#if been held down by waves kinder than you

[socaito]

Bastard Baby

Cars cling to the cement sometimes if you listen close. They screech and sneer at eachother. Scream against the echoes of their own tires racing into infinity. I'd run out of gas if you drove me, you'd forget to fill me up. Mommy won't pay for your gas anymore after this. I'll make sure you can never tell me another lie. I'm more than a man you could ever be, I've built whole kingdoms without your help. To spite your sloth, and that soft pink pout.

[trendywaifus]

Can I request Zhu yuan and Jane doe (separately) confessing their feelings to gn reader

hmmmm. i think i seen you around somewhere with this request but okay! | cw: non. gn! reader

↳ from the start

“ so, are you not going to ask them out for dinner before this shift ends, ZHU YUAN? “ qingyi queries, sipping from her hot cup of tea. the aforementioned woman fiddles with the vase of roses in her hands, leaning on the edge of the table with a nervous expression on her face. “ i-i will. i-it’s just. .will they reject me? o-or is it even the right time to ask—“

qingyi sighs, shaking her head. “ clear your mind. it isn’t good to overthink. perhaps it’s best to ask them now so you won’t have to worry about it later. besides, it’s a very low chance they’ll reject you because of how they act around you. “

zhu yuan gives her senior officer a puzzled look. “ b-because of how they act? what do you mean? “

the android finishes her cup of tea. “ you can’t see it? they act considerably kinder to you than others. they smile more when they talk to you, the way they look at you with such warmth is admittedly adorable. “ zhu yuan’s cheeks turn a darker red as she thinks about the times you and her interact with each other during break periods and patrol hours. honestly, she thought you were naturally like that to everyone; a caring and kind person. your words—your voice leave her heart a beating mess. the way you’d check up on her during and after busy days with a gentle smile on your face inspires her to do better; to be better. gosh, she always thought your smiles were breathtaking, the way your eyes would crinkle and sparkle as your lips spread never fails to make her knees weak.

unbeknownst to zhu yuan, qingyi had already left the break room while she was in deep thought and you walked in through the door. “ oh captain zhu yuan! you’re still here? “

she jumps upon hearing your voice, snapping out of her trance. “ y-yes, i was just waiting for you. “ zhu yuan stutters, facing you as you walk over to her with that patient smile of yours. you glance down at the vase full of red and white roses in her hands and back up at her.

“ oh? did someone give those to you? how—“

“ a-actually, these are for you! “ zhu yuan shyly hands you the vase, cheeks flushed red. you blink several times at the roses held in front of you before taking them. “ captain zhu yuan, th-thank you. but what’s the occasion? “

zhu yuan shifts her weight on the other foot as she nervously fiddles around. she takes a deep breath, clasps her hands around her back.

“ i-i like you—a-a lot actually. i-i really admire how wonderful you are as a person. pl-please, grant me permission t-to t-take you out to dinner tomorrow at 8:00pm! “ she stammers, the tips of her ears red and eyes squeezed shut. if you do reject her, she doesn’t want to see your face or she might burst out from anxiety.

“ i would love to go out to dinner with you captain zhu yuan. i’m interested in you myself, haha! “ you laughed shyly, rubbing the back of your neck. those ruby eyes of hers snaps open and an adorable, surprised expression sinks into her face.

“ r-really? “

“ yeah, captain. you’re wonderful yourself, and gorgeous too. “

a embarrassed noise leaves zhu yuan’s throat. her flustered gaze flickers to somewhere else before back at you. she clears her throat with a happy smile on her face. “ th-thank you, but please—it’s just zhu yuan. i don’t want any formalities between us. “

you reciprocate her smile with a bright one, causing her heart to skip several beats. “ you got it, zuzu. make sure to tell me more about where you’re thinking about taking us. “

“ z-zuzu? “

“ what, you don’t like the nickname? “

“ i d-do! it’s just— i have never been called that before. b-but it’s fitting coming from you. “

you let out a soft laugh, reaching your hand out to affectionately poke her nose. “ that’s good to hear. well, i’ll see you later zuzu. text me tonight, yeah? “

she shyly waves as you walk out of the break room with the gifted vase of roses. “ i-i will! a-also, adding sugar water to the roses will make them last longer and fresher! pl-please return home safe, a-and look both ways before crossing the street! “

“ i drive, but thanks! “

of courseee.

zhu yuan mentally facepalms herself but is nonetheless happy with the outcome of her confession. her phone rings in her pocket and she’s quick to answer it.

“ hi mom, i’m coming home now! do you need anything from the store? “ she asks, her voice an octave higher than usual.

“ i-i sound happy? y-yeah, it went well, mom. .” zhu yuan mutters, smiling stupidly to herself as she ambles out of the break room and her way out of the building.

“ m-meet them? n-not yet! it’s way too soon and i’m just taking them out for dinner tomorrow night too. .”

JANE DOE walks down sixth street, her fingers loosely hooked around her hanging straps. the chilly wispy night air kisses her sensitive ears, provoking occasional twitches from them. although she’s only walking through sixth street to get back home, her ears perk up at a familiar voice in the distance.

“ mr. chop, let me order a bowl of green pepper chicken noodles—the regular! i need something to warm me up since the fall air is kicking in! “

she subconsciously smile softly at the sound of your voice. her sharp teal eyes skim over to the waterfall soup shop not too far ahead of her. jane can make out your figure sitting on one of the chairs. her gaze softens; she’s very lucky to catch you around here this time of night. the way you talk to the owner makes it seem like you’re a regular around here. interesting note to pin in the back of her mind. jane saunters over to the shop, your figure becomes clearer and clearer as she approaches.

“ i didn’t think i’d get to see you around this neighborhood, (name). “ jane speaks up as she slides onto a empty chair beside you.

“ oh, jane! “ you offer her a sweet smile she oh so adores. “ i didn’t think i’d get to see you here either! how did everything go with the informant? “

the rat thiren sighs, running a thumb over her red nails as she examined them briefly. “ it went alright. i’m suppose to meet back with them tomorrow for more information about the case. what a hassle. “

you laugh bubbly, “ that certainly is a hassle having to meet with them twice. since you’re here, you have time to eat noodles with me, right? “

her gaze softens even more at the hopeful tone in your voice and the tender look marinating in those brilliant (e/c) eyes of yours. how could she refuse you? you’re just what she needed after a tedious day of running around prepping for an upcoming operation.

“ of course. i was on my way back to my home, and i was just about hungry anyways. “

you nodded, “ so what do you want to order, janey? “

her tail swish with delight from the cute nickname you’ve given her. it’s a shame that she hasn’t given you her real name yet but that’ll change soon in the future. you’re aware that jane has a secret identity, but you don’t seem to care at all and treat her as if she’s a close friend. your guard is always down around her—your body language is relaxed, there’s no skeptical look in your eyes, none of that at all. you’re so genuine with her that she can’t help but fall for you. you’re her first real friend she’s had in years but she grew to wanting something more than that with you. she knows what she likes so there’s no point in denying her feelings for you, right?

jane hums thoughtfully, “ hm, that’s a good question. what do you recommend? “

“ vegetable noodles for you. i’m sure you’ll love it. “

she chuckles, “ oh, really? i’ll take that then. “

you ordered it for her and a soft comforting silence settles in between you and jane as you wait for the food. jane’s observant gaze wanders off to you every now and then, admiring the softness of your face, the way the light perfectly bounces off your skin—do you know that you look memorizing like this right now? she feels like a little lovesick high school girl around her crush. how embarrassing.

“ sorry to break the silence, but, can i ask you a question, (name)? “

“ mhm? “

“ do you trust me as a person? “

you look at your colleague like she has two heads. “ huh, what’s that about? “

“ because you don’t really know much about me or my actual identity, yet you act like we’ve knew each other longer than we actually have. for all you know, i could just be a weirdo waiting for the perfect strike to tear you down. “ as if she would ever hurt you. no matter what disguise she’s in, she wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you.

you still have that weird, adorable look on your face. “ oh please jane, don’t call yourself a weirdo. but you’re right, i don’t know much about you. however, you have your reasons for keeping your identity secret which is understandable, you’re a criminology specialist. if i was that, i would want to keep my identity secret too to avoid any mishaps with going undercover— thank you, “ you give mr. chop quick smile as he places the ordered bowls down in front of you and jane.

“ anyways, just because you have excellent skills of messing with people and deceiving them for the sake of your job doesn’t translate to how you actually are as a person. i seen how you care and worry for other people in your own little ways. seth told me about all the odd things you did throughout his time being a hostage and how it all added up once he realized you were one of us. when i saw you during that ambush and found out that the mountain lions took him and the hostages. i wasn’t really worried because you were there. I’m starting to ramble so to cut things short, no matter what type of person you are, i’ll always put my trust in you. you’re a good person and i find your presence welcoming. “ you smiled warmly at her before starting on your bowl of noodles.

jane’s utterly taken back by your answer. butterflies flutter around in her stomach like the first week of spring. she expected you to answer kindly to her question but not sentimental like that. her tail sways a little faster than usual and her pupils would resemble heart shapes right now if such a thing was possible. cheeks unusually red, she quietly focuses her attention on eating her noodles. just as you figured earlier, the noodles tastes appetizing.it’s smooth and well done. the chicken broth isn’t really salty and has a rich taste to it. the liquid is warm and easy as it goes down her throat, heating up her cool body temperature. the veggies were nice and crisp. her sore bones softens, the weight of today’s labor eases off of her.

“ this is really what i needed, right janey? “ you giggled, looking over at the woman beside you who’s a little too quiet while she eats.

“ mhm, thank you for recommending this to me. “

after you and jane finished your noodles, you paid for the meals and stood outside of the shop. “ wow, i feel full and tired. i’m definitely going to be sleeping good tonight. thank you for eating with me, i really appreciate it. “ you shove your hands in your pockets, smiling tenderly at her. the love-stricken woman nods her head, tenderness evident on her face as she looks at you. “ no need to thank me, i would of stayed whether you asked me or not. but before we part ways for the night, let me tell you what i’ve been meaning to get off my chest. i may not act like it but, i’m not really good with telling others how i feel so i’ll try to convey them as simple as i can. “ she says awkwardly, her hooked fingers playing around with her hanging straps.

her teal eyes glimmer with devotion as she takes a step closer to you, unhooking one of her fingers to place a delicate hand on your shoulder. “ although we started off as simple colleagues, our connection grew stronger the more i learned about you. the way you don’t hide your emotions is admirable, your eyes doesn’t hold an ounce of darkness behind them; they’re clear as a sunny day and i can’t help but feel drawn to them. .i feel at ease and warm. your presence is the same way. you’re so honest, thoughtful—your genuine nature pulled me in like a magnet. i love you and i wish for us to grow even closer. i promise i’ll tell you everything that you want to know about me if you’ll have me, of course. “ like that, jane leans in and softly kissed the corner of your parted lips.

she retracts away, peering at you patiently as you thoroughly process her confession. your face increasingly turns red every second until you resemble a bright red apple. once jane sees the awe in your eyes and the jubilant smile dancing across your pretty lips, she’s the happiest she’s ever been in a while. you wrap your arms around her and pull her tall frame against yours.

“ of course, i’ll have you. i love you too after all. “ you mutter softly, burying your face into her grey bomber jacket. she laughs breathily, circling her arms around your body, and perched her chin on your shoulder. her ears jiggles in response to your pleasant confession. her long tail curls around your leg as you continue to hug each other under the soft glows of sixth street.

a noisy bangboo in the distance: “ ehaa nu tha! ( i wish i had something like that in my life! )“

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 4

Sorry this took so long. In the hospital still. Out of the hospital now!

For @unadulteratedsoulsweets

——

It had been early in the morning when she’d stepped foot in the manor. It was closer to noon, now, that found the reincarnation attentively sitting in one of the (if she remembered correctly from the blue prints) three massive kitchens located in Wayne manor.

She sat atop one of the island stools Damian had ushered her into, spaced a comfortable distance from the man that was her biological father in this life. Her mask dangled at her hip, a comfort she indulged in after unpacking her things. In truth, she’s had cookies before, but it had been so long since she’s tasted it that she might as well have never tried it before. Damian and Alfred Pennyworth worked with maximum efficiency, measuring out flour and sugar and chocolate like there were no tasks more important than this.

Alfred Pennyworth also avoided a specific cabinet that smelled slightly of metal polish and gun powder. It was kept away from the perishables.

Perhaps the manor was smaller and much more homely than the palace, but the reincarnate could see the sense in and approved of the various well-hidden caches of weapons around. Meant for non-lethal take downs, of course, but anything can be lethal if you tried hard enough. Or, considering the vigilante filled manor she had agreed to vacation in, anything could be lethal if one did not try hard enough to keep it non lethal.

The scrape of a spoon drew her attention back to Damian, waving away the off topic musings her mind had wandered into now that a large portion of her brain power was freed from the duty of fear.

She tracked how Damian existed within this space he had so clearly made for himself. He was… happier. Kinder. More. More at ease, more settled into his skin instead of where he stretched it to fit the cast of the Demon’s Heir. Simply, more. He was more Damian than he had been in the league.

When Damian was locked within the walls of the palace, his shoulders were always held straight. There’d been a- not quite darkness- cruelty in his eyes and gait that their grandfather had eagerly nurtured. His chin had remained lifted, his actions closed and callous. She’d feared, for while, that Damian would follow their grandfather’s footsteps. Until the day she saw him sneak a bird into his room to heal, her heart had trembled and grieved to see someone she loved imitate the worst parts of her abuser. It didn’t change the fact that she loved him, but it changed how she taught him.

But experience is a better teacher than she will ever be, and Damian had little chance to experience true kindness in the pits of the league.

Here, Damian is light. Perhaps less aware than he normally would have been, on the look out for fatal attacks as she had trained him to be within the league, but here he is free and safe and relaxed. It feels like she’s sitting in a haze, the chirps of birds and the clouded noon sun casting everything into an unreal light.

“Ukhti, assistance is requested.” Her brother holds out a bowl of dough. Her heart hurt with how happy it was. She squished the dough between her fingers like a child rediscovering her childhood. In some ways, she was.

——

As she watched Damian, in turn the others observed her. Bruce sat beside her, cataloguing every minuscule expression of his child, the first and the eldest, in an attempt to make up for lost time. And truly, it was minuscule. For all Bruce trained in micro-expressions and movements, his eldest- god, he had another daughter, the eldest- daughter remained a mystery from which he gleaned little of. Her face never lifted from that trained neutrality, having resettled back into it after first bite of b’stilla. He cradled the mug of coffee in his hands, the tang of grief and guilt roiling in his stomach as his daughter hesitantly but skillfully rolled a ball of dough.

“Pennyworth has divulged his secrets to me.” Damian plucked the ball from his sister’s hand, who allowed it with traces of… bemusement, perhaps? His eldest daughter flicked her eyes up in question, perhaps mildly amused. Even if she had more than two decades worth of training, Bruce was frustrated that he could not read her. She was his daughter.

Already he fails her. For too long, he had failed her.

“He chills the dough for a chewier cookie. I, and some of the others with adequate taste, prefer this texture. But which would you find adequate?”

His daughter flickered through that sign language again, the one he had no knowledge of. Considering he knew multiple from each continent, that was saying a lot. He was catching a few repeated signs, but nothing concrete.

Alfred waited patiently as they had their conversation, paying sharp attention to their motions. Bruce… felt like he was sitting next to Cassandra. He supposed they were the same, except his eldest daughter hadn’t gotten free.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” Damian grumbled, resting his hands on the counter, making sure to keep it away from his meticulously clean clothes. “We’ll cook them immediately.”

Bruce, in a fit of inspired parenting, offered a compromise.

“We could do two batches. One for right now and save a batch for later.”

Unspoken were the words ‘so she can try the cookies now.’ Despite the silent nature of his intent, Bruce thought that Alfred and Damian understood anyways.

“A fine suggestion, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

——

She sensed them before she saw them. Her father had slipped out after his suggestion, no doubt intercepting his flock of traumatized orphans before they could pile in.

Perhaps she had inherited something from Bruce Wayne after, considering how many of them she’d taken under her wing. She rolled the ball of dough between oiled fingers in a haze. Faint memories, impressions of a life long faded, guided her hands as she smooshed the cookies to her preference.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Al-Ghul?”Alfred Pennyworth asked her.

‘A Pennyworth for my thoughts?’ She swapped sign language, eyes slyly watching for Damian’s reaction.

Damian, right on cue, clicked his tongue, looking defeated. Alfred, on the other hand, smiled wider.

“A Pennyworth for your thoughts indeed.”

Her humor faded into something softer. Longing. Melancholy.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve made dessert for myself.’

She glanced at Damian, who was trying his best to pretend like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation lest he caught another stray pun. ‘Or used it to inoculate poisons.’

“I see.” The butler patted his hands dry onto a towel, a sharp eye on Damian’s efforts at covering the dough meant for freezing. “I assure you that these cookies will remain poison free, have no worries about that. Now, would you like some tea?”

She shook her head. ‘I’ll make it myself later. Thank you.’

“Very well, Miss-”

“Hi, Alfred. Making cookies?”

Her hands continued to work on her tray, placing cookie dough on the tray with military precision. Damian remained relaxed, though watchful of her reaction.

“That’s correct, Master Tim.”

Tim shuffled over to her, and she turned. Ah, her partial benefactor.

“Little photographer.” She smiled, slightly. Her eyes, however, were warm. Alfred stilled for a brief second at her voice.

“Hi. It’s been a while.” Tim plopped down on the seat next to her. His whole body screamed of nostalgia. It’s odd to see the little scrawny Bristol boy grow into a full fledged vigilante. It seemed like yesterday she was keeping him from slipping on Gotham’s manifestations of its rot and plummeting down on its stone heart.

She hummed. ‘Not too long.’

“What is that supposed to mean? When had you met Drake, recently?”

She glanced at the little- not so little- photographer.

“She helped me bring B back.” Tim lied. She didn’t like how easily he lied to Damian… but on account of her fondness for him, she let it slide.

“Did you, Miss Al-Ghul?” Alfred wiped his hands on the hand towel he carried. “Then I suppose we owe you our sincere thanks.”

She blinked slowly.

‘I didn’t do much. I kept him alive just the once.’

“That is a harder task than one might think, Miss Al-Ghul. Master Tim has, arguably, the worst self preservation instincts out of the life risking vigilantes I have known.” And he has known many, Alfred seemed to imply.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Hey! What is this? Gang up on Tim day?”

“I would participate in that even if it wasn’t,” Damian stated, packing the frozen cookies away in the corner. “Come and help, Drake. My ukht is about to have her first cookies and we will bake it to perfection. Bring the tray.”

Tim scoffed but slid the tray away from her, Alfred seamlessly dropping a napkin for her to wipe off the dough from her fingertips.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving Z and Owens.”

‘They were my assassins. Even if you did manage to sway them to your cause.’ She tapped the marble island, before opening her mouth. “Thank you. For destroying his pit options. It helped me kill Ra’s.”

In her peripherals, Damian settled back, disgruntled but willing to rest his curiosity as gratitude towards Tim’s part in her freedom overrode his need for answers.

Tim stilled. “…What are friends for, right?”

‘Of course, little photographer.’ She relaxed as her, arguably first, friend and now brother popped the tray into the oven.

“Anyways, they sent me in here to see if you’re ready to meet the rest of them.”

“And they said that?” Damian scoffed, coming around the island to stand beside her as she slipped off the stool.

“Nah, they actually wanted me to subtly vibe check her, but it’s not like she wouldn’t catch me doing it.”

“Ukhti’s ‘vibes’ are perfectly fine,” Damian said crabbily, crossing his arms defensively. She tapped the back of Damian’s neck and he relaxed.

‘Thank you for the… assessment of my character and general disposition.’ She signed dryly.

“Ugh, I should’ve made the connection. Your syntax is exactly like Damian’s.” Tim joked, dodging the punch Damian aimed at his nonexistent spleen.

The reincarnation huffed. ‘I spoke perhaps three words to you.’

“And how many people use disposition on a regular basis?”

“I do, Drake!”

“I know, Damian. That was the point, you little walking thesaurus.”

——

They left Alfred in the kitchen, the man all but shooing them away so he could get working on lunch, and made their way to a sitting room. The floor was covered in a plush blue carpet, a fact that made itself vividly present to the reincarnation when she placed her foot on it, the fabric brushing the back of her heels. She was too trained to allow the slip to visible, but for a microsecond, the memories of kneeling and choking clawed their way past her defenses. She made note of the trigger and moved on, compartmentalizing that fact for later.

