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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hey Eve how are you doing I hope you're having a good day. Could you possibly if you want to make a fic like after the disownment fic and there's an interview with Sirius, Remus or (or the lions) on how they felt and there reactions and stuff only if you want to ofc I hope you are having a good day

This isn't a social media fic, but it does include include this prompt and was combined with an ask for Sirius having a hard time in the wake of a breakdown because he was doing so well before. Please pay attention to the TWs and let me know if I missed any. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW child abuse (past), angst, past trauma, mentions of going to therapy, and feeling overwhelmed

The studio cameras hadn’t seemed scary in a long, long time. Sirius stared at the white floor, toying with his ring and trying not to run screaming from the building; this is for them, he reminded himself. For everyone like me who never had someone speak up for them. The metal folding chair was cold under him.

“Sirius?” There was no hint of teasing in Marlene’s voice. “Are you ready?”

He had already saved himself and Regulus. Now it was time for the rest of them. “Oui.”

“Rolling in three, two, one…”

“My name is Sirius Black,” he said, channeling all the strength and control he could manage into his voice as he straightened up. “I’m 27 years old, the center and captain for the Gryffindor Lions hockey team, and a Stanley Cup champion.” He took a breath. “And I grew up in an abusive home. Last week, my biological parents officially disowned me for refusing to go back into the closet and under their control. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no media present. There was a lot of paperwork.

“But I’m not here to talk about that.” He swallowed, and felt some of his confidence return. Behind the camera, Marlene gave him an encouraging look with a shine in her eyes. “I’m here to talk to everyone else in my situation and let you know that you’re not alone. You can get out of there, and you can be the freest version of yourself. For the next month, 1/12 of all proceeds from Lions tickets will go to charities supporting abuse survivors and those currently living in abusive situations. My story is not the only one. We can make a difference.”

----------------

Sirius laid on his back on the lobby couch, letting “Radio Gaga” thump in his ears and drown out the tremors in his body. He had never said it publicly before—as far as the rest of the hockey world knew, his family was only rumored to be strict. He had been hesitant to do the video at first despite the tsunami of questions flooding their social media, and it wasn’t until Marlene suggested the charity aspect that he agreed.

Sirius didn’t like press. He liked it even less when it was poking around in his past, and when he had to support it.

The song ended and he paused the music, listening to his own breathing and steady pulse. You’re okay. You’re done. You made it through. He didn’t feel okay.

“—proud of him,” someone was saying inside the studio. Remus. “It was a complicated and painful thing to work through, but he never wavered from what he wanted and what was best for him.”

Six of his other teammates would speak, supporting the charity with a quick mention of their own feelings in case any assholes on the internet got bright ideas about speaking for them and their feelings on Sirius’ disownment. It was insane what people thought they found by digging through interviews.

“Hey, baby.” Sirius opened his eyes; above him, Remus was leaning over the armrest of the couch with a tired smile. He kissed Sirius’ forehead, then his nose, then his lips. “Ready to go home?”

“Don’t we have to stay until the end?”

“Marlene said she had everything she needed from us.”

Sirius blew out a slow breath and stood, wrapping his arms around Remus on instinct. “This feels like it’s going to go badly.”

“I don’t think it will,” Remus said quietly, rubbing up and down his spine. “I think it’s going to help a lot of people, and I hope it means we stop getting nosy comments now that you’ve answered the big questions and made it clear that’s the end.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They walked to the car in relative silence, hand-in-hand; Remus took the keys without a word, and relief washed over Sirius in a cool breeze. He didn’t feel grounded enough to drive safely. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he ever would. The whole world was hazy outside the passenger window, blurring the city he loved so much into smudges of colors—Remus was a presence next to him, but what Sirius wanted more than anything was some hot chocolate and a long, long nap.

“I don’t feel good,” he said, hardly above a whisper.

Remus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he drove. “Do I need to pull over?”

“No, I just…” He sighed. “I thought I would feel better after getting this off my chest and helping people. I feel bad.”

“Can you eat?” He nodded. “I’ll make some soup when we get home if you want to lay down for a bit.”

Sirius’ eyes burned. “Sounds good.”

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” Remus soothed, reaching one hand down to close around the one Sirius kept on his thigh as Sirius sniffled and shook with the effort of keeping in his tears. “It’s okay. You can call Marlene and ask her not to publish the video. That’s in your rights, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Sirius choked out, wiping his tears away with the back of his wrist. “It has to happen. People have to know that they can help. I—I just—I don’t know how to feel and so everything is happening at once.”

Nobody had taught Sirius how to handle Feelings-with-a-capital-f until Dumo; suddenly, he felt like all that hard work was being undone in one fell swoop. He kept ahold of Remus’ hand and let the tears slide down his cheeks as he breathed through it, keeping both feet firmly planted in some semblance of control. Remus parked the car and turned to him without unbuckling his seatbelt. “Do you want to go inside, or should we drive for a bit?”

“I really want to go to bed.”

“How can I help?” Remus laced their fingers together again and Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. “You really don’t seem alright, love.”

“I’m not, and I don’t know how to fix it.” The words were broken glass in his throat. “I was doing so good. I don’t know how to go back.”

“Oh, baby,” Remus murmured, taking his seatbelt off to kiss Sirius’ temple. “Let’s go inside, yeah? You’ll be more comfortable there.”

Sirius nodded mutely, still pressing his lips together to stifle any sounds that tried to come out. It always seemed like when he started to cry, he couldn’t stop—whether that was a function of never crying for the majority of his life, he didn’t know, but it always felt horrible. No mistakes, his mother had told him. The video felt like a mistake. Still, he knew he couldn’t ask them to take it down. There were people that needed help, and he couldn’t let his childhood hide in the shadows anymore.

Remus turned as if to hug him when the door closed behind them, but Sirius slipped past and headed straight for the stairs. Sweatpants, hoodie, soup, blanket, talk. Talk, talk, talk until you can’t stop. Then sleep. He heard Remus moving around in the kitchen as he stripped down and dug his softest sweatpants out of the drawer, followed by Remus’ most worn-down and oversized Wisconsin hoodie that he always wore when he didn’t feel well. Sirius buried his nose in the neckline and inhaled deeply; the familiar scent soothed the rush of blood in his ears.

He didn’t bother with socks and made a beeline for the couch, wrapping himself in the afghan blanket one of Hope’s friends had crocheted for their wedding. Hope had kept it in the Lupin house so she wouldn’t forget to bring it with her, and it smelled like them, too. It smelled like safety and a happy house and healthy childhoods.

Another tear slipped out when Remus set down some water and the soup—Campbell’s chicken noodle, can’t go wrong—and Sirius curled up against the armrest to make room. “I need to talk to you,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

The cushions dipped as Remus sat next to him and crossed his legs. “About what?”

“Everything.” His voice broke. “The way I grew up, everything about it. I—Re, I never lied to you, I promise. I just didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to scare you, but I have to be honest with you.”

“…alright.”

Sirius took a shaky breath; his mouth was dry, and salty at the edges. “My parents—my parents hit me when I wasn’t good enough, and nothing was ever good enough unless I could do it again, and again, and again—”

“Sirius—”

“—and I thought everyone on my team didn’t get dinner if they didn’t get a goal and—”

“Stop—”

“—and Regulus and I, it was like we couldn’t breathe in that house with them scripting every move—”

“Sirius.” Remus’ hand covered his mouth and Sirius closed his eyes as a sob ripped free, but didn’t fight it. “Sirius, stop, please.”

“I have to tell you,” he said hoarsely, trembling from head to toe. “I have to be honest with you.”

“I love you, and I’m glad you can talk to me, but I’m not the person you have to tell.” Remus’ voice was thick with tears. “Being honest with me doesn’t mean telling me every detail, please, please don’t do that.”

“I couldn’t make mistakes,” he blubbered, leaning into Remus. “What kind of fucking freak tells a child they can’t make mistakes?”

Remus shushed him softly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck as he went boneless into Remus’ chest. He could feel the hitching breaths under his face and regret reared up, but he felt so empty. There was so much more he could tell Remus and nothing he could say. “I love you,” Remus began, sniffling slightly. “I love you so much, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I love you, I’m going to tell you that I am not the person you need to tell all this to right now. You should talk to someone who knows how to help, like Heather.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered.

“No, I understand.” A kiss pressed against the top of his head. “And I’m not upset at you. Both our emotions are running really high. I just—this isn’t blaming you or to make you feel bad, but it hurts to hear all the horrible things that happened to you. I already wish I could have stopped it before it happened, but hearing you say it is a lot worse than thinking about it and I wasn’t ready to hear everything.”

“That’s not everything.”

“I know.” Remus’ voice cracked. “I know, and that’s the worst part. This video was a bad idea, I should call—”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Sirius caught his wrist as he reached for the phone. “The video isn’t the problem. It will help people. It’s just hard for me to talk about it without getting overwhelmed.”

Remus hesitated, but left the phone alone and hugged Sirius close again. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not gonna leave.” His chest rose and fell. “But—but if you need to tell me things, not just today, please give me fair warning first.”

“I will,” Sirius promised. They sat quietly for a moment before he sat up and pulled the soup bowl into his lap, letting the steam roll over his face. “Mon dieu, I was doing so good before this. It’s been the best two years and now…”

“Now it’s going to be better,” Remus filled in when he trailed off. A slender hand tucked his hair behind his ear. “It’s going to be better, Sirius. For you, and for lots of other people that you’re helping. But this is the hard part.”

“This is the really, really hard part,” he agreed, taking a sip of broth. It was the perfect temperature. “Thank you.”

“It’s just soup.”

“No, for everything. Everything you’ve done for me.” he rested his head on Remus’ shoulder, then left a lingering kiss on his cheek. “I love you more than I can say.”

A wry smile tilted the side of Remus’ mouth up. “In English or French?”

“Both,” Sirius half-laughed. “Both, I promise. I’m going to finish this, and then can we take a nap?”

“That sounds perfect. Make sure to drink your water, too.”

It would not be an easy evening, or an easy night, or an easy anything when the video came out. But he would work through it, and he would remember what he had learned from his family and his friends to move past the roadblocks his childhood always created. He would call Regulus, they would cry together, and they would be okay. He would be okay.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #marlene mckinnon #vaincre #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #interview #lumosinlove #disownment #child abuse #overwhelmed #hurt/ comfort #angst

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gothamsglam · 3 years

Text

Can I have Your Name? (a SamBucky ficlet)

for @samshield hope you enjoy 😘

(also on ao3 under @/the_fifth_marauder101)

---

“Thanks, can I have your name?” asked Bucky with a charming smile on his face, pulling out a sharpie. However, instead of writing on an empty class as the poor customer thought, he scribbled down “Tony” on one of those ‘Hello, my name is…’ stickers.

“That’s a wonderful name by the way,” Bucky compliments, because fck you Steve, he can be polite.

He fcking told Steve going into customer service was a great idea. Idiot wanted to continue doing door to door shit, or, even worse, mope around forests for wandering travelers. He told him it wasn’t the 1400s anymore, and to grow up. Damn the supernatural council and their ‘hunt in pairs’ rule, he will go rouge and leave Stevie, he will do it.

“I’m this close,” Bucky had hissed, holding his fingers in the air so Stevie could see,

“Your fingers are touching,” Steve deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

The man doesn’t look up from his flurry of typing, “Thank you, it’s a family name.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies quietly “Alright, your order will be right out,” Bucky grinned, replacing his name tag with the new one without looking away from the brown-haired customer. The second the tag sticks to his shirt, he feels a refreshing rush of energy. Kind of like what he imagines those ‘caffeine/sugar rush’ those damn teens keep harping about.

“Thank y—” The customer—Tony—looks up from his phone to flash him a grin, only to have it fall from his face when he sees the name tag.

This was the fun part. Bucky didn’t break eye contact, maintaining it with the same smile, only now he could tell it felt eerie to the human. Like something wasn’t right.

The man’s brown eyes flitted up and down between Bucky’s face and the name tag, before he surged forward, “What di—”

“Have a good day,” Bucky bit out, still keeping the smile and cheery customer service tone. His eyes were blank, he made sure of it. Honestly, this whole song and dance was unnecessary. Stevie usually just wrote the name tags, and then stuck them on as he was making the drinks. Their shop was typically slow enough that there wouldn’t be people behind to question why the tender had a new name. But Bucky loved to fck with humans. What the hell else was he supposed to do? He’s been alive for 70 generations, let him have his fun.

However, today was a bit different. Another two walked into the shop, Bucky didn’t see it as much as he felt it. Bucky kept his back turned, hollering “Welcome to Stars and Stripes, I’ll be with you in just a moment,” over his shoulder as he made the three drinks. What asshole ordered three drinks?

Bucky’s question was answered when he saw the two men walk over to Tony’s table. One of them kissed Tony on the cheek and the other just faux-gagged before giving Tony a hug as well. Bucky called out the order, eyes tracking the way Tony mumbled something to the two men and both reacted oddly, as they probably should. Bucky would expect no less.

Apparently, he jinxed himself, because the man who hugged Tony came to pick up the drinks.

“Nice name,” said the man.

“Thanks,” Bucky flashed his uncanny valley smile and offered nothing else. The man winked and then walked back to the table.

Bucky did not look at his ass, he didn’t.

---

The next day, the man comes in. Not Tony, but other guy. The cute one.

“Hi my name’s Jacob, how may I help you today?” Bucky asks politely.

The man, to his credit, didn’t bat an eyelash, “Hi I’ll have three—” And he rattled off the same order that Tony had. Bucky resisted the urge to frown, maybe it was just a two-time thing? This group has only come into their shop once before, what are the odds of it happening again, for a third time?

“Perfect,” Bucky slid the receipt across the counter, “Can I have your name?” Bucky asked, as he reached for a pen.

“Nope,” the man replied.

Bucky froze in his moments, “What?”

The man shrugged, face showing nothing but politeness, “I’m the only person in this store, you’ll be able to find me.”

Bucky was stunned as he watched him walk back to the spot the trio was in the other day. As he sat down, the man gave a nod of acknowledgment to Bucky, who was still staring.

His brown—almost hazelnut with the light of the sun—eyes stared into Bucky’s own, and in them all he saw was mischief.

Fck.

---

For the next two days, Bucky kept a—subtle, he wasn’t obsessed or anything—watch out for Tony or The Man. And for those two days, he didn’t see hide or hair of them. Bucky figured they must have been college students from nearby campuses, wandering in when Starbucks was too full, which happens often enough. Then on the third day, he returned.

“Hey, Jacob” greeted The Man, his smile so bright—so bright that Nat would have burned like she does under the sun and threaten to bite the man in the jugular. Bucky, who was too gobsmacked to even deliver his customer service opening, stared at him.

“Not Jacob,” Bucky said, his voice strangled.

The Man chuckled, his eyes sparkling with the same look from the first day he ordered, “Ok ‘Not Jacob’, may I have—” And repeated the same order from the last two times.

“Um, right, uh” Bucky stammered, face growing hot as The Man raised an eyebrow at him smugly, “Can I have your name?”

“Put Redwing,” The Man said, shrugging. The corner of his lips pulled upwards into a happy smirk—how can a person have a fcking happy smirk?—, not that Bucky was only looking at his lips or anything.

“Redwing?” Bucky asked, stupidly. Because why ask, idiot, why ask for clarification? He read somewhere that the psyche is powerful enough to make the body do things, like fake pregnancies. Whether that’s something only reserved to humans is up for debate, but maybe, if Bucky doesn’t ask and lives in blissful ignorance, he can feed off of a fake name. But no, because he’s a bloody fool, he asked.

“It’s my pet’s name,” The Man answered, then looked tilted his head, giving a sheepish smile, “Or at least, that’s what I want to name a pet, I don’t have one.”

“Right,” Said Bucky, suddenly feeling empty in ways that have nothing to do with hunger, “Your order will be right out.”

Their conversation was longer than normal, so when the man went to sit down, the couple came in moments afterward. All three sat in the same place as before.

