed the itinary, Hartley, did you maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, Hartley, have you eaten a balanced meal at your officially directed time selected for nutritional optimisation…”

“I’m honestly surprised that you went for reminding me of my remote presence first rather than protesting that Boots was with you the whole time. And I would also like to ask, in the spirit of enquiry, have you done any of those things without my input?” Gwen shakes with barely suppressed laughter and doesn’t bother answering; Bell tries not to join in, because Gwen’s head is still on their shoulder and they’re still determined not to dislodge it until they really have to. “And…hey, I also told you to go watch the sunrise, and you found this instead. I - when did you find this? You never mentioned a little ocean watching viewpoint.”

“I - uh, set it up a few months ago. I didn’t know if it had worked, or if it had all gone wrong, or - and I spent so long pacing around here and wondering what you’d think of the view…”

“Aw, and you say I’m a romantic.”

“With a capital R, yes, you so are. I’m your favourite person, you said so, it was very romantic.”

“That was possibly the least romantic declaration of love that has ever been given. I congratulated you on your jawline, Gwen, I write poetry in my spare time and that was the best I could come up with. I should have just stopped talking - writing, I don’t even have the excuse of not being able to edit it out, the first bit was fine but I kept rambling.”

“It was romantic and I loved it and I have saved all of your letters in three separate back ups to make sure I don’t lose any of them.”

Bell laughs, curls an arm around Gwen’s shoulders as easy as breathing, and lets themselves relax for what feels like the first time in months. A flock of birds takes off from the trees, darting past them over the cliff edge, setting out over the waves. The sun glints off their feathers, the raised fin, a riot of colour catching the light as they watch, leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Gwen is beaming out at it all, and Bell can feel their cheeks creasing to match.

It isn’t a sunrise, but this - this is something close enough, a snapshot of a new world, a new horizon that they get to learn, the first day of a new life.

[lovecolibri]

SaL anon here still vibrating with excitement from this last episode and I'm looking forward to the next one (an odd feeling) in part because I am sure we will get our long awaited Malex reunion! In the meantime let's talk about Wires. I feel like this is a good song for both Michael and Alex this episode as they both started a journey and they don't know what will come out the other side. They both "live for understanding or for control" so it is an inevitable step, let them take it together!

I am also looking forward to the next episode with excitement and not just a “grit my teeth and see how I’m going to survive this episode” attitude! I also think we are, after a hundred years of drought and suffering, going to get our Malex reunion! And Vlamis said it was a good scene, and given that Tyler when asked where things were around mid-season he used the word “tension” I think we have some good stuff to look forward to in terms of them talking and having some hard conversations that are ultimately productive and help move them forward and I cannot wait!!

As I’m sure surprises no one, I love this song! It’s so bright and has this really electronic feel in a fun way. And the lyrics! I am ready for this dive into Malex feels today! So as it common with a lot of his Yearbook collection (can you even imagine churning out three fully formed songs each month?!), this one is not split into traditional verse and chorus but it does have what seems to be 3 sections so I’m just going to split there because it’s a little awkward splitting up this first section even with how Ryan shows the lyrics split. It just feels all connected. 

carefully cut the wire and wait. life is a series of narrow escapes.

a chain reaction, a loose thread that we must pull.

the birth of religion in the challenge of the unknown.

but all desperation leads to a fork in the road- we live for understanding or for control.

so very carefully we’ll cut the wire and wait.

Right off the bat with that “narrow escape” line we get some Caulfield feels as well as Alex feels in regards to how he lost his leg (give us the flashback and him talking to Michael about how he’s the last thing Alex remembers thinking about as he was dying I am begging). The next two little sections are making me think of past Michael and current Alex as both have had times where they were pulling on those threads and trying to research into the unknown. The last section is current Alex and Michael, each taking a different path on that fork, where Alex is digging in deeper, looking for understanding, and Michael is desperate to control the narrative and live in the happy bubble he has built for himself. But I have a feeling what he learned in 3x02 is really going to set him off this next episode, where as Alex looks to be playing the long game with Deep Sky. I’m also dyyyyying for Alex to be the one to calm Michael down when he loses it because while he and Alex know how to push each other’s buttons, I feel like they also know which wire to clip to stop a total explosion. (Look at me jumping all in on the wires metaphor!)

with one eye closed, we’ll draw back, catch our breath and let go… time is the string in between the arrow and the bow. if there’s one thing we’ve learned as our pulse returns- timing is everything.