“It’s you,” Nightwing breathed out, tensing. The others behind him freeze, even more alert than their regular state. Bruce whipped his head towards him, sharp and searching.

“Nightwing.” She greeted. She felt a kinship with this vigilante turned brother. She watched him soar and fall alongside the little photographer. She watched him grow new wings and watched them get tainted with blood and fear and grim hope. She lived vicariously through him, he who flew when she was chained. In some ways, she had ended up watching his back for a long time, both in yearning for the ease he was allowed at her father’s side and to protect the vulnerable back that knew not of its openness. Bruce inhaled deeply at her voice.

Dick stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She does not disembowel him for it. Instead, she allowed the giant octopus hug her new oldest little brother gave her. There was no aggression in his countenance. Only relief and gratitude.

“You know Dick?” The little, ah, no, she doesn’t want to sound like Ra’s, Tim asked. Dick tensed, clearly unwilling to speak about it. She stepped in.

“I met him once. Eliminated a spider for him on a rooftop. I did not think he would remember.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on knowing who ukhti was?” Damian demanded, scowling. She immediately freed an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Damian ducked away with a rather petulant scowl. "Not because of my safety but because she crushed an arachnid for you?"

Dick nodded at him before looking up at her. “I really hated that spider. It was super scary. Thank you for getting rid of it.”

In lieu of an answer, she gently hugged him back.

“I get the feeling.” She said solemnly, voice coming out soft and borne of an implicit understanding. ‘Talk later,’ she signed to him.

“I was not aware you were afraid of spiders, ukht,” Damian muttered. “Though, Richard, I would believe.”

“Hey!”

Dick detached himself and pasted on a mostly genuine smile. “Oh! You should meet the others!”

He turned to the rest of Bruce Wayne’s wards and children to cheerfully point them out.

“This is Duke! He’s Alfred’s favorite grandkid, because he hasn’t burnt down the kitchen yet and reports when he’s injured.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Duke Thomas raised a hand, smiling. “The bar was literally on the floor with you people. ‘Sides, Jason did just fine.”

The reincarnate nodded. Yes, she knew of him, though her memories were hazy. It had been over two decades, after all.

Dick steamrolled onwards. “This is Stephanie-”

“But you can call me Steph!” Stephanie Brown interjected, bouncing in her seat. Despite her bubbly demeanor, her gaze was sharp. Seeing. She liked that sharpness. It was tempered by the same rough and tumble kindness she’d seen in Grave- ah, Jason.

Spoiler, her memories reminded her. It was a soothing distraction from the anxious memories of the league. She found herself collecting little hints and information about this family. Her family, even if it were tentatively so. She caught Bruce staring at them intently, visibly anxious about this meeting.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

“So… what do we call you?” Steph tilted her head. Hm. A tell Ra’s would have beaten out of her, had Stephanie had the misfortune of being in his presence for more than a day.

“Al Ghul will be adequate.” Damian cut in. The glance he threw her promised a discussion upon the topic of her name. Later, it promised.

“Wow. That’s kind of impersonal though.”

“Steph!”

“What?! I’m not wrong.”

“Anyways!” Dick loudly said over the two bickering kids. “That’s actually it for now.”

“The rest aren’t here as of this moment, but they’ll be around for dinner.”

A white lie. She studied Bruce for a moment before acquiescing. He meant no harm. Despite his capability to inflict harm, his willingness to do so, she could not read a single instance of ill will in him. Not, at least, towards her. She allowed the lie to slide.

‘I wish to see the grounds.’ She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He knew what it meant for her to retreat to the wilderness. Nature, where most things were free and where one does not often find Ra’s after he’d had a taste for luxury.

“We will go to the gardens. Ukhti wishes to explore.” Despite the rather curt way he pronounced it, Damian had stepped closer to her side in a gesture of concern. The pit inside of her stomach eased.

“Sounds good! Let’s go!” Steph bounced out of her seat.

“We could tell you stories,” Tim offered from behind her.

“Yeah, like that one time Dick face planted onto one of Poison Ivy’s flower beds because he was distracted by an ice cream truck.” Duke grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Hey! That ice cream truck was full of Scarecrow thugs!”

“And they weren’t worth an Ivy-lecture. I’m surprised she didn’t skin you and make a pot out of your bones, Dick.” Tim yawned.

“Ooo, we should tell her about the time I hit you in the face with a brick!”

“Literally what more is there to that story, Steph?” Tim grumbled.

“I would like to hear this tale,” Damian said, beginning to tug his ukht towards the garden. The rest of the group followed.

“Actually, why don’t we tell her about the time you tried getting Batcow to the barn and he just sat down? Didn’t you bargain with her for an hour, Damian?”

“Tt!”

Duke leaned back and took in the chaos he unfolded with a twinkling grin and Bruce’s sigh bolstering him. And if their newest and oldest addition to the family relaxed in his chaos, well, that was between him and her.

——

Cassandra found her in the gardens, the both of them weaving in between the foliage like light footed cats. Her contingent of Bats were behind them, watching the two former assassins approach each other.

Cassandra had frozen, mirroring the reincarnator’s stillness.

“Ukhti.” The word was torn out of Cass’ throat, filled with tears and relief.

“Cassandra,” she called, fond and kind and loving. Damian’s eyes darted between his sisters. They knew each other. How? She called his ukht, ukhti. A title he had assumed only he could use.

Cassandra scrambled and launched herself at her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

“Hello, Cass,” she caught the flying vigilante, crushing her first little sister into a tight hug. “Freedom suits you, habibti.”

Cass trembles in her arms, hands clutching at the fabric on her shoulder blades like Damian’s. Her eyes softened, and she rested her chin on Cass’s head.

“You know Cassandra too, ukhti?”

She nodded.

“Ukhti named me.” Cass said, voice wobbly. ‘Cass. Cassandra.’ Cass did her name sign. The one she had taught the slip of a girl back when Cass was stuck in a senseless prison and she was only free in terms of movement.

‘First word too.’ She smiled, proud of Cass and how far she’s come. Cassandra reads the pride in her language, the safety and kindness that she’d never forgotten even after traversing the world for years before arriving home, and she burrowed deeper into the hug.

“Oh. I see.”

“Two ukhts.” She smiled at Damian.

Cass shook her head, but before Damian could settle into his hurt at her supposed rejection, Cass explained her confusion. “Ukhti is your name? I’m Cass.”

“Ukhti means older sister.” Damian informed her.

Cass blinked and looked back at the reincarnation. Her shoulders relaxed and drew back, eyes softening and body loosened from its confusion. She smiled, bright as the sun, and deftly clambered around to perch on her older sister’s back.

“Two.” She declared. And truly, the reincarnation was weak to her younger siblings because that was that. Cass declared it so, and it shall be so. Damian grumbled but seemed like they agreed.

“How did you two meet?” Bruce piped up, intent and surprisingly considerate.

“Saved me,” Cass sighed, resting her chin on her ukht’s head. ‘From father and the league. Taught me to speak, a little. My name. Cass. Taught me..’ Cass paused. “Taught me I am not a weapon.”

The former assassin carrying Cass on a piggy back ride hummed in agreement.

“Oh.” The rest of the family glanced at each other. Dick had his shiny teary eyes on, the ones he got when Jason initiated a hang out.

“Not a weapon,” Cass repeated, pressing firmly on her ukht’s head.

A less sure hum. Cass scowled.

“No. Bad,” Cass scolded. “Not a weapon.”

An acquiescing hum, full of fondness and exasperation.

Cassandra Cain will take that answer. For now.

“You named Cass?” Duke asked. Bruce looked at them with gentle eyes.

“After a heroine I knew.” She replied, shifting. Cass hugged her tighter, intently listening. “She was strong. Lethal if need be. But… kind. She had an inherently kind heart. Full of love. Like Cass.”

“Oh, that’s really.. that’s really sweet.”

Cass hugged her ukht closer, touched. She had never known why she had been given the name, but finding out that it was after a heroine her sister looked up to made the day that much brighter. Hopeful. Honored.

“You have not told me this story,” Damian said.

‘I will. One day.’

——

Jason found her at the lunch table. Along with the rest of the brood. Except for, jarringly, an alien named Jarro.

“He’s our alien brother!” Duke said. He smiled, and it was a smile of unassuming harmlessness. A well crafted mask that she knew better than to be fooled by.

She offered three long blinks that had Cassandra, stuck like a limpet on the reincarnator’s back, muffling a laugh.

“Telling truth,” Cass whispered, sentences punctuated by giggles.

She hummed, shifting to more securely carry Cass on her back. Damian sighed and dutifully carried Cassandra’s pack. She smiled at her little brother, who straightened. Adorable. All of her siblings were adorable. She would kill for them. Ah, right. They frown upon murder here. So had she, once. Before Ra’s broke that part of her heart and forced her hands to commit evils that grew gnarled vines through her very soul.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Hm?”

“Killing is… a choice.” The conversations around them fell silent. Cass’ arms tightened around her shoulders.

“We don’t have to do it, anymore,” Damian agreed. Yes, he understood what it was like, to be raised to kill and suddenly having the option not to.

“Did you not want to kill, before?” Bruce asked, suddenly a bit closer. Her mind was slipping, she realized. It felt… safe, to slip.

‘If I did not,’ she admitted, like throwing stones off of a lock-laden bridge. ‘Damian would bear the consequences.’

She sounded… young. Afraid. Two things she had always been and were never allowed to be.

Bruce Wayne looked at her like his heart was breaking, like he wished he could shoulder her pain on top of the weight of the world he willingly carried since his parents died. This, she is reminded, was why she swore Damian to secrecy regarding her existence. She wondered if he had ever taken the burden of more grief than he could bear.

‘And I could not say no, regardless,” she told them, absent and tired.

She wondered if she would be the one to break him, should she allow him a glimpse of the scars on her back.

“I could have taken it.” Damian grabbed her arm, clutching at her sleeve once more.

“No,” she whispered, haunted. ‘Not while I drew breath, habibi.’

“You don’t have to kill here. We’re all very good with no murder.” Tim reminded her firmly.

“Unless it’s the Joker.” Steph chimed in, bubbly smile gentled into something kinder.

“Unless it’s him.” Duke agreed. His eyes were more serious now.

“No,” Bruce replied, tired. Heavier, in a way that made sour tang of guilt scratch the back of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to give him the weight of knowledge, but she had inadvertently done so with the things she had and hadn’t said. He wasn’t the world’s- she glanced at Tim, who quirked a smile at her- second best detective for no reason.

“Yes, but you’re not ready for that conversation.” Dick snapped, lightheartedly.

Ah. That’s what was off.

They’re kind. They choose to be and they inherently are kind.

It showed. And she wasn’t used to that.

“Lunch.” Cassandra reminded them. She was a solid, grounding presence at the reincarnator’s back.

“Oh, Jason said he’s on the way.” Duke commented, nodding when she quickly did a subtle thank you sign.

“Why does he text you and not me?” Dick whined.

“Wow, man. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the emoji wall you send?”

“They’re nice! How else are you supposed to know what I’m feeling, right, Cass?”

Cass nodded and gave a thumbs up from her place on ukhti’s back.

“See?!”

“I love you Cass, but you also use a wall of understandable emojis. Dick just spams them.” Steph retorted.

The reincarnator turned to Damian, a silent question in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, the imbeciles argue all of the time.”

She nodded and the group made their way to the green house for lunch, bickering all the while.

When they get there, Jason Todd, along with Alfred Pennyworth were already at the table.

“Grave.” She greeted as Cass slipped off her back.

“Ain’t no fucking way, Trainer?” Jason leapt to his feet. It was odd, seeing him in casual clothes. Ra’s had kept him in armor most of the time.

“You know each other?”

“At this point, who doesn’t ukht know would be an easier question.” Damian grumbled. She tapped him on the head twice, a light reprimand.

‘Grave was part of your guard,’ she told him. ‘He protected you well.’

“You’re the demon brat’s older sister? That makes so much fucking sense.”

She felt her eyes go cold, lifting to stare at Grave’s rapidly paling face. He visibly backtracks.

“Uh- I mean, you’re Damian’s older sister?”

She regarded him for a beat longer before blinking, ice melting away at the change. The nickname chafed at her neck, too close from a fate she gave everything to save Damian from.

Her head dipped into a small nod.

“Wild.” Jason sat back down. “So, uh, how are you handling the pit?”

‘I am not.’ She informed him, settling down in her seat. Damian claimed the spot next to her and Cass quickly took the other, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Tim plopped down to the seat next to Cass, eyes zeroing onto the chamomile tea Alfred had set out for him.

Duke smiled at Bruce before sitting next to Jason, Steph skipping over and sitting next Dick and Jason at the same time.

“Ukhti managed to get rid of the side effects,” Damian informed the table at large.

Her little bat had the worst ability to make sure attention focused on her, the reincarnation groused. She sighed.

“How?” Clearly, Grave had forgotten how much she beat him into the sparring mat because he leaned forward to glare at her. Well, she hadn’t wanted him too afraid of her.

‘Magic.’

His face fell at the assumed non answer, but Damian’s nod had the entire table once more expectant.

She sighed and began weaving her magic.

——

She stalked through the shadows of the manor, at ease. Bruce and the others had left on patrol, hours ago. She was clad in her sleeping clothes, one of her less favored clothes. Her hands would get dirty again tonight but she was long past the point of lingering on those regrets.

“Miss al-Ghul,” Alfred turned as she stepped towards him, having made sure she made adequate noise as a forewarning. “Having a good night?”

She tilted her head, eyes inquisitively peering at the spotless china display behind the butler.

“Ah, you must be curious about the fine ceramics we have currently displayed,” Alfred smiled. “Would you be so kind as to indulge an old butler on this topic?”

She had an idea about the kind of gift Alfred Pennyworth would appreciate.

——

“Uh, whatcha got there?”

She blinked, pulling bloodied hands away from her clothes where she had been inspecting them. The assassin that caused the damage on her clothes laid beneath her feet, still and lifeless. She blinked again.

Nightwing, Dick, stood in front of her, freshly showered from his patrol.

Some form of long forgotten instinct rose from the dry rotted fabric of her faded memories had her responding, ‘A smoothie.’

“…That’s… not a smoothie,” Dick said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m pretty sure that’s an assassin?”

She shrugged. “He was after Damian. To force him into being the Demon’s head.” She paused. ‘I am tying up loose ends.’

Dick considered her. And the he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, okay. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence.”

She waved him off, clicking her fingers and looking over the room with critical eyes as the body and traces of the fight disappeared.

“Woah, handy.”

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Did you need something?’

He made a face. “That’s weird. It’s usually me asking that,” he muttered. “Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to thank you again. And uh, let you know that the others don’t know so if you could not tell them, that would be great?”

With a huff, she reached over and up to gently ruffle his hair. ‘Of course. Damian did not know either.’

“Right,” he breathed. “You get it.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Been avoiding thinking about it?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She looked at him, silent. Offering a space to listen, and a quiet promise to offer no judgement.

“I don’t- it- I could have stopped her,” he told her, guilt and shame and the lingering whispering voice Catalina burrowing into his ears and heart.

And when he started, it seemed to him like he couldn’t stop. Dick told her of the things he felt as she got on top of him, of how numb and far away things were. How, if it rained, he couldn’t be in the quiet because it made him relive it.

“But… but you stopped her so I shouldn’t even be like this!”

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She told him, the first thing she’s said since he’s started talking. ‘The only one at fault was her. You trusted her to stop. She did not. Her crimes were not yours to bear.’

She paused, taking in the refusal she could read on his face. “If someone beats another person, would you blame the person who was beaten?”

“No!”

‘Then you are kind. But you are so kind to others, why not yourself?’

Dick fell silent.

“I killed Ra’s,” she reminded him. “He allowed many others to partake in my body without my agreement.”

She leaned towards him, the admittance of something she had not even told Damian ringing painfully in her heart but made all the easier to say by the fact that one of her little brothers (the free, first Robin, the son who stood by Bruce’s side when she could not) needed her. “He himself partook in me. And yet,” she added, when Dick looked up. ‘It is difficult to forget. I am still afraid when I step onto the carpet on the sitting room.’

“The carpet? The rug? The fluffy one?” He asked, confused.

“It is like… your rain and silence,” she crossed her arms. ‘That and the sound of rustling silk reminds me of his chambers.’

“Oh.”

‘I killed him and it will not go away. Would you blame me for that?’

“No, that’s how healing is- oh.”

“Be kind, to yourself.”

His chin trembled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Ukhti.”

“Ukhti,” he parroted, aiming a watery and small smile her way.

She held out her arms and, with Dick’s tacit understanding, tucked him beneath her wings like she did with Damian. “Thank you for offering to get rid of the body, habibi. But I would not want you to get in trouble.”

“Eh, I’ve helped Jason deal with worse.”

‘Comforting.”

“I know, right?”

——

“Why the hell do you keep calling me Grave?” Jason asked her, grumbling as he tried to wire his new helmet after the last one got damaged.

She leaned back, basking in the sun on the new rugs. After their conversation, Dick had set fire to every fluffy rug in the house-

“What the hell, dude?!” Duke gaped as he watched Dick cheerfully toss an expensive rug into the impressive bonfire they had going on.

“Ukhti doesn’t like fluffy rugs,” Dick said with a straight face. Damian dragged another roll to the bonfire with a scowl. “Alfred Approved project, if you want to join~!”

Duke stared at him… and picked up a roll to toss into the fire.

- and bought new ones using Bruce’s credit cards.

“You got some of your memories back, in the league.” She hummed. “You liked reading. Poems.”

“What does that even have to do with Grave?”

“I remembered one. A line. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep…”

Jason twisted around. “Are you kidding me?”

She continued. “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.”

“But I did die.”

She shrugged. ‘People still remembered you. Gotham and Bruce cried at your loss. I saw it.’

She straightened and smiled a small smile at him. ‘Besides. You got better.’

Jason snorted. “You too, I guess.”

She hummed an agreement, eyes slipping closed in the warm light of the sun, relief after a long second life of cowering in the shadows of a man more like a demon than he was a grandfather.

[jedipoodoo]

The Other Woman (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: miscommunication Trope, Hunter is a Girl Dad™, single fatherhood is hot, how can you hate Omega?? Tbh this is kinda goofy lol.

"Ah, kriff."

Hunter glanced at the glow of his comm and leaped off the couch, running around your house to grab his jacket and his shoes.

"Hunter?" you paused the holo film as he put his shoe on the wrong foot, and quickly had to change it.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced between you and the glow of the holo screen, with his hands held out as if to placate you.

"I am so sorry, I gotta go, my girl's expecting me."

You blinked once. Twice. Then there was a rushing in your ears as your entire world crumpled around you.

"Your...girl?" you asked, fists digging into the cushions of your couch. You had spent months flirting with Hunter, agonizing over whether of not he might like you back. When he asked you if you'd like a date, your heart soared to the moons and beyond. For reasons beyond you, you had invited him into your house, cooked him dinner, only to crash back down to the ground and find out he had someone else.

Hunter was completely oblivious to your sudden moral panic as he started talking about "his girl".

"She's brilliant, kinder than anyone I've ever met, and smart as a whip."

"Glad she's such a catch," You snapped, getting up and marching over to the door.

Hunter finally recognized the anger, radiating off you in waves.

"Is everything alright?"

You barked a humorless laugh.

"Is everything alright? You tell me, Mr. Dark-and-broody! Being in a relationship with multiple people at the same time may have been simple enough during the war, but not here! Not with me!"

His face fell.

"Oh right! I forgot, they didn't teach you any of that on Kamino." It was a particularly cruel barb, but you didn't care. You wanted Hunter to feel as utterly humiliated as you did right now.

"I... I don't understand..." Hunter mumbled, wringing his jacket in his hands.

"Let me spell it out for you then, Sergeant," You slammed the release on your front door and it hissed open, "Get out. Your girl may be okay with this, but I won't play second fiddle to anyone, not in this kind of relationship."

The only sound was the chittering of the sea crickets, a mournful melody that echoed the crestfallen look on Hunter's face. When he didn't move, you pointed him emphatically out the door. The moment he crossed the threshold, you shut and locked the door.

Then you collapsed into a ball and cried.

Did it amuse the force to play with your love life like this? You'd never had the courage to say yes to a date before. You were the kind of kid that got asked out only for it to turn out to be a joke.

Hunter was different. Hunter was supposed to be different. Everyone in the marketplace would talk him up all the time, from his heroics during the war, to the hard work he put in to help rebuild the island. You couldn't believe your good fortune at last when he asked you out.