‘Oh no,’ Bucky thought in dawning horror, ‘Regulars.’

---

“Falcon,” grins The Man, now foregoing any attempts to be subtle and simply being a little shit.

Bucky looked at him, face void of any amusement. At this point, he’s shucked the polite customer service voice and snarked back and forth with the regular like there’s no tomorrow—only in this situation, there is a tomorrow, there always is tomorrow.

Their staring contest probably goes on for a bit too long, judging by the way Tony and his boyfriend—Bucky can feel comfortable calling the two a couple, based on how disgustingly affectionate the two get in the cafe—walk in.

The Man flashed a smile and turned away to greet the couple. An audible ‘Rhodey!’ reached Bucky’s ears. Now, finally, he has a name for one of the dark-skinned men, the one who kissed Tony’s cheek and was currently walking in with said Tony, arm around his shoulders. Only Bucky doesn’t feel that familiar warmth pool in his gut, refreshing his energy levels.

‘Oh,’ Bucky thinks, and watches as the man—his regular—laughs with his friends but also how his eyes flit back to peek at Bucky as names are spoken. ‘oh, loopholes.’

Bucky is so screwed.

---

The names his regular gives become increasingly goofy, and Steve teases him about how flirty they get—Bucky absolutely didn’t have a favorite, and it absolutely wasn’t Angel. But Bucky only believed Stevie when he got a number instead of a random moniker.

“What?” Bucky short-circuited.

The man just sighed, “Come on, I gave you my number, work with me here.”

“You finally did it, huh, Sam?” Tony called out from where he was typing away on his computer, which rested on Rhodey’s legs. Rhodey, who was sprawled out in one of their chairs, nudged Tony with his foot, “Shush, let them have this.”

‘Sam,’ Bucky thinks, and all he can come up with in his blue screened mind is, ‘Perfect’.

In his phone, the name Sam’s contact is under is ‘Angel’.

Steve heckles.

---

“How did you know, Angel?”

Sam looks at Bucky, and Bucky’s struck into silence, The whole world falls around them in muted sounds and lights fade into balls of blurry color, because as they lock gazes all Bucky can notice is Sam’s eyes. Sam’s eyes—his wonderful, soul-deep eyes that shine with mischief and laughter, that glow so bright and rival the heavens when the sunlight reflects off it just so—are sad.

“My friend,” Sam says quietly, “Riley. He was one of yours.”

Bucky nods, and reaches out with his metal hand—an injury from decades ago and a gift from a shapeshifter who hissed that his debt was repaired before slithering off into the night—pulling Sam closer to him. They watch the sun go down from the top of the roof, the stars revealed one by one, twinkling against the darkness of the dusk.

---

(One day, Bucky will ask for Sam’s name again, specifically his last name. Only then, will Sam reply honestly.)

---

AN: This is a more bastardized version of faeries/fae, I just made up my own creature for what Bucky and Steve are. Simply because I just wanted to write a little ficlet about SamBucky and didn’t do much research. Don’t think too hard about it :)

(and the link to the Tik Tok I saw on tumblr that inspired this is also linked on my ao3 fic)

Hope you enjoyed!

-vix

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wizardess-legends · 4 years

Text

Power of the Day Class Girls

Summary: Of course the day wouldn’t be complete at the famous academy without there being some chaos as magical creatures attack during lunch time. (Here’s an introductory fic for the rest of my ocs plus one I may have forgotten to mention existed ^^’)

A multitude of spells were flying as the group of prefects were trying to fend off a quite large group of creatures. “Werewolves I can understand showing up out of the blue,” Caesar started to shout while shooting out another fire spell. “But why the hell are there giant spiders here!? No one told me spiders could get this big,” Zeus cut in shouting. Lucious was using dark magic as he let out an annoyed huff while listening to them complaining. “Oh yeah the werewolves and giant spiders are the biggest concern! It’s not like there’s a WHOLE minotaur among them,” Lucious yelled at the two.

Lizzy was running as the minotaur was chasing behind her as she shouted, “The glitter bombs didn’t work, it only made him more pissed!” “Run over to us, we’re going to try and attack it at once,” Alfonse called out to Lizzy while Elias, Yukiya, and Luca stood together. Quick to change course making her way over to them in which once she reached them she slid under Alfonse's legs. Once with a clear shot the boys unleashed four attacks at the same time sending the minotaur backwards with a loud thud sound.

“Ha take that,” Luca shouted excitedly with a large grin.

“Luca it’s getting back up,”

“Ah shit, this bites,” he said, shoulders dropping as the small group watched as the bull-like creature was getting up again.

Without warning a large tide of water came out of nowhere and swept a couple of werewolves and spiders away. Then a couple of other spells hit a couple more of the attacking creatures. “What are you all doing out here?! You three should be inside the academy it isn’t safe,” Elias shouted in a stern manner as there were three female day class students. “That’s what I-I tried to tell Dite but she wouldn’t listen,” A girl who had short muted purple hair with a long low ponytail in the back and light coral colored eyes called back as a black wolf stood by her. “Now, now Lias don’t worry your pretty little head off! Besides how are we going to show off to the night class what the day class is made of, especially us ladies,” the girl next to her spoke confidently; medium wavy hair that was silver but more towards the bottom was pink and brownish pink eyes. “If anything we’ll buy you guys time to make sure everyone gets inside safely,” the third student was holding a long golden trident with medium straight teal hair with a couple of strands of hair in front that were two different colors and slate blue eyes.

~~~~~

Seeing that the prefects took our offer they started to fend off the werewolves and spiders that were going after the other students. Letting out a small sigh I twirled my trident before holding it properly in my hand pointing it at the creatures before me. “Aquarum voragine,” I shouted as the trident formed water as in the distance water collected and shot up into the air moving like a tornado which some of the werewolves got caught inside. Moving my trident the vortex of water would follow the movement hitting more. “This’ll be no problem at this rate,” I muttered to myself but then when I heard the sudden close sound of growling I looked to my left to see a werewolf lunging towards me, holding the trident with both hands I blocked its claws and pushed it back. “Acies aqua,” I quickly chanted another spell, blades of water slicing the creature as it let out a whimpering sound.

~~~~~

My whole body was trembling, I still can’t believe I let Aphrodite talk me into this crazy plan! But… She wasn’t wrong; aside from wanting to help keep the others safe, some of the prefects are our friends and even they need to be protected at times too! “These spiders really aren’t giving any room for anyone to try and attack,” I said to myself as I continued to dodge out of the way of webs the spiders were spitting my way. Catching my breath I closed my eyes for a moment and just breathed to calm myself down; now isn’t the time to be acting like a coward Genova! I brought my hands closer to my face kissing the rings on both my index fingers and then taking a fighting stance as my iron claws appeared on my hands. “Now you’re looking more like a wolf,” I glanced over to see my familiar before glancing back to the spiders. I’ll be putting myself at a greater risk of getting hurt, but it’ll be harder for them to shoot their webs if we’re fighting close. “Right, let’s go Bane,” I shouted running head on, continuing to dodge the webs or swing my hand down as it would create blades of wind to cut through them. When close enough was when I started to lash out and send out attacks of claws of wind. I’m sorry spiders, but I have people I need to protect!

~~~~~

Dodging between the spiders webs and the lunge attacks from the werewolves were becoming super tiring. “Are you really sure this was such a great idea,” I heard my familiar ask from my shoulder as I was too busy keeping an eye out for the creatures and sent out countless spells to keep them back. “Absolutely my dear Sheba,” I said with a small grin; I may not be as skilled in fighting like Genova or Vivievianna, but I was still confident in my magic! “But I will admit the sheer numbers of the creatures are wearing me out a bit and if I break a nail because of these gross beasts I’ll be mad,” I said while castes another spell making spikes of earth to grow from the ground. “But not only that I stay true to what I said earlier, as not only for the night class to see, but for the rest of the day class to see what we’re capable of,” I said passionately as I really do hate not being taken seriously. While fighting I couldn’t help but continue to feel concerned about the minotaur, it’s been a while since I last saw it and if we’re not careful it could easily take us out. A chill violently went down my spine when I heard the loud and heavy running footsteps, looking around I needed to figure out where it was coming from. Turning to look back over to where Genova was my eyes grew in fear as it was going to attack her!

~~~~~

Flying on the back of the wyvern I was approaching the academy as scanning down below it wasn’t hard to spot the battle going on below. “Kaiser, Kaiser do you copy,” I heard my communicator go off hearing Klaus’ voice, how annoying. Letting out a small groan I rolled my eyes before replying “Yes your uptightness I copy.” “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that, what’s your position,” he asked as I gritted my teeth when I had eyes on the Minotaur as it attacked a student. “I’m already at the academy, I’ll have to talk to you later,” I said, cutting communications giving the wyvern directions to fly down. “Milady did that student just-” I heard Fang say from my neck as much to my bewilderment as the girl who got hit by the creature to ash. “Turn to ash… Yeah,” I confirmed what he saw as there was no way a minotaur could have done that, but I wasn’t going to worry about that.

