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pendragonsandbuckleys · 5 months

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Long Lost Papa Bear. Summary: James MacGyver – Oversight to those within the Phoenix Foundation – left his son at the mere age of ten in a pragmatic attempt at protecting him from the growing list of enemies making their way to his door. But walking out and abandoning are two different things, and when his son goes from estranged family to current employee, his methods of keeping an eye on him are only made easier. - A look into James’ time as the boss of the Phoenix Foundation, knowing full well that his own son is working beneath him. Word Count: 4,903 [Also on AO3]

When I was first recruited, I thought I could keep family and work separate and for a while, I did. But the more I worked, the more enemies I racked up and I knew one day they’d come after me like Murdoc came after you. I’d already lost your mother and I wasn’t about to risk losing you.

Your grandfather helped me keep tabs on you. I was never really gone, son. I mean, you think you ended up working for me by accident? I was always in the background, nudging you in the right direction.

— James MacGyver, Season 2 Episode 23.

FEBRUARY 2000

Teeth grinding together; a low hiss escaped past his tongue as he dabbed away the blood with a saline-soaked cotton ball. Of all the places his target had to get a hit in, of course it was right on his temple – not an easy spot to hide from an inquisitive nine-year-old.

He should be relived. A major terror attempt thwarted, the culprits locked up under high security, and – glancing at his watch – the promise of two uninterrupted days with his boy. So why was it the last thought, the thought of being close to his son, that left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach?

It amazed him how bright Angus was, always curious and eager to learn. So much like his mother—

His palms pressed into the cool ceramic of the sink; head bent low as he let out a long breath. He would have given anything for Ellen to see her son now. To see the intelligent little man he was growing into. But beautifully big-brained or not, Angus was still just a boy and he needed his father to protect him. And what better way to keep him safe than to draw the enemies away from his door.

The terrorists, the gunmen, the psychopaths intent on murder. Every day they drew nearer and eventually, whether he prepared for it or not, someone was going to infiltrate his defences and get too close to the thing he loved most in the world.

So if staying away kept his son safe, then so be it.

OCTOBER 2001

Matilda Webber was a force of nature. Fierce and determined. With only seven years on the job under her belt her reputation preceded her, accomplishing twice as much as half of his agents and he wanted her on his team.

Her assignment was simple: investigate him.

Interrogation, surveillance, snooping though information she shouldn’t be privy to using methods she had spent years honing.

Show him what all the hype was about.

Show him any flaws in his security that would need to be patched.

She was incredible, winning him over halfway through the first day, and by the end of the week he had made a firm decision: she would be his handler. She would keep him in check and help lead his team and

– when she found information on his son, his stomach dropped –

she would help him hide deeper within this organisation where even his name would not see the light of day.

MAY 2002

LOCAL TEEN CAUSES NUCLEAR MELTDOWN

…was the headline he had spent days waiting to see plastered across the front page each time he passed the newspaper stand.

Those bold black letters would never be printed of course. Regardless of his hand in the containment of the incident, his son was much too loved in that school for them to let him come into any harm over it.

Only Angus.

And Wilt, he supposed. Though he had a feeling that his son’s best friend had been an innocent – if not eager – bystander as usual. What happened to the days of Angus being satisfied with dismantling a car or stripping a DVD player for parts?

He bet the teachers were wishing they had provided something a little more stimulating for the boy genius. If they had, the giant patch of charcoaled grass might still have a football field in its place.

Then again, this was the same boy who had almost set his gym alight a few months prior with his homemade indoor lightning.

Yeah…there would have been no stopping this. He just hoped for their sake they had some good insurance in place.

For next time.

FEBRUARY 2007

His phone vibrated once against the desk as he was midway through a report. Fingers flying across the keys, he let himself finish his sentence before taking a look.

No words, just a photo.

He appreciated Harry’s lack of small talk but sometimes he did wonder if his father’s straight-to-the-point messages were born more out of annoyance than convenience. His father understood why he had to leave all those years ago, but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.

He tapped on the photo, opening it to full screen.

Dear Angus,

On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 2008…

A warm feeling he probably didn’t deserve to be having suddenly crept into his chest. Seventeen years old no less and his son had been accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the country.