I love the switch to a different kind of wire here and the steadiness and breath control needed for accuracy in firing a bow. And as we all have learned in this journey for Malex, timing is everything and it is finally going to be there time, I can feel it! As Vlamis said, Alex is his person and I am so excited to see them get that timing right. 

if life is a series of narrow escapes, we’re shifting our weight in this tightrope ballet.

We're down to the wire We're down to the wire  We're down to the wire We're down to the wire

Another shift in types of wires with both tightropes, and the metaphorical “deadline” wire coming into play, and this also brings back the “narrow escape” from the beginning. I love the imagery here of moving from one narrow escape to another, and shifting that balance in a kind of dance because it’s such a good look at what we want from Malex. We want to see them being able to shift back and forth and support each other when one of them is struggling and needs help carrying the weight of what they are going through. We want to see them being partners! 

Also, thinking of things coming “down to the wire” I am really hoping we get a great Malex rescue scene this season (Michael walking through fire, yes?!) and I would not be opposed to a last minute handprint healing either!

Just a few more days, Nonnie!

[nev3rfound]

night time wanderer : b.b

brief summary: for months you’ve had struggled sleeping, and one night bucky can’t help but intervene

word count: 1.6k requested: nope, something i felt like writing for some good ol’ fluff warnings: none that i’m aware of

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

masterlistin’

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You’d always wait at least an hour before creeping out of your bed, carefully pulling the sheets back and fluffing up the pillows before wandering toward the door. Since you started this, you’ve learnt which floorboards to avoid that creak loudly, and which remain silent.

It was a full mission simply to reach your door unnoticed, but somehow you’ve been pulling it off for months now, undetected.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You weren’t sure how long it had been happening, it could’ve been a few months or maybe closer to a year? Whenever it started, it made a point to stick around.

The correct terminology would labelling yourself an insomniac, the inability to sleep. And to be perfectly honest, it was lousy and you hated the fact you were unable to close your eyes and drift off. Instead, you would stare at your ceiling, counting sheep or listening to relaxing piano. You tried it all, until you simply gave up.

By the time you gave up, you began to wander around the compound at night. You aimlessly wandered the halls or settled in the communal lounge with a book until dawn. When everyone else slowly filed into the kitchen, you could simply play it off as being the first up. No one questioned it, because no one took the time to notice the bags under your eyes.

All except for Bucky.

Tonight was no different, you were all sitting together in the lounge, laughing about memories from previous missions when time got away from you all.

One by one, the Avengers disappeared around the compound, making their way back to their beds. You left in between Thor and Sam, a lot later than the likes of Steve and Tony.

Once the doors were all closed, and the lights in the compound softened you were out. You wrap a dressing gown around your frame and grab those fluffy socks that keep your feet warm against the cool tiles and follow wherever your feet take you.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

His blue eyes followed you as he peeked through his doorframe, watching you dragging yourself off through the compound, humming a tune he heard before. “Where you going, Y/n?” He mutters to himself, watching as you wait for the lift and walk in with a yawn before disappearing from his view.

A soft sigh left your lips as you found yourself up on the roof, burying your hands into the fluffy dressing gown as you curl up, looking out at the city.

Closing your eyes, you wish you could simply fall asleep right here, at this very moment. “Five minutes, please.” You mutter to yourself, wondering if you could possibly trick yourself into the matter.

Five minutes pass by, then ten and soon you glance at your phone to see it’s nearly 4 in the morning.

“Worth a try.” You rise to your feet with a heavy heart and eyes before turning around and jumping. “What the fuck, Bucky!” You blurt out, resting your hand over your heart as it beats sporadically.

Bucky remains still, a smile ghosting his lips as he focuses on you. “Sorry if I scared you, doll.” He comments, humour lacing his tone as you give him that deadly stare you’re known for.

“What’re you doing up, Bucky?” You question, lowering your hand as your heartbeat returns to a steadier speed. “It’s nearly dawn.” You state, glancing over your shoulder as the darkness of the night is beginning to fade away.

“Could ask you the same.” He raises an eyebrow, watching as you shift your focus to the floor, suddenly feeling the cool breeze across your legs.

“Just felt like some air, couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, focusing on how his gaze hardens onto you as he takes a step forward, watching as you step backwards.

Bucky raises his hands up, “It’s okay.” He comments, seeing you bury your hands into your pockets. “I know you don’t sleep, doll.” He speaks up, and as you go to argue, he stops you before you have the chance. “We’re on the same floor, Y/n. You’re stealthy, but not that good.” A chuckle escapes his lips, catching you off guard.