“Alright Fang you know the drill,” I said, removing Fang from my neck and onto the wyvern’s head. “You and our little friend here take out the rest of the werewolves and spiders,” I gave them their orders as I swung one leg over before jumping off free falling above the magical creature. Holding my right arm and my tattoo began to glow as I loudly chanted, “Poroboros Nox!” The purplish black balls of magic went falling down around the minotaur before blowing up. Smirking at the sound of the creature crying out I felt myself land on the creature, pushing off of it and landing on the ground safely. “Become thy blade, ferrum tenebris,” I chanted the shortened spell as both arms the same purplish black particles formed until they took shape into long blades. Hearing the loud screeching sound of Fang I glanced over and grinned seeing him bigger easily disposing of the lingering creatures. The loud roar that came from the creature before me, I turned my attention back to him. I watched as he scuffed his hooves against the dirt.

~~~~~

Falling down with a hard thud the Minotaur was defeated as the long dark haired woman dusted her hands off. The prefects rushed back over as the long battle was finally over as well as the girls who helped. “Though your uniform is slightly different, you wouldn’t happen to be with the Ministry would you,” Alfonse asked curiously with his hand to his chin. Picking up her once again small familiar, Kaiser picked him up and placed him back around her neck. “Yes, I’m Kaiser; I’m the Ministry’s black magic specialist,” she answered in a cold manner. Lizzy and the other prefects took turns introducing themselves before it was the students turns.

“I’m Vivievianna Ariella,” the girl with the trident spoke first in a very neutral tone. The girl who was smiling and had a ferret-like creature on her shoulder chimed in next “I’m Aphrodite Dolloway and this is my familiar Sheba!” “Hey... What happened to the purple haired girl,” Hiro asked as he saw the wolf that was with the girl, but it was when from behind Aphrodite a younger version of the muted purple haired girl came out wearing a simple white silk dress. “I-I’m right here… I’m uh Genova Merkulova,” she shyly introduced herself before now hugging the black wolf. “As this is my familiar Bane,” she added shortly after.

The moment was shortly interrupted by an angry voice shouting, “I’d ask you if you were crazy, but it’d be pointless because we both already know the answer is yes!” Rolling her sapphire blue eyes, Kaiser said, “Great he’s here. That’s my que to leave.” Many were confused as there was Klaus approaching the group. Kaiser started to climb up on the wyvern as she gave the creature a pat on the head. “Where do you think you’re going?! Also where did that wyvern come from,” Klaus shouted as he obviously looked irritated. “Ya know back to headquarters to put in the report of what happened. As it isn’t any of your business, but I have my resources,” Kaiser replied smugly before the magical creature took off flying. Pinching the bridge of his nose he decided to leave it as he’d give her a piece of his mind later. Decided to all go inside the prefects filled Klaus in of the events that had taken place.

#wizardess heart #wizardess heart fanfic #lucious duller #zeus brundle #wh ocs #lizzy luna #aphrodite dolloway #vivievianna ariella #elias goldstein #alfonse goldstein #genova merkulova #luca orlem #caesar raphael #kaiser sinclair #yukiya reizen #Bane the black wolf

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Hungry Hearts, a Destiel fic

Sam brings Cas home, except it's not the Cas that Dean remembers. Being on his own changed him, his angel colder. And he can't call Cas his angel anymore. Mainly because he hasn't been his angel for a while. Both metaphorically and literally.

Living with a fallen Cas has Dean walking on broken glass, especially since he prayed an apology to him when he couldn't hear it. Having torn off the Band-aid to a still-bleeding wound, will Dean broach the rupture between them for closure? What can possibly aid him in a terrifying act of vulnerability.

He might not be good with words... but food's never let him down.

Dean dawdles on the web, surfing between different sites. Leaves a collection of shorts called ‘TikToks’ on Yotube to read an article about the latest reboot from his childhood. Ignores the suffocating awkwardness that ballooned in the kitchen after Cas strolled in a few minutes ago.

He glanced up when Cas entered, thinking it was Sam, ready to tell him how funny kids have gotten. Except his brother hadn’t returned yet. Cas froze under the door jamb, staring at him with wide eyes. Dean mirrored his dumb expression, finger tapping as each knot of his spine stiffened one after the other. His jaw hung clumsily with the lump of an unsaid sentence. Swallowing it, Dean thought of something else to say to the other man.

Cas rebooted before he could. He nodded with a muttered “hello” and sped over to the fridge. Dean parroted, firing off a finger gun and then hung his head in shame at his response.

Ten minutes passed, Dean still hadn’t come up with anything to say and Cas tore up the kitchen searching for something. Returning to the fridge he looks inside one final time and shuts it with a growl. “Why isn’t there anything to eat !”

Dean answers, eyes trained on the laptop screen. “Sam went out to get groceries over an hour ago.”

“And he’s not back yet?” “Dude, why’re you complaining anyway. It’s not like you can…” He pauses, mind catching up with his voice. When he gathers the courage to look away from his device Dean finds Cas balefully glaring at him.

“I’m hungry , Dean,” Cas says, “Or did you forget that happens to me now. Again .”

He winces, embarrassment coloring his cheeks and popping the balloon surrounding them. Its heavy plastic weighs on his shoulders with the forceful reminder that his angel had become like him - human . With all their flaws and shortcomings. “Right… sorry.”

Cas rolls his eyes, opening and shutting a cupboard in the blink of an eye. “So there’s really nothing here to eat ?”

Dean shrugs, swinging his legs out from under the table to stand. He moseys over to the fridge, careful to avoid Cas by taking the long way around. Inside he finds a sparse amount of food scattered to their own corners like their owners’.

“Seems that way,” he tells Cas.

His former angel mutters more to himself, stomping towards the exit. “Of course… there’s not much of anything here, is there?”

A knife jumps from a drawer and twists itself into his heart. Dean reacts, “I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of footsteps pause, Dean checking on Cas to find him under the door jamb once more. Hand on the edges, fingers tight. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Dean races through his maze-like thoughts for sense, chasing it to give Cas a reason to stay this time. Brow furrowed, Dean peers into the fridge for an answer. Finds it between the inch of milk and the three eggs having a party. “There might not be much, but…” Dean grabs the ingredients, “all together, they can make… something ?”

Cas scoffs, leaning against the doorway. “ Really ?” Voice dripping with sarcasm, nothing in him gives any evidence he buys what Dean tries to sell. A harsh spotlight burns Dean’s skin, makes sweat roll down every pore. The harshness of Cas’s eye makes him doubt his hastily thrown together plan, insecure that his former angel won’t entertain him. Like he used to.

“ Yeah …” he continues, hedging softly, “I… uh, I don’t know what exactly. But you can make something .” Swallowing fear Dean moves to Cas and shoves the food into his hands, smile shaky. “Come on, Cas. If we put our heads together…”

His lip wobbles. Dean pours more energy into his smile, transforming into a more innocent and friendly version of himself. Create further distance from the beast that tore into Cas all those months ago.

It hurts staring at him this long, the memory of how haunted Cas looked that night fighting from the depths of his freezer. Dean fights it, presses on the cold, metal door with all his might. Except he isn’t strong enough. And while he kept that memory from breaking free and turning him into a mute, shambling mess, others slipped through the cracks.

Like when Cas finally returned. Trudging in after Sam, battered and bruised. Dean scurried towards them in concern. “Cas?” he asked, “Cas, what happened -”

“Vampires.”

At a loss, Dean’s hand stayed frozen in mid-air. “Vamps?” he asks, “You let them get the drop on you, bud… Cas?”

Sam glanced at him in warning, Dean understanding too late. Cas squinted at him like he was a lesser-demon, ready to be smote into unexistence. He ground out each word like they were glass. “They’re stronger than humans.”

“But you’re… not human?”

Not only did he step in it, he did so barefoot.

“He’s not an angel anymore, Dean,” Sam told him later, after Cas stormed towards his room. “He fell -”

“He fell?!? Why didn’t he say anything?” “Because,” Sam clapped his shoulder, “he didn’t think you’d care.” Left him in the main room, alone, like he deserved. Wallowing in self-pity and drowning in a bottle of Jack.

Then he thinks of his prayer to Cas - oh, his prayer . The pent-up confession of every feeling he bottled up. Alone in his room after a whirlwind hunt that left him more exhausted than ever. Dean spoke truth to the decorative guns and dusty mixtapes, eyes squeezed shut in hope that he could make his prayer more powerful. That Cas would still hear it if he stuck his fingers in his ears and tried drowning him out. Hear how sorry he was for how much of an ass he resembled and the real fear that controlled him. Hear that losing him never gets easier, and each time he got him back he squandered their time together - that he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Hear the longing trembling inside, a love so strong he began crying because of it.

Except when he finished there wasn’t a call or a text, only his own laboured breathing.

Dean figured he acted too late. No apology good enough to repair what he and Cas had. Accepted his miserable ending with a defeated sigh.

The next memory plays on, of Dean asking after his prayer. Glutton for punishment, needing to hear the other man fully explain how it felt knowing Dean’s most inner secrets.

“Even if you did pray ,” Cas used finger-quotes, expounding on Dean’s hypothetical approach, “I probably didn’t hear it. The first thing to go was my ability to use angel radio … I was alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. But then again… that happened before my antennae was torn from me.”

It was the most they’d ever spoken to each other since Cas moved back to the Bunker. Every other interaction was rushed, Cas leaving moments into Dean’s arrival. Taking books with him or suddenly having chores to do. He couldn’t leave the laundry room with Dean blocking the exit. Forcing a conversation in an attempt to soothe the termites biting under his skin.

When Cas told him what he needed to know, though, Dean let his former angel push him aside in his haste to flee. Too confused on how to feel learning this new tidbit.

Whether having his message left unread eased his troubled soul, or if it disrupted it further. Because admitting it made it easier to breathe the next morning. Dean was disappointed, but free.

Freedom evaporated, he wears his heavy chains once more. They’re still warm.

Cas draws him from his head by finally moving, inspecting the ingredients. “You really think I can make something… edible , with what’s hear in the Bunker?”

“Yeah, you got eggs… milk…” Dean waves his hands behind him, “the base is all there, the rest is really garnish.”

He raises a sharp brow at him. “I doubt you believe that given how much you stress about cooking .”

Dean blanches, chuckling nervously. “Well, that’s because I’ve gone a little soft. Having a kitchen meant I could really choose what I wanted to eat instead of using whatever was on hand. When I was a kid I…” his voice grows small, remembering another sad memory - this time, Cas-free - “I would have to make do with whatever dad left us. Sometimes we didn’t have milk or eggs. A lot of cans and dry goods though… would notrecommend cereal with water.”

“It’s not the same,” Cas agrees, soft like the feathers he shed, “I know.”

“Right…” Dean turns from Cas, too amped up to look at the other man and not burst into disgusting sobs. He fiddles with the drawer, pulling utensils out to busy himself. “We’ll get started on whatever it is we’re cooking right away!”

“We?” Cas asks, “Dean, I can cook on my own -”

“But you shouldn’t have to -”

“What if I want to?”

“Then… then…” Dean examines a spatula, frowning, “Then you can. You can cook what you want and I’ll cook what I want.”

Cas sighs, placing the milk and eggs on the counter. “ You’re hungry?”

“...Yes?”

“Dean -”

“It’s a free country, Cas,” Dean says, “If you can be hungry than so can I… you don’t have a monopoly on hunger.”

Cas’s fingers drumming on the counter fill his ear while he waits for a rebuttal. “Fine,” he says, easing Dean’s racing heartbeat, “as long as you don’t get in my way.”

“You won’t notice me,” Dean agrees, because it’s something .

Nodding, Cas reaches for a whisk and the eggs. “Good.” Cas walks forward, Dean pressed against the island to avoid him. Grip tight around the smooth marble of the counter, Dean counts down from ten and then starts on his own creation.

Only he can’t think in silence. Especially since it’s a special silence, made all the more distracting by having Cas so close and being unable to talk to him. So Dean leaves his station and returns to his laptop, clicking around until he finds a playlist and cranks the volume to its loudest setting.

“What’s that?”

Dean shrugs. “Music,” he says, the singer’s voice crooning through the speakers, “Just typed in country and hit the first thing I found.”

Cas hums. “Not rock?”

“...Not really in a rock ‘n’ roll kind of mood.”

“I see… what’s the name of this song?”

He reads the title of the video. “Cannonball.”

“It’s very nice…” Cas turns back to his creation, whisking the eggs in a bowl. Dean inflates with the desire to continue their conversation, only he can’t. Instead he waddles over to the counter and carries on with cooking.

Between pouring what’s left of the milk into a saucepan and dumping the remaining shredded cheese into it, Dean wonders if he and Cas will ever return to the way it was. In the next beat he asks himself whether he wants them to or not.

Being alone meant Dean had a lot of time to reflect and he realized that his and Cas’s bond, no matter how profound, wasn’t working for him. Wasn’t healthy. Wasn’t… enough . As much as he wants Cas to accept an apology and forget the mess Dean knows that wouldn’t be fair. Dean made a mess, and he couldn’t learn until his nose was buried deep in it. He promised himself that if, by some odd miracle, Cas forgave him things would change.

Namely himself.

On the top of the list, Dean wouldn’t take him for granted. Wouldn’t expect him to fall in line and go along with whatever he said. If Cas needed him to, Dean would spend every day reassuring him that his place in their family wasn’t as a guard dog. His ‘C’ would join Dean’s initials on the table the second he asked.

He hasn’t, though. Hasn’t said much of anything to Dean. They’ve been in the kitchen for thirty minutes together and Cas spoke for three.

Dean tries, but there’s only so much bullshit he can spout before he chokes on his feelings. A war wages inside him over swallowing and repressing or vomiting them all over Cas’s shoes. Casualties heavy on both sides, victory far from either sides’ grasp. So they stay packed tight in his chest, and will most likely die there -

“Dean?”

He startles, squeezing the last bits of ketchup onto the pan. “Yes?”

Cas frowns at his cooking, a horrid green tinting his cheeks. “What… are you making?”

Tracking his gaze, Dean stares into his concoction without any clue what happened. It’s a swirl of colors, most noticeably red since the ketchup drips from the bottle into it. Unable to admit to Cas that he doesn’t know, Dean panics. “It’s a secret,” Dean lies, “If I told you, then you’d want to have it.”

“Trust me,” Cas winces, “that won’t happen.”

“You’re only seeing it be made ,” he continues, “but, like, when I’m done it’ll be the most appetizing thing ever.” Dean begs his mind to stop, only it ignores him. “Better than pie .”

“ Really ?”

He nods. “Found it in this cookbook - y’know, one of those good ones by a celebrity where every recipe comes with a story.” Dean exchanges the bottle with a spoon and begins stirring the mixture together, shuddering as it squelches. “Figured now’d be the perfect time to try it.”

“Now?” his former angel asks, “When the Bunker barely has enough ingredients for regular food. It just so happens to have all you need for this… recipe?”

“Christ, Cas, I’m being adventurous . Maybe you want to play it safe but I’m in the mood for something new .”

Dean bites his tongue, regret slamming into him after raising his voice. Fearfully glancing at Cas, he prepares for the other man to leave him again. Pack up and move on to another life with people who deserve him.

Cas doesn’t. He watches Dean with a curious glint in his eyes, expression neutral instead of the stormy cloud that normally settled over them when in Dean’s presence. “Adventurous?” he asks, “If that’s the mood for tonight… then I hope you don’t mind if I’m also … adventurous.”

A shiver races up his spine at Cas’s tone, Dean excited by it. “Not at all…”

Settled, Cas opens the fridge and gathers a carrot and a package of sliced ham. “Your recipe,” he starts, “doesn’t need these, right? I’d hate to…mess it up .”

“Never,” Dean says. Cas frowns, squeezing the carrot too hard. Dean continues, “I mean… you can have them for whatever you’re working on… recipe didn’t call for ‘em anyway… in fact it said I should avoid carrots and… and ham…”

“...Right,” Cas mutters, walking away, “Because avoiding is exactly what you do…”

Sourness curls his lips. “Wait!” he calls to Cas, stopping him. Holding his hand out, Dean asks, “Ham?”

Cas arches his brows, “I thought you said the recipe -”

“Screw it,” he says, “Going a little off script… s’called being adventurous .”

“Adventurous… right?” He slaps a piece of ham into Dean’s hand. “Have fun.”

“You too.”

They go back to cooking, except not like before. The energy in the room ramps up, as Dean and Castiel find their paths crossing. Digging in the fridge or the cupboards or the pantry for more food. Asking each other if they need whatever they found and, ultimately, sharing when in stubborn pride they said ‘yes’.

Dean realizes how ridiculous they look when he tears a single slice of bread in half for each to use. A laugh bubbles up and escapes, Dean dangling the halves.

Cas skews his head to the side, an adorable gesture Dean missed with a fury. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” he tells him, handing the bread over, “Just excited for what we’re making.”

“I doubt that’s the case.”

“But I am!” Dean says, dumping the bread-half into a pot he transferred his earlier mixture into, “If you’re not, then maybe admit that whatever I’m making is gonna taste better.”

Squinting, Cas stands firm. “Mine will be a thousand times more delicious than yours.”

“Those’re fighting words.”

“Than consider us fighting .” Dean almost winces, except he’s distracted by the smallest twitch of Cas’s lips. Cas smirks at Dean and nearly causes him to crumple into a sad mess. He wills the tears down and accepts the challenge.