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

He had dreamt of this day. His son’s excitement at reading those words aloud. His bittersweet sorrow as his son moved far away from home and into his dorm. His pride as Angus donned his graduation cap and gown after three hard years of work.

Only, in his dream, he had been there at his son’s side.

Without a word he closed the photo, returned his phone to the desk and continued with his report.

MARCH 2011

He smiled politely at the gaggle of agents as they passed him in the hallway after a meeting, recognising their faces even if some of their names escaped him. As Oversight, it was his duty to supervise the inner workings of his organisation and he’d grown very familiar with the different teams within DXS and the expertise that each operative brought to the table.

Rather basic as a code name, but conveniently self-explanatory he supposed. To oversee something.

He was aware of all active missions, all new recruits, all ongoing disputes. And though it came with a heavy sense of responsibility, he happily carried it with both hands. DXS was his pride and joy, and he was privileged to be its commander.

Which is why he felt it crucial to employ only the best.

Recruitment came from all over the country; individuals on their radar, fellow Intelligence agencies, his reach even went as far as the US military. Which is why he had been able to pull some strings to get his son paired together with a one Jack Dalton during their time in Afghanistan.

The partnership between scientists and soldiers in the field was something their organisation had been the first to introduce way back after the Second World War. Something he had thought beneficial to every team under his command. He had looked into several servicemen, but Sergeant Dalton – a former associate of Matilda Webber, no less – seemed the best counterbalance to Angus’ scientific prowess. On paper at least.

He had given them the push, but now it was up to them to form the bond that would be pivotal for their eventual enrolment into DXS.

SEPTEMBER 2016

A stolen bioweapon.

A failed mission.

A dead agent; two more injured.

Patricia Thornton’s carefully crafted team had been operating under him for a few years now. A world class computer analyst, a deadly skilled ex-Delta operative and an EOD tech come scientific genius. Far from the first mission they had ever faced, he had expected better from them during their time in Lake Como, Italy. They had been warned of the dangers of the device, the effects it could have on thousands of people if it ended up in the wrong hands.

And still, they let it slip through their grasp.

He paced his office as his eyes scanned the medical report that had worked its way up the chain to him.

DALTON, J.

Agent Dalton suffered a grade one concussion and scalp laceration following a blow to the occipital bone. Four stitches were required. No swelling of the brain identified and minimal blood loss occurred.

Minor cuts and bruises to the face and scalp also identified, not requiring treatment.

Recovery time estimated at 7 days.

Not ideal, but not the end of the world. One week, maybe five days at a push, and he’d be back in the field.

MACGYVER, A.

Agent MacGyver suffered a GSW to the upper left thorax causing approx. 1.5 litre blood loss at scene. Surgery to remove bullet and close wound was successful. Further blood loss managed effectively.

Intervention to reduce water in lungs also successful.

4 units blood transfusion in progress. Blood type: AB Negative.

Recovery time estimated at 4 weeks.

One month recovery time.

Also not ideal. But then, Angus wasn’t hired solely for his physical capability. Even while recovering at home, his brain could still be of use to them.

GSW to upper left thorax.

He let out a grunt as his hip connected with the corner of his desk, inattention to his surroundings prevalent as his eyes were drawn to that point over and over. The chest was a dangerous place for any injury with multiple vital organs and arteries at risk.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore spot, releasing a long breath through his nose as he placed the report on the desk.

Not only was the bioweapon now firmly in the wind, they had also come this close to losing one of their top assets. And all because DXS had allowed two of their agents to cross the line of professionalism.

Angus would never have lost focus and allowed the mission to fail so terribly if only they had reinforced the no-relationship-between-agents rule.

NOVEMBER 2016

Whilst most people would be spending their weekends navigating busy malls in an attempt to get their holiday shopping underway, he was fielding multiple calls from multiple divisions demanding to know what was happening in an embassy building 5.6 thousand miles from his office.

He was keeping up with it all, of course. All comms, all decisions being made, The team on the ground were more than capable of handling it but it was a delicate situation and he had to be ready to step in if needed.

He had just ended his latest call when the phone immediately chimed in his hand.

“Yes?” He greeted, no time for pleasantries.

It was a swift conversation, barely move than five words needed from his end, as the agent provided an update.

Three hours.