Of course it was too good to be true.

You cried, curled up at the edge of the doorway until your spine began to protest. Even with all the energy drained out of you so furiously, you knew your bed would be a much more comfortable place to cry on. And there was still ice cream left in the fridge.

You ended up sleeping in the next morning. You didn't mean to. You woke up with your alarm first, but every part of you was just so sore and you were so exhausted, you just had to close your eyes for a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours.

It was noon when you finally made it to your noodle stall in the Archium, right next to Pilate's ice cone stand.

"You're late," The older man chuckled good naturedly as you started a fresh batch of pasta, "Your gentleman friend was here early this morning, waiting for you."

You tried not to grimace at the mention of Hunter. Your eyes were still red, but a wide rimmed hat hid that fact from your neighbors.

"Is he still here?"

"No, he left about an hour ago, said something about meeting an Omega."

Ah, so that was her name. You dped the hot water into your drain, not caring that it splashed everywhere.

"Everything alright?" Pilate asked.

"Peachy."

When you refused to elaborate, Pilate stopped pushing. It was lunch hour, so you soon had a line of customers stretching out around the Archium. You plastered on your customer service face and thanked all of them for their patronage, despite the anger that you held in your chest. It was shockingly easy to pretend you were perfectly fine when you had so many emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

For starting your day late, you were making a pretty decent profit. After the first couple of hours, business slowed down, but it would be just as busy during the dinner hour, and you had a few regulars that would pop in for an afternoon snack from time to time.

Lyanna Hazard was one such regular. She skipped up to your stall hand-in-hand with a new friend you hadn't met before.

"Hello girls! How can I help you today?" you asked.

"Four shrimp dumplings, please!" Lyanna placed her pocket money on the counter.

"Coming right up!" You ladled the dumplings from fry pit into two bowls, and set them in front of the girls. As you reached for the chopsticks so that they could eat, Lyanna's friend grabbed one with her bare hand

"It's hot!" she yelped, tossing the dumpling from one hand to the other in surprise.

Lyanna giggled, "That's why you use chopsticks, silly!"

Lyanna demonstrated, and her friend watched her, fascinated. With the dumpling balanced precariously on her chopsticks, she tentativelytook a tiny bite.

"Mmm!" she declared. She ravenously finished her dumplings while you laughed, rolling out pasta dough to make more dumplings.

"It's always a pleasure to see someone enjoy my food," You told her.

"It's amazing! My brother told me you were a good cook, but this is even better than I could've imagined!" she said.

"Oh really, who's your brother?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but the universe answered for her.

"Omega!"

You couldn't help the glare that involuntarily tugged on your face when you heard his voice. You spotted the offender halfway across the Archium, looking around, but to your absolute horror, Lyanna's new friend began to wave him over.

"Over here, Hunter!" She called, one hand cupped around her mouth.

You saw his shoulders relax for a moment, and then tense up again. It was the same spooked, father-in-headlights look that he gave you last night when you kicked him out. You wanted to shrivel up and die.

Lyanna and Omega missed this completely, however, and kept waving at Hunter. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but he begrudgingly trudged across the marketplace to your stall.

"Heya kids," He said, not quite looking at you.

"Hunter, you gotta try the dumplings!" Omega said, showing him her empty bowl.

"I have," Hunter said. It was part of the meal you'd made for him the night before. You thought you saw him glance at you, but you couldn't be sure. You were determined to stay angry at him, but those gorgeous brown eyes of his were going to be the death of you.

"Well, I'll see you all around then."

You turned your back on them, going back to the filling for the dumplings. You heard Lyanna talking excitedly to Omega about a few more stalls where they could get more food, and when you heard their voices fade away you assumed that all three of them had left.

There were a few moments of blessed silence, but Hunter cleared his throat, and you jumped in surprise.

"I need to talk to you."

You glared at him.

"I have nothing to say to you." you snapped.

"Then don't say anything but just listen-"

"You're a glutton for punishment, aren't-"

"I don't have another partner!" He said quickly.

You blinked, surprised.

"Omega's my little sister. She's my girl. She's who I had to get back to that night." to prove it, he pulled up his comm, sliding it across the table towards you.

You stared at him, suspicious. But you looked at the screen anyway.

Omega: Hunter, when is your date done?

Hunter: we're finishing a movie, kid.

Omega: I can't fall asleep. And Wrecker doesn't sing the Purrgill song as good as you do :(

Hunter: I told you I'd be gone tonight. I'll come say goodnight when I get back.

Omega: :(

You sighed. Omega was very sweet, and you couldn't imagine trying to say no to her on a daily basis.

"I am... So sorry..." You couldn't look at him, sliding his comm back across the countertop.

Hunter said nothing, but placed a hand over yours, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. That should've been one of the first things I told you.

He sighed, "I guess... I'm just not used to sharing everything, especially with new people."

"You're not obligated to share everything with me, you have a right to your privacy."

"I've been a soldier my entire life, and now, I'm trying to figure out how to be anything but. I was talking with Phee and she gave me an earful about how if I'm trying to date or get close to someone, I gotta make my priorities clear."

Hunter looked over his shoulder at Omega. She and Lyanna were at Pilate's stall now, trying to see how many scoops of flavored ice they could stack in one bowl.

"Omega's a good kid, but she hasn't had much of an opportunity to be one. My brothers and I aren't exactly model parents, but we're trying our best to give her the life she deserves."

You nodded, "That's admirable of you."

If you felt humiliated last night, it was nothing compared to the embarrassment you felt now. You'd insulted Hunter when all he was trying to do was take care of his little sister, which, if you thought about it, made him even more attractive than the tattoo and the eyes already did.

"All this to say, your reaction is completely justified with the information you had, and if you're willing, I'd like to try again."

He held out a hand to you, "Let me take you out on a proper date, to make up for all this."

You felt heat rising in your cheeks, "I should be asking how I can make this up for you," You insisted.

"Nonsense, you cooked and cleaned and everything and I tried to cut it short. Let me sweep you off your feet."

You raised one eyebrow. That sounded almost nothing like what he'd usually say.

He winced, "Yeah, I realized it the moment I said it. Phee told me that's what I should do, though I have no idea how to."

You giggled, "That's okay, I'd like that, though."

Hunter's eyes went wide, and you could almost melt into the cobblestones. "That's a yes? You're saying yes?"

"Yes," You giggled some more, and stepped out of your stall to speak face to face.

"I'd love to be swept off my feet by you, so long as it means you forgive me for being a poodoo-head."

"You are not a poodoo-head." Hunter said, placing his hand on your cheek, "You're a brilliant person, and I'd like to get to know you much better than I do now."

You flushed, from his words or his touch, you weren't sure, but you didn't entirely mind it.

You coughed to clear your throat. "So, Mr. Hunter, when should I plan on you picking me up?"

Hunter glanced at your stall, and back to you, "How soon can you close up shop?"

You grinned. You might have gotten a late start, but he didn't need to know that. He could make up for it in his own way.

"For you, Hunter? Right away."

[with-my-calamitous-love]

LOSS OF MY LIFE

chuuya x reader

chuuya questions his humanity while you’re on your deathbed.

inspired by loml

he wished he never knew you.

at least then, he wouldn’t have the feeling of knowing you, knowing every part of you, but not having you around.

it all happened so fast. one wrong mission. one wrong move. one wrong mistake that should’ve landed on chuuya- but costed you everything. he should have seen the attack coming, but he didn’t. why didn’t he? the one time chuuya nakahara fucked up, it fucked you over instead.

it should have been me. he thought.

he’s lost track of time. he knows he has work to return to, stacks of paper on his desk. his stomach growls and his throat is parched for water. his eyes yearn to close, wanting to sleep. but he can’t. you’re not there to keep him company in his otherwise barren office. you’re not there to share the meal with him and scold him about staying hydrated. you’re not there to be wrapped up in his arms, fully trusting you while you sleep together. because you’re here. on the hospital bed, tubes attached to you keeping you alive.

the beeps of your heart monitor was merely white noise to him now. the doctors told him to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. you were hit in one to many fatal areas. you lost almost too much blood. you might not recover. you might not wake up.

but she has too. he thought.

spending a year with someone does a lot to a person. chuuya had loved before you, but never like this. he had never promised so much for someone, felt his heart beat the way it did for you. you and him promised marriage, a family, you two promised forever.

chuuya nakahara was a man of the mafia.

and that meant he knew death better than anyone.

in his line of work, losing people meant hoping that death is kinder than life. he didn’t have the time to grieve, he could only wish them peace in slumber and fortify his heart. he had been through it, possibly preparing himself for worse and worse each time.

but nothing could have prepared him for this.

chuuya could feel his being overfill with grief. he had given so much love to you. so much time, so many promises, so many kisses, embraces, late nights and forevers to you. he’d given you every fibre of his mortal being because fuck, he loved you. and he had never felt a love like yours- and he didn’t want to try and feel anyone else’s because it would never feel like yours. his grief was just love with nowhere to go.

you were an anchor to chuuya’s humanity, something that kept him in place throughout all the pain and suffering of his life. he thought he would love you forever. but right now chuuya wished he could forget. forget the life you two almost had. the wedding you almost had. the kids you almost raised. the life that was so close he could graze it with his fingertips right before the rug was pulled out from underneath him. it was either he had it all with you, or didn’t know you at all. not the in between. not the purgatory. not the almost.

“i’ll love you for the rest of my life.” he hears you say in the tone of voice he adored.

he wasn’t sure what he would do if that life ended too short. no, not when you were supposed to be forever.

he would rather tear down the world than lose you. he’d tear the roots of the world into pieces, collapse buildings upon buildings and set everything in his sight ablaze. he’d burn down everything, everyone and anything that dared his grief. and in the end he’d cause massive waves to erupt from the ocean floors, washing over all who inhabits the planet, making sure no one would return from the seas unbiased fate.

i’d do it. he bargains in his mind, pleading to anyone out there who may hear his call. he was never the faithful type, but seeing you barely hold onto your life made him desperate. maybe arahabaki would hear him, maybe the universe would. i’d do it for her. just bring her back. bring her back to me.

he held your wired hand, a knot in his chest forming feeling how cold you were. it felt like death was already trying to take you away from him, and chuuya wasn’t having it.

he wanted to speak, to call out to you. he wanted to beg you to wake up, remind you that he’s still here. remind you that you still have a life to live. a life with him.

he opened his mouth, but nothing camee out.

he wasn’t just losing you. he was losing his life.

and he felt all of it escape his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due. 

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid , @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210 , @antigonusyuki , @aerangi , @spikespiegell , @lora21 , @330bpm-whiplash , @michirulol, @john-pricee , @cl0wncxre , @jade-jax , @anna-banana27 , @lothiriel9 , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghost-with-a-teacup , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg , @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07 , @shoe1412 , @levietc , @shmaptin, @dilfsaremyfavourite , @astronaut2029, @kk19pls , @omeganixtra , @semieitabby , @thriving-n-jiving , @voidinfernal , @sukunas-left-nut-sack , @cringe-kats , @serpahic , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @n1choles , @gaychaosgremlin , @icepancakes , @batmanunicorns523 , @gills-lounge, @nanialis, @pukbadger , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

[naffeclipse]

Wave

Reader x Mer!Map Bot

Commission Info

I have the honor to write dear @craykaycee's Mer Map Bot OC set in the world of Deep Dreams with a reader who suffers from memory problems! This has everything from hurt/comfort to good ol' angst, but it's sweet in the end, don't worry. This was so much fun to write, ah! Happy reading!

———

The stars glimmer around you, rippling in a space like a black, engulfing sea full of comets and far planets that pierce the distance with their tiny light. You float within it, held safely in a large, clawed hand. Only three giant fingers with razor-sharp talons surround you. How strange. How beautiful. You want to admire him for a little longer.

Your dreams have never been kinder to you. 

A face looms above you, colossal and dream-like, but adoring. Eyes, pale and silvery like moonlight upon water, soften as he looks over you. Though you are held in a giant’s palm, you hold no fear. Though you have no memory of this place, of this being, a reassurance of safety blossoms in your chest. A sweeping warmth like tide pools sitting under the sun covers you, and you smile back.

Go to the water.

You tilt your head in confusion. What is he talking about?

Go to the secluded beach.

He is almost urgent. He lowers himself towards you on your hand, but the speckled stars of the dream are beginning to fade. The creature’s brow pinches. He warbles a low sound of a plea but gradually, slowly, your eyes close, and the darkness takes you under.

With a jolt, you sit straight up in your bed. A brush of something distant but so terribly close to your dream is at your fingertips. As you clutch the edges of the covers, you feel it slip further and further out of reach, until you are only left with a foggy recollection of something. The outline of a missing piece. The emptiness of a hole.

No. Come back.

A pang of sadness fills your heart.

What was it? Where did it go? A memory or a dream? 

A heat pulses behind your rib bones. You hold still, anchored by the comfort, but where it comes from, you can’t say.

Through the haze of your memory, a phantom voice lingers. Though muffled and inarticulate, deep within you, you hear the urge as if discerning words from a whisper across the room, shielded behind hands.

Go to the water.

An image softly presses into your thoughts. A secluded beach as viewed from out at sea, like a boat coming in to dock at the harbor. Not just any secluded beach—the one you’ve been spending most of your time at. It’s your vacation, after all, and you get to choose how you spend it.

But why do you burn with such a distinct need to return?

You don’t often trust yourself to wander out alone. Yet, you’ve always found your way back somehow. It’s all so strange.

Inexplicable, you have had very little to fear while upon this group vacation upon an island lost to time. There’s so little that feels like regular life here, filled with noisy phones and clicking computers. It’s been reclaimed as a tourist destination, and you’ve had so much fun with your friends who are well aware of your injury that still haunts your head.

The car crash was over a year ago. It busted your skull and banged your brain, and recovery takes a long, long time. Longer than you can remember sometimes. The doctors could only tell you to be patient, but it’s difficult when at times you forget who you are or what you’re doing or where you are. 

Sometimes you’ve wandered away, almost lost until your friends spread out and search for you. Sometimes a chore you’re in the middle of doing gets set down and forgotten about for days until it stinks, and you remember just what you were in the middle of. You trust your friends. They help you and take care of you. 

It wasn’t their fault a week back that you were carried away by a wave while everyone else was diving off of the boat, drinking and laughing. You hardly understood what was happening until the boat was only a speck and your limbs were growing tired from fighting to get back. Then… you don’t remember. Not even your friends know how you returned to shore the next morning, safe and sound and strangely, dry.

You lower your head in your hands and rub your face. You want to go to the water. The urge is not just outside of you but within. You have to see what’s there, how you keep finding yourself safe despite the precariousness of your injury. Maybe you’ll remember.

There are plans with your friends today that you can’t simply brush off. They wouldn’t want you going off alone to a beach by yourself regardless, so it would be best for you to wait until the evening. A rippling warmth within you spreads. It feels good. It feels right. 

Okay. This evening then.

You get dressed. If you don’t come downstairs soon, someone will come to check on you. You shouldn’t worry your friends more than you already do. 

You glance at the desk in the room. A jar sits there. You brought it to collect seashells in—that you remember, but there are other objects stored inside. Slowly, you walk over and touch the cool, curved glass. A broken seashell, a shiny carved stone, and a braided palm tree bracelet are all stuffed within. You unscrew the lid with a soft sound of air. The strong scent of the sea wafts into your nose. Where did you get these? Why does the sight fill you with such happiness?

A vague recollection filters into your mind like fog, and soon, you can see nothing but the denseness concealing what’s within. Shreds of joy are littered all about. You slowly re-screw the lid on and leave it before you grow too frustrated with your limitations.

You won’t let yourself forget this. You will go to the water and find why it’s so important to you, why can't you ignore this need deep within your chest.

A lingering image hangs in your mind of stars. Someone is holding you carefully. You stop to try and hook the memory, but it drifts away from you, lost to the sea of foggy recollection.

*

You slip away quietly, a hand clutching a napkin full of the rest of your dinner as you make your way toward the water. The water here is beautiful. In the setting light of the sun, it becomes darker with bright glints of orange catching on the tips of waves. The secluded beach is flanked by tall, towering palm trees and a dense foliage of leafy shrubs. Jutting out into the water is a creaky dock. The wood is gray and splintery but the supports are solid and damp with the tide splashing against it. 

Slowly, you make your way towards the end. It’s been good today, mostly. You only had brief moments of forgetfulness that your friends easily guided you out of or corrected. A little jog to your memory can put it back into place. They’re kind enough to take you with them here. It’s work, but they manage with you.

Sitting down, you kick your legs over the water. It’s darker, somehow. At the depth just below you, you remember swimming in the water beside the boat. You remember something below. There must be all kinds of fish in the sea. You imagine rows of teeth and tall dorsal fins. 

You flip the napkin open and take a bite. A little snack eases the jumble of your nerves, forcing you to focus on chewing and tasting the morsel in your mouth. It’s okay, right? You keep munching on the remainder of your dinner until there’s nothing left.

As the sun dips lower, you shiver under a slight breeze. The constant lapping of the ocean against the support beams lures you into comfort. You slowly ball up the napkin and shove it into your pocket. The horizon is bleeding red and the last of the light is golden. 

In the dark water, something strange shifts below the surface. A faint purple glow. Waves begin to rise. They start crashing against the support beams of the dock and you start. Blood pumping in your veins, you jump to your feet. 

A terrifying, unimaginable form rises from below. Your feet are anchored to the worn-down dock. A great crest of white, frothing water builds before breaking as a creature the size of a leviathan emerges. Your heart skips a beat in your chest until you realize pale, silvery eyes are gazing back at you. The being emits a brilliant purple bioluminescence about his towering body.

A flicker of memory. A warmth trickles into your chest.

You gawk in pure, unadulterated awe as a being from the very depths gathers himself at the surface. His eyes squint slightly against the fading sunset, but his attention remains entirely on you. Thick waterfalls crash off of him and back into the water. Slipping closer with a mighty flick of his sleek black and gold tail, the being easily matches the dock with his height.

You find yourself eye to eye with a mer.

The stunning creature is light yellow with golden markings on his cheeks. Frills with thick, black, and purple webbing in between spread upon the sea monster’s head like a sunhat. Two whisker-like tendrils twist and wave upon the creature’s face, purple and searching for stimuli. Darkness marks the being's body, splattering its golden color like dots of stars. A strange seam crosses where its mouth would be. 

Your heart warms with his presence as he knows you. Like he’s been waiting for you. The feeling is inexplicable and undeniable. You are terribly small under this beast’s gaze. You could easily be crushed underneath the palm of his hand, but you admire the finned tail he sports, flicking gently just below the black waves.

Beautiful.

How do you know him?

“Who… who are you?” you speak, amazed you can even find your tongue in the presence of such a great being. You only marvel at his appearance. Deep down, you feel no danger.

A forgotten song echoes in the back of your head, unearthly and dream-like, and then it disappears in a flash.

The creature’s brow pinches. Despite apparently lacking a mouth, the being appears wounded for a moment. You shift, uncertain, and almost wishing to comfort whatever hurt you caused. An echo of pain ripples through your chest. You hug yourself with one arm, confused. That couldn’t have come from you, could it have? 

As you stare a moment longer at the leviathan, an itch begins in the back of your mind. An answer to the question you asked. Standing here, on this dock, is familiar. You know what it’s like to behold such a creature and have no doubt that he will not harm you.

But why?

He leans closer to you. You almost step back, the scent of sea salt and something deep and dark emitting from him as if he belongs in the depths where no sunlight can pierce his milky eyes. Can he see you? 

A pang of emotion rings through you distantly. It is not your own.

The ripple of a memory brushes against your thoughts, and you grow still in the presence of them. There’s a sea, darkening with the sunset. There’s a boat, and your friends as they drink and laugh loudly. You remember, nudged by the familiarity. You were buzzing with alcohol and exhausted. Somehow, you’re looking up at yourself from the depths. No, not you. Him.

The strangeness continues in the vision with how you falter, your limbs growing heavy after struggling for so long trying to swim back, and a sensation of care spreads through you, warm like rain in the summer. 

Giant hands reach for you, three fingers on each appendage gently cupping you into his palms. You don’t remember this—your eyelids flutter and you briefly turn, held up from the surface as water drips from between his fingers, and gaze up at him in your weariness. Then, you succumb to your exhaustion. 

Rescued you.

The short, blunt words enter your mind as if a bell was rung. The place where his mouth should be doesn’t open despite knowing that he speaks to you. You almost stagger back, stunned by the connection.