Time passes faster after that. Dean snatching spices from Cas’s hands before he could grab them. Cas shoving Dean when he carries his stew to the table, knocking him off path and almost dropping the entire meal across the floor. Both of them pressed against one another as they searched the pantry one final time, Cas like a scalding iron rope to his side.

He sprinkles little leaves he tore from a plant Sam bought when Cas calls over to him. “Yeah?”

“I want your opinion on something?”

Dean turns, seeing Cas hold a frying pan full of gummy bears over a simmering flame. “What are you doing?” he asks, barely able to through the fit of giggles.

“I’m trying to make a jam for my meal,” Cas explains, mirth coating his own voice, “but I’m not certain how long I should hold the gummy bears over the fire?”

“Hold on,” Dean says, grabbing a stray book they found in their race to find every edible thing in the kitchen. He flips it open to a random page and pretends to read. “It says… as long as you want, and as hot as you think.”

“Wow, that’s…” Cas leans towards Dean, grinning, “ adventurous .”

Dean basks in the warmth of Cas’s joy, carefree playfulness dipping lower. Replaced by a soft wonder while he marvels at a version of his former angel he was barred from seeing. Cas stirs the melting gummies carelessly, like the other day he didn’t scowl at Dean until he fled from the library.

Watching Cas indulge in a silly waste of food reminds Dean that he loves this being with all his heart. No matter if he has his wings or not, his heart latched onto Cas and can’t be pried off.

“Dean?” Cas asks, halfway to where the rest of his food waits with the pan in hand, “Dean are you okay?”

He sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “Peachy… you about done?”

“Almost. Have to layer this on and… perfect !”

Dean walks to where Cas waits, studying their finished products. His stew bubbles with foodstuffs floating inside, not dissolving because they can’t. Meanwhile Cas’s meal, smothered in the congealed flesh of a hundred gummy bears, looks as unappetizing.

“This looks,” Dean’s nose scrunches in distaste, “this looks awful .”

“Agreed.”

Sneaking a peek at Cas he sees his former angel already looking at him. Gazes locked, they goad each other into a fit of raucous laughter until Dean leans on the table for support and Cas’s arms are wrapped around his stomach.

Cas winds down, straightening and glancing around the room. “All this hard work for what… nothing? We made quite the mess…”

His smile vanishes, Dean not needing to look to agree with him. Nerves returning, tensing and knotting over each other, he thinks about the past ten years of their relationship. “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing , though…”

“Right,” Cas sighs, tapping at his thigh, “anyway, we should clean it up.”

“About time, right?”

“So if you want to grab the mop, I’ll -”

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

Startled, he whips around to face Dean. Cas’s brows draw in close, jaw hanging, disbelief painting his features. “What?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for Cas’s hand, “for what I said after we fixed the hole in Hell. For pushing you away when you needed us… needed me to be there for you, after Jack, after Chuck -”

“Dean,” Cas pulls away, drifting backwards, “Dean you… I know you were hurting, but- “

“Cas, please,” Dean follows him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “I need to… I need to get this all out. The first time it was easy, you not being there but now it’s… it’s taking everything I have and -”

“The first time?” Cas asks, “What… what do you mean?”

Dean chuckles, rubbing the palm of his hand against one eye. “I prayed, Cas… I prayed to you. Prayed the hardest I’ve ever done in my life, for the slightest chance you might listen.” he sobs, curling in on himself. “Listen to me admit to being an ass. Being ungrateful to you, not being able to give you confidence that you mattered to me. Because you do… so, so much. Cas, I…”

He huffs, black tendrils squeezing around his lungs. Dean powers through it. “We’d lost mom… Jack… and then Rowena I… I knew it wouldn’t be long until you’d be taken from me, too. You always are. So I pushed. Picked at every little thing hoping you’d get fed up and leave. Although a part of me knew you’d take whatever I threw at you - you always have. Until you didn’t. And I haven’t been the same - haven’t been whole since.”

“Dean -”

“So many chances,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, smearing more tears onto his skin. “So many chances wasted… when I didn’t say what I should’ve or didn’t act on desires that I had…”

“Desires?” Cas asks, inching forward, “What… desires?”

Dean rises enough to face Cas, the other man deserving it given the enormity of the next few sentences. “I love you, Cas. I think I always have, but when I realized it I did nothing about it. And if you don’t love me I can live with that. If you did love me but don’t anymore, I can live with that, too. Because you don’t own any of the blame. It’s all on me. Cas… you don’t make everything go wrong. Hell… you’re one of the only people who make life seem all right.”

The audio loops to the beginning, and the guitar strums echo in the silent kitchen. All the darkness eating at Dean’s insides fade and his muscles loosen from the tight grip remorse held them in. As time ticks forward and Cas remains frozen by Dean’s confession, the rushing heat of embarrassment licks up his neck.

“Right,” he mutters, edging away, “you… that was a lot for you… I think I’ll go, find that mop for you -” A hand snakes around his wrist, “Cas? What’re you -”

Lips crash into his, draining every thought from his mind. Castiel steps into his space, tugging him closer while his other hand caresses Dean’s face. Dean responds in kind, lids fluttering shut as he laces his arms over Cas’s shoulders.

Cas breaks the kiss with a pant, foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too, you idiot,” he growls, staring into his soul, eyes aglow even though it shouldn’t be possible anymore. “I love you so much… leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not a day went by where I didn’t think of you either you… you…” Words failing, he embraces Dean once more.

They gasp for breath afterwards, Dean half-sitting on the table between their two dishes.

“So,” Dean starts, “where do we go from here?”

“I… I don’t know,” Cas says, “We can’t go back to how we were before -”

“ Clearly .”

“Not like that,” he sighs, brushing his nose across Dean’s, “I mean… if you’re having a problem, you cannot take it out on me again -”

“I’m a changed man, Cas,” he promises, “I… I’ve lost you already - too many times - but this? This was the worse… Because of me. Because I was a coward… I choked . Now… I swear if anyone tries to tear us apart I’ll beat them up.”

Cas offers a small smile. “Even yourself?”

“You kidding?” Dean scoffs, grinning, “I know his every weakness.” This time Dean initiates the kiss, slowly, so he can study the way Cas’s lips feel, how they taste, and what emotions they stir inside Dean.

Suddenly they hear a voice not too far away. “Dean? Dean… I got your stupid groceries, man. Come on and help. I texted you, like, an hour ago…”

Cas squeezes Dean’s wrist. “Sam…”

“I know,” he sighs, “Kid’s always been a cockblock…” Looking past Cas, Dean sees the disorganized kitchen for the first time. A wicked idea pops into head, and the blissful smile on his face falls into something more wicked. “Hey,” Dean whispers, “Let’s run away together.”

“Run away?” Cas asks, “But I just came home.”

Dean powers through the squeal building in his chest hearing Cas call the Bunker ‘home’ to explain, “No… we’re not running far. Down the hall and to my room s’all.” Adding an eyebrow wiggle helps communicate his message to Cas.

“ Oh .”

With blinding speed Cas drags Dean from the kitchen, fleeing through the other exit seconds before Sam enters. Over their laughter and the continued music playing from Dean’s laptop, they hear the younger Winchester groan.

“Seriously? Dean, this isn’t funny… Dean? Dean !”

#Dean Winchester #Castiel #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Misha Collins #Jensen Ackles

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paintingwithdarkness · 5 years

Note

Wow I seriously love all your fics - thanks for writing! Could I request #2 with bluepulse?

“Please, don’t cry! I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“Surprise!”

Instantly, lights flicked on, blinding Bart, and a dozen different people jumped out at him from behind various pieces of furniture in the Allen’s living room. Bart flinched, feeling a surge of adrenaline sing through his veins and immediately took up a fighting stance. Upon none of the figures moving to attack him however, Bart’s eyes quickly roved the room and he slowly relaxed his posture, confused, but no longer fearing for his life.

A brightly colored, handmade banner hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BART!” was painted across it in neon, the same shades as the handful or so of balloons that were floating around, tied to the backs of chairs and wrists. A huge stack of carefully wrapped boxes and bags with vibrant paper sticking out from their tops were piled on the coffee table in front of the couch. Everyone in the room with exception to himself, was wearing one of those pointy, polka-dotted party hats, huge smiles on their faces, hands thrown out wide as if presenting all of the gaudy decorations to Bart.

As his eyes traveled around, Bart met gazes with Grandma Iris, Grandpa Barry, briefly with each of the twins, Bianca and Alberto Reyes, Milagro, Cassie, Tim, Garfield, Virgil, and last but not least, Jaime, who had one of the biggest smiles on his face Bart had ever seen.

A strange feeling welled up inside Bart’s chest. Entirely against his will, a laughing sob escaped his throat and tears spilled down his cheeks. His house key, which he’d still been holding, dropped to the carpet with a muted clink as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

The smiles melted off of everyone’s faces at Bart’s reaction. Uneasy glances passed between his teammates, and pitying looks appeared on the faces of the adults. Jaime immediately rushed forward to wrap Bart up into a hug.

“Oh Cariño, I’m sorry! Please, don’t cry! I can’t stand to see you cry,” his boyfriend begged, rocking him back and forth, trying to soothe the tears away.

That ugly laugh-cry escaped Bart again. He wasn’t upset per say, but the surprise party was definitely overwhelming. It wasn’t something he had been expecting, and the sentimentality of it all had just hit him all at once.

Jaime gently shushed him, rubbing his back and trying to comfort Bart the best he could, but the tears kept flowing. Bart couldn’t turn them off. His emotions were running wild and he didn’t even know exactly what it was that was making him cry to begin with.

“I can’t stop!” he managed to get out between strangled noises and gasps for air. Bart’s lungs were heaving in an effort to catch an efficient breath, unlike the ease he had when running. He was starting to panic.

Luckily, his boyfriend got the memo quick enough and managed to open the front door again from where Bart had just come in, and shuffle him out onto the porch to get some fresh air.

Once he was outside, Bart started taking in deep lungfulls of clean air while Jaime stood beside him and gently rubbed his back. It didn’t make any sense. Bart didn’t understand what had him so emotional. It was a surprise party; everyone had them.

And then it hit him. Everyone except Bart had had a surprise party. Growing up in a post-alpocalyptic wasteland hadn’t exactly given Bart the chance to experience a proper birthday. In fact, no one in his time had ever really celebrated them. They just weren’t important, what with trying to just survive each day. A lot of people probably wouldn’t have even made it to their twenties. Bart was one of the fortunate ones to have lived to thirteen. The Reach didn’t keep calendars, and once the invasion had begun, no one really continued keeping track of the date. Bart didn’t even know what his actual birthday was. The best he could figure was sometime between September and November. Once fall passed each year, Bart knew he was older. The birthday that Batman had come up with for Bart’s papers to live in the current time period was just a guess. Bart had no idea how accurate it actually was or if it was even close. He would find out, along with all of his new friends and family when this time’s version of him was born in 2043.

Bart eventually managed to catch his breath. He raised a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks and cleared his throat a few times, trying to get rid of the large ball of cotton that had seemingly gotten caught there.

“You okay, Amorcito?” Jaime asked him, once he noticed that Bart was no longer crying.

Bart nodded his head. He didn’t trust his voice.

Jaime hesitantly wrapped him into a hug, which Bart instantly reciprocated.

“I thought you would like the surprise party,” Jaime said, gently stroking his fingers through his auburn hair. “I didn’t know it would upset you. I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” Bart mumbled against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Just overwhelmed me s’all.”

Bart pulled back from the hug so that he could look Jaime in the eyes. The older boy still looked guilty. Bart knew he would have to elaborate.

“We didn’t really celebrate birthdays in the future,” Bart said. “I don’t even know if today is my real birthday. The Reach didn’t keep calendars and no one else had a way of keeping track. The best I can guess is that my birthday is in the fall. The weather always started getting colder around the time I gained another year.”

Jaime was giving him a sad smile now. Bart didn’t want pity.

“This is the first real birthday that anyone has thrown for me. Sure, the Garricks and Gram and Gramps used to get me little presents and stuff, and you always used to buy me extra food on my birthdays when we would go out to eat somewhere, but this is the first party that’s ever been mine.”

Jaime’s smile turned happy. “Claro, Cariño. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t throw you a birthday party? This is the first time we’ve celebrated your birthday since we started dating. I had to make it big.”

Bart gave him a little laugh. “Thanks, Babe. The party looked super crash. Sorry I got a little emotional on everyone.”

Jaime stepped forward to give Bart a kiss. The younger boy could feel his smile against his lips. When Jaime pulled away, he gently stroked his thumb over the swell of Bart’s cheek and left his hand there, cupping Bart’s jaw.

“I’m glad I get to be the one to throw you your first birthday party.” Jaime gave him another quick kiss before pulling away and grabbing Bart’s hand.

“We should probably go back inside,” Jaime said, “and let the others know that you’re okay.”

Bart nodded. “Hope you got enough cake, ‘cause I am hungry.”

Jaime laughed. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t get enough cake? Mom make three.”

Bart instantly brightened up. “The kind with the custard inside?”

Jaime’s smirk answered the question.

“So crash! Let’s go!”

Here it is, Anon! Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you were looking for. All of the requests I’ve gotten seem to be for angst. Guess y’all like our boys to be sad and soft.

But yeah, thank you for the compliment! I write all of these little drabbles for you guys! Having your support makes it all worth it.

#young justice #bart allen #jaime reyes #bluepulse #yj #angst #fluff #prompts list

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kamilahmademedoit · 5 years

Text

The Talk (Mona x MC)

As part of RoD appreciation week, I’m posting this fic now, although it was almost done at least a month ago. It’s slightly AU, set a few years after the main events, Mona and MC are no longer on the run. I just want to see them have a regular life… sigh. Anyway, no warnings except for language and some implications.

Cutsey chubby baby cheeks, and little baby feet moving aimlessly in all directions, and that little button of a nose… ohmygod, the baby was smiling at her, a bit of saliva running down his chin and just… ugh, Ellie’s heart was melting on that interesting verge between tenderness and aggression. She stuck out her tongue at the baby and he looked at her with curiosity, then giggled the way only babies did and wiggled in his stroller, reaching his little hands for her.

His father didn’t bother much, just glanced over at Ellie a few times as if to make sure she wasn’t thinking of kidnapping his offspring, what with the way she was staring with this wide maniacal grin. Here they were, the three of them waiting outside a baby store on a warm Saturday evening with the sun still fighting for a spot in the sky. The dad was looking at his phone rather absorbed by whatever it was he was reading, the baby was fascinated with Ellie, and Ellie… she was this close to throwing away all rules of propriety and snuggling up the little bundle without so much as asking for permission first.

Then she noticed in the corner of her eye Mona stepping out of the store, shopping bag hanging on her arm as she was putting away her purse. Ellie immediately turned away from the baby, startled, God forbid Mona got the wrong idea about this whole thing and decided Ellie might actually…

“All fixed”, Mona announced, looking up at Ellie, her face that of a person who just had someone else deal with an annoying issue. “We even got a discount to make up for the mix-up.”

“Oh”, Ellie acknowledged simply and leaned in to look at the bag. “Too bad they didn’t have the one with the bees pattern for one-year-olds. But this one is cute too.”

“It’s adorable, are you kidding, look at the little mice, I mean, c’mon…”, Mona’s face lit up for a moment, her grin so sincere, mellowing down all the hard edges. Ellie gazed at her adoringly before leaning in for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Let’s go, we’re late enough as it is,'' she urged her gently and walked a few strides ahead.

Mona just now noticed the baby. She gave the little munchkin a smile, noticing how he smiled right back, his puff baby mouth twisting in that amusing way. Mona made a funny face at him, then turned away, catching up to Ellie.

They hadn’t seen Riya and Kevin in quite a while. They missed Trina’s first birthday because their flight got delayed, leaving them stuck at the airport on the way back from New York, and then also ended up missing Kevin’s 30th birthday a few weeks later when Ellie’s father got hospitalised. Things turned out fine but Ellie was scared senseless for a few long hours before they got to him and the doctors reassured them it was a minor injury on the job.

And now that Riya and Kevin had invited them over for dinner just to catch up, they were making up for the birthday parties missed by getting Trina and Kevin some overdue gifts, as well as a little toy giraffe for Sam, who was going to throw a tantrum if his little sister got something and he didn’t.

Riya and Kevin’s apartment building was just around the next corner and for once they made it barely 15 minutes late. As they entered the 10th floor apartment, however, a huge baby bump greeted them, followed by Riya’s wide grin and the satisfaction on her face as she saw how surprised they both were.

“Oh my God, Riya…!”

“I’m not that far along, it literally happened overnight, I swear.”

They exchanged a few more words over taking off jackets and making their way into the apartment, a curious toddler swiveling around their legs all the while making incomprehensible little noises.

Kevin greeted them in the dining room, opening a bottle of red wine. He made his way to each of them for a quick kiss on the cheek. “So it’s no surprise any longer,'' he said between greetings.