“So you’ve known about this, and not told anyone?” The question leaves your lips as you remain confused. “Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

In response, Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “For the same reason, you don’t want to tell them.” He admits. “You don’t want them to treat you differently, be fragile.”

“If they knew, they’d be worried about me on missions.” You sigh, turning away and focusing on the soft glow of the morning beginning over the trees, hearing birds whistling to one another in preparation for a new day.

“But you’ve been fine on them, hell, Steve’s been slacking out of anyone.” Bucky tells you, smiling to himself as he moves closer toward you, following your line of focus. “You shouldn’t be worried about those things, what if you just crash out at some point?”

Looking up at him, you can see he’s genuinely concerned about you, something you never anticipated. Sure, Bucky has been warm to you which was unexpected considering his cold demeanour, but you weren’t the sharing type.

“Why’re you up here, Bucky?” You turn to face him, catching him off guard as his lips part, but words refuse to follow.

“You look like you needed a friend.” He eventually answers. “If I’m wrong, I’ll be on my way doll.” He holds his hands up as he turns on his heels, heading toward the door. “But if I’m right, all you gotta do is say so.” He sings, knowing you’d roll your eyes as he waits to hear your answer.

Yet, as Bucky reaches the door and opens it, you haven’t responded.

“Y/n?” Turning back around, Bucky’s eyes widen as you stand on the edge of the building, your arms out wide. “Y/n, please, step off the ledge, just take a step back alright.” His voice remains calm despite the rising fear inside of his mind.

“I’m not going to jump, you dummy.” You laugh lightly, lowering your arms to your sides, stepping back onto the roof. Behind you, there’s a long sigh of relief. “I just forget what it feels like sometimes, to be on the edge.”

Stepping forward, Bucky looks over the edge of the building and at the sheer drop. “I think I prefer it away from the ledge.” He counters, seeing you smile up at him playfully causing his heart to flutter ever so slightly.

“You know what I mean, metaphorically speaking.” You state. “Everything feels dull, I’m just going through each day, waiting to enjoy a rest but it doesn’t happen. I can’t shut myself down, no matter how hard I try.” Your voice softens, and Bucky swears there’s an audible crack in your tone. “I just want to sleep, so badly.”

Everything in you breaks down as a few tears spill from your eyes and you naturally move away from Bucky. “Hey, doll,” Bucky coos, following after you. “It’s okay. It’s only me.” He tries to comfort you as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you cry into his chest.

It felt oddly familiar, being in his arms and not wanting to let go. It reminded you of Christmas Eve, sitting by the warm fire with a blanket around you. He was comforting, he felt safe.

“I just wanna shut down for a while.” You manage to admit as Bucky shushes you, running his fingers through your hair as you smile sleepily, melting into his embrace.

“Just close your eyes, Y/n.” Bucky whispers as he helps you sit down with him, you resting in his lap as the warmth of the sun rising hits your back.

If you had to describe it, you could say it felt like an old friend coming home. You missed it, you waited for it to come back and at last, it is.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You whisper as your body begins to feel heavy in his arms, your hands sliding down as gentle snores leave your lips until you’re out.

Bucky smiles at you, helping you lie down on him as he continues to brush through your hair, making sure it remains out of your face. “Anytime, doll.” He mumbles, leaning down gently and kisses your forehead. As he looks down, he swears he can see a smile crossing your lips as the sun casts over your face, illuminating the beauty Bucky loved.

*

Walking through the compound, Steve huffed. “Anyone seen Buck?” He asks around, only to receive a series of shrugs or no’s in response.

“You tried the roof?” Sam speaks up from the kitchen and listens to the sound of Steve’s footsteps nearing the stairs. “Man can’t ever take the damn elevator.” He mutters to himself, shaking his head before returning his attention back to breakfast.

As Steve reaches the door toward the roof, he quietly opens it and swallows the pant in his throat. “Buck?” Steve calls out, stepping away from the door to look around.

Yet, when Steve finds his best friend he can’t help but be intrigued. There you are, fast asleep in Bucky’s arms as Bucky watches the morning play out in the wilderness, seeing the birds in the trees peacefully.

Bucky turns his head, gently lifting one arm up and presses a finger against his lips. “I’ll explain later.” He mouths to Steve, looking back down at you as you shuffle in his arms, hiding your face in his chest once more.

Shocked, Steve simply nods before retreating to the stairs, unable to wipe the smile from his lips at his best friend making a move on the girl he can’t stop smiling about.

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