“I… I remember,” you murmur, and touch your temple. You lift your eyes to his pale gaze. “Where did you take me?”

Patiently, he warbles a low sound, and another vision sweeps over your mind. You felt the seaspray as he carried you gently over the waves, swimming carefully to a secluded, perhaps undiscovered islet off the coast of the island. He swept into a cove to take refuge, cupping you to his chest as he rested, half submerged in the shallows that would have drowned you. 

He waits for you and sings. The song fills your mind as he sings again, layering the distant memory with the reality of his ethereal song. Your heart beats in time with his tune. A great heat fills your marrow, and you gasp softly.

When you woke up in his palm, he saw you, and you saw him. You remember.

“Wayfinder,” you breathe. His name is whispered to you through a connection that transcends oral tradition. 

A pulse of joy rolls through you and you understand now that this is an echo of himself. A song knitting you two together somehow. Magic, perhaps. You’ve heard stories of mers but you thought they were only told to the tourists who came here for a sunny vacation and lots of sand. 

You remember me.

He says simply, but you understand how he cherishes the fact. You do. Slowly, you step back to the end of the dock. Wayfinder follows you with his large eyes though he squints, as if finding it hard to focus on you in the golden light. His expression is curious as you carefully sit yourself back on the edge, your feet kicking over the sea. The mer gently lowers himself to remain eye-to-eye with you. Though he has no lips, you have the undeniable sense that he’s smiling. 

Gently, he lifts a clawed hand. You go over his three fingers, how they are ancient and otherworldly, but hold no fear with the wicked talon drawing near you. You hold perfectly still. He crooks one finger. A slickness to his gold and black flesh gingerly brushes against your cheek, almost engulfing the entire side of your face before he draws back, watching you closely. You reach up to touch the ocean water now drying on your skin. 

“Wow,” you say, unable to help your marvel. “You’re so soft. Wait.”

You jerk your head up, searching his expression for answers.

“Did we meet here before? Have you been visiting me?”

Wayfinder gently dips his head. The frills upon his head are stunning, purple on the underside, and dark up on top. You can’t help but notice a speckling of brighter purple bioluminescence as the darkness descends. The sight triggers a surge of understanding or a memory—you know he thrives in the darkness. 

Yes. Often. Here.

Here. You glance down to the worn-down dock and run your hand over the weather-beaten wood. The blanks creak and you remember the sound echoing when you stood before him, and you had felt his gentle touch before.

His tail flickers softly behind him, chopping up the waves rolling up to splatter against the support beams of the pier. You are overcome with a longing to run your hand over his slick skin and giant fins, feeling the parts of him that help him maneuver through a great and terrifying ocean. 

The mer lowers himself slightly and reaches down into the water below the dock. You follow his movement carefully. What is he doing? His clawed hands dig through the sand before he finds something. His frills flicker once. His eyes, half creased as if the light is too bright, shift back to you.

“What is it?” you whisper.

A gift. For you.

He gingerly overturns his hand and in the center of his massive palm sits a chipped sand dollar. You gawk, again. How many times will your mouth hang open in wonder? 

Wayfinder gingerly maneuvers his claws, and turning his hand again, he pinches the shell with a delicateness that betrays his leviathan size before he drops it a few inches into your waiting palms. 

You gape as the wet seashell sinks into your hands. It is beautiful, perfect despite the chip in its side, like the broken seashell in your jar—

A flood of memories returns. Each evening, a new gift. A broken seashell. A shiny carved stone. A braided palm tree bracelet. All given to you as you stood upon this very dock. A thickness gathers in your throat. And now the sand dollar.

You look up and adore him.

“Thank you, Wave,” you say wetly. The nickname rolls off your tongue but there is no doubt you have called him such a thing before. “You gave me gifts before, didn't you?”

I have.

The answer is soft and gentle. Ripples of care flow through you, and you wish you could hug him properly, but your arms can’t even fit around his golden-marked face. He struggles to focus on you, but the sun is nearly gone. You worry for his poor eyes in this level of light. He’s built for the deep depths and darkness, and yet, he’s here for you, patiently guiding you back to the memories you both made.

You want to cry but you convince yourself that would be messy. 

In the remaining light of the sun, the leviathan extends his hand carefully to you. You stare at it. Looking up into his expression, his eyes a bit brighter now as the day gives way to the night, you break into a smile.

Distant memories return to you like the tide crawling back up the shore, washing over you bit by bit until you’re dripping in them. All the times Wayfinder has carefully carried you so he might share with you the things he cherishes. Beautiful hidden spots around the island, tucked away from prying eyes. A cave opens to the open ocean as the moon reflects off the water.

He gently tapped your chest, and your heart, and touched his own to explain, in the best way he could, the connection you both share.

You fill with warmth. Eagerly, you accept his hand.

[dreaming-of-lu]

Hey this is an emergency request, but don’t feel the need to do this if you’re super busy I totally get it.

I’ve just been having a really rough semester in my first year of college, dealing with life **and** my courses.

And I’ve just been worrying about a final presentation for my one class that I sent an email to my prof. about and they haven’t responded to it for days and then I later found out my family is having to put our dog down that I’ve had since childhood.

I’m just asking for some comfort with Legend or Time (you can choose between the two of one would be easier to write for than the other).

Thanks so much and I hope life is treating you well!!

(P.s. I’m also the anon who asked for the depersonalization emergency request with Legend and you did a great job on that! Thank you so much for doing that!)

Sorry for taking so long to answer, I hope things are better on your end! 💚 May the days be kinder to you. Can be imagined as Legend or Time.

"Rupee for your thoughts?"

Obviously, wrong choice of words from him. The dam broke quick every emotion you held back in a tiny bottle, shattered upon impact from those words. All those pent up feelings, frustrations, sadness under the guise that everything was fine spilled from your eyes. A choked sob had the old man reeling in worry and panic, "Did something hap-"

"Everything!" you gripped your hair tight, pulling on the strands, "I tried. I tried so hard to be fine and okay, but it's not! I'm not okay, I'm- I'm so frustrated, tired, and upset. I'm being bombarded with stress and news from every corner like it's a fucking joke to the universe! Someone stole my rupee pouch, I'm being told my childhood dog had passed away. And I-"

The feelings were like a wave, pulling you under and throwing you around in its unforgiving tides. Your heart was crying out for safety, for warmth, for an anchor, anything to guide you. Snot and tears ran down; the pounding in your head hurts, almost as harsh as your heartbeat. Lungs begging for air, face flushed and burning with how hard you wept.

You weren't sure how or when you were maneuvered into his lap, but the gentle strokes of his hand against your head were calming. He held you tight against him, yet loose enough for you to slip out of his embrace should you wish to do so. He doesn't speak, he doesn't offer words of comfort.

Just embracement.

That was enough for you. The kind hand that saved you from the brutal tidal waves, acting as a lighthouse and ground.

[averyiconthequeen]

averyjameson: safe place

Might throw my phone away and go into hiding after posting this.

Jameson took a deep breath and closed his eyes. In this moment, everything felt too good, too peaceful.

There's a whole ocean in front of him, and a small house nearby that used to belong to his grandfather. He'd only been here once, when he was 10. Zara had brought him and his brothers here for a couple days to take their minds off the fact that Skye was gone again.

She did her best and he remembered the place as an island of serenity. He would always remember those couple of days on the beach with blankets, homemade lemonade, and stories around the campfire shared by his aunt.

No expectations, no competition. Just him, his brothers, and his aunt, whom he wished he appreciated much more.

Opening his eyes, Jameson looked at the sight in front of him. This place was breathtaking. The vast sea with its shimmering waves, the white sand that looked just like snow, light breeze gently caressing his face— all this atmosphere made it the perfect place for solitude.

But Jameson didn't want to be here alone. All he truly wanted was to share this place with someone who effortlessly takes his breath away every moment of his existence.

That someone was right beside him and he could swear that was all he'd ever needed. With her back leaning against his torso, Avery sat between his legs and watched the sunrise. Red-pink sky left beautiful hues on the water, and she just couldn't take her eyes off of it.

But the most beautiful view for him was her.

They have been here for a few days now and it was Jameson's idea to get away from everything and everyone for at least a couple days.

It's funny, because Jameson Winchester Hawthorne never runs from anything. But Avery hadn't been herself these past few weeks, and nothing was more important to him than getting this beautiful and sincere smile on her face again.

The final straw was when he found her in their room curled up in a bed and silently crying.

“Heiress, talk to me,” he lay down next to her and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Come on, baby, Tahiti.”

“It’s all just too much,” was all she said, letting him wrap his arms around her waist.

The truth is that even when you try to ignore comments on the internet, you will still pay attention to them. People won't shut up, they’ll keep pushing and making nasty comments about everything. Of course, they’ll do it after reposting a hundred of quotes on their pages about how the world is cruel and unfair and people need to be kinder to each other. They are hypocrites and like to hurt others and who knows their ugly reasons.

Of course, Avery could get used to it, but what the fuck? Why?

“She’s so phony, how do the Hawthornes put up with her?”

“Jameson looks like he doesn’t even wanna be here. They’re def faking it.”

“God save this man from this bitch, he doesn’t even love her”

She was getting very upset by these remarks, and Jameson was getting really pissed off by them.

He'd always wondered, how could anyone hate someone like Avery? She's the most generous, caring and precious person he's ever met. These people just have no right to say that shit about her.

Jameson hated seeing her in this state. So, he held her all night, whispering sweet nothings, stroking her hair. He thought about how he would do anything to take away her pain. He just wanted to protect her from it.

That's why they ended up here, why he insisted on taking a break from everything.

When they'd arrived a couple days ago, he'd made it a rule not to use phones, laptops, or anything to do with the Internet. Avery was too emotionally drained to complain, and neither did she want to. By the way, who needs a phone when you have Jameson Hawthorne around? When it came to distractions, this man knew everything and did everything. For Avery, however, it wasn't just a distraction, it was a safe place. Jameson was her safe place.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the sun rise. Avery knew this moment wouldn't have been so special if it hadn't been for the man beside her. And she was grateful for all the moments they shared here.

When your head feels like spinning and it's getting unbearable, this is what you really need.

Peace.

So she was just enjoying and memorizing every second of this moment. The sky, the sound of the waves, the air. His touch.

His fingers traced the mark on her collarbone left the night before, noticing the way her breath hitched at the contact.

“Alright, Heiress?” he asked, and she really wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. Or maybe she didn’t.

God, she loved him. All he did was make sure she was happy and safe in mind and body. Although there were times when she didn't think of him as a protective boyfriend, she realized that in fact, he was one. And each time he succeeded, for a small amount of time, but he did. For now, she wasn't thinking about those disgusting comments about her and their relationship. All she had on her mind was the beautiful view in front of her and Jameson's kisses.

“I love you,” she smiled, thinking of it all.

“And I love you and this pretty smile of yours.”

They were so right for each other. They both knew it. Today, tomorrow, they’re it for each other. A safe place.

[zaldritzosrose]

Burn Them All (Masema Dagar x Goddess!Reader)

Summary: Masema had become a devoted follower the moment he saw you, but he had never anticipated how far he would go to prove his devotion. (Part Three in the Burn Series)

Part One Part Two

TW: MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, jealous Masema, little backstory into Goddess and her origins, possessive Masema, marking, branding (sort of), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), Masema showing his crazy, mentions of past relationship with Rand.

Italics = flashback

Words: 2260 words

Rand’s departure had lost you some followers, but you accepted that with little emotion. If they preferred to follow Rand, the so be it. It was not your concern. You needed loyalty, devotion. Not disrespect and cruel insults on your nature.

With the followers that remained unwaveringly loyal, work had begun on securing the land around your temple. Creating a small township spanning out with your temple at the centre. Masema had made quick work of reminding those that remained of what was expected of them.

But they had all seen the tortured look on Rand’s face when he packed his things and left. They had all heard his begs of forgiveness on the steps of your temple, before you dismissed him once and for all. No time for disloyalty, no time for disrespect. No one knew where he was to go now. He was still set to follow the path destiny had carved for him, all leading to the Dark One. Ridding the world for his influence once and for all.

Now, he was left without your protection, without the promise of your fire.

In the days since Rand had left, questions had been gnawing at Masema. What exactly had you given him when he felt the burn of your touch? And more importantly, what exactly had your relationship with Rand been…

It had not taken long for you to notice. Masema was truly an extension of you now. Of your will, your power. Of everything. The two of you were relaxed into the bath in your temple when you finally pushed him on the topic.

“You are hiding something from me, I can feel it.”

Masema’s arms tightened around your form, as if he was pulling you closer and tensing at your choice of topic. But he knew you would not take silence as an answer.

“I have questions, if you would answer them?” he asked, the worlds muffled as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

He always held you like you would disappear, more often as of late. Like if he turned his back for a moment, everything you had given him would no longer remain. Some called his attachment to you dangerous, but he lived now like he needed it to survive.

“Then ask them, and I will choose if I answer.”

That answer should have irritated him, but some answers were better than no answers. The problem was, he did not know where to start. He rubbed his nose up and down the column of your neck as he decided what to ask first.

Soon, one question came to mind.

“What was Rand to you?”

The choice of wording gave you a clear understanding of what he wanted to know, and you had expected the question eventually. You could feel the jealousy on him, rolling off him in waves as his face remained hidden in your neck.

“Are you jealous, worried that I let him as close as you are now?”

Masema went tense behind you, arms tightening almost painfully around your bare middle. You could have been kinder with your answer, but everything from you was always a test of his devotion. And he would prove himself time and time again. Even Masema knew you would feel his jealousy. The way it burned through him every time he so much as thought of you and Rand.

“Did you?”

His hands lay flat on your stomach, large palms almost eclipsing the span of your form.

“Do you truly wish to know, because I can smell the jealousy on you already?” you asked, turning in his arms and wrapping your own around his neck.

He hummed his answer against your throat, occupying himself now with pressing kisses from your jaw and down. You knew you would get no more answer than that, and you chose to start from the beginning.

“You need to understand, serving me is to serve with your entire soul. To give everything to me and receive power in return.”

Masema only hummed again, the scrape of his teeth replacing the soft flesh of his lips on your throat. You had not even started answering and he was letting his possessiveness consume him.

“When I met Rand, he had just left Malkier, after defeating what he believed was the Dark One. I found him in his dreams…”

Rand had wandered for days after leaving the ruined city, tell Moiraine to tell everyone he was dead. It was better that way. Something told him that whatever, whoever he had fought at Malkier was not the Dark One.

And his dreams came thick and fast. Plaguing him night after night, only getting worse as time went on. Until he heard it. A voice. Calling him away from the darkness. At first, he ignored it, thinking it nothing more than another trick from the Dark One. Designed to lure him over to the side of darkness and despair.

But the voice was insistent.

You knew Rand was the one you needed. You felt the change the second he had stepped into Malkier. Your connection to the Dark One had been tenuous for centuries, like a frayed thread that was on the verge of breaking. You were not his opposite, but you were not his ally either. Once, there had been many gods throughout what was now known as the Westlands, but you had known it by so many names. Gods of all inclinations, like yourself as a Goddess of Chaos and Fire. Worshipped back then, by so many.

But that had dwindled. Soon the focus shifted from a pantheon to a focus on the One Power – used by Channelers – and eventually onto the Dark One. Two opposing forces that would fight for control. Most of your kin faded to nothing, not wanting to fight against such powers.

You, however, would not go down easily. Fire was not easily quelled, and your fire burned the brightest.

Months had passed and Rand could not resist your call much longer. Visions of flame every night that would remain burned into his sight in the morning. Whispered promises that you would give him the power to defeat the Dark One, once and for all.

And he had listened, following your call until he found the steps of your temple.

Masema listened intently, letting you paint the picture of your first encounter with Rand in his mind. Putting all his will into ignoring the envy the gnawed at his stomach. Knowing that Rand may once have been in his place. That Rand may have held you like he held you now, or…he could not bear to think of more with letting his anger consume him.

Your hands carded through his hair as you paused your story to press your lips against his. Every fibre of him burned with rage and envy. It was like you could feel it in your own body. But you knew he needed to know. That you needed him to know for him to be the one you needed.

You described the months Rand had served you. Spread the word of your existence. Consuming the power you gave him to fight the Dark One, pushing his influence further back at every turn. Bringing more and more followers to your cause and only bolstering your power each time. And in time, he had come to never leave your side.

“Rand was loyal, serving me at every turn, knowing he was getting closer to fulfilling his destiny with my power at his back.”

Masema let his teeth sink deep into your neck at that. Taking his own meaning from your words. His own jealousy colouring the truth of what you said. Picturing Rand in his place, imagining Rand holding you in his arms, claiming you, touching you.

“Did you let him have you as I have you?”

His voice came out through gritted teeth as his arms fully encircled your waist and near crushed you against his body. As if needing to show you exactly what he meant. He had you laying back on the stone side of the bath before you could even open your mouth to answer. His hands gripping your thighs and tugging you to perch on the edge. His eyes seemed to burn with an intensity you had only seen in him when he rained fire and violence in your name.

Masema dipped his head, hands pushing your thighs apart as his eyes remained trained on your face.

“No one has me like you have me…but I gave him the chance. And he refused me.”

That gave him pause. It was one thing to imagine that Rand had once been in his place, it was another to know you had offered yourself to him. Whether he refused or not, it did nothing to quell the need to possess that surged through him.

To prove more than his own loyalty. To prove to himself that you were his.

His grip on your thighs was harsh, fingers digging in with a delicious sting. You had known your words would put him on edge, but at the same time the fire in his eyes had desire pooling within you.

“Rand was a fool to deny one as powerful as you, as beautiful as you…” Masema growled against your skin, before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your thigh.

You had to admit, your connection to Masema was far different from the connection you had once had with Rand. Where Rand was calm and methodical, Masema was aggressive and impulsive. At first, you had believed that Rand’s level-headed devotion was what you needed to regain your place as a revered and feared entity. But it had soon come to light that Rand had no taste for violence, not the violence you asked of him. He had been reluctant to act against those you refused to join you.

Masema, however, had found that path with ease. Showing no mercy when it came to your cause. Leaving nothing but death and flame in his wake. Even before you had bound him to you, he had promised to do whatever it took to give you what you wanted.

In truth, Masema truly burned for you.

You could feel the warm trickle of blood on your thigh as Masema made his claim, marking his territory with a force only he could manage. He was jealous, he would always be jealous. In his mind, no one should be allowed to worship you as he did. No one should be allowed the joy of touching you as he did. The idea that Rand, or anyone else, had ever been in his place made him furious.

“I would do anything for you. I would let myself burn from the inside out if it would please you…” Masema vowed as his mouth found your core.

His favourite act of devotion, listening to your moans of pleasure. Whether he had tongue buried between your folds or his cock sunk to the hilt in every position he could put you in. And you revelled in it as much as he did. You consumed him just as he consumed you, the flames of your power almost replacing the blood in his veins.

“Serving me could do just that, fire consumes all, my pet…“

Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to raise red crescents on his skin, joining the remnants of old marks that you had once left on him. You could feel him moan into you at the name, a name you only used in moments like this. He buried his tongue impossibly deeper, exploring every inch he could with practiced movements. Masema could feel the gentle trickle of his blood, but he cared little, he wore your marks like a medal of honour. A sign that he belonged to you. His own marks littered your skin, though they healed far quicker than his.

It was not long before you felt your peak hit, Masema’s hands tugging you by the waist until he was entirely engulfed by you. Your hands found his hair, hips rolling as he continued on after your slick coated his tongue. He needed to show you the lengths he would go to please you. Balancing violence with pleasure.

“So good for me, pet, so good…” you moaned, your hands tangling into his hair, kept loose when he was alone with you.

You tugged him back to meet your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue as he lined the thick head of his cock against your entrance. Your walls had barely stopped spasming as he buried himself deep, setting a brutal pace that knocked the air out of your lungs. Your hands clawed at his back, his moving from either side of your head to your hips.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands helped him slam his hips up into you. The torches that surrounded your temple flickered and rose in flame as your power and pleasure filled the room. Masema hissed at your palms made contact with his skin, so lost in your pleasure that you let your fire seep from your skin, branding him as your second peak came quick. Masema’s face buried itself between your breasts, huffing his breath against your damp skin. 

You panted his name as you heard him mumble against your chest, only when he spilled himself deep inside you did you hear what he had said.

“I will burn them all. I will burn them all for you.”

Finally made a Masema Monday post, look at me go!

@legitalicat @sihtricsafin @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @thenameswinter99

if anyone else wants to be tagged let me know!