“Oh, I had a hard enough time keeping it secret”, Riya protested, giving him a cheeky smile.

They all sat around the table, little Sam climbing up ‘auntie Mona’s leg to sit in her lab, the stuffed giraffe already in his clumsy grip. As she was playing with him - a striking contrast between his baby talk and her slang - Ellie was talking to Riya, sparsely casting glances their way, noting how good Mona was at this. She wasn’t surprised, frankly, she had seen Mona interact with Kevin and Riya’s kids before. But something today made her feel that extra pull in her heart at the sight of Mona holding little Sam and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“So, obvi, we’ll have to skip that but I’d say it’s worth it”, Riya explained about their vacation plans.

“Oh, no, totally”, Ellie agreed, shaking her head. “We get it, we don’t want your waters breaking on the beach”, she laughed light-heartedly, reaching for her wine glass. “Besides, we’ll have the whole house to ourselves, right, babe?”

“Hm?”, Mona turned her head in her direction, Sam having captured her attention completely.

“I said we’ll have the beach house all to ourselves”, Ellie repeated, nodding her head toward Riya.

“Ah, yeah, sure, don’t worry ‘bout it”, Mona brushed it off before being suddenly smacked with the stuffed toy across the face, Sam openly demanding for her attention. “Hey, man, what the heck, thought we were buddies!”, Mona protested, much to his delight.

…

Late night conversations in Mona’s car was their thing. Sometimes they would go for a drive with no particular destination, leaving LA behind, Mona joking about never returning… but always making their way back to their apartment. They would talk for hours, having spent the day apart, and in those nameless moments Ellie could feel herself on the other side of Mona’s walls, safe in the little fortress instead of banging on the door as she had done so many times before.

On their way back from Riya’s they were both silent for most of the way. Ellie was pleasantly sedated by the one too many glasses of wine she’d had at dinner, her forehead rested on the window, the city lights blurring in her vision. Mona seemed to be somewhere else too, not in that detached, self-guarded way Ellie was well familiar with, but still, she was certainly in her head, only driving by instinct.

“So, should we…”, Mona broke the silence somewhat tentatively, Ellie’s head languidly turning in her direction.

“Should we…?”

“Yeah, I mean”, Mona’s gaze was on the road as she switched lanes, her focus divided. “Have one of those.”

It took Ellie forever to figure out what her wife meant by that. She knew her well enough to have an educated guess but she was confused by the wording and besides, surely Mona didn’t mean to suggest… or did she? Mona cast a quick glance her way when Ellie delayed her response, brows furrowed in concern.

“You want to have kids?”, Ellie asked for clarification, her eyes searching Mona’s face for a clue. She seemed dead-serious about it, whatever it was.

“Don’t you?”, Mona turned the question on her.

“Well, do you?”, Ellie arched an eyebrow, surprise coloring her face. Never had she imagined that Mona of all people would want to have the white picket fence life. Though, they were nowhere near that, their whole marriage so far as unconventional as they came, starting with the elopement in Vegas on the run…

“I actually want to.”, Mona raised her voice as if arguing against a previous version of herself, a bit surprised at her own answer.

“I do too…”, Ellie admitted softly, taking her gaze off Mona’s face to stare absently at the cars ahead.

“Since when?”, Mona gave her a quick glance, already anticipating the answer.

“Since always.”

“Can’t say the same for myself…”, a hoarse puff escaped her throat as she smirked.

“Since when do you want to have kids?”, Ellie inquired looking at her wife as if seeing her for the first time.

“Well, the idea kinda grew on me around Riya’s second.”

“And you’ve been thinking about it since?”, Ellie continued her little investigation, skepticism muffling her joy, making her cautious.

“Been considering it, yes…”, Mona glanced at her again, eyes widening at the look on Ellie’s face. “Don’t be so shocked, gorgeous, I have my moments.”

“You have more than moments”, Ellie quipped softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief, teasing Mona for her unexpected domesticity, her capacity for warmth and quiet marital contentment Ellie never thought she’d get to experience with her.

…

The muted sound of chatter and laughter filled the lazy morning silence as the sun drenched every surface of their bedroom in soft peach hues, its rays illuminating the millions of tiny dust specks in the air. Mona always watched those talk shows with no headphones and Ellie would chuckle beside her as a particular line briefly caught her attention, never taking her eyes off the screen of her own phone, sometimes making Mona mentally guess whether it was the host or a meme on Pictagram extracting that laughter.

But Ellie was unusually quiet today, not really paying attention to whatever it was she was looking at on her phone, neither really hearing the host’s witty remarks about the president’s latest diplomatic visit. She slightly leaned forward to reach for her cup of coffee on the tray between them on the bed, then had a small sip and hummed at the bitter taste she loved.

“It’s strong”, she remarked, pleased, not particularly addressing her wife but with the unspoken recognition that it was Mona who made coffee and breakfast this time.

“I was thinking about what you said last night,'' Ellie added after a few moments passed as the audience erupted into laughter.

“Hm?”, Mona didn’t even chuckle but neither did she take her eyes off the screen. “Oh, that? Don’t worry, babe, I don’t think he’ll really run for president again, I just meant if he did…”

“No, it’s not that… about having kids.”

The noise suddenly stopped as Mona hit pause. She looked at Ellie who was still holding the cup underneath her chin.

“Yeah?”

“Well… how do we go about it?”, Ellie asked meeting her gaze, her deep brown eyes holding another question.

“How do you wanna go about it?” Mona was unexpectedly solemn, the gravity of her resolve making Ellie now feel how real it all was.

“I was thinking… maybe I could get pregnant? Or you could! Or maybe… I could do it now and you do it the second time around?”

“The second time around?”, Mona arched her eyebrows, a mix of surprise and amusement lighting up her face. “What if we have the little fucker and decide we’re done with parenthood?”

“Babe, once we have ‘the little fucker’ we can never be done with parenthood. Ever.”, Ellie explained gently, tilting her head.

“I mean, I know, just… Let’s take it one baby at a time, okay?”, Mona chuckled, tracing Elie’s cheekbone with the back of her index finger. Elie closed her eyes, relaxing into her touch for a brief second. “Never wanted to be pregnant”, Mona continued, her eyes still glued to her wife’s face, her adoration now out in the open. “But I think I’d love to see you…”, she swallowed and lowered her hand, emotion suddenly too overwhelming.

Elie’s gaze softened as she leaned to plant a tender kiss on the corner of her mouth. Mona pulled back. She looked at her wife with that familiar mischief in her eyes, then she took the breakfast tray that was still between them and carefully placed it on the floor on her side of the bed. With that obstacle out of the way, Mona grabbed Elie’s waist in her arms and pulled her under the duvet, covering her neck with butterfly kisses.

“What, are we starting now?”, Ellie managed, laughter interrupting her sentence, as Mona’s kisses tickled and teased.

“Ha, yeah, I wish it worked like that.”

“Mmm… if it did, last night should’ve done the trick.”, Elie giggle, her voice breaking into a gasp as Mona gently bit below her jaw.

#mona rod #choices rod #rod mona #rod #mona x mc #mona

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heathcliffdt · 6 years

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Eremika! I'm craving mikasa/eren hugs.

Title: Skinny Love

an: heeey I know song fics are waay too 2005-ish. i struggled so hard as to whether i will use this song for an edwin or an eremika fic. i decided to do both bec this song is so precious i highly suggest u listen to bon iver’s version simply because it is majestic.

I Told You to Be Patient

When Mikasa was younger, her mother told her a tale of how each person is born with a fairy whose heart is distinct from the others. Since they were too small for the eyes to be seen, the hearts of these fairies could only store one trait so one must take good care of it. They were unique like the first snowflakes that shower so tenderly during early December. For an inquisitive kid like Mikasa, she didn’t initially believe her mother. But despite being dubious, she did wonder what her own fairy looked like and what trait did her heart actually carried.

When she met Eren however, Mikasa’s suspicions on her mother’s stories were easily debunked. Looking at Eren, her eyesight immensely improved that she could swear that she could make out Eren’s tiny fairy through her naked eye. She would describe his fairy as a stubbier version of him, with the eyes the color of seafoam dreams, and his hair untidy and naughty like the scrunch on the eyebrows he sported. But the one trait Eren’s fairy carried in his heart was the cadmium yellow of cascading sun, or the endless sprint in an unwalled field: it was freedom.

Eren’s fairy served as his propeller, his engine, the cherub that whispered to his ears to heed impulse. Sometimes, Eren’s fairy and himself defied reasons. Mikasa would at how an arguing Armin to not stupidly head on with the snotty bullies or how Carla exasperatedly placed her hands on her hips as she sternly reprimand Eren. Mikasa witnessed how his fairy just buzzed in tantrum like a bee, catching his attention thus he never actually paid attention to what Armin nor Carla said.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t always barge into fights?” Carla pulled a damp face towel from her fresh laundry and wiped Eren’s black swollen eye. “Someday you have to grow up. You know, young man, you need to protect Mikasa too?”

Mikasa could hear the tiny fairy constantly buzzing; Eren shoved Carla’s hands and just ran off inside the house, leaving both Carla and Mikasa and a pile of clothes alone.

“He never listens,” Carla said.

“Mikasa, keep Eren in check, okay? He may think that he needs to prove something else. He fails to see he is already special because he is born into this world.”

I Told You To Be Fine

The stark difference between Eren’s frail little fairy and the others’ was the fact that the shrill voice never disappeared for Eren. Overtime, these small hovering stout pixies should disappear; Eren’s however just made itself more known. Mikasa was a witness to this.

There was an account wherein Eren was too disoriented to listen to the tiny voice. It was when he needed it the most, for the lions who sprint for the antelopes would one day meet its demise. Who would have thought something so glorious would meet its decay immediately?

Eren was shaken to the core, and Mikasa was immobilized. Before them was the monster, sporting a devious smile, who killed Carla. Had Mikasa not promised Carla that she would not be Eren’s rock, she would have believed that it was the last setting of the sun their eyes had laid sight on.

“Eren,” Mikasa placed a tender hand over Eren’s shaking fists. “Listen carefully, for I have to tell you something.”

And all the world had muted its color and silenced its agony. “Thank you for being there for me. And for teaching me how to live.”

Like a child clinging to its comfort thing, Mikasa pulled the shabby red muffler closer to her face, “thank you for wrapping this scarf around me. Thank you.”

She was certain they were about to die that moment.

On that day, two things occurred: one: she was wrong about thinking they would die that day; and two: Eren sealed a promise.

I Told You To Be Balanced

When the rage and the thirst for freedom got so enmeshed in Eren’s world, she sometimes had a hard time locating the thin line which bordered it. Armin was the most articulate among the three of them, and Mikasa was the most empathic, and Eren…well, he was a boy whose fairy’s heart was too big to house.

Mikasa had grown familiar to Armin’s exasperated smile when Eren’s assertion was coupled with defiance. It was impossible to separate his indomitable heart from him—it was the imprint of his soul.

One precious sunset was all that they needed for Eren to regain his moment of inertia as he treaded his own tightrope. Just when everyone was ready to sacrifice themselves for the glory and restoration of those whom the world branded as devils, Eren just turned them all down.

“I’m not going to leave the titans to any of you,” he said. “Because you are all too important. More than anybody else.”

Mikasa thought Armin’s allusion to the watercolor orange of the twilight sun was perfect to Eren’s sincerity. It had been so long since Mikasa witnessed Eren’s heart tendered through the course of the ongoing bloodshed.

I Told You To Be Kind

She never doubted him.

But when one heartbreak succeeded another, a vicious circle was bound to exist.

She failed to understand as there were too many puzzle pieces scattered all around. Right now, there seemed to be not one sensible person within her reach who still fostered a heart. There was not much room for that anymore because apparently, in war and the struggle for power, even the fundamental principles of a person are compromised. Could she even dare call herself a human still after taking part of such atrocities?

How she wished they had the luxury of time to at least lament the passing of Sasha.

Eren had been compromising a lot lately. Mikasa always knew Eren’s ethics was not of utilitarianism, so when they left Liberio to smithereens, she knew something’s not right. In Mikasa’s opinions, Eren had been compromising too much. He was probably not being patient, he was not being fine, he was not being balanced.

Little to her knowledge, Eren could go as far as compromising her and Armin by his side. Apprehensions creep through the mind like savage murderers trespassing a house at night, but what she failed to comprehend was how the very person who taught her to live was the same person who tore her apart.

When Eren told her that the old Mikasa, the deliberately thinking Mikasa, was already gone when she was nine years old because some gene was activated, her senses shut off. How could her own faculty be nothing but merely a database, and her affection and care for Eren was just because of a goddamn imprint?

She fished for validation, that no, Eren, you saved me from the kidnappers and wrapped this scarf around me out of your kindness. There had been no bearing. But it wasn’t enough that Eren consciously triggered her and Armin’s vulnerabilities.

She wondered if Eren was telling the truth because at the time he told her that he felt nothing for her but hatred, she couldn’t feel a thing. It surprised her that tears could stream down from eyes.

Who will love you? Who will fight? Who will fall far behind?

#eremika #scribbles #snk

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singingunderthecurtain · 6 years

Text

Secret Santa [Pt. 1]

Author: julietsoddeye AU: coworker Genre: fluff | light comedy | office romance Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader Word Count: 1,578

Plot: #exodecembercollab18 Prompt #4: Your office Secret Santa gives you something you certainly weren’t expecting. You’re positive when you found out who he is, you’re gonna punch him in the face.

A/N: This is a collab work with @thesammtimes for @exo-writers-net #exodecembercollab18 event! You can find Samm’s work [here] READ IT YALL!

For this year’s Christmas potluck, you all decided to do it in your boss’ house instead of the same old boring office. Junmyeon volunteered to host this year since his bachelor pad is big enough to house all twelve of you in the team.

The house even has a patio and a pool. But it was too cold tonight so you stayed indoors.

Gosh, how much is this man’s salary? It must feel great to have this much space. You thought as you and Chanyeol look around the place to check every room you can.

“Any plans for the holiday?”

Chanyeol nonchalantly asks as he takes selfies in front of Junmyeon’s different kinds of Star Wars figure set collection. You just dumbly follow him around with nothing to do. You’ve been working for the company for two years already but Chanyeol is the only one you’re most comfortable with.

Kyungsoo is nice, but he mostly keeps to himself. And he sometimes glares you down like you murdered his dogs or something when he doesn’t wear his glasses, so you’re kind of afraid of him.

Joy and Irene were really nice girls, but they were also too beautiful that you can’t relate with them on any level and they intimidate you and constantly blind you with their grace.

Jongin too, the Adonis of the office. You don’t dare interact with him unless he initiates it. Some girls from different office floor visit your department for no reason just to get a glimpse of him, that’s totally not creepy at all...

Sure, you’re civil towards everyone, even the ever annoying Baekhyun, but you and Chanyeol are like two peas in a pod, he is your work best friend. You two are kind of the weirdos, but everyone at the office is nice to you.

“Nah,”

You paused, letting out a single puff from your lips.

“My parents forgot that they have a daughter again.”

“Why?”

He asks, snapping another photo now holding a Yoda figurine. Wow, the resemblance is quite uncanny…

“Well, they planned a whole trip until the New Year’s without me again, so…”

“Wow, two Christmases in a row?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, pout growing bigger.

“Hey, kids it’s time to open presents!”

Junmyeon’s head suddenly pops out by the door frame, his smile was so huge with his cheeks flushed you can tell he has had a few drinks already.

As you reach the living room, you see everyone has their gifts already. Two decorated paper bags sitting prettily on the space of the couch you and Chanyeol previously occupied.

“Should the latecomers open their gifts first?”

Baekhyun blurts out when he saw the three of you emerging from Junmyeon’s home office.

“Ladies first.”

“Fine.”

You grumbled as you snatch the paper bag that has your name on it from Chanyeol.

You’re not exactly excited to know what’s inside the bag. You’re lucky if you got picked by any of the girls in your team because usually, only girls put effort into exchange gifts like these.

Hell, even Chanyeol and Junmyeon asked for your opinion on what to give their giftees. You have to find out what people liked for the three of you.

Slowly pulling out wrapping tissue papers one by one, the first thing you saw was a white envelope. Inside was a basic as hell Christmas card with even more basic greetings printed on it.

“You might need this. Sincerely, your Secret Santa.”

You read the card.

What you pull out next made you lose color on your face.

“Oh my gosh…”

Junmyeon tipsily giggles as he slaps his mouth shut, trying to stop himself from losing control of his laughter.

“IS THAT BAKING FOR DUMM—”

“SHUT UP, BYUN BAEKHYUN!!!”

You screamed, countering Baekhyun even before he finished what he was going to say as if it’ll save you from the already impending embarrassment.

Memories of last year’s charity bake sale came flooding back to your mind.

It wasn’t your fault you have suddenly been bombarded with emergency work a week prior the Office event for your company’s chosen beneficiary!!!