He felt his stomach drop.

Three hours until exfil could reach the embassy. Three hours that the boots on the ground would need to hold the fort against the Dieva Roka and their barrage of gunfire. He couldn’t lose—

They couldn’t lose this embassy. It was too important to the inner workings of international relationships between multiple territories.

He was certain that the team would come up with a sure-fire way of keeping everyone safe until backup arrived, but in the meantime, he had a few more phone calls to make.

JANUARY 2017

He had eyes and ears everywhere. He knew about the mole lurking within the US government, he knew they had been feeding information to an outside terror organisation, that they had even gone as far as ordering the deaths of innocents to keep their secret safe.

What he was ashamed to have not known was that the mole was an agent within his own establishment. Instead, the privilege of identifying them had fallen on his own son’s team no less.

Patricia Thornton had been the trusted Head of DXS for many years and the transformation into the Phoenix Foundation had seen her shift in roles to the Director of Operations. A role that, he now realised, suited her agenda perfectly.

How had he missed it? A mole so high up in their agency.

He would be running thorough checks on all of his employees over the next few days. And the new director? He knew exactly who to bring in for that role. Someone who had worked closely with him for several years. Someone he trusted exceedingly.

OCTOBER 2017

As the Head of the Phoenix Foundation, it was well within his right to delegate all missions to the various teams on the ground but where was the fun in that? He hadn’t spent all these years honing his skills as a covert operative just to sit in an office all day once he’d reached the top.

It was a juicy assignment. Reports of a cartel leader operating out of Pasadena had led to weeks of surveillance, days of planning and finally this morning, the successful detainment of said leader and seventeen members, effectively shutting down that chapter of the cartel for good.

A few hours with his operatives and those members would spill enough intel to have them taking down the entire operation. No casualties, 100% success – it felt good to end his morning on a high. And just in time for lunch at his favourite diner.

The drive back had been a breeze in the late-morning, low-level traffic and he had just navigated his car into one of many empty parking spots when his phone began to ring from where it was clipped to the dashboard. Only a select few people had his number, and they wouldn’t be calling unless it was urgent.

He wasn’t sure what to think when glanced down to see the screen lit with Director Webber’s name. As of this morning, she wasn’t scheduled to have sent her team out on any assignments. He answered the call swiftly and let her do most of the talking, grateful that she was as to-the-point as ever with her updates.

Murdoc had returned from whatever dark hole he had last crawled into.

Agent MacGyver had been kidnapped.

Agents Dalton, Cage and Bozer had followed the trail as far as possible before it had run too cold to be of any use.

As her words washed over him, leaving an uncomfortable chill in their wake, his eyes were drawn to a young boy exiting the diner with a man that he could only assume was his father. As the boy lifted his hand for his father to hold onto, he was reminded of the reason he had stayed hidden away from Angus for all of these years.

To stop this very thing from happening. To keep his family out of enemy crosshairs. He should have known that guiding Angus into the same profession would eventually have him racking up enemies of his own.

It sent a shiver down his spine; the known murderer breaking into his father’s old house. Phoenix’s previous dealings with Murdoc had been enough for them to get a clear idea of the man’s psychopathic tendencies and Angus had been in his clutches for a good few hours now if Matilda’s timeline was correct.

Why his son hadn’t secured the house more thoroughly after Murdoc’s previous infiltration was a mystery to him. He thought he’d taught his son better than that.

Dalton, Cage and Bozer were returning to the Phoenix but he trusted that their search wouldn’t end there. And as the young boy and his father disappeared down the street, Director Webber finished her update with a promise to keep him notified as the situation progressed. He ended the call with a thanks and reversed out of the parking spot, heading straight for his office. He didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

DECEMBER 2017

“Thank you, Director Webber.” He dismissed her succinctly.

Keeping his eyes locked on his computer screen, he could pretend that his Handler wasn’t lingering in his provisional, hesitating with only one foot out of his office door.

He’d been here before, the great mystery of Schrödinger’s scowl. If he didn’t look up, then maybe daggers weren’t really being glared in his direction. But if anyone was going to win a stubbornness contest…

“Was there something else, Director Webber?” He asked coolly, raising his head and accepting the harsh eye contact.