[angelmichelangelo]

i think i deserved it, a kinder goodbye for @lesbians4leonardo

verse: human!au

rating: g

word count: 7k

read on ao3!

x

Donnie is hurt. Badly.

Leo knows, in all his ten year old wisdom that he holds mostly in his heart rather than anywhere else, that this was beyond scraped knees or bumped heads or even the bruises that crept up Raph’s arms when Mama would hold him too tightly.

This wasn’t any of that – those things, they were easy for Leo to soothe away with kisses and promises in hushed, shaky voices that it would get better.

Those things were something he knew how to fix.

Donnie’s arm, it’s bent up all funny; the wrist has gone a weird deep purple, stark against the rest of his paleing skin and he’s cradling it limply in his good arm, like it had just stopped working altogether to hold up on its own.

He’s since stopped crying; it took him a while, ever since Leo had swept through the kitchen to go peel him up off the floor where he’d been knocked down, but Raph carries on for him, like he was the one that’d busted his arm. Like he could feel equal parts of his pain.

They’re camped out in their bedroom now with the door firmly closed and Leo’s dresser wedged a few inches across it because Mom is never really strong enough to fully break down the barriers they put between them and her. Not when she’s like this.

But it makes Leo feel safer somehow, tucked away in their dingy little bedroom that is far too cramped for four growing boys, with the wallpaper peeling and crayon scribbling beneath it where Leo had let his brothers try and make up for the lack of goodness that was held in this room.

Mikey rolls about on his tummy on the ground, only half engaged on what was going on as he waves about a plastic leg of one the action figures that had been had been long since snapped off before they’d snagged it from the Salvation bin Mom sometimes took them to when she was feeling up to it.

“I… I think it might be broken,” Leo concludes as he inspects his brother’s puffy arm, careful not to knock it like Raph had done just moments ago on accident when trying to wrap his arms protectively around his twin. “It doesn’t look right.”

“Look right! Look right!” Mikey repeats with glee, because that’s what he’s been doing of late — picking up fragments of other people's sentences and yelling them out with a big cheesy grin.

And it’d been funny at first because Raph would get him to say silly things like Mikey smells or Raph is the best! Because it’d earned giggles out of four boys until Mom and her new boyfriend would start yelling at each other, screaming matches far too loud for their cramped, boxy apartment, and Leo would press all his siblings close to him like he could just swallow them up and spit them some place new and quiet, and Mikey started yelling out things like bitch! dumb bitch!

Donnie hiccups a sob, his big brown eyes wobble and gloss over, more tears to be shed.

“You gotta fix it, Leo!” Raph is demanding with as much force as he can through his own tears and the lisp he’s yet to shake.

He’s pushing past Don’s good side to get to him, looking at him like he holds the answers in the world because he’s just seven years old still and believes that big brothers were full of magic like that. Leo doesn’t want to be the one to break the spell but he doesn’t think he can fix this one this time.

He rubs Raph’s shoulder slowly, in a way that he knows will help balm all his burning emotions that bubble up inside of him, nowhere to escape except in a place that becomes explosive and loud and angry because Raph hurts just as much as Donnie’s busted arm some days.

“I, um. I can ask the lady next door,” Leo suggests timidly.

He didn’t know her by name but he knew that she smiled kindly at them whenever she crossed their paths in the lobby. She would look at Leo with a look that he would come to recognise when he got bigger, that was pity because Leo’s childhood wasn’t very normal and something to be pitied to some people.

“She can maybe help Donnie’s arm.”

Donnie huffs, screwing his whole face up to squeeze more tears down his face. “It really hurts, Leo,” he whimpers in a small, scared voice. It had talons and it’s sharp when it takes grip on Leo’s heart, tearing into it with force.

He leaps up off the bed with a breath lodged in the back of his throat. “Raphie, stay here with Don and Mike. I’m– I’m gonna get help.”

He’s able to move the dresser himself because Leo is a big boy and he has to be big and strong for his brothers, even when he doesn’t feel like he can be, and he makes his way out through the apartment.

He doesn’t have to worry about bumping into an angry, hurtful Mom right now; she was currently locked away in her bedroom where she felt a million worlds away from Leo and his brothers – a million worlds distance that felt safe enough for him to come out and try the front door that he knew wasn’t ever locked anyway.

It’s cold out in the hall but his home is colder in a hundred different ways than none. There’s a few envelopes and leaflets scattered about and abandoned across their welcome mat that he toes past and goes to the next door over. He knocks three times with a heavy, determined fist.

It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open.

“My brother needs help.” He’s saying it with a singular breath, all the words said with as much courage as he could possibly muster because Leonardo has felt like he’s always been chasing after the idea of asking for help, never fast enough to catch up to it in notion and now here he was, feeling hot tears spring behind his eyes as his neighbor looks at him with that same pitiful look in tenfold now because this was real.

“Alright, kid,” she says, soothing him with her gentle tone, crouching down into his space in a way that for once, doesn’t feel suffocating or scary. “Tell me what happened.”

***

Leo never gets the name of the kind neighbor that calls the cops on Mom after he explains what had happened, because as soon as they turn up, storming up the stairwell with force, he’s whisked away from her apartment and into the back of an ambulance as per Donnie’s request.

It feels safer there in the cramped, wobbly vehicle that smells strongly like alcohol wipes and leather than it ever did back in that small, horrid little bedroom that he’s not so sure he’ll ever see again, yet when he watches as Raph and Mikey are placed in the back of one of the flashing cop cars, Raph’s face still streaked with tear marks and Mikey’s whiny little fussing he tended to pout out around when he was picked up for too long, does it start to feel very unsafe.

“Where are they taking them?” He’s asking of the EMT workers, a tall, gangly man who’s scribbling down a boat load of notes as they check Donnie over. “What’s going on?”

Nobody gives him a straight answer right away, and when the back of the van doors slam shut and they start to drive off without his other little brothers, does the panic start to swell up inside him like a wave.

“Wait!” He’s rising to his feet, almost toppling over right into poor Donnie who’s laid out comfortably on the stretcher. “Wait, please!”

The EMT guy sits Leo back down and clips his buckle in.

“It’s alright kid,” is the response he’s given; the man’s voice crackly and mid-way between breaking. “It’s alright. Just sit down, okay?”

Leo does as he’s told despite the way his heart pounds at his chest. He’s still got Donnie to look after, and when he glances over at him, still being tended to on the stretcher with fresh tears wetting his eyes, does he swallow all that panic down with a big, ferocious gulp.

It doesn’t take them long to get to the hospital, and as soon as the back door fly open and Donnie is being wheeled out, Leo is following him, spilling out into the parking lot, searching for that cop car like a bloodhound before there’s a pair of hands on his shoulders, guiding him in through the big double doors behind his brother.

He gets to sit with Donnie as the doctor inspects his arm. The room is full of people — nurses and strangers that Leo isn’t quite sure who they are.

After they x-ray Leo’s brothers arm and conclude that is in fact broken, there’s a tall lady standing in the corner of the room, flitting between scribbling down notes on a bit of paper and talking fast into a cellphone that’s propped precariously between her ear and shoulder.

“They’re gonna let me pick the colour,” Donnie announces proudly. He’s sat on the edge of the bed, arm now temporarily hung carefully in a sling as he swings his legs back and forth. They’d given him something for the pain a while back, and it seems to have dried up his tears. “Isn’t that cool, Leo?”

Leo, sits in the plastic chair beside the bed, feeling eyes burn hotly into the back of his neck where the strange lady stands at watches over them both. He reaches up and takes Don’s good hand to give it a reassuring pat.

“Really cool,” he says to his brother with a confident bob of his head. “What are you gonna have?”

Donnie looks down at his broken arm, as if to envision a multitude of options and what would look best there. “Maybe purple,” he says in a shy voice, eyes lifting to meet Leo’s. “I like purple.”

Leo smiles warmly at him. “You can have purple then if you want.” He tells him. “It’ll look good.”

The doors then hiss open, another doctor waltzing in to fix Donnie’s new cast on his arm, the lady doesn’t leave, still watching on, and by the time Donnie’s cast is now his preferable purple, she’s advancing on them, crouching slightly to meet his level.

“That looks reallty cool,” she says with a big, toothy grin.

Leo and Donnie quickly share a cautious look between them before looking at her again.

“Yeah,” Donnie says, voice small. “Thanks.”

Leo sits up a little, desperate to make himself bigger. “Would be better if he had no broken arm at all. It really hurt, didn’t it Donnie?”

He looks to his brother, a pinkish tint now blooming beneath his cheeks as he awkwardly shrinks away.

He doesn’t answer him, probably out of embarrassment, but the woman seems to be at least sympathetic on the matter; her smile falters and there’s a little crooked line running between her brows when she frowns.

“I know, honey. And that’s why I’m here,” she explains. “So it won’t happen again.”

Donnie shifts in his seat, the paper towel he’s perched upon, wrinkling under his small weight. “Is… is mommy in trouble?” He’s asking, voice pitching upwards, almost hopeful in a way that has Leo’s tummy squirming uncomfortably.

The lady smiles kindly at him, as if to balm his worries.

“Sweetie,” she starts out by saying. “Mommy made a mistake, didn’t she?”

The feeling in Leo’s stomach coils up tight. Mom made many mistakes, that was for sure.

“She needs help,” the lady says the words slowly, as if she wasn’t even too sure on them herself. “That’s what we do. We help people.”

Leo swallows thickly. “You’re a social worker.”

It wasn’t much of a question; Leo had met these kinds of people before, when he was really little, when Mikey was just fresh out of Mom’s tummy, they’d knock on the door and look right past Leo.

His hackles are up, and the woman must sense this, backing away with a single clip-clopped step of her shiny high heels.

“I am,” she says with a nod of her head. All her hair is scraped up nearly into a tight bun on the top of her head, not a single strand out of place. “My name is Sunita.”

Leo tips his chin upwards, a swell of bravery overcoming him makes him feel big all of a sudden. “Where’s Mikey and Raph?” He demands, just as Donnie makes a pitiful whining sound, shrinking as his shoulders come up and his head ducks downwards.

But whatever teeth Leo has to show off, doesn’t deter Sunita. She doesn’t back away or bite back. She doesn’t get loud and angry like Mom does when he tries it on her on some days.

She just smiles at him, kindly, like that was maybe the only face she had.

“They’re here, being looked after.” A beat. “Could we look after you, too?”

Leo shies away. A certain nervousness seems to shadow that previous bravado as he thinks about being separated from Donnie, pulled away into a room with strangers.

“I don’t need looking after,” he tells her with as much confidence as he can muster. “And I don’t need anyone looking after Raphie or Mike — I can do it just fine.”

There’s the threat of tears now suddenly springing behind his eyes — too long away from his other siblings, out of his reach and the panic from earlier is drumming into his system with each sharp, quickening heartbeat.

“I know you can,” Sunita agrees with a gentle voice. “But Leo,” she looks at him more serious now. “It’s not your job to look after everyone. You’re just a kid, too.”

For a very long time, Leo hadn’t felt like a kid. He’d bypassed nearly most of the other children in his class not because he wanted to, but he needed to make sure he could read big chapter books so he could read them to Donnie, or he knew how to change a diaper before he knew all the rules to softball because Mom never played with him.

And he was the one his little brothers would turn to when they had nightmares or sticky tummies because Mom would either be passed out on the couch, or out of town with her scary friends or locked away in her room surrounded by shadows and monsters.

Leo wasn’t a kid. Not to him, anyway. He didn’t have anyone to look after him, and he knew how that felt, to be so alone in the world, so he made sure that Raph, Donnie and Mikey had the very opposite in tenfold, never once letting them go from his grasp.

He blinks, and fat tears slip down his cheeks. A sob hiccups in his chest where he fails to swallow it down, and the noise makes Donnie turn around to face him, face creasing with worry.

“I want my brothers,” he tells Sunita through his tears, desperate to blink them away. He feels Donnie’s hand reach for his, clammy and warm and his fingers fold beneath his. “I just want my brothers.”

Sunita looks like she might move in on him to wrap him up in a hug but Leo doesn’t want that, and she stays where she is.

“I know. I know, honey. I’ll get them for you. Okay? When they’re done with the doctor, we’ll get them back to you.”

Mom made Leo a lot of promises to him a lot of the times. When she’d promise that she’d start feeding Mikey when he’d cry when he was a baby, or when she’d lay slumped on her bedroom floor telling him through her own tears that she was going to try and get better for them.

It’d all fallen flat and diminished the idea of promises altogether for Leo. Yet when Sunita makes one, it feels as if it has a little more truth to it.

***

Half an hour later and Sunita makes good on that promise.

They’re taken to a little room that doesn’t smell like a doctors office or medicines, and he’s plonked onto a plush chair with Donnie practically in his lap when Raph and Mikey rush through the door.

Raph’s face seems to have been wiped clear, his tear tracks no longer visible across his skin, yet when he moves across the room to greet Leo and Don, his eyes start to water all over again.

Mikey doesn’t seem at all bothered by the whole ordeal, clutching a little plushie that looks brand new and clean.

“Puppy!” He exclaims with glee as he holds it up to show it off to Leo. It isn’t a dog, but Leo doesn’t correct him, just looping his arm around his neck to bring him in for a brief hug.

Donnie is showing off his new cast to Raph, proudly telling him about how he picked out the color himself, and they chatter amongst themselves as Mikey dances about the room with his new toy.

They have a moment between them all before the door opens and Sunita is stepping in.

Neither Raph or Mikey seem weary of her when they both lift their gazes up at the same time to look up at her, indicating that she’d already introduced herself to them. Mikey actually goes toddling off to her, showing off the plushie that Leo begins to suspect that she herself had gifted him.

“How is your arm feeling now, Donatello?” She asks, smiling warmly at the boy curled up on Leo’s lap still.

Donnie holds it out as if to inspect it before giving his final verdict on the matter. He looks up to Sunita and smiles and says in a slightly shy voice, “Better, thank you.”

She seems pleased enough with that answer. She goes to say something else when Mikey stands right by her hip, nudging her leg with the plushie to garner her attention.

“Mama? Mama now?”

Leo watches as her smile falters for a moment before Raph is cutting in too, pushing forward with his usual boisterous force.

“Are we goin’ home now? Now that Don’s arm is all fixed up?”

Leo waits with a bated breath for her answer: he wishes for nothing more than to never go back to that tiny, little apartment where Mom was mean and angry all the time and where the wallpaper was peeling away and he had to push the dresser in front of the door on bad days and kiss away his brothers hurt.

But there’s also the implications that he was waiting for the fallout now, waiting for the aftershock that would blow his little family apart. That he’d ended up some place without them, alone and scared all over again.

Sunita crouches down to get on their level and Mikey decides that it’s free game to clutch tightly onto her hand, which she gladly allows.

“Mommy isn’t very well herself,” she starts to explain. “She needs a bit of looking after herself.”

Donnie’s brow creases. “Will she get better?”

A ugly voice in Leo’s head sounds off, responding I hope she doesn’t ever.

“We can hope so,” Sunita answers him.

Raph shifts where he’s stood, changing his weight from foot to foot, if the chair Leo was sat on was bigger, there’s no doubt he would have clambered on to join them.

“So we’ll stay here, with mommy?” Donnie is asking.

Sunita shakes her head and Leo feels gravity start to work against him, crushing against him in a way that felt somewhat suffocating.

“We’re going to find you a place to stay whilst mom gets better,” she tells them, giving Mike’s hand a tight little squeeze. “Actually, we might already have a place for you to stay for now.”

Leo had a girl in his class that would come to school in dirty clothes and her hair unwashed. She was mean and nasty and called Leo and the other kids foul names that he darent ever repeat. She would start kicking and screaming in class and one day she left and didn’t come back for a long time.

When she reappeared, she’d had a haircut and was proudly showing off her brand new sneakers that had lights in the bottom and flashed when she stomped about the playground.

“Where did you go?” One kid had asked her. “Did you go on vacation?”

She’d shook her head, neat little bob sweeping over her shoulders. “Nope,” she’d said, popping the p. “I got a new family. A foster family.”

This is what this is, Leo recognises. This is a new family, something better he knows, but anxiety curls up tight in his stomach like a bug and turns his whole body nauseous.

“Will we be split up?” Is the only question Leo is interested in asking her.

Sunita shakes her head, and with it, seems to shake away that lingering fear clinging to every inch of Leo’s being.

He clutches Donnie tight, careful of his poorly arm and watches as Mikey blissfully starts playing with his plushie again, unaware of the situation unfolding around him.

“Okay,” Leo says calmly. “When can we go?”

***

They’re not long after ushered into Sunita’s little car, with Leo sat up front, they’re greeted at the doors they’d come in through by a couple of cops that wordlessly hand her a few black sacks that she piles into the trunk.

“We got a few of your things from home,” she explains as Leo buckles himself in. “Just until we can get you new clothes and toys.”

Mikey is strapped into a car seat for maybe the first time in his life, still happily clutching onto his plushie, chewing on the now soggy label between his baby teeth, “Toys! Toys! Toys!”

It doesn’t take an awful amount of time to drive from the hospital to the new house that they’re supposedly staying at. Leo doesn’t say anything the entire ride over, even when Sunita prompts him a few times with snippets of conversation that he chooses to ignore, instead supplying himself with endless ideas as to where he was about to be dropped off towards.

Who was this person that would take them in? Was it safe? Safer than home, at least?

They pull up to a brownstone apartment; the neighbouring building has a bike sprawled out across the small lawn and when Sunita opens Leo’s door for him, she has to side step a man walking his dog that smiles kindly at them all.

Donnie carefully maneuvers climbing out of his seat and onto the sidewalk, Raphael taking up his good hand in his in an instant, like magnets destined to always connect.

“Want me to take him?” Sunita asks as Leo lifts Mikey into his arms, spotting the tired, sleepy expression now drooping across his face, the plushy now hanging limp in his almost fully lax fingers.

Leo shakes his head and follows her up the steps.

The man that answers the door is tall and broad and honestly a little bit scary looking.

Sunita ushers them all in before they start on ahh formal pleasantries.

“This is Lorenzo,” Sunita introduces them. “You’ll be staying with him for a little while.”

“Until mommy gets better?”

That’s Donatello asking again, full of all that childish, naive hope that puts Leo’s tummy on edge a little, even when Sunita politely nods, trying not to prompt any follow up questions on the matter.

“Welcome to my home,” Lorenzo speaks, his voice is low and rumbly, and has Mikey sitting up in his arms in an instant, curious. “Would you like to see your rooms?”

Raph hesitates at first, but once Donnie takes a step forward, he’s quickly following. All of them march down the hallway, past a kitchen and a living room where there’s two bedrooms situated right at the back of the house.

Lorenzo pushes a door open. “This will be your room. You can pick which beds you want, I wasn’t sure what things you liked, so we can head out tomorrow and choose your own new comforters.”

Back at home, Raph and Donnie shared a bed, and Mikey had soon outgrown the cot he’d had since he was a baby, limbs spilling through the wooden rungs, Leo had quickly grown to having him in his bed.

But the room he stands in now is big enough for two bunk beds on either side pressed up against opposite walls. There’s no peeling wallpaper. No dirtied floors with old diapers and stains. There’s a toy box sat beneath the bay window that looks over the city as well as a desk that sits perfectly beside the door.

“Is… is this really for us?” Leo finds himself saying outloud. There’s a flush of fast rising embarrassment touching hotly at his face, creeping across his cheekbones before he can swallow it down, looking anxiously between Lorenzo and Sunita.

They both smile warmly at him, tinges of that pitying look he’s grown so accustomed to in his life, she places a steady hand on his shoulder and tells him,

“Of course. It’s all for you.”

Lorenzo and Sunita let the boys explore their room for a little bit whilst they head to the kitchen for a coffee and a talk. Leo suspects it’s all grown up stuff, maybe even talk about mom that he has no interest in as he curiously inspects the toy box.

Inside, it’s full to the brim. There’s soft toys and plastic action figures with all their limbs. He digs deeper and finds a stim toy — one like they used to have a long time ago before mom threw it at the wall and broke it.

He clutches it tightly and protectively before he walks to one of the beds.

“I want this one!” Raph announces as he starts to clamber up the ladde. “This is my whole own bed!”

He flops down onto the mattress with a giddy laughter that catches on, leaving them all giggling.

Donnie perches on the bed below it, testing out the mattress with a few wiggles before deeming it worthy enough.