“Is this from you, Baekhyun?! Are you my secret Santa?!?!”

You accused, he’s the only one you know who was brazen enough to do this to you or to anyone at that! Baekhyun is known to pull pranks around the office, he probably thought about this stupid gift even before he found out who his giftee was.

Most of your coworkers are silently snickering at you and the Baking For Dummies book in your hand. Some, aka Junmyeon, Baekhyun and even freaking Park Chanyeol are straight up laughing shamelessly out loud.

It wasn’t your fault that you literally ran out of time and wasn’t able to ACTUALLY bake something for the charity drive! You opted to buy pre-made plain cupcakes at the store and just decorated the sweet treats yourself.

Everyone was so impressed by the cupcakes you brought until ONE freaking customer pointed out that the cupcakes taste exactly like the ones they always buy from Walmart.

Everyone found out your purchase and you were the butt of every joke for a few solid months. Baekhyun especially didn’t let you hear the end of it!

God! It was awful. Your actual baking skills and pride were hurt.

You tried bringing different cookies to work, but they never believed you made them yourself.

Even Chanyeol ride in on the joke. So much for a best friend!

“No, it wasn’t from me!”

Baekhyun continues to laugh, his cocktail spilling all over Junmyeon’s carpet.

“I don’t believe you!!!”

“Trust me, I would brag about it if it was from me.”

And you believe him. He would totally gloat about him pulling this stint. He is a proud mischievous little devil.

“Chanyeol?!?!”

It’s now your best friend’s turn to be blamed.

“I literally showed you the person I got the moment we get to pick the names!”

You turn to Junmyeon this time.

“You know who I got!!!”

Before you can even accuse your boss, he already has his hands up in the air as if he’s surrendering to something.

“I swear I will punch the shit out of whoever gave me this!”

“That was already three chances, next gift!!!”

Irene exclaims!

You silently sulk in your seat as they all continue to laugh and be merry.

Out of nothing at all, when it was Kyungsoo’s chance to open his present, he cleared his throat before facing your direction.

“It was from me—”

He paused as he simply and directly declared.

“The book, it was from me.”

He continued. His big eyes staring right into your soul.

Seriously, right in front of your salad?

Everyone fell mute.

Everyone was both shocked and amused that the quiet, never really speak much unless really important or spoken to first, usually reserved and gentle Do Kyungsoo would pull something like this.

When you said you’re kind of afraid of him, well it’s different now.

You’re just straight up bitter. I guess Baekhyun is the better person now, huh?

How could he?

The audacity!

You don’t even speak much!

You don’t remember a day that you sat down and had a conversation with this man.

“Hey, you okay?”

Chanyeol raised a single brow at you as he shakes you awake from being idle.

You must have frozen down or turned into stone.

You wish you could turn into a stone so you can throw yourself at Kyungsoo.

Wait, NO! That’s nOT WHAT YOU MEANT!!!

“Do Kyungsoo-ssi, I am so offended…” _

“Ohooo, she’s offended. Kyungsoo what are you gonna do?”

Baekhyun incites, adding fuel to the fire.

“That is so rude.”

Joy whips up jokingly as well.

Everyone has some type of alcohol in their systems except for you. You are Chanyeol’s designated driver.

Maybe Kyungsoo as well, you haven’t really seen him drink anything other than water and the fruit bowl punch.

Maybe they spiked the fruit bowl punch, that’s why he’s so bold to go forward about the blunt gift.

“I’m good at baking, okay!”

“i’M gOod aT bAkiNg, oKaY!”

Baekhyun repeats after you in a playful mocking way and everyone laughs, including Chanyeol… ESPECIALLY CHANYEOL, WTH?

“Guess you didn’t see the back of the card.”

Kyungsoo purses his lips into a thin line.

Your boss snatches the Christmas card that came with the gift from you and flips it back, showing what looks like a chibi drawing version of him with a speech bubble.

“Would you help this dummy learn how to bake?”

Junmyeon reads and his face immediately turns smug.

“Ooooooh”

Both Irene and Joy said and gave the same smug look as Junmyeon.

“I wanted to give you something nice, like a necklace or something. But you might find it creepy so I asked Jongin what to get you and he suggested that.”

Kyungsoo pointed at Jongin who in turns scratched the back of his head and gave you an apologizing smile.

“I always knew you’re great at baking, cuz I haven’t found those cinnamon roll sugar cookies you brought last time anywhere—”

He explained some more and you were out of words.

“And I wanted to learn how to make them, so…”

Completely speechless.

“She has no plans for the holiday...”

Chanyeol answered for you with a shrug. Making you turn to give him the look.

“It’s a date then.”

Everyone howls happily, wolf whistles and teasings left and right.

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petals42 · 7 years

Text

The Parson/Chowder Body Switching AU that, well, actually Ngozi did specifically ask for...

Okay so this was going to be a full fic and then i got 1k in and realized that if it was going to be done right, it would have to be like 50k and I don’t have quite the inspiration to do that so, I present to do, the bullet point form of: The Chowder/Kent Parson Body Switch Fic (petals version) [Note: it is still like 6.5k because i have lost control of my life]

Kent Parson wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom and is like “well, fuck, did this again-- but it’s a Friday so… that’s not that crazy” because he’s Kent Parson and if you think KP is not getting dangerously drunk on the semi-regular, then you have not given him as much angst as I have and I invite you to get on board with Kenny P and his bad coping mechanisms

Of course, he is a little confused, cause he usually saves that for the off-season and they are still playing so like… it’s not totally in character but he accepts he was extra stupid last night.

Actually he was really fucking stupid because he clearly hooked up with a guy (based on the smell) and a Sharks fan (based on the whole fucking room) and he usually doesn’t risk hooking up with hockey fans because… he’s not trusting hockey fans to not out him to the world.

(And also good lord, if he is so drunk he cannot even remember this guy at all, he was probably a shitty lay.)

But, okay, he accepts this: Bad decisions were made last night. But this isn’t exactly his first rodeo so he breaks it down like he would a play and first things first: Coffee.

He stumbles down to get coffee, noting that his body is moving kinda weird and maybe he is still drunk?? That would also explain the lack of hangover.

This is when shit gets crazy. Because Bitty is downstairs in the kitchen and Bitty smiles when he sees him and there is no world in which Eric Bittle, Jack’s perfect fucking boyfriend, smiles at him. Kent Parson, Jack’s fucking asshole of an ex.

Then Bitty moves away from the kitchen window and Kent sees himself and-- Holy Shit, he is not Kent Parson.

MEANWHILE, over in Vegas, Chowder wakes up with a killer headache and worries he is getting sick which is good in that it means Bitty will make him soup, bad in that he has a project he needs to do with Dex and also, boy his feet are hot.

He makes the mistake of moving them.

He is then attacked by some huge white furry monster and when he yelps, the monster freezes, looks at him long and hard for a tense 30 seconds before hissing and running away.

It is at this point that Chowder realizes he is not in his own room. In fact, he does not think he is in the Haus. His assumption that this is a prank by Holster and Ransom but it seems awfully elaborate and they lost last night so he would have thought he was safe from pranks oh and also, when he swings his head to see more of the room (dark gray sheets, mint colored wall, no art up at all), a piece of his hair falls out and it--

It is white people hair. Blond. He’d know it a mile away.

So he jumps up and runs to the bathroom and Holy Shit He Is Kent Parson.

Meanwhile, Kent has almost died. Bitty had asked about the Sharks and he had been too stunned to lie and then Bitty threatened him with death and he’s managed to laugh and say something like “JUST KIDDING JUST KIDDING THEY WON 3-1!!!” (he was shouting more out of fear than enthusiasm but luckily it seemed to do the trick) and thank god he actually did follow that game because they were playing the Sharks the next day.

Well. The Aces are playing the Sharks the next day.

He is… fucking shit, he needs to figure out who he was.

He forgoes the coffee that Bitty offers him and runs to the bathroom and-- Chowder. He stalks enough of Samwell and Bitty’s dumb vlog that he knows Chowder. He is… He is Chowder. He is trapped in Chowder’s body. He is--

He is on his way to a full panic attack when the door bangs open and Holster blinks at him and “you’re up early dude” and then walks over to the toilet and starts peeing and he looks half asleep so Kent runs away.

Running away does not work though, because Ransom grabs him as he tries and “no, no, no moping about the game last night for you. It was a tough loss, but it was everyone’s fault, not yours and c’mon Bitty is making breakfast”

And so Kent Parson is manhandled back downstairs.

Chowder’s solution to the problem was to lay down and hope that he woke up from that fucking weird ass dream.

It does not work.

So then he gets up and decides that step one is to fix this hangover. He grabs water, advil, open the fridge to find that it is empty (almost cries a little tbh) and it is when going for his phone that he realizes his phone is Parson’s phone and that phone is dead. He cannot get into the laptop because there is a password. So ordering food is out.

He is nothing if not a problem solver though so Chowder puts the phone to charge, hops in and out of the shower, puts on clothes (that are literally so soft oh my god kent parson spends his money right), grabs his wallet and keys (at least, he assumes) and heads out.

Luckily, Kent Parson lives in a walkable area. So no driving is necessary to find a chinese place because that is exactly what Chowder thinks he needs right now. Good, cheap, tastes nothing like the real thing but man he loves it anyway, Chinese food.

When he walks in the store, the man behind the counter says “you want the usual?” and it is here that Chowder makes his first mistake. Because he doesn’t know what white-boy Kent gets but he’s sure it’s not what he wants. So he says “no”, gives the man a correct order (yes, he’s sure he wants extra hot everything, thank you very much) and then he takes it home and--

DIES.

HE DIES.

Chowder puts one bite of what is SUPPOSED to be delicious food into his mouth and HE DIES.

Seriously. His whole mouth lights up on fire and he starts sweating and gets the hiccups and also heartburn?? It turns out that is a thing?? and the only thing in Kent Parson’s fridge is heavy cream (presumably for coffee) but Chowder just takes that to the dome and holy shit, white people are the worst and he--

He goes back and says “yes, actually, please I would like my usual” and then goes promptly back to sleep.

Because he is hungover and stuck in a nightmare where mild beef and broccoli is almost too much for him and sleep seems to be the best solution.

Kent Parson would like to be asleep. Boy, would he. But Ransom had dragged him downstairs and he is trying to continue to hate Bitty while also eating these fucking delicious waffles and his strategy to making it through this breakfast is to just sit quietly and nod every once and a while and hope that Samwell’s loss is enough of an explanation for “chowder’s” silence this morning.

(He also has to keep reminding himself to stop glaring at Bitty. Bitty is… Bitty fucking hates him but not when he’s in this body and that’s weird and he hates Bitty too because Bitty has it all and he has nothing and he-- Everyone here clearly loves Bitty. He has to pretend.)

“Dude, you aren’t even ready yet?” The boy telling him this is very ginger and Kent doesn’t think he was around when he came to Samwell the last time but “cut a man a break, Dex,” another boy says, sliding into a stool. “Chill a little. You’ll get there in time.”

“Class starts in 15 minutes,” Dex tells him and Kent is going to open his mouth to say that he is not feeling well and gonna skip but Bitty is sort of frowning at him suspiciously so he just nods mutely and runs for the stairs.

It is now, in this minute alone, that he gets his first good idea: Call myself. He grabs Chowder’s phone, thanks every god that might exist that Chowder has his fingerprint set up so security is not an issue and then he types in his own number and--

Nothing.

His phone is off.

Goddammit.

There’s nothing left to do but get ready to go. So, he pulls on clothes (and man, this guy needs an updated wardrobe, like seriously what are these t-shirts made of?? cardboard??) and runs after Dex and okay, it turns out he has computer something-or-other… at 10AM. Every MWF. What the fuck.

Chowder wakes up a few hours later, feeling better, but still tragically stuck in Kent Parson’s body.

Also the cat. It’s back. And glaring at him. But also… meowing at the food bowl.

Chowder considers looking up how much food you are supposed to give cats and then thinks, fuck it, and fills the whole thing. The cat looks pleased by this but when Chowder tries to pet her, she hisses at him.

Either this cat somehow knows he is not really Kent Parson or she is the meanest fucking cat in the world.

At this point, Chowder sees that Kent’s phone is charged, turns it on and finds out that Kent Parson is one of those idiots with one of those patterns used to unlock it instead of a fingerprint.

He is… he is at a loss for what to do. LUCKILY, at that moment (because this is fic), a Troy Swoops calls. Chowder lunges for the phone and answers it and

“Booy, where the fuck are you?? We’re all at the stadium and our flight leaves in three and a half hours so like… what the fuck?”

“Uh. Oh. Um. I’m…” Chowder had been so excited to answer, he had actually not thought this totally all the way through.

“I’m… flight?”

“Yes. Flight. Leaving this afternoon. For the game tomorrow.”

Right. Kent Parson is on a professional hockey team. Kent Parson plays games. “Yes.” Chowder says. “Right… where are… where are we going for the game?”

There is silence on the other end. Dead silence.

“Dude. what the fuck. We… we’re playing the Sharks tomorrow. You know that.” The voice sounds honestly concerned.

“HAH! RIGHT!” Chowder says, trying to play this off. “Just kidding! Haha, uh, obviously I knew that. Just… got you!”

He winces. He does not think he sounds like Kent Parson. He clears his throat and tries. “Gosh, Swoops, you are… so fucking gullible. If I-- If I told you gullible was written on the ceiling you would-- you would fucking believe it!”

“Uh- what?”

“Look, gotta go,” Chowder says. “I’ll be at the stadium soon” And then hangs up. And throws the phone.

And then let’s out a little scream because finally, finally, he thinks he knows what’s going on.

Kent Parson is 99% sure everyone around him is talking in a different language. Sure, he recognizes the words they are saying and sometimes he can put together a sentence but… he has no idea what is happening. He has his notebook open since Dex had shoved his bag at him on their way out and he opened it to see his (well, Chowder’s) handwriting all over it and everyone is scribbling furiously around him and well… fuck, he’s inhabiting the guy’s body so he might as well try to take some notes for the kid so…

As of right now, he has managed to write: Java is… good. Or bad. Binary. Zeros. Remember to close your loops. Documentation. Loops splicing??

The class mercifully ends and he nods when Dex turns and tells him he had some good ideas for their project and then--

Then a girl is walking up to them and Kent looks behind him, praying to anyone who may be listening that that familiar smile and flirtatious wave is for someone who is standing right behind him but--

“Hey babe!” the girl says and of course, of course this guy has to have a fucking girlfriend.

“Uh, hi!” he says and tries to sound enthused and then she is leaning in for a kiss (one of those casual, “we’ve been dating for a long time and still really like each other so I’ll kiss you in public” kisses that Kent has only seen in movies) and then Kent Parson’s cheek has been kissed and this body blushes so easily he literally feels himself turning red.

He does not remember the last time someone has kissed him on the cheek.

Unless it is a female reporter doing a polite “meet and greet” sort of kiss.

This feels different.

“Are we still hanging out before your practice?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah, right,” he says. “Hanging out… for lunch. Lunch.”

Her face falls into a slight frown. “Don’t you usually do lunch with the team before?”

“Yeah. Yes. Now?”

“It’s 11,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “We have an hour to kill. I thought we were going to… you know. Hang out.”

She is smirking a bit and leaning closer and Kent turns around to see that Dex has conveniently disappeared and look, Kent is the first person to tell you that he is a fucking asshole but he is certainly not about to go fool around this girl while trapped in her boyfriend’s body.

“No!” he yelps, taking two steps away as if that will help. “I mean… uh- sorry. I- I don’t feel well. Actually. I’m going to… I have to… Sorry, I’ll see you later. I am… busy. So busy! Homework! And sick. I am both.”

And then he turns and basically runs away.

It is the least smooth Kent Parson has ever been.

But he tears out of the building and back to the Haus and thank god it is empty so he reaches for his--no Chowder’s--phone and calls himself and--

“HELLO!”

Kent Parson has never been so thrilled to hear his own voice in his entire life.

“Chowder?”

“KENT PARSON! OH MY GOD-- IT’S CHRIS CHOW I AM IN YOUR BODY.”

“Shit, fuck. I know!” Kent says, his relief is coming out of him in the form of annoyance because he has had too much personal interaction today and he is scared and he wants his body back and-- “I’m in your fucking body!”

“I AM SORRY!”

“Stop yelling!” Kent says. “Stop just-- let’s calm down. We need to-- we need to fix this.”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry,” Chowder says. “I- I think this is my fault.”

“Wh-What? How?”

“Well, last night,” Chowder says. “Around 1AM my time so like… what is that 10pm your time? There was a shooting star and I-- well I wished on it. Did you see it?”

“No,” Kent replies. “Why the fuck would I wish on a goddamn star?”

“I didn’t think it would work,” Chowder says. “I just-- I wished!”

“To take over my body??” Kent replies.

“No! No I just… I wished to play in the NHL! To play the Sharks! So I’ve been thinking and… and I think that’s why this happened. To me, at least. I don’t… I don’t know why it would have been you that I switched with.”

Kent… Kent swallows and doesn’t say anything. Because he… he’s just remembered something. At 9pm… at 9pm he was home alone in his apartment and he’d… he might have accidentally wished something but it wasn’t a wish. It was more a passing thought and he--

“Well, whatever,” he says, roughly. “The point is we have to fix this.”

“I feel like we probably just need to meet up?” Chowder says. “Hold hands maybe?”

Kent wants to scoff at that idea but also he has somehow switched bodies with another human person so like… any idea is a good idea at this point.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s meet up.”

“I’m about to get on a plane to San Jose!” Chowder says. “Or should I stay here?”

“Stay- fuck, no! You gotta- I can’t miss a game. Get on that plane. I’ll meet you in San Jose. I’ll buy a ticket.”

“Uh-- I don’t… my credit card isn’t going to handle that,” Chowder says. “Sorry.”

Kent blinks. He has… he has not thought of money in a long, long time. “Oh. Well. you buy me one. Or, I mean, I’ll-- use my credit card and go by a ticket for me. Eh, Chris Chow. Buy a ticket for you but use my card. Your card.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dude, we have to get switched back. Like… yesterday. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Oh! Okay! I’ll get you on like the first flight. Also… I… I owe you $15. I had to buy chinese food with your card.”

“Dude, you can--- you can buy whatever you want. Go crazy.”

Downstairs, the front door squeaks open.

“I gotta go,” he says. “Gotta go. Buy the ticket. E-mail me.”

“Wait! What’s your shape password!”

“It’s just an L! Backwards!”

“Backwards L. Got it! Okay! I’ll get you a ticket! Nice meeting you! I’ll take care of your body!!”

“Uh,you too?? Bye,” Kent says. And hangs up.

And wonders at the fact that his idle thought last night, the thought that flitted across his mind just as he flopped on his couch and poured himself a glass of whiskey, somehow got him here. Stuck in another man’s body.

He doesn’t know if the thought, if I wish I was just fucking happy, was worth it.

Chowder almost misses the flight. He has to purchase a ticket for himself (which is wild because Kent texts and tells him to make sure to get FIRST CLASS!! And then when Chowder tells him he doesn’t know how to get First Class only one way, Kent says “get it fucking both ways then) and then Kent texts him telling him to leave out extra food and water for Kit (who still has not stopped hissing btw) and all of that just takes longer than he thought. Asking for advice results in the following: “curse a lot and say you were a bit sick. It’s not ideal but whatever ill deal with it when we switch back”. It exactly the opposite of what he would do “apologize profusely and just tell the truth” but Chowder can see why “telling the truth” would not be ideal in this situation.

So he pretends he is in a horrible mood and limits his sorry to once per sentence and tries to curse more and the weird thing is, even after he says he’s sick, no one on the team really asks how he’s doing. They all just seem both a bit annoyed that he was so late he had to just meet them at the airport and relieved that he actually made it. Even when he says “sorry was throwing up, didn’t know if i could play!” the only question he gets is “you gonna be up for it?” and that’s it.

Well, Swoops orders him a ginger ale and sits next to him on the plane but it… it’s very different.

Then it occurs to him that Kent is the captain. Maybe the team is waiting for him to say something? Before the fun starts? Even Jack used to try to say something. Now Ransom and Holster give full on speeches.

He decides to start with Swoops. But pitched a little bit so that the others can hear. Sometimes that’s how Ransom and Holster start.

“Man, this is gonna be fucking awesome,” he says (trying not to smile too much, Kent had said not to do that). “Playing the Sharks!”

Swoops looks at him. “Uh. Yeah?”

“We’re going to do so awesome!” Chowder says. “Aren’t you just… we’re pretty fucking lucky, huh?”

Swoops is still looking at him like he’s a little bit crazy.

“I mean, think about it,” Chowder tries. “We’re the be- the fucking best hockey team and we get to go play another fucking awesome hockey and get paid for it! And we’re gonna play really well. I can just tell.”

Two other Aces plays are twisting in their seat to look at him.

“I’m really proud of us,” Chowder says. “We’re having a great fucking season. This is gonna be amazing.”

This must not be how Kent gives his speeches. He is getting a lot of stares and not any nods.

“Parse, you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?” one of them finally says.

“Uh,” Chowder says. “No. No I’m just… excited?” He makes it a question. “Excited as shit?”

People don’t really say anything. Just turn back around and put their headphones in and turn back to their devices.

Huh.

“Well, that’s a bit different,” Swoops finally says. “From your usual.”

“My usual?” Chowder tries.

“You know,” Swoops shrugs. “Right before we go out, you say something like ‘Alright, boys, let’s fucking do this.’”

“Oh,” Chowder says. “Uh, well, figured I’d… mix it up.”

Swoops still looks confused but he smiles just a little. “Alright, bro. Whatever.”

Then he’s looking back at his phone too.

Chowder sighs.

He needs to get back to his team.

Kent needs to get back to his team. Immediately.

The earliest flights to San Jose weren’t till this evening and while he’d fed everyone the agreed upon lie (“My little sister is getting her wisdom teeth out and really wants me to be there”) and they had accepted it because he’d be back by Sunday, there was no real reason for him to miss practice.

Which Kent wasn’t worried about at first. Hockey was hockey. He might have even looked forward to smoking these guys a little bit just for fun.

Then he found out.

Chowder is the goalie.

This is… he is dying.

It’s not that the body can’t do it either-- the squat position isn’t as bad as he thought it would be, uncomfortable, yes, but not like… super painful probably because Chowder is used to it, and once he’d warmed-up (or he thought he did, he was really just trying to copy the movement he’s seen goalies do his whole life), Chowder was also pretty crazy flexible but… he.

Fuck, being a goalie is fucking miserable.

People keep fucking hitting pucks at him and they are coming right toward his face so he keeps flinching and there’s no way anyone could have saved that shot, it was going to fast, they are all going too fast and he--

“Dude, are you feeling okay?” The one called Nurse asks him. “You… you look sorta green.”

“And you’re playing like shit, to be honest,” Dex tells him.

“Fuck off,” Kent mumbles. And then remembers that Chowder’s instructions were to “just be nice and friendly and stop Dex and Nurses from killing each other and eat lots of pie and wait, holy shit, do not go anywhere near Caitlyn. Especially in the afternoon!! Or mid-morning!! OR ANYTIME. DO NOT BE ALONE WITH CAITLYN!!!!”

“I-uh- just not feeling great,” he says. “Uh, thanks for asking??” He tries to keep the question mark out of his voice but it might come out anyway.

Thankfully, a moment later Ransom and Holster sort of exchange glances and change the drill to stick handling instead of taking actual shots and Kent thinks he’s gotten out of it when suddenly Eric R. Bittle is skating up to him.

Fuck.

He doesn’t want to deal with this.

But Chowder’s instructions regarding Bitty had been clear: “We love Bitty! And Ransom and Holster and everyone but Bitty is ESPECIALLY awesome because he makes pies and is really nice and-- oh he has a boyfriend that, uh, well I know about him but you don’t and I don’t want to--” Kent had texted back “I know.” and Chowder had replied “oh good!! Isn’t that great??”

Yeah. Great. This was all great. It was great that Jack had moved on and didn’t care about him and probably never cared about him, he was just the convenient dude on the team willing to blow him and god he was so desperate for it and actually thought Jack liked him--loved him even, thought that they were going to do it all, have it all, be the secret boyfriends in the NHL and then fucking come out in some spectacular fashion after they were both rich and famous and fucking legends and--

Yeah. It’s great. It’s great that Jack’s boyfriend, who is even smaller and cuter and just plain better than him is skating over to talk to him. While he is stuck in Chris Chow’s body. A guy who fucking loves Bitty.

Christ, he wants a drink.

“Hey,” Bitty says, voice all quiet and understanding.

“Hi!” Kent tries. It comes out too cheerful for the mood. He… fuck, he doesn’t know how to do this. Chowder had said to be happy.

Bitty stares at him… “are you okay?”

People on this team need to stop fucking asking that question all the time. Though, he did just have a fucking horrible practice so… fair.

“Oh, yeah,” he tries. “Just… you know. Feeling a bit off.”

“Look, Chowder, I know last game was rough but it really wasn’t your fault.”

Kent nods. He had gathered over the course of the day that Samwell had lost last night.

“And today’s practice…” Kent braces himself to be yelled at. “Everyone has off days. It’s no big deal.”

Kent… does not remember the last time he heard those words.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“You can’t be so hard on yourself. We’re a team. Win together and lose together.”

That is not how the Aces work. Not really. He doesn’t say anything but luckily Bitty seems willing to continue.

“I know you are flying out today but when you get back, I’ll make you your favorite pie,” Bitty says. Kent forces himself to smile.

He won’t be back though. Not for the pie or the next game.

Or any of it.

He tells himself that’s for the best.

Alright, I think this is getting to be around like 3 or 4k now so let’s skip forward a bit.

Chowder gets to San Jose. Luckily it is a night game so he has the morning pretty free. He just needs to make it through a brief strategy meeting and then he can meet up with Kent at 11.

Kent takes the red-eye and lands in San Jose in the morning. He… he realizes he is hunching his shoulders and wearing the only pair of sunglasses he could find and he is tense moving through crowds of people because the Sharks have made San Jose a hockey town and he is a famous hockey player except--

Except he’s not.

He… he straightens. No one is looking at him.

No one wants an autograph. No one is trying to take a picture. No one is yelling at him.

He is… He can do whatever he wants.

Well. not really. He can’t go shopping, so that’s out but he ends up walking through a park like some sort of total loser and staring off at a lake and he can just be outside and be peaceful and he would have thought he would get bored but he didn’t. When 11am rolled around and he headed off to meet Chowder, he is almost disappointed.

He goes to the restaurant and grabs a table for two in the way back and ten minutes later, he has the absolutely bizarre experience of watching himself walk in the door.

Chowder has a hat drawn low over his eyes and Kent’s biggest sunglasses on and he is hunched over and frankly dives into the door and then skips to the back and--

Kent didn’t know his face could smile that widely.

“HI!!!” Chowder says and this is weird. It’s somehow even weird to see him. “Oh my god!!”

“Holy fucking shit,” Kent says and sees himself as Chowder blink. It’s possible Chowder isn’t used to seeing Kent’s smirking smile on his own face either. For some reason the thought makes Kent’s smirk break into something easier. “How’s it going?”

“Dude,” Chowder grumbles, taking off the hat and the sunglasses. “I’m not gonna lie, people suck! Four people yelled at me to “go die!” on the way here!”

Kent laughs. “Well, the Sharks do hate the Aces, man,” he says. “I try not to go out too much while I’m here.”

“I mean, I’m a Sharks fan as much as the next guy,” Chowder says, plopping into the seat. “But I think telling someone to ‘go die’ is a bit much.”

Kent shrugs. It’s become pretty par for the course for him.

“Also, dude, I tried to make sure you looked good but I cannot- you have this weird cowlick at the top of your head and I cannot get it to stay down” Chowder is patting it as he says it and Kent can’t help but laugh again.

“Dude, don’t worry about it. It’s impossible. I usually just wear hats.”

“Gotcha,” Chowder crams the hat back on his head, backwards this time as if he has just remembered Kent wears it that way. Kent can’t stop staring. This is weird as fuck. “Well how did it go at Samwell?”

“Uh, good,” Kent replies. “Well, everything thinks you are real upset cause I tried to just… not talk. I mean, I tried to be nice! But it didn’t… Bitty is making you your favorite pie when you get back.”

“Oh swawesome!”

“Yeah, and uh-- well Caitlyn might be a little mad at you too,” Kent admits. “I… I had to sort of… run away from her?”

“You what?”

“She came up and wanted to hang out and we hadn’t talked yet but she was… you know, man, she was giving me the eyes!”

“She does do the eyes,” Chowder agrees.

“She also… she did kiss me on the cheek,” Kent says. “Well, you- she kissed you on the cheek before I could run away.”

“Did she grab your butt?”

“What? No!”

“She does that! She likes my butt.”

“Dude,” Kent says, relaxing more than he thought he would. “She wanted to hang out in the middle of the day on a Friday is that… are you really… that often?”

For the first time, Kent’s face looks familiar as Chowder smirks just a little. “The team thinks we go on all sorts of cutesy dates.”

Kent laughs.

“Last month, I told them we walked over to the petting zoo like four times and they bought it! Except for Dex. I think Dex is onto us.”

“Oh about Dex, he might be mad at you too. He kept wanting to work on some… project? I tried to take notes for you.”

“You did!! Ah, thank you!”

“No,” Kent says. “Really, do not thank me. It did not go well that is-- you have to do that shit every day and then play hockey?”

“Ugh, it sucks,” Chowder says. “You should see us during finals.”

“I thought college athletes just like… fucking paid some nerd to do that shit.”

“Nope,” Chowder says, sighing a little like he wishes it were true. “Not at Samwell. But it’s alright! I really like coding!”

Luckily Kent is saved from having to respond to that by the waitress coming over. They are at some sort of Asian fusion place that had good reviews and is nearby the stadium and he goes to order his usual when--

“Wait, wait,” Chowder (as Kent) says. “Dude, before we switch” (the waitress looks confused) “you gotta try real food. Get--” and then he is off, ordering, and then Kent has to tell him that with his game tonight, he should probably only eat certain things and Chowder looks crestfallen but when the waitress walks off and Kent asks if they should just get it over and hold hands now, Chowder insists that he wants Kent to be able to eat something good for once in his life and--

The whole lunch ends up being a lot less awkward than it should be. Considering they’ve been walking around in each other’s bodies and talking to each other’s friends (well, he’s been talking to Chowder’s) and they’ve both showered so like… there’s not that many secrets between the two anymore.

Still, instead of being awkward, Chowder tells him that he is pretty sure the cat somehow knows and did nothing but hiss at him all day and that warms Kent’s heart a little (and his face because my god, why does Chowder’s body blush so easily???) and then Chowder tells him about how he tried to order Chinese food and died and Kent tells him that being a goalie is fucking terrifying and all about the notes he did manage to take and--

“I’ve never been able to do a split before,” Kent says as he scoops another bite of food into his mouth. He never knew spices could be so delicious. “It’s pretty cool. And also this food is fucking awesome.”

“Swawesome!” Chowder says. “If you’re gonna be me, you gotta say ‘swawesome a lot.”

“That’s so fucking lame,” Kent says but then his own face is pouting at him and-- “Fuck. Fine. ‘Swawesome.”

Chowder nods at him regally.

This is when it occurs to Kent that, despite it all, he’s actually had a pretty good time in Chowder’s body. Sure, he had had to run away from Caitlyn and go to class and being a goalie is terrible, but he… this body is in good shape and can eat any food it wants and he got to go to the park and be outside and-- Well, his body he knows for a fact was probably hungover and sore because it’s mid hockey season and people had told Chowder to “go die” so--

“Dude, sorry,” Kent says. Chowder blinks at him. “I mean… about getting stuck being me. That probably sucked.”

“I do think you need to do a better job of stretching,” Chowder says. “And icing. And your shoulder… does it always feel like this?” He rotates it backwards and winces.

“Yeah,” Kent admits. “I mean, it gets better in the offseason but towards the end like this… one too many checks into the boards I guess. Doesn’t affect my play at all though so… y’know. It’s fine.”

Chowder looks doubtfully at him. Kent shrugs. That’s the other thing. It has been pretty nice to be in a body that is only sore instead of… damaged. He knows the difference.

“And… the hangover on Friday,” he says with a wry smile. “Sorry about that one too.”

Chowder nods, looking at his plate for a second, and then--

“You know,” he starts. Kent tense automatically. Feels trapped when Chowder looks up and meets his eyes. “You don’t need it.”

Kent blinks. “Need what?”

“Alcohol,” Chowder says. “Your body… you-- the whole time I was in here, I didn’t have any urge to… you know, drink or anything. Just in case you were worried.”

Kent… Kent was not worried he was actually an alcoholic--he… he wasn’t really he just.

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well that’s… good.”

So it was still just a mental thing. Cool. Perfect. Great.

“And you didn’t drink while you were in mine,” Chowder says.

“What? No,” Kent says. He wasn’t going to do that to someone else’s body.

“So you probably don’t need it at all,” Chowder concludes, looking back at his plate as if this is simple and he has solved it. “Just a bad habit.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Yeah, I guess… just a bad habit.”

He has no idea why but that makes him feel better.

So by unspoken agreement they finish eating and then sort of linger but finally, “Well,” Kent says. “I guess we better switch back.”

“Hah-- unless you want me playing the Sharks tonight!”

“If you didn’t play goalie, I would totally let you,” Kent says. “Make that wish come true.”

“Nah, I’d rather play them… you know as me. One day.”

Kent nods and then reaches across the table but Chowder sort of frowns at him and stands up and before kent can ask, Chowder is waving for him to do the same and then--

Then Kent Parson is being hugged by… well by his own body technically and he knows he’s described as “small for a hockey player-- all sharp angles and lean muscle” so he’s assumed that he would not be that great a hugger but he feels nice enough now and Chowder’s body must have some sort of “hug instinct” because his arms come up and wrap around Chowder easily and it’s a really nice hug, if he’s being honest.

He relaxes and closes his eyes and when he opens them, he’s staring at Chowder’s face.

Which means he’s back in his own body.

“Oh my god, thank goodness!” Chowder says while Kent is stretching a little bit, getting used to his usual aches and pains. “I’m the right height again! You are so fucking short, dude!”

“I am literally like one inch shorter than you.”

“Still!”

And then, now, for the first time-- it’s a little awkward. They… the transaction is finished. There’s no longer a reason for them to keep talking.

“Well,” Chowder says. “I-uh-- I guess I better get going. You have a game and I’m gonna go surprise my parents.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. And then remembers and thank goodness he’s beaten the blushing out of this body (his real body) long ago. “Also, I uh-- I logged into my e-mail account from your phone and, well, I got you 4 tickets. Box seats. To the game tonight. If you wanted.”

Chowder’s eyes are widening. “You… you did???”

“Well, you know, this screwed up your weekend and uh-- as a thank you. For...being me?”

“THIS IS AMAZING!!” Chowder says and then Kent is being hugged again and he-- Chowder is like no one he has ever met.