Mikey gets the second bottom bunk, only because he can’t quite climb the ladder just yet. He gives a little whine of protest when Leo has to pry his chubby little fingers off the rungs to deter him from trying on his own, but gives in when Leo draws his attention back to the toy box.

Leo spots Donnie wistfully staring at the desk, looking like he’s unsure if he should approach it or not.

“You could do your homework on there,” Leo tells him. Donnie’s head snaps up fast like a rubber band, looking shameful for even looking before he’s giving Leo a more neutral look.

“Do you think?”

Leo nods confidently. “Maybe we can ask Mr Lorenzo for a new book. I don’t think they brought over any of ours from home.”

After dumping all their bags on the floor, all they’d been left with was a few useless teddies and a handful of clothes that mustn’t been clean enough or just about able to fit them still — there wasn’t a lot in the way of what could have been salvaged, but to see it all here now on the nice, clean rug of their new room in a meek, pathetic little pile, made Leo feel pretty crummy.

“They weren’t all that good anyway,” Donnie admits. “All my favorites had some pages missing or I read them too many times.” Leo knew that what his brother really wanted was something new to sink his teeth into.

“Maybe we can ask,” Leo says again, a new found confidence rising up inside of him already ever since he’d rapped his knuckles against his neighbors front door. “He seems nice enough.”

Eventually Sunita has to leave, and when she does so, she’s lingering by the door, sharing a few more hushed words between herself and Lorenzo before she’s crouching again to talk to the boys.

“You’ll be alright?” She frames it in both a question and a statement that has Leo nodding confidently. “Good. Lorenzo is here to help you guys too. Remember that. Anything you need, we’ll be here.”

She gives Leo one last look before Lorenzo is kindly walking her back to her car. When he returns, it’s oddly silent in the hallway.

He smiles at them, unsure what to say before he’s offering up something to eat and drink. None of the boys turn him down for that.

***

Lorenzo lets them explore the rest of the house, even his own bedroom, keeping his distance as he waits patiently in the doorways to allow them their space.

“Oh, cool!” Raph is jumping up and down as he points out the DVD player that sits neatly on the TV unit. The screen itself is bigger than the one they have at home, and there isn’t a spiderweb of cracks sliced through the corner to ruin the picture. “Can we watch a movie later?” He’s asking.

Lorenzo chuckles softly and nods, making Raph jump higher.

The kitchen is a small little room but a far cry from the one Leo is used to. He stands in the middle of the room as his brothers clamber across the stretch of breakfast bar, trying to picture what his mother would look like in a place like this, strewn across the neatly polished tiles, pushing out a little brother with blood, sweat and—

“Leonardo?”

The voice startles him, making him flinch back. Lorenzo looks as if he wishes to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but refrains himself. He frowns, “Are you alright?”

Leo nods quickly, brain shaking about in his head to rid himself of the mental images that plague his mind like poison, he’s beckoned over by Donnie who whispers to him with excitement about the various cereal choices that weren’t off brand.

For dinner, Lorenzo makes them spaghetti after expressing that it was his specialty. Leo doesn’t remember the last time he had a cooked meal that wasn’t something slung in their tiny little microwave but when he shovels in the first forkful of meat and noodles, it’s hard for him to stop until his plate is entirely cleared.

It’s not until he’s setting down his fork that he realises that he hadn’t even helped Mikey with his yet.

He turns to face him, shame swallowing him whole only to find Lorenzo is cutting up his brother's food with the plastic knife and fork.

Mikey has most of it smeared across his face because table manners were something he was yet to learn amongst other things most three year olds had in their arsenal but he smiles at him nonetheless.

After their meal, they get a bowl of ice cream each, and Leo lets his melt down into a goop before he’s eating his, watching carefully as his brothers messily devour theirs.

And once that’s done, Lorenzo gets to work on the dishes when Leo gingerly approaches him where he stands at the basin.

“Can I help?” He asks.

Lorenzo looks surprised for a moment before he’s shaking his head at the boy.

“It’s quite alright. I could use the practice now I have five plates to wash and dry. Why don’t you go and join your brothers in picking out a movie for tonight?”

It’s said with such domesticity that it almost rattles Leo how easy it feels. He dismisses him politely with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s alright,” he tells him as he watches him run a wet sponge over the orange plate Mikey had been eating off of. “They’ll probably be there for ages arguing over what one to pick.”

A small, impressed smile creeps over him. “You, uh, have a lot of movies. That’s pretty cool.”

Lorenzo seems pleased with this, whether it was the praise at his excessive film collection or that Leo was making something of an attempt at conversation, he laughs gently, his voice low and rumbling like a sound of thunderstorm on the other side of the city. It somehow feels quite comforting.

“I live by myself, I find myself with a lot of free time in the evenings, so I watch a lot of movies,” he tells Leo. “It’ll be nice to have someone to watch them with for a change.”

Leo smiles at that. “That’d be nice.”

Lorenzo wasn’t like most of the adult men he’d known in his life. His and Mikey’s dad barely stuck around to make any lasting impression that wasn’t negative and he’d only met Donnie and Raph’s father once in his life before he was rushing out of the door to avoid any kind of responsibility that might’ve been thrust upon him.

He wonders if perhaps today, both men had been contacted on the outcome of their children. Whether they would have cared or not? Whether they might fight for them at all?

Aside from the fact that if they did, they’d be split into twos, Leo really does not want that to become a reality for a multitude of reasons.

“Do you think we’ll go see my mom tomorrow?” He finds himself asking Lorenzo.

The man pauses, looking a little put out for a second before he’s answering him.

“I… don’t think so.” He frowns. “Did you want to?”

Leo is quick to shake his head. “No,” he says, voice small. He lifts his gaze up, wanting to change the subject he spots a framed certificate leaning against the wall on the kitchen counter. It’s a Psychology Degree awarded to Lorenzo Leatherhead.

That piques Leo’s attention, drawing an amused smile across his face.

“Leatherhead?” He says. “Is that really your name?”

Lorenzo laughs again, flicking a soapy sud off his arm and nods. “Yes it is.” He pauses. “I gave it to myself.”

Leo blinks. “You can do that?”

Lorenzo nods again and hums. There was something about him that was so entirely calming. “I did. I wished to no longer be attatched to my fathers name, so I changed it when I was eighteen. It was after a silly nickname my friends gave me — I was in foster care too, you know.”

There’s something about that piece of information shared over to him that gives Leo a sense of ease.

He’s not an easily trusting child, not when his mother is the way she is, and there’s been random men traipsing through his home making her sick and mean, but Lorenzo stoops over him with his mountainous height and his big, wide grin and his sweeping braids and it makes Leo feel like maybe he could perhaps trust this man somewhat.

“That’s cool,” he admits. “I don’t know what I would change my name too.”

He’d been burdened with his mother’s name, trailing behind his first like heavy, overstuffed luggage. He wasn’t sure if there was another name besides Leonardo Nanimonai that would suit him best, and he wouldn’t dream of changing his first name: he matched with his brothers, it made them a set.

He meekly wonders if Leonardo Leatherhead would suit him at all, but he doesn’t dare voice that thought.

“A name can be just a name,” Lorenzo tells him, plucking up the sponge. “It is the person who bares it that matters most.”

Leo stews in that nugget of wisdom for a little bit before Lorenzo sends him in after his brothers as they indeed get a little rowdy trying to pick a singular movie to watch in his vast collection.

***

Luckily for Leo and the rest of his brothers, included in Lorenzo’s movie shelf is a bunch of Disney classics, and they’re able to settle on Beauty in the Beast tucked away on the couch whilst Lorenzo takes up the armchair.

After the movie is done and the credits are rolling, Lorenzo suggests they head to bed.

“It’s been a long day. Donatello, I believe you’re due some pain meds.”

Donnie gladly takes them, wincing a little as he slides off the couch to be guided to the kitchen for a glass of water to take with his pills.

Leo takes Mikey and Raph to their room to get ready for bed.

It’s when he’s wrangling Mikey into his pajamas that he notes that Raph has lost all his previous bubbly, excitable energy, drooping a little bit with a slight frown etched across his face.

He says nothing when he checks Mikey’s diaper, clicking when he finds it slightly damp.

His little brother was supposed to have been somewhat on his way to being potty trained at least but like most things, fell behind without a parent to urge him on.

He’s digging through their pile from home for any pull ups when Lorenzo returns with Donatello in tow.

“Looking for something?” Lorenzo asks, guiding a yawning Donnie to his bed.

Leo doesn’t look up, still rifling though an assortment of sweaters and jeans and vest tops. “Mikey needs a change,” he explains flatly. He feels a little bit of panic swell inside of him when he realises they must have been left behind.

Lorenzo moves into the room to stop Leo. “Not to worry. I have some in the bathroom. I can take him.”

Something wild and protective sits up in Leo’s brain, making his head snap up fast and his teeth to bare as he warms Lorenzo off,

“No!”

Lorenzo looks stunned for a moment, backing away, even Raph has turned to watch him curiously.

Leo expects the feeling to shrink away, to possibly make way for a bout of shame but it doesn’t come. It’s like someone switched an alarm off in his brain and it’s failing to be killed.

“I can do it,” he tells Lorenzo sternly. “I always do it. Mikey won’t like it if you do it.”

As if on cue, Mikey pouts and whines and starts tugging at his damp diaper. Leo moves towards b and scoops him up in his arms.

“It’s fine,” is all he says to Lorenzo as he brushes past him for the bathroom.

He’s able to find the pull ups and wet wipes just fine, all neatly organized by Lorenzo as well as four different colored toothbrushes sat on the side of the basin and an assortment of bath toys lined up on the lip of the bath.

There’s a weird sinking feeling in his gut, like it was falling right out of his body as he finishes up changing his brother.

“You really ought to be using the potty, Mike.” He scolds his brother lightly, pointing to the toilet.

Mikey looks at it and then back to Leo and pinches his face into a tight frown. “No,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

***

After Leo’s outburst, Lorenzo keeps a respectable distance from him. He lingers in the doorway as all four of them clamber into their respective beds.

“If you need me, I’m just down the hall.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, making gauging that he won’t get one now, and leaves closing the door behind him.

There’s a little nightlight beside the desk that glows from across the room.

There’s silence for a while before Raph’s voice comes out as a small little whisper,

“Are we not going home?”

Leo sits up onto his elbows and looks across the room, from bunk to bunk he’s level with Raph, and can see clearly even through the orange glow, the worriesome look he’s pinning him with.

“Mommy’s not well, remember?” He tells him. “We can’t go back. Not yet.”

Donnie rolls onto his good side, fresh, crisp sheets crinkle beneath him. “When then?”

Mikey is already clambering out of bed to make a fuss. “Mama,” he cries at the closed door. “Mama!”

And it makes Leo angry; mom didn’t care before, she didn’t care now — they didn’t cry for her when they were at home and she’d let them go hungry or when she’d get loud in their faces or even when she’d pushed Donnie over and broke his arm earlier today.

So why did they suddenly need her now?

Mikey starts to cry harder, reaching up to the door handle he’s not quite tall enough for, calling out for their mother, Leo races down the ladder to collect him before Lorenzo could hear him.

“Stop it now,” he says trying desperately to soothe him like he’d done a hundred times before. “I know it’s scary, but it won’t be forever.”

There’s the ugly mean voice whispering things in his head, telling him I hope it is, I hope we never go back, I hope mom stays sick forever.

“I don’t like it,” Raph pouts and it’s not long before he too is climbing out of bed.

Leo sets Mikey back into his own bed, tucking him in seems futile before he’s clambering in beside him in an attempt to settle him.

Mikey kicks him, making a disgruntlement noise before he finally seems to be at ease with him beside him. Leo moves over so that when Raph gets in, there’s enough room.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Raph asks Leo with a whisper. “Without us?”

He swallows down that flaming angry feeling from before — something like betrayal because they should be asking that question the other way around, because a kid should need their mom, not the other way around, but his brothers are still so little and unknowing of the world around them in a way that Leo is not, even at ten, he’s bigger than his years, and he nods.

It doesn’t take long for Donnie to join them, curled up on the edge of the bed with Mikey in the middle, mindful of his heavy, cumbersome arm that sticks out, Leo is able to reach each of his brothers like this, cramped up and close in a way that feels comfortingly familiar.

And there’s no crayon scribblings under the walls for him to trace until he falls asleep, or the sound of mom’s telenovelas drifting from the other room or the stink of smoke in the carpets — it's a world away from what they know to be home.

But it could work. If mom didn’t get better and if Leo could put his faith fully in Lorenzo’s hands, it could work.

With his brothers pressed against him like this like he could chase away all their fears and hurts, it could maybe, hopefully work.

[cloudninetonine]

Being on the run does something for one's psyche. Punishing and slow, it burns away at the spirit until the only remaining this is anxiety and paranoia- of the known, of the unknown, at this point you were afraid of your own Shadow. (And for good reason, after all)

Even with her, the Master Sword strapped securely to your back, you knew you weren't entirely safe, you knew they followed you knew they were hunting you but there was only so kich you could do.

You were a lone person, with only the basics of sword play, scraped from the bottom of the barrel of knowledge and it chilled you to the bone that any move you made could really end to your last breath.

Strayed from life, you found comfort in more secluded areas- the hollowed bases of trees, hidden pockets behind falls of water, the darkest corners of caves. Funny really, places you once grew to fear being your only solace in these times.

Until now that is, laid out within a tiny cave carved in some unknown mountain, just on the verge of sleep after so many days of it evading you-

"Uh, I think I may have found a dead body."

A small kick was laid upon your boot, jostling your exhausted body and sending you leaping into a sitting position within a second, wide eyes focusing on the person who had jumped in a similar fashion, their eyes staring back at you in shock.

Red hair, dark skin, golden yellow eyes-

Ganondorf Dragmire looked down at you with his intimidating near 8ft stature, very much alive and very much real as you laid there, frozen.

A scream echoed through the cave, one you didn't register as your own until it felt as if you were tearing your own throat, clawing back away from the man until your back made harsh contact with the wall behind you.

Ganondorf had stumbled back in horror at your terrified wail, flinching at the intensity but you didn't stop, no, your voice only rose when you heard the sound of multiple footsteps approaching, your hand falling to the Fi sheathed under your cloak beside you and tearing her from her protector, presenting it towards Hyrule's greatest villain.

Eyes hardened at the sight, his hand falling to his own sword hanging from his hip only for another man's voice, muffled from your hysteria but resulting in Ganondorf's deflation. His body distanced itself slowly, a gap growing between the two of you until you finally felt your voice stop, pants still crazed in hyperventilation from pure terror.

When the other voice appeared, carefully waddling around the wall of the wave conventially placed in view of the mouth of the cave, an illusion to those not looking carefully. Your mouth could only manage even more petrified gasps and hiccups, scrambling back into the cave wall in hopes it would swallow you whole and free you from the sight of another Ganondorf rounding the corner.

There were more of them?!

He looked older than the other, an elder man gifted with a great beard that framed his face, eyes staring down at you kinder compared to the other (A trick) His hands were raised as he approached.

"Hello young-" He eyed Fi carefully "Hero"

You didn't correct him, hos wariness of the sword could have possibly been the only thing keeping you alive this long. (Even though she rattled with your jitters, after all you held no courage, that was why you ran)

"I assume from your fear that you know our names- and, unfortunately, you associate them with malice." He talked as if he had said the phrase thousands of times, like it was scripted, not forcefully but definitely something he was used to saying. "I assure you, young hero, you have no quarrel with you."

The other Ganon just stared,watching the scene quietly with his arms crossed over his chest- Though he did glance to his side occasionally, eyes pulling into a glare flat made you nervous.

Was there more?

"Me and my party wish to seek shelter in your cave to avoid the oncoming storm." He kneeled down to your height, not invading your space, but to shave away some of the intimidation that came with his Gerudo size. "We promise not to disturb you, we will keep our distance- may we please stay?"

Options weighed in your mind, too many outcomes that you proffered not to think about beating at your skull and making your head pound in such a sickening way.

Why was he asking? Why was he being...polite? This couldn't have been Ganondorf, Prince of the Darkness it just wasn't possible. A trick? A ruse? But surely the man couldn't keep up such a thing?

Unless...it wasn't?

Your mind reeled back to a familiar set of faces, cloaked in lies and deceit, if they weren't truly what they said they were...

We're these the men who were destined to defeat them?

....The true Heroes?

You were still shaking, the adrenaline was really a drug and not one you had grown fond of as of recently, body still in a state of alarm as you shakily brought down the sword and curled deeper into your dark corner.

The nod you managed was hesitant, heavily so but it was clear enough to bring an understanding smile to the old man's face while he stood, small laboured groan falling from his mouth before he sighed as he popped in back into place.

"Thank you, young hero." The old Ganon gestured to the younger one, a beckon as he waddled away towards the light behind your cave wall, the sound of crackling fire quiet but there. "Come now."

With a last lingering look, the younger Ganon disappeared alongside the other to join his, what you guessed, small group.

You stayed in your little corner, huddled with Fi close to your chest as you finally relaxed. Your hiccups faded, your breath slowed, but your body still shivered occasionally.

Truth to his word, no one disturbed you for the time you stayed awake, only the fire was any real indication they were still there and sift chatter that was incomprehensible thanks to the pounding rain outside. But to be honest you didn't want to know, you didn't care to know, just let your body succumb to exhaustion and darkness fade your vision finally.

You awoke to a bowl sat by your feet.

----------

New au just dropped

Well, not completely new, discord baddies you know what time it is.

Mess au let's go

[piratesgiftexchange]

Yield

by buck1eys, for @litallusion

PROMPT: “If James is the so-called “scourge of piracy”, then he must have encountered Barbossa and his crew at some point…right? Think “James Norrington’s bisexual awakening”, but instead of Jack being the cause of these new stirrings, it’s yet another old man (who also eventually gets a wig…huh).”

WORD COUNT: 2,012

James Norrington loved the Navy. He loved the order of it, the easy routine of waking, rising, getting his bunk in order. He loved looking after his weapon and looking out for his more scatterbrained fellow recruits. He loved pushing his body to his limits, he testing his mind against the puzzles of navigation and battle. He loved the rhythm of the boat and the rhythm of the days, the rhythm of the songs they would sing together when they came into port and rolled into the nearest tavern like a thrashing wave of sweat and voices. He loved the freedom that came from being part of something bigger, the friends he had made and the feel of command, when the time came. Everyone said he would go far, and, when he’d first looked at himself in his new captain’s uniform, James had found it easy to agree with them. He loved the Navy, and the Navy loved him in return.

They were sailing for India to assist the EIC with some trouble in the Bay of Bengal. The weather had been calm, the crew had been badly behaved in Casablanca and were making up for it with a diffident attention to their work which made his first command easy. He had even had the time to give some of the newer recruits some sword practice. It was one thing to learn how to fight in training, quite another to cross blades with a real pirate. You never knew if you had the stomach for it until the chance presented itself. James, at twenty one, had discovered he had.

His best friend at officer school, Runcible, had discovered he hadn’t, and been skewered to the mast for his moment of indecision.

Kinder to make sure the troops were prepared, James thought, as he knocked the blade from Able Seaman Maitland’s hand and asked him to yield.

A shout came from the helm,“Captain, ship’s been sighted.”

James gave Maitland his hand and pulled him up. He was barely sixteen, and fragile as a fawn. James worried for him.

He came to the wheel and followed Midshipman Symthe’s pointed finger. There was a ship on the horizon. It wasn’t flying any colours.

A conversation from his appointment dinner played in his mind.“Don’t worry son,” Admiral Boniface had told him, red faced with age and sherry. “Young captains, they get a taste of the action and they get paranoid. Think every merchant ship from the back of beyond’s a pirate intent on taking them down. You’ve got the might of the British Empire behind you, lad, and those rascals will be scared shitless.”

James had thought about Boniface’s advice as they’d sailed. He’d thought about Runcible, how it had taken him two days to die of his wound. How the ship’s surgeon had held his hand and James had watched as the light left his eyes. He had been afraid, at the end.

James Norrington was not afraid of pirates. He was hungry for them.

The ship on the horizon didn’t look too big. It was fast though, faster than they were, and that made James’ decision easier. And if it was a merchant vessel, no harm would be done. His blood was up and singing in his ears.

“Hard to starboard,” he directed his crew. They would stay upwind, better for the canons. The men, who had grown more and more languid in the afternoon heat, sprung to attention. Norrington smiled. He loved the British Navy.

His confidence was misplaced. The battle, when it came, was awful. If hell existed, it must be something like this, James thought.

In the half hour it had taken the ship to reach them the autumn weather had turned, and a Mediterranean storm was making the deck slippery with rain and blood. The screams of men, whether friend or foe James couldn’t tell, were torn away by the howling wind. Already he could feel his fingers freezing on his sword. A dagger whistled past his ear and split the sail behind him.

“Fall back,” James shouted into the raging storm, wondering if anyone would hear him. By a blessed miracle someone did, and the call rose up for the men to retreat back to their vessel. They had damaged the pirate ship pretty well with their canons, and the enemy’s main sail was in tatters. James could only hope it would give them enough time to sail away. More battles at sea were lost to ship maintenance than swordplay, they’d had that drummed into them in training. James prayed it was true, because they were being outfought by these pirates. The crew wasn’t desperate enough, and they were being slaughtered for it.

James watched the blue flashes of the men’s coats swing by as the fled the ship. He sliced at a pirate running at him with a cutlass. The man dodged the blade but slipped on something sticky on the deck and went flying off the edge of the boat. James shuddered. Falling between two vessels was one of the worst deaths he could think of.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it. Two more pirates came at him, and James was forced to dance his way free. He stabbed one through the heart and the other one paused. James pointed his sword at his throat, but before he could ask him to yield, he felt the press of another blade at his ear.

“No, captain. It’s ye we’ll be asking to yield.”

James spun round, and found himself face to face with a pirate captain. He was tall, as tall as James, with long hair flying round his grim face. His eyes glittered with demonic enjoyment and his rich clothes were stained with blood from the fighting. There was a sinister sort of smile playing on his lips. James knew a master of the trade when he saw one, this man was in complete control of his situation. The captain grinned, as though he could read James’ mind, and traced the point of his sword over James’ throat.

James swallowed hard.

“Will ye yield to Captain Barbossa and his dread band of buccaneers, boy, or will ye die?”

Time seemed to slow down. It was because he was facing certain death, surely. The blood rush of killing and the adrenaline in his veins was making him excited. If it was arousal, it was the arousal of battle. James had never been one for book study, but he was sure the Greeks had written about this.

James looked at this captain – Barbossa, he had called himself. He shuddered, though not just with fear.

Behind him, James could hear the distant shouts of his men on the ship, but all meaning was rent to nothing on the wild air.

What was left of Barbossa’s crew was massing round him. It was like being stood in the eye of a hurricane.

Barbossa pressed slightly harder on his Adam’s apple with the blade. James felt something hot and wet trickle down his neck.

James loved the Navy. He loved the freedom which came from following orders. And right now, his order was to yield.

He thought of Runcible, dying slowly in the surgeon’s cabin. Rage thrummed in his chest like drums. Something else thrummed in his groin, but James tried not to think about that.

It was as though Barbossa was a mind reader though, because he threw his head back and laughed.

Then he was right in James’ face, the sword between them, his rancid breath in James’ ear and his leg just dangerously close to James’ groin.

“I know your type, laddie. Ye think ye want to rule, but I see ye. Ye’ll serve and be grateful.” He smiled wickedly. “Ye might even enjoy it.” And he pressed his leg, just for a second, where James needed it.

Rage and desire did battle in him. Rage was fighting a losing game. “One final time, Mr Captain,” Barbossa stepped back and addressed the crew with theatrical flair. There were unfriendly murmurs of excitement from the band of pirates, all of whom were eyeing James as if he were a meal. “Will ye yield, or shall ye die?”

James had often wondered since, in the tortured hours of a night watch when the shadows crept with doubt and guilty shapes, which he would have chosen. As it was, he was spared an answer, because at that moment the crack of a musket distracted them.

The bullet flew right past James’ ear and burst the feather on Barbossa’s hat. Barbossa roared with rage and threw a dagger into the storm, but they all heard it thunk into wood, not flesh. The pirates rushed forward to shoot back, and James took his chance.

There was no worse a death than being crushed between two ships, but he would have to take the risk. He cut a boarding line free and swung, praying that his feet would meet tarred wood and not water.

James Norrington, naval captain, landed in a heap on his own deck.

His men, bless them, cheered.

James leapt to his feet again. Being back on his own ship had brought him to his senses.

“Cut the lines, heave away.” he shouted, and the call went up. A bullet whistled past and hit the far side of the quarterdeck. They weren’t out of danger yet.

James looked around for a weapon. To his undying surprise he saw young Maitland struggling to reload his musket.

“It was you, sailor?” he said in amazement.

“Yes captain.” Maitland looked shocked at his own daring.

“Good lad,” James clapped him on the shoulder.

He made short work of reloading the musket, but they were already pulling out of range. He had calculated right, Barbossa’s sail was too damaged to make a pursuit worthwhile, and besides, they were sailing with the storm.

As Barbossa’s ship disappeared off the horizon again, the men lost the frantic look in their eye and became rowdy and despondent by turns. James ordered a double tot as a reward, which did the trick. In the early darkness the men got to singing and telling stories over dinner. They were all of them very impressed with their young captain’s daring escape, and said as much. When old Blount nodded and raised a toast James felt he had finally earned the respect of the older sea dogs, the ones who had been sailing longer than James had been drawing breath.

But the victory felt hollow. His crew didn’t know it, but James knew Barbossa had let him go. He’d been bested by a pirate. Worse by far, the baser part of himself had enjoyed it.

James went to his quarters early that night. Maitland was on watch, with old Blount. He smiled as he heard Maitland telling Blount how he’d shot the feather off the pirate captain’s hat. The boy might make a fine sailor yet.

Still, James’ mood was miserable as he turned in. Barbossa had let him go, but he’d left him with a problem. James addressed the most urgent practicalities, cursing even as he came. If anything, he felt even worse, guilty as well as frustrated.

Barbossa was evil, he was the enemy of everything James stood for. And he’d turned him on and then let him go in his debt.

James Norrington made himself a promise last night. Whatever he’d felt, that had been the heat of battle talking. Barbossa was a good sailor and a repulsive man. His kind had killed Runcible. Whatever he’d felt had been a mistake, an aberration. He loved the Navy, he loved being captain. And he would hunt down every last pirate who threatened that.

There would be another pirate, many years from now, and another storm. But James Norrington went to bed that night with no dream but that of glory to his country and to his crew. Desire didn’t come into it.

Desire, as it turned out, would wait.

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part xiv- the calm before the storm

“one day, you and i are gonna wake up and be alright. maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. one day, i promise you” - fisher amelie

summary: you, steve, and bucky take refuge in wakanda. but the next steps of your recovery are daunting.

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: trauma, nightmares, steve feeing excluded once more, a brief allusion to sexy time, cliffhanger lmao

a/n: ok so originally this was a 15-part series, but i’ve extended it to 20 lol. hope y’all are still enjoying! and like i said last time, this series will likely be put on a brief hiatus soon so i can write my christmas series/thing! love y’all so much 🤍🤍🤍

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsivymusic

previous part | series masterlist | next part

Once everything was settled, it was decided that the next best move would be to go to Wakanda. A road trip could be saved until after you got deprogrammed.

T’Challa was more than welcoming, promising that you would be allowed to freely travel the streets of Wakanda once your treatments were finished, and going even further to offer you a safe home at any time.

And Wakanda really was a safe haven. They’d escaped the oppression so common in the rest of the world, and had truly flourished in their hiding place. It was magical.

You had thanked him profusely, and had been led to meet the princess.

Shuri Udaku’s reputation preceded her. She held a record for the highest IQ in the world, and at 18 was running an entire country’s technological developments. And she was damn good at it, too.

“This is my lab,” she’d said, waving an arm out. It was still clean and organized, but lacked the cold-stone sterility of HYDRA. Colorful art decorated the walls, and a few messy post-it notes clung to the tables and chairs.

All the while, Steve was discussing with T’Challa exactly how the treatments would work.

Both of you would be put under, cryo-tubes coming in handy once more, but during your sleep, they would work their magic.

Something about this place was special, and Shuri was confident in her ability to pluck every trigger word from your head in the matter of a few weeks.

She gave you some clothes to change into, and when you returned, clad in white, she sat you down on a table.

The doctors were patient and far kinder than any you’d experienced, even before HYDRA. They didn’t look at you differently, only made polite conversation and explained every move they made.

You appreciated their warnings. They’d ask before touching you, and moved your wings around with delicate hands.

Now, you’re awaiting the final preparations for the cryo-tubes. These, which Shuri proudly presents, will make the process much more tolerable.

Rather than being shoved into a dirty tube and frozen in a painful and shocking process, she promises that these will lower the temperature in intervals of 12, as well as pumping in some nitrous oxide to relax you.

You sit next to Bucky, leaning on him as a doctor checks his pulse.

“How do you think Steve’ll do?” you whisper. You should only be under for a month, but you know it won’t be easy for him.

Bucky shrugs. “I think he’ll be okay. Might cry a bit.” You elbow him lightly. “But he’ll be alright,” he adds.

The blond comes over to the two of you.

“I can hear you, you know? Enhanced hearing and all that.” He taps his ear. You smile, taking his hand.

“I’ll be fine, promise,” he says, kissing your forehead. He does the same to Bucky.

“You sure about this?”

The brunet sighs. “I can’t trust my own mind. We can’t.” He chuckles, a sad smile making its way onto his face. “So until they get this stuff out of our heads…”

“…Going back under is the best thing,” you finish. “For everybody.”

“Maybe not for everybody,” Steve mumbles, and you catch on.

“Shuri said it’ll only be about a month.” You run a thumb along his knuckles. “We’ll be back soon, Stevie.”

As the three of you hug, you hear Bucky whisper to him.

“You aren’t losing us again, punk. We aren’t going anywhere.”

The king and princess approach, seemingly reluctant to split the three of you up.

“The cryo-tubes are ready when you are,” Shuri states. Her tone makes it clear. You can still back out.

But your brain has no qualms about reminding you of exactly what happens when The Angel of Death and the Winter Soldier take the lead.

A brief flash of Steve, bloodied and dying in the burning helicarrier is all you need to make your decision.

“We’re ready.”

Your chamber is noticeably larger, another kind consideration by the Wakandan team. You climb in on your own volition, merely helped along when you struggle to turn around.

You exchange a glance with Bucky before you both nod.

Shuri readies a tablet, and slowly slides her finger across the screen. A soft hissing sound comes from all around you, and goosebumps cover your arms in seconds.

A light, floating feeling settles in your mind, and you can hear your heart slowing, slowing, slowing.

This time, it just feels like going to sleep. No breath being stolen from your lungs or screaming until you pass out. Your eyes slowly shut and the last things you see are your boys.

It’s the most quiet that your mind has been in 70 years.

———————————————————————

“I’m gonna lose it. Shit, what if something goes wrong, and they wake up as-“ Steve can’t even bring himself to think the words. He’s been pacing for what feels like forever. It’s been too quiet without you two, and when he finally couldn’t handle it, he gave in and called the team.

“They’ve come so far, and if they get set back… they won’t be able to live with themselves,” he rambles.

“Not to mention that I haven’t slept in bed alone in, what?” The blond captain counts the weeks. “Two months! Two months, and now they’re just-“

From the FaceTime call, Natasha’s eye twitches.

“Rogers,” she begins, exasperated beyond belief. “It has been. One. Hour.” She claps to emphasize her point. “They have been under. For. ONE. Hour.”

Ok, she has a point there. More than a point, honestly.

Steve knows he looks crazy. Probably is crazy. And it’s impossible to miss how the doctors glance worriedly at him every so often.

No, he hasn’t left the lab. The team is too nice to ask him to stop sadly staring at his best friends and lovers in the cryo-tubes.

“Get your star-spangled ass out of that lab, Cap,” Tony says through a mouthful of cereal. “You’re in the most technologically-advanced country in the world.”

Steve can hear Peter as the teen cuts in.

“Well, Mr. Stark, I don’t think he’s that interested in seeing more tech he isn’t familiar with.”

“Was that a burn?” Sam. “I’ll count it. You did good, kid.”

Steve can’t help but smile when they devolve into bickering, and the phone is forgotten on the dinner table shortly afterwards.

“Bye, guys, I’ll call again later,” he calls. A few people respond before he hangs up.

“Guess I should get out of here,” he says to himself.

You and Bucky look so peaceful, though.

Clad in white, Bucky looks so different. He’s stuck with dark colors, mostly to blend in but also out of habit. But the white looks good. It looks ethereal.

And as cliche as it is, the only word he can conjure up to describe you is angelic. The fluff of your feathers cradles you as you sleep. You’re so still. But you look content.

Steve’s never looked so stressed. He lost you both so long ago, and found you and lost you and found you all over again. He can’t handle this.

And it’s only been an hour.

———————————————————————

As talented as Shuri is, the super-soldier serum bests her tech occasionally.

Every so often, in intervals you aren’t sure of, you gain enough consciousness to hear through the cryo-sleep.

Most of the time, it’s just doctors taking notes, or Shuri mildly commenting about how she has to fix another “broken white boy”.

But today, you can hear Steve. No one else is around.

“Hey, (Y/N). Hey, Buck.” The sound of a stool being dragged over and a notebook being opened makes its way to you.

“I know I’ve been visiting all the time, but I needed to talk.”

“These past weeks have been hard. I… I miss you.” He pauses. “But Shuri’s been digging through those files you gave her. And some of the stuff in there…”

Steve wishes he hadn’t looked in that box. The detailed notes describing exactly how they broke you down and destroyed you until you caved.

They started with the experiments. Hours of being strapped to a table and injected with foreign needles.

Then they trained you. Taught you exactly where to strike to kill and where to strike to wound. How to use every weapon under the sun and exactly which ones did the most damage in your hands.

Then the brainwashing. That chair. Steve had to stop reading when the files began to describe how you’d screamed and begged to not go back into that room after your first session.

But you didn’t go down easily. You fought for twenty years. In and out of cryo-freeze, you fought them tooth and nail and gave them more hell than they had ever expected.

But they won. And now you ended up here.

“I just want to keep you two safe. And I know you don’t need it. But you did the same for me.”

“Captain Rogers?” T’Challa’s voice is far away, and even Steve’s voice is beginning to fade away.

You hear them leave, and then it’s just darkness again.

———————————————————————

It’s another two weeks -longer than predicted- when you’re taken out of cryo-freeze.

Bucky’s let out first, and Sam gets a sore stomach from laughing over the phone when the former assassin falls flat on his face getting out- right in front of the camera.

Your boys decide to not let you suffer the same fate, and are there to catch you when you realize that your legs don’t quite work right after a month and a half frozen.

Steve takes the role of mama bird in an instant. “How d’you feel, sweetheart? Wings sore? Want a blanket?”

You yawn, wings stretching and shaking off the little bits of frost that accumulated on them. “‘M alright. Tired. Cold.”

Bucky brushes away ice crystals, equally as cold but more concerned about you. “Let’s get checked out and then we can head outside, thaw out a bit?”

Shuri is speedy and gentle in her assessment. She moves around the lab with a distinct intuition of where every tool she needs sits. It reminds you of Tony.

She carefully extends your wing, maneuvering it slowly.

“These are amazing,” she gushes. “The way the lightweight bone grafts to the original, the feather pattern is-“

“Shuri,” T’Challa chides. She rolls her eyes with a smile, obliging anyway.

“Take it easy,” she says to you and Bucky. “Just because you’re super-soldiers doesn’t mean you can go throw yourselves at the nearest training room. Your bodies need time to recover, and so do your minds.”

“So, are they… gone?” Bucky asks. The Winter Soldier. The Angel. It’s almost too much to hope for.

The princess takes a deep breath before shrugging. “We won’t know until we can test the trigger words.”

At your visible apprehension, she holds out her hand.

“It will be done in a safe area, supervised by the Dora Milaje themselves. Two weeks from now should be plenty of time to recover.” She passes over two bracelets.

“Kimoyo beads. They will take you to your temporary home, allow communication, and really anything you need.” She proudly points to them.

You know she’s probably tired of how many times you’ve thanked her, but you do so anyways. Following her instructions, you, Steve, and Bucky begin to head through the city.

Steve watches the way you and Bucky interact with the crowd. He’s been treated with awe and prestige ever since he came out of the ice. People ask for his autograph and pictures.

The same people have only looked at you two with disdain.

But the people here aren’t afraid. They smile at you in the street and offer samples of food. A woman holds up a delicate lattice of gold chains, gesturing to your wings.

“I don’t have money, or anything to trade-“ you begin. She shakes her head and drapes it over the tops of your wings. It sits nicely, though probably designed for the shoulders. She shoos you away with a knowing grin.

“Look at you, all dolled up,” Steve laughs. You blush, shoving him.

“Oh, hush, Mr. Star-Spangled Man with a Plan. Get us home.”

The home in question is a comfortable hut. Far enough away from the city for some peace, but close enough to walk easily.

Inside, you find a small kitchen, a large bed on the wood floor, and a small shower and bathroom blocked off by a curtain. Despite the humble appearance, you find that there’s hidden tech in every corner.

The carved wooden sink runs with perfectly cold water, the small fireplace is in perfect condition. Even the curtain covering the entrance, upon further inspection, is found to be sewn with vibranium thread.

You lay down on the bed, sprawling out and shaking away the last chills. Your boys are quick to join you.

Steve lays beside you, while Bucky happily drops his head onto your stomach.

“Miss us, Stevie?” the latter asks.

“So much.”

At his tone, you pause. “You weren’t alone this whole time, were you?”

The silence that follows is telling.

“The team visited a few times,” he says, immediately jumping to do some damage control as the two of you frown. “But it was mostly just me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, kissing his cheek.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” he promises.

Bucky fiddles with the kimoyo beads. “We’ll make it up to you.”

Extending a pinkie, you listen as the Border Tribe finishes up their evening patrol. They sound the horns, and silence follows.

Your boys link pinkies, and everything is peaceful.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

———————————————————————

True to your word, you and Bucky spent the next few days making up your lost time to Steve.

Days were spent exploring Wakanda and its culture, and nights were spent huddled up in your hut, often with the curtains tightly shut and with hushed whispers exchanged in the darkness. Well, sometimes they weren’t exactly whispers.

The market was a common day trip, buying fruit or just frivolous items. You bought more jewelry for your wings under Steve’s encouragement, adorning a few of the ink black feathers with gold rings and charms.

But you wouldn’t use your powers. Besides healing a few bumps and bruises on the local kids that loved to play around the hut, you’d avoided casting even the smallest ball of light.

A part of you feared that, if you used them, it would awaken the Angel. The two were intertwined, in your eyes. One couldn’t happen without the other stirring to life.

You dreaded that two-week mark. So did Bucky. The few nights leading up to it were peppered with nightmares and restlessness.

“I can’t hurt anyone else,” Bucky had sobbed late one night, clinging to Steve as you prepared some tea. He’d woken all of you up in a violent nightmare, screaming and tangling himself in the covers. “I need to go back under, I-“

“What you need to do is breathe,” Steve had urged. “You’re alright. The Dora Milaje will be there, and they won’t let you hurt a fly. Besides, Shuri was almost sure her treatment worked.”

“I can’t trust ‘almost’,” he’d pleaded.

As you watched them, you’d had a moment of forgetfulness and had touched the searing kettle. Wincing, you flung your hand back, watching as the blistering receded in seconds.

Carefully lifting the teapot, you’d poured a cup and offered it to Bucky, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you’re worried, I am too.” Sighing, you plucked a bit of grass from your wing. “But we need to trust Shuri’s work. It’ll be ok. We can’t just go into cryo forever, love.”

It had been twenty minutes before you lulled him to sleep, and another thirty before Steve joined him.

But you’re too anxious to go to bed. Sneaking out of the hut, you stare out into the darkness. Some goats bleat, evidently disturbed by you.

“Oh, hush,” you whisper. “I’m just going for a fly.”

The goats don’t respond, blinking lazily. One bleats and bumps his feeding trough.

“No. The last time I got near you-“ You point at the goat, tone becoming accusatory. “-you tried to eat my feathers.”

He gives up, turning back to the covered area of his pen. Turning your focus back to the path in front of you, you stretch a bit, preparing for the flight.

You take a running start, barefoot as the soft earth slowly recedes from beneath you. Leaping up, you rise, powerful flaps propelling you skyward.

There’s no clouds tonight. Just stars and the bright lights of the city a bit of a ways away.

You veer towards the skyscrapers. It’s a few minutes before you’re in the heart of the city, narrowly turning between buildings and enjoying the cool air.

The lights dance in shimmering colors, and a few buildings have music pouring out of their doors. It’s lively, even this late.

You hear it before you see it. A soft thrumming from behind you. You flip over, slowing down until you’re upright.