“So I’ll-- I’ll see you tonight, I guess,” Kent says, twisting his hat around and putting on his sunglasses. “There’s passes included to meet the players, since I figured… you know… Sharks.”

Chowder looks like he may cry and body switching or not, Kent is not down for that so he smirks, and nods, and walks out the door.

THE END.

I mean… basically the end.

Really, you know this is the start of an epic friendship and Kent starts buying nicer clothes and sending them to Chowder but then also sends a Parson Ace’s jersey and Bitty glares at it for days and does not seem to buy Chowder’s excuse of “Met Parse when I went up to San Jose and he was actually a cool dude!” and Chowder and Kent keep on texting and Kent sends Chowder a picture of Kit curled up on him with the captain “See! She is nice-- she is just also a genius and knew you were an imposter” and THIS FRIENDSHIP MAKES NO SENSE to ANYONE but it is happening anyway and-

I HAVE GOT TO STop THERE. Any future kent/chowder friendship will have to be on a DIFFERENT POST.

Thank you for reading this mess.

I hope you enjoyed it.

(does a part of me ship chowder/parse now?? Maybe, my dudes, maybe so.)

(was this all a mistake?? Same answer, my dudes, maybe so.)

#check please #check please fanfiction #kent parson #chris chowder chow #chowder #body switching #a lot of cursing tbh #alcohol cw #because kent parson is a mess #my fic #mostly ridiculousness with a sprinkling of angst #because its kent parson #and its me

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nyx-ships · 7 years

Text

Stand By Me (Part One)

Title: Stand By Me Pairing: Delitoonz Rating: T Word Count: 3285 A/N: @fantasyeuphoriaandlace made the mistake of telling me that anything written to the Florence + The Machine version of "Stand By Me" would make her cry. >:) This is part one of a two part fic. -------------------------------------------- He knew. He knew the second Luke came home, smelling like sex and alcohol. He could put two and two together. But he never, never in his mind, thought that his boyfriend, his true love, would do this to him. Never in a millions years did he ever think Luke would pull the ultimate betrayal. Was he bored with him. Was Jon not enough for him? Was Jon doing something wrong in the relationship? There had to be a reason. Whatever it was that drove the older to cheating, it didn't make the situation any less agonizing. Of course, Jon had known for quite some time. He was just waiting for the biggest piece of evidence, the thing that would truly cement his fate. And it had just shown itself. "Get out." His words were harsh and demanding, covering his broken heart. "What?" His words were clipped and confused, as if he didn't know the reason why. "You heard me," Jon looked up from his spot on the couch, eyes digging into Luke's own, "Get. Out." Luke had no reason to act so shocked about his words, they had been arguing for two hours, over the text Luke received. He had been in the kitchen at the time, and Jon was on the couch watching tv, snuggled under a pile of blankets, momentarily forgetting his suspicions to enjoy his night, when he glanced over at the new message on Luke's phone, from an unnamed contact, which the older had mistakenly left on the arm of the couch. *You left your jacket here, swing by later for it and maybe a quickie?* That was all the evidence Jon needed. Two hours of yelling and things being thrown across the room, and Jon was tired. But he was also done. Done with the lies, the secrecy, done with Luke. He loved that man more than life itself, but he couldn't stand by and pretend that he wasn't hurt, broken. He couldn't just let it go. He wanted, needed, Luke out of his house. Not out of his life, though. He still needed Luke as a friend, but obviously a relationship wasn't in order for the two. But right now, he was angry and upset, and he really wanted Luke away from him. He couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed as him, let alone the same house. Not while knowing his body had been touched by another. Jon stared at the wall, voice rough and quiet as he almost begged for Luke to go. "Please, get out. Just-just take your stuff and leave." Luke was quiet for a few moments before he finally moved, grabbing his phone and going to their shared bedroom, where he stayed for a good half hour, presumably packing his things. Jon stayed in his spot on the couch, a couple tears slipping from his eyes, but he willed them to stop while he wrapped himself in a blanket and sipped on the tea he had made himself prior to the argument. He stared at the tv, not really paying attention to what was on, more so using the colors and noise as a distraction. He really thought Luke loved him. He really thought Luke was the one, the man to stand by his side and keep him sane. What a mistake. But, in his defense, in all the years Jon had known the bearded man, he had never once done this to any of his significant others. So what made him do it now? Jon had no idea, and as he listened to the undeniable sound of Luke hitting the wall in the next room, he still couldn't figure it out. When Luke came out of the room, he had a couple suitcases packed with all of his stuff, save his guns and some of his shoes. He had his phone in his back pocket, and it buzzed with a new message, but he didn't bother answering it. He cleared his throat as he stood by the door, hand on the knob as he spoke. "I'll be back later to grab the rest of my stuff..." Jon gave a small nod, head down as he stared at his drink, taking note of his reflection, a question coming into his brain. The question he so badly wanted an answer to. He swallowed harshly, and just as Luke was opening the door, his voice filled the silence. "Who is it." Luke stayed silent, not knowing how to tell the younger male who he had been sleeping with, who he had been going to on occasion. Jon sighed, eyes closing and hands tightening on the mug in his hands, voice a little louder, a little less inviting. "I just wanna know who it is." A few more minutes of tense silence before Luke answered, pushing Jon further into his pit of despair. "Evan." If his heart hadn't broke all the way before, it sure as hell did now. His best friend. Jon didn't speak after that. He just bit his lip and stared at his tea, a sick feeling in his gut as he waited. Not until he heard the door closing and the starting of a car did he let himself cry. At that moment, he really let himself go, placing his tea on the coffee table and curled his legs to his chest, eyes releasing tear after tear as he let out the sobs he had been so carefully holding back. He cried, and he cried hard. Probably harder than he ever had, but it was understandable. Why wouldn't it be. And he didn't feel ashamed, no, he deserved to let the tears fall, he had just been through a Hell like no other. But, at least it couldn't get worse than this, right? Wrong. His phone went off, the ringtone painful to hear. *So darling, darling, stand by me It was their song. Oh, stand by me* His favorite song that Luke would sing to him when he was upset. How ironic it was now. He picked up the phone with shaking hands and a heavy heart, willing the tears to stop and his voice to sound normal, to end the song and start a conversation. "Hello?" "Hey, Jon. I tried to message you but you weren't answering." Ryan. He always called at the worst times, didn't he? "Oh, sorry, haha. I was takin' a nap, whas'up?" He heard the soft breathing of the male on the other line, as if he wasn't sure of what to say. "I was just wondering if you wanted to record in a little while-are you alright? You sound upset." He could always see through Jon's fake happiness. Jon put him on mute for a second while he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and answering with a more joyful tone. "Yeah, I'm fine dude. S'prolly 'cause I just woke up, haha." He could feel the reluctance on Ryan's side, could feel the worry radiating off his friend. "You sure?" "Positive," he paused for effect, "what game did ya have in mind, man?" He could hear Ryan sighing, and knew the older one wasn't going let it go. He was going to push Jon to tell him the issue. But Jon didn't want to share this issue. "I was thinking we could do some Battleship. I would pick Deceit, but Bryce is asleep and Luke isn't answering his phone-listen, are you sure there's nothing you wanna talk about?" The sharp inhale after he mentioned Luke must've given Jon away. And at this point, Jon was on the verge of bawling again. He knew he wouldn't last long before he broke down. So, he took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and spoke. "I'm not in a good place right now..." He heard a noise that must've been Ryan opening his fridge. "What happened, Delirious?" The heartbroken man closed his eyes at the nickname and the concern in Ryan's voice. He exhaled shakily and bit his lip, finally tearing down his walls and bursting out his secret. "Luke cheated on me..." The words were harsh and abrupt, with a hint of pain, and Ryan stayed silent on the other line, frozen in place at the news. He was confused, completely caught by surprise. This wasn't likely to be a joke, but he half hoped it was. Luke wouldn't possibly do that, would he? 30 seconds of Ryan thinking later, and he could hear Jon crying. It wasn't a sound he was accustomed to, it was one he had hoped he'd never hear. But the fact that Luke was the reason for those heartbreaking cries is what made it ten times worse. Ryan could only manage two words at the moment. "Oh, Jon...." Jon hated the way he said it. It was filled with pity, and he absolutely hated being pitied. So he stopped his tears for a moment to speak to his friend, hoping for some type of empathy. "I don't know what to do, Ry. I really don't know what to do. For fuck's sake, I loved him, I still do love him. But I can't look at him the same..." He heard Ryan sigh and shift before he got an actual response. "Jesus, I don't know, Jon. This shit is rough. Does he know you know?" Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, then realized he wasn't face to face with Ryan, and spoke. "I kicked him out, man. I could barely look at him. Just a little bit ago." He could feel Ryan's reluctance to ask, but he pressured him anyways, Jon was an open book now that would be read, whether he wanted to or not. "What is it, Ryan?" "....with who?" Jonathan should've known this question would pop up, but it didn't make it any easier. He could feel the tears flowing haphazardly down his face, and his voice was shaky as he answered. "Fucking Evan. He was sleeping with Evan, Ohm." The sudden use of his nickname surprised Ryan, but not as much as Luke's infidelity. Out of all the people in the world, he never thought Luke and Evan would agree to something like this. It was a slap in the face to him, he could only imagine how Jonathan felt. This explained Luke's absence in calls. He could hear Jonathan sniffling, and it hurt him that he couldn't hug his poor friend. He hated it when any of his friends were upset, and this situation was no exception. "...I'm so sorry, Jon. Listen, if you ever need to talk about it more, or just want someone to listen, you know I'm always down." Jon's hollow laugh filled Ryan's ears, and he shivered at the lack of warmth in it. But his words were emotional and thankful, so Ryan was okay with it. "I know...thanks, Ryan." --------------------------------------------- Three days. Three days and Jon hadn't heard from Luke. It was the longest they had gone without any type of communication. He was so tempted to ask Evan, but that thought quickly left his mind as his stomach dropped and he set down his groceries. He wanted to know that Luke was doing okay, that he wasn't overworking himself or doing dumb shit because of their breakup. But he was also reluctant to try and call him. A part of him wanted to run into Luke's arms and cry with him, hoping for a different ending, one that wouldn't leave him so broken. But another part of him didn't want anything to do with Luke at the moment. He wanted space and time to himself, to really tell himself this wasn't his fault. Ultimately, Jon chose to let things be. --------------------------------------------- A week. Before he knew it, a week had gone by and he still hadn't heard from Luke, from his ex. By this time, Jon was actually starting to get a little worried, and he instantly assumed the worst. What if Luke had locked himself up in a room and shut himself out from everyone? He shook that thought off though, instead opting for grabbing his phone and texting both Bryce and Ryan, asking if they had heard from Luke, or had any idea what he was up to. It was an instant reply from both boys, and one that disappointed Jon slightly. Both responses were a negative, and Jon had to stop himself from having a mini panic attack. It wasn't like Luke to just not talk to him, he would always try something. It wasn't like him to just never call or text again. And it definitely wasn't like Luke to abandon the rest of his friends over a relationship. Jon clenched the Xbox controller in his hands, the game on the screen doing nothing to distract him from his thoughts. He had died too many times to count already, and wasn't having any fun, it just kept reminding him of playing with Luke, and that was the last thing he wanted. So, with a huff and a quick grab for the remote, he thoughtlessly switched to cable tv and flipped through the channels randomly, stopping on the news to see what horrible shit had happened today, and what unlucky person had to deal with it. He listened haphazardly to the news that wasn't so new at all. It was all the same thing, all the same issues. Some burglary, some bomb threat, another Trump fuck up, nothing new. He listened to the people's voices as they described the recent news, and surprisingly, it was actually a bit calming, the lady's voice was gentle and sweet, as if she wasn't reading off a cue card and instead whispering into his ear. It was the one thing that was distracting him, and he appreciated it. He needed this. Jon was about to fall asleep when the news lady's words caught his ears, something familiar and alarming in them, and he instantly perked up, sitting straight, eyes on the screen. She spoke a little louder, looking directly into the camera "....10 people killed in a mass shooting at WalMart last week, news on the victims are now being publicly released." Something about this was off, something didn't sit well with Jonathan, and he felt like he needed to keep watching, keep listening as he learned more of the event. He paid attention for once, waiting for the names and pictures to show up on the screen. His stomach was twisting in knots, and his eyes held the reflection of crime tape and a mass amount of blood. He waited and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, before names were listed off, pictures of the victims accompanying them. ".....Paul Anderson" "....Amelia Crause...." ".....Leah Damon..." He listened and listened, his stomach getting tighter and tighter as the names came closer to number ten. His brain was telling him what he already knew, but his heart had refused to even acknowledge it. "...Corinne Gibson..." "...Ashley Hewitt..." "...Jordan Holmes..." He tried to steady his breath, but he found himself shaking, and when his phone rang, he ignored it, too invested in the victims of this crime, too scared to answer. "...Tara Moore...." "...Christopher Moore..." "...James Nicholson..." He was silently hoping, praying that that last picture and name wouldn't belong to someone he knew. The alphabetical order of the names wasn't helping him much, and the furrowing of brows and a small frown on the lady's face made everything seem slower, worse. He couldn't stand the anticipation, the lady pausing for a moment to read the last name. Jon held his hands together, throat dry and eyes glistening as a picture finally showed up with an accompanying name. A picture and a name that was all too familiar, all too heartbreaking. In the reflection of watery blue orbs, you could just barely make out a pair of sunglasses and a beard. "......and Luke Patterson. Since the murders, the suspect has been caught, Mr....." Jonathan stopped listening at that point, he stopped holding his hands together, his body was weak, he was frozen in place, waiting for the lady to say it was a joke, to say that everyone was fine. He waited for there to be a mistake, some sort of wishful thinking that he knew wasn't at all realistic. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, only cry, and as tears streamed down his face, he stared at the picture of his Luke on the screen. It was a picture he had taken, a selfie that had both men in it. He was smiling widely, arms around Jon in a warm, possessive embrace that had Jon feeling the ghosting touch of at that moment. He began to shake violently, and it wasn't long until he was throwing his remote at the screen, the small object hitting the giant flat screen with a small thud, landing on the carpeted floor with little sound. He brought his knees to his chest and watched as the tv powered down, due to a connection error, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand to look at the news anyways. Jon felt his entire world crashing down, everything burning and smoking before him, leaving him amongst ashes of a once happy life. Everything suddenly made sense. A week ago, Luke had been murdered. That's why he hadn't called. That's why he hadn't texted, hadn't had any type of contact. Everything suddenly became hard. Jon found himself unable to walk or function, and the only thing he could do was shake and cry as he came to the realization that Luke Patterson, Cartoonz, his only love, was no longer living. He was dead and gone, lost to a bullet, and Jon couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Luke didn't take any of his guns when he left, nothing. Everything was still at Jon's house, including his concealed carry on, the one thing Luke always had with him. But, in the heat of the moment, he must've forgotten to take it with him. Jon sobbed out words of nonsense, his head hitting the back of the couch as he did so, tears wetting his blankets and clothes, but that didn't matter to him in the least. He let himself completely break down, cries ripping from his throat in a way that would break anyone's heart, and he found himself longing for Luke's hugs, the soft embrace that would always keep him sane. But now? He was completely crazy, crazy with anger and lies, sadness and despair, far worse than Luke's initial betrayal. Luke had cheated on him, yes, but Jon didn't wish death on the man, he couldn't possibly live without the bearded man in his life. *Now he had to. When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we'll see* Jonathan felt his heart break a little bit more, and his sanity fade further. How dare the world do this to him. How dare his phone ring, tone that of his song that instantly brought thoughts of his dead one. He couldn't pick it up, couldn't bring himself to answer the damn thing. He just stayed on the couch, with his knees to his chest, rocking and crying as the song played and played, the person calling not willing to give up. He stayed like that, his blankets covering his form, letting the song make its way into his ears, drowning him in memories and an overwhelming emotional pain that he hoped he'd never experience. Once upon a time, that song used to be his savior Now, it was nothing but his torturer.

#delitoonz #prompt #my writing #angst #cheating #vantoonz #part one #v sad #stand by me #song fic #kinda #sorta #forgive me #sadness #all around

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