It’s a hover bike, you think. When it gets closer, you recognize the rider.

“Princess,” you greet.

Shuri waves you off, chuckling at the formal greeting.

“You’re out late,” she comments.

“Could say the same about you.”

She shrugs. “Needed to clear my head. You, too?”

You nod. She leans on the handlebars, unfazed by the 300-foot drop.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow night?” The assessment. The trigger words.

“A bit,” you admit. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or the Dora-“

“You don’t trust yourself.” You pause. She raises a brow.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you say. “Bucky and I- we don’t want to hurt anyone. We’ve done enough of that.”

Instead of offering pity, or a sympathetic glance, Shuri nods.

“I get that. But it’s not your fault.” There it is. You’ve heard those words so many times. But it felt like you, you were there, so it had to be your fault.

The princess continues. “I don’t mean that just to make you feel better. I mean, mentally, psychologically, it wasn’t you.”

She presses the bike forward, fast enough for you to comfortably fly beside her.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“The Angel of Death and the Winter Soldier aren’t you. You are your memories and experiences. Really, a person is their brain and consciousness. The body’s just a tool to keep you alive.”

“So, HYDRA took away the memories and experiences. They took away you. And in your place, they trained someone else with what was left. Just the fact that you’re worried about hurting people because that’s what the Angel did proves that you aren’t her.”

“I know you’ve heard it many times. I heard it when my Baba died. I’d thrown myself into my work, blamed myself for not creating a better suit for him.”

She lands the hover bike, and only then do you realize she took you back to the hut. The sun’s beginning to rise.

“But it wasn’t your fault. Really. Truly.”

You can’t come up with an argument. You chuckle, shaking your head. “You’ve got me there, Princess.”

She smiles. “I’ll see you soon?”

You nod. “Yeah. Tonight.”

And she’s gone. Speeding off far faster than her mother and brother would approve of.

“(Y/N)?”

Your boys are peeking out of the hut, confused and squinting in the growing light.

“Was that Shuri?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. Went for a fly, and she ran into me. Talked for a bit.”

You greet them both with a kiss, sighing into the feeling as the sun warms your feathers.

Bucky wraps an arm around you, clearly still just as worried as he was an hour or so ago.

“Tonight?” he asks.

You and Steve nod. There’s no postponing this, no outrunning it. Shuri was adamant that two weeks was the ideal period.

So two weeks it was.

———————————————————————

The trek up the hill was much worse than the weeks leading up to it. Rocky ledges offered little purchase, and moss caused your feet to slip every so often.

You used your wings to boost you and you went, charms jingling in your feathers. You’re accompanied by Ayo, an experienced Dora Milaje, and Steve.

The blond wasn’t supposed to join you. But she found it hard to deny his wounded puppy look when she tried to pull you and Bucky away.

“We’re nearly there,” Steve assures, traversing the steep rocks. You jump up a ledge, wings flapping wildly as you correct your balance.

There, in a clearing, is a campfire. It’s small, unassuming.

Ayo vaults up behind you with her spear. She gestures to the ground.

Once Bucky makes it up the hill, he sits with you. You take his hand, nodding in reassurance.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Ayo calls. “It’s time”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and you can practically feel the weight in his chest. His metal arm recalibrates, buzzing as the nerves fire rapidly.

“You sure about this?”

The warrior doesn’t back down. “I won’t let you hurt anyone.” Stepping closer, she begins.

“Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать.” Her voice is quiet, but the words bury in your soul.

“It’s not gonna work,” Bucky whimpers. You almost reach for his hand again, but you know you have to let him do this.

Ayo pauses, but continues. “Рассвет, Печь, Девять, Добросердечный.”

You can see him struggling, fighting off the Soldier. When you glance over to Steve, he looks about ready to spring over and cover the brunet’s ears.

“Возвращение на Родину, Один, Товарный ваго.”

The last word is said, and it’s still Bucky in front of you. The exhale that follows his realization is broken, punctuated by silent sobs.

“You are free,” Ayo smiles.

Steve hurries over, embracing him and turning to you. You know it’s your turn. And if it worked for Bucky, it had to work on you, right?

Right?

[drowning-in-cacophony]

endlessly running from you

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 262: Run Far And Fast

[Summary: a woman tries to outrun her chasers once more] [cw: being chased with sinister intention]

It’d been just off Route Twenty Two that she’d been caught for the first time. Hands that had seared like brands, and even now she finds herself compulsively checking for the marks that must linger, mercury bright against dark skin. Fingers that had clawed, lips that had ran rivers of promises, slick down her ears like the blood the sound had wrenched from her lungs, unable to stand in their harp-vibrations without violent consequences. She’d managed to worm a way free from that, though only they’d know how she’d done it and only she’d understand why – but the problem with the why being unknowable had been now she was something curious. Something fascinating. They’d want her like an entomologist wants a bug: splayed out, limbs pinned, catalogued and framed. She’d run to escape them and in the end sealed herself into some eternal world where the sun would never really break; sunbeams are the dawn of a new day, and hers had been doomed to something she’d never shake that moment her foot had scrubbed dirt into the embers.

That’s her now. Run far, run fast.

Again and again, no matter how many times they get their gleaming eyes tearing into her skin.

The river is freezing when she plunges into it, icy fingers that stab right to her bones and almost make her shout out. Instead, teeth meet fragile lips, blood bursting bright and red against her tongue’s tip. Last time, they’d held her hand. Rested their scorching mouths against her skin, cried when she’d pointed out how it stung. Criticism burns harsher for some of them, and her eyes had wept too but like a wave to cleanse out the fire rather than out of emotion. There’s no marks on her hands either; she sees them as clear as what she knows she felt on her arms.

Determinedly, she pushes through the blizzard in shape of water, gritting her teeth as the current brushes against her hip bones like a race car smacking into the barrier. The woods clatter behind her, trunks groaning their own sympathies out for her as their desperate intentions pull apart the trees’ atoms in their never-ending pursuit. She keeps fording forward, never looking back. Only forward. Only ever forward.

On the bank, she hauls herself up and shivers madly. Her socks stick uncomfortably, her shoes sodden marshes bound to her feet, and that’s what she concentrates on. Not the scream of the bark behind her, the rivers sudden choppy unease. Her shoes, the wetness, and the fact that her frigid calves will warm plenty when she starts running.

So she does. Fast and far, shoving through the second half of the forest which seems to wait in dreadful anticipation and reluctance. These trees don’t want to end up like their fellows across the waves. Maybe they want her gone from their bounds, because the way she runs down so fast that everything’s a veritable blur is as clear as a fresh sky. No obstacles, roots cringing out of her way to make her exit smoother. Perhaps they know what it’s like, to be studied and marked out and commodified. Maybe they just hope her chasers will be kinder if they too have to run through here fast.

Something cracks, far behind her but too close for comfort. She runs faster.

The trees break for a road. A dirt path one, a steep side bank to stand upon and peer down. A step wrong, she’d plummet to the ground and lie in a pile waiting for them to scoop her up with all their fussing concern. That’d happened last time, a wrong step that’d sent her flying and broken. It’d been bitterness that had stained her lungs worse than a smokers, because then they’d caught her again; it’d been a dark humour that it was down to their efforts in healing her that she’d been able to slip away and take off again.

She doesn’t waste time on thinking when there’s a flash of headlights, somewhere down the mouth of the back-road. She looks at the drop and makes her move, because last time she’d fallen and this time she intends to not-so-gracefully stumble down. Her ankles bite, her palms get scratched to hell. A tree root juts out just in the right place: the trees, once again coming in with the assist. They scrape her knee to blood as payment, the dark smudge on the root like a badge.

The car comes in, headlights bouncing up as they hit a root’s swell under the road. Maybe it’s the same root she’s just paid, because the lights cast down perfectly to her face on their fall.

From there, it’s a story she’s played before. She’s got it down to a minute now.

Run far, and run fast. The car’s engine squeals under her aggressive smack to the acceleration. Something loose in the back rolls, hitting the car door; its owner lies somewhere behind, tucked into a tree’s shadow. That and the blood: the sign they will take before chasing her further.

Her scratched fingers curl tight around the wheel.

This time, they’re not going to catch her again.

[a-k-a-l-i]

The Great Grandchildren

Chapter 1

Traveling through time was not on their agenda, yet, they have no choice. Can they save the galaxy? Can they change the fate of their family? Can Allana Solo and Animé Skywalker make things right?

~~~~~~~~~

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”

When Animé Skywalker thought of running, she never imagined running for her life. Well…that wasn’t entirely true. She had been in hiding for what seemed to be most of her life. She and her cousin Allana Solo had been hiding from Jedi haters, bounty hunters, and worst of all…Allana’s father. 

Darth Caedus.

For seven years, Animé had been on the run from Jacen Solo. Her father, Ben Skywalker and her mother, Vestara Khai, were both killed trying to save her. Great Aunt Leia and Great Uncle Han had taken her in, along with Allana, when they were younger. 

Jacen seemed to be taking up the old Sith sport in hunting for remaining Jedi and either turning them into slaves for the Sith, or killing them. Currently they were on the plant Lothal, almost hiding in plain sight it would seem. Of course, the surnames Skywalker and Solo were hailed as powerful names. Not just anyone held those names. So in order to hide, Animé and Allana changed their surnames, taking on the name Adova. 

Looking out the window where she worked as a seamstress, Animé shook her head. Once again she was lost in thought, and if her boss hadn’t loved her, she would’ve been fired long ago.

“Ani! Is your head in the clouds again?” 

Animé snorted and smiled at her cousin.

“‘Course not Lana, I have too much work to be completed for my head to be swimming up there with purrgils,” she laughed. She looked back at the work in front of her and continued her project. Hearing Allana snort, she turned her head to Allana’s direction, raising a single brow.

“Please, dear cousin, I know you better than that, what’s on your mind?” Blue eyes met blue, and Allana challenged her to spout another lie. 

Animé sighed, why couldn’t the Force be kinder to her family? Her family always had a knack for getting too chummy with the Darkside, only two members, which was still too many, ever fell. The rest toed the line but managed to be brought back to the light. Including her.

“Your father, Lana…your father.”

Instantly, Allana’s eyes dimmed, and her playful mood vanished. “Oh…I see.”

Animé gave her a sympathetic gaze, one which Allana waved away. Allana knew all too well how her cousin felt.

“One day...everything will be set right, Ani...one day, whether or not the Skywalkers and Solos live,” Allana said firmly. Only the family truly knows how much the Skywalkers play a part in the galaxy falling Yet, time and time again, the Skywalkers were the saviors of the galaxy. 

“But, what if Jacen does hunt us down, and he kills-”

Allana interrupted Animé harshly, “he won’t! My fath-my father wouldn’t be so cruel.” Tears gathered in her eyes as Animé came closer to wrap her arms around her.

“Of course, Lala,” calling her by her first nickname when they were just younglings, “I was insensitive to even consider it.” Although, she kept her thoughts to herself. After all, it was Jacen who killed her Grandma Mara.

“It’s alright, I thought about it too, it just...hurts..y’know?” Allana sniffled and backed away from the hug, wiping stray tears away. Animé nodded, hesitantly turning back to her station. Allana followed her lead and they finished their work in silence.

“I want to see a purrgil,” Allana said suddenly as they were putting their tools back in their proper places. Animé choked on her caf.

“Wh-where did this topic come from?” Allana giggled and handed Animé some paper towels to dry her face.

“You mentioned it earlier, I wonder how they look, and how big they are.”

Animé tapped her chin thoughtfully and shrugged on her bag, “probably really, really, really, big, they’re hyperspace whales for Force’s sake!” 

Allana styled her hair in two buns that closely resembled how her grandmother Leia used to style her hair. “True, you think they can travel anywhere? I heard deep space pilots talk about it once, they can travel between galaxies!”

The girls waved goodbye to their coworkers and headed home, to a house near the outskirts of the city. 

~~~~~~~~~

“We’re home,” Allana called out, putting her shoes away on a bench near the front door.

An elderly woman with graying hair walked to them, kissing them both on the cheek. “You came just in time, dinner is ready, go wash your hands.” The girls nodded. 

Walking back to the dining room, Allana, refreshed and dressed in a white top and black sleep pants, noticed that her Grandpa Han was already there at the table.

“Hey, kid, what took you so long?” Han raised an eyebrow as he drank some blue milk.

“Mé and I wanted to freshen up,” she shrugged, taking a seat next to him.

“Speaking of Mé, where is she?”

“Getting dressed.”

Han hummed, going back to the holo news. Leia came with a tray full of steaming, hot vegetables and meat. Animé came back dressed in a black nightgown. 

She set dead birds on plates, calling Anji and Sari, the medium sized nexu and Lothal wolf padded down the hallway.

“Yum,” Animé sniffed, entering the kitchen, “I smell Shaak meat.”

“Come sit, dear, tell us about work.” Leia beckoned Animé over to the table. As the four members of the family helped themselves, Allana and Animé recalled events that happened during their shift.

“There was a going away party–”

“–and it was amazing–!”

“–one of the older workers was retiring–” 

“–it was kinda sad to see her leave–”

“–but it was wholesome in the end.” Han and Leia chuckled, their eyes sparkling. 

“Sounds like fun, girls,” Han commented. He and Leia shared a sad look, one that was missed between the younger girls. 

“Grandpa, is it okay if we could fly tomorrow, on the Falcon?” Allana asked, shoving her greens around on her plate. Animé’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands twice.

“Yeah, can we? We promise to be careful, it’s our day off tomorrow,” Animé added after swallowing a bite of Nuna Legs. Leia hummed thoughtfully.

“I suppose...but only if you promise not to leave the planet.”

Han looked scandalized, “That’s my ship you are talking about…but, I suppose you could, don’t go breaking it now, that’s the only thing I have left.”

The two girls cheered and talked excitedly to each other.

“Oh, see what you did, Leia? Now we’ll never hear the end of this for the rest of dinner,” Han complained jokingly, he winced when Leia landed a swift jab to his arm.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Animé and Allana woke up bright and early, excited. Allana dressed in a short white cropped top, with beige pants, dark brown boots, and an olive green jacket. Styling her hair into twin pigtails.

Animé, wore a short black cropped top, paired with a matching dark gray cropped jacket and skirt. She buckled on her black knee high boots and parted her hair, styling it into a half-up half-down.

When she arrived at the kitchen, Leia was sipping caf chatting quietly with her husband.

“Aunt Leia, Uncle Han,” Animé greeted warmly, giving the two a kiss on the cheek, “is Allana still in her room?”

Leia nodded, “there is some breakfast on the counter, I made pannacakes.”

Allana ran straight to the kitchen, offering a quick hello to the three people occupying the living room.

“Pannacakes!” Shouted Allana in glee. Animé laughed and followed her to the kitchen. Grabbing a healthy serving they returned to the living room and turned on the HoloNet.

It was a quiet morning with the Skywalker-Solos. The soft chatter coming from the HoloNet made everything feel homey, cozy, full of peace.

“Mmm, those were the best, Grandma, thanks so much,” Allana praised. Han grinned.

“You should’ve tasted her food back when we first married, she was awfu–hey! What was that for!” Han suddenly yelped.

“You nerfherder, I have always been a great cook,” Leia sent him the stink eye, mouthing promising words of punishment. Animé rolled her eyes in amusement and shook her head, leaving the two alone.

She grabbed her cousin’s dish and washed it, putting them on the rack.

“You ready to go flying, Ani?” 

“Obviously, wanting to fly runs in the family,” they both grinned at the statement, knowing how true it was.

“Grandma, Grandpa, we’re heading out now.”

Just as they turned to leave, Han called them back to the living room.

“Just a minute, Leia, go grab them, you know where you hid it.”

The older woman stood up and went into her and Han’s room, the two younger girls shared a confused look.

“Uncle, what is it?”

“While we know you’re just out flying, we still want you to be safe, and well…”

Leia came back, holding a box that was crafted using Naboo’s style.

“Here are your lightsabers, use it only in an emergency,” she opened the box, two lightsabers lay there next to a severed braid and a Japor snippet, along with a few letters and other small trinkets.

“Wow,” Allana gasped softly. Animé glanced at the other contents.

“What is that, Aunt Leia?”

Leia looked pained, “according to the research I did all those years ago, this braid belonged to my father, and the necklace was given to my mother, a gift also from my father…it was rescued after she was burned at the pyre on Naboo,” she heaved a large sigh, Han had a look of sympathy at his wife’s sadness, “this made me believe Anakin Skywalker was more human before he turned, that he loved Padmé Amidala truly.”

Leia gave Allana her lightsaber, “I hope you don’t lose it, don’t follow the old Skywalker tradition of misplacing one’s lightsaber, your Uncle Anakin, father and Uncle Luke tended to do this.” Allana gave a small smile and nodded, promising she wouldn’t. She scooted back, wanting to get reacquainted with her weapon.

The woman turned to her niece, “I know you haven’t built your lightsaber yet, so I decided to keep this tradition,” she pulled out the other lightsaber, while it was clean, Animé knew it saw many battles, “this was your Grandma Mara’s, before that, it was your Grandpa Luke’s…and before that, it was your great grandfather’s,” Animé took it hesitantly, not sure if she was ready to continue the Skywalker legacy, she felt Allana sending her comfort through the Force, promising her that will continue it together.

Han came over and gave the Japor snippet to Animé, while he gave a small silver headpiece to Allana. 

“This headpiece signified the Goddess of freedom on Naboo, or whatever hokey-pokey they believed in–” Han was cut off when Leia punched him, causing the two girls to set off in fits of laughter. Animé put on the Japor snippet and helped Allana redo her hair, styling it into a half-up half-down as well, they gingerly fit the headpiece on.

They grinned, they had something connected to their great grandparents.

“While we love these gifts, we’re just going out for a ride, it’s not like we’re leaving the planet or whatever,” Allana ended up saying after a few minutes of silence.

“We wanted to give this to you long ago, but we felt that now was the time,” Leia explained, closing the box and putting it on the table, Han came over and gave her a hug. Animé and Allana saw how old and weary they looked. They saw many tragedies, and they vowed to set things right…however they were going to do it.

“We love you, now go off on your adventure, but be back before sundown,” Han kicked them out with a laugh. The girls clipped their sabers to their belt,  gave them a hug and waved goodbye, running out the door and into the garage.

“Anji, Sari, let’s go, it’s time for our trip,” Allana whistled, the big beasts following the sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“WAHOOOO!” Allana yelled out in pure excitement. It was Animé’s turn to fly and she did a series of twists, turns, and other near-death tricks.

“I can’t believe he let us fly!” 

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Allana said wisely, nodding her head slowly, as if she was an old wisened Jedi Master. Animé laughed when her cousin let out a startled gasp.

“Ani! Look!” She pointed to a large blue hole, swirling in the sky.

The two slowly looked at each other and slow grins formed into smirks.

A Skywalker smirk.

Animé suddenly caused the ship to move forward and fly faster in the hole’s direction. They gaped, the Falcon stopping a few hundred feet away. The hole was blue on the rim and pitch black in the center. Purple dust fell continuously as it slowly rotated in a slow motion.

“What is this…” Animé whispered. Allana shook her head slowly.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good, we have to go.” Animé nodded in agreement, and set the course back home. 

But they didn’t move after she punched in the coordinates.

The ship started to slowly glide forward, up into the portal’s center.

“Mé…?”

Animé had a terrified look on her face, “The ship is moving on its own, Lana!”

Soon the girls were pressing every button, trying to stop the ship. They screamed when they finally entered the hole. A white light blinded them for a moment. When suddenly a different world seemed to exist in front of their eyes.

Luminescent purple trees, blue grass that lit the way for anyone who walked across it, five moons were shown. Animé and Allana’s jaws dropped in sheer wonder.

Stars twinkled in the night sky, crystal butterflies danced with wind. 

“What is this place?” Anime gasped once again.

“This is the homeworld, the afterlife, the Force.” A voice answered, making the girls jump up in surprise.

“You will make things right, my children. You must not delay.”

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Allana said.

“I believe in you, save my son and the galaxy, show my son back to the path of the light.”

“W-wait! No! Don’t go!” They shouted in unison. 

But, the world around them started to blur, the ship beeped and sirens were making themselves known to the girls who broke out of their stupor.

“Animé, help me with this!”

“I’m trying to stop the ship from breaking, Allana!”

The Falcon gave a violent shake, causing the girls to be thrown out the cockpit, hitting their heads against the wall.

Their eyes slowly closed.

Falling into a dreamless sleep, they could only hear one thing:

“Save him.”

Then all was pitch black.