Matilda lifted her chin defiantly, glower only deepening the longer the silence lingered between them. She rolled her eyes with a huff, stepping back into the room to close the door behind her.

“He’s only six floors down, you know. If you fancied checking in on him.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Where else would his son have been taken after being exposed to a lethal nerve gas if not the Phoenix Foundation’s impressive infirmary. The high tech, state of the art medical floor of their building was often overlooked on the day-to-day basis of many agents who successfully made it through missions with barely a scratch on them. But for the more dangerous endings to otherwise fruitful assignments; the gunshot wounds, the poisonings, the injuries that would raise all the wrong questions at a normal hospital; their infirmary was fully manned and copiously stocked for anything that came through their doors.

As head of the organisation, he had access to the running log of those being treated at any one time and often liked to check that his agents were recovering well. That report had been open on his screen for two hours today, only closing once Angus’ name had appeared at the top of the list.

Matilda crossed her arms with more flourish than was strictly necessary, head tilting perfectly to the side. He was obviously taking too long to reply.

“They’ve sedated him so he wouldn’t even have to know you were there.”

Sedated. Made sense. Nerve agents could cause havoc on the body; difficulty breathing, painful muscle spasms, severe headaches, coma, death—

He’d read the report. They’d gotten Angus back to the Phoenix before his condition had turned critical, administered the atropine and pralidoxime before anything irreversible played out. Several words had stood out from the page to leave an uneasiness sitting in his chest though – respiratory distress and seizure amongst them – but considering the devastation the VX gas could have caused to the entirety of New York had it been dropped into the water supply; they had gotten off lightly.

“Jim.”

“Matilda.”

Another roll of the eyes.

“You’re not going to be able to hide away forever.” She said sadly. Though he had a feeling that was more on his son’s behalf than anything else. “For the past few months that boy has spent every waking moment he has hunting for clues that could lead him to you.”

He pushed himself up from his chair as she spoke, moving to stand by the window. It was much easier to hear her words without the scrutinous stare that accompanied them. Even as a young boy, Angus was relentless when he put his mind to something, eager to solve every problem he came across. But this was different. This wasn’t some old television set that could be ripped apart and screwed back together, this was life or death. And he had been perfecting the art of hiding a lot longer than Angus had been alive. His son was going to have to admit defeat soon enough.

“I’m staying away for—”

“—for his own protection, yes, so you keep saying. But whether you like it or not, your son is far too clever not to succeed in this.”

The sun was setting now, long shadows being cast behind trees as the evening took hold. His window was open slightly and the eventide air seeping through was cool against his skin. Angus would be kept in for a few days, at least, medical staff checking in on him regularly to ensure his symptoms were under control and improving. The recovery statistics from such poisonings were typically very good when treated in time – which it had been – so he should be back to normal, and back to work, by the end of the week.

Wordlessly, Matilda moved back to the door, taking his reluctance to answer as her cue to leave and suddenly the question he’d been dying to ask forced its way out before he could think twice. He couldn’t hide behind the impersonal technical jargon of the report, he needed to hear it from the mouth of someone who had been there, on direct comms with the team.

“Was it bad?”

He watched as her faint window reflection paused, took a breath, and turned her head just enough to speak into the room.

“Yeah Jim. It was bad.”

She left the room this time, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a sickly feeling settling in his stomach and his mind drifting downwards to six floors below. It wasn’t the first time Angus had found himself there and, in their line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

He just didn’t want to know how many more ways his son could think of to try and get himself killed.

JANUARY 2018

Okay, Angus really needed to up his security system; or better yet, move out. He knew the appeal of a safe space – especially one with an already paid off mortgage – but if multiple criminals have been able to break in and threaten your life, maybe it was time to find somewhere new.

He was halfway through his prep for a meeting when his comms completely blew up (…possibly an inappropriate turn of phrase to use under the circumstances). He had already been dealing with two failed missions, three agents stranded on foreign soil without exfil, and an agent in the hospital after being shot by a psychopath that appeared to be haunting their organisation. And now, two of his men had found themselves trapped in their own house alongside a giant bomb.

Director Webber was on the ground liaising with LAPD and the FBI, and he was happy to stay in the shadows, watching from afar while she coordinated their movements. Agents Bozer and Davies were assisting, and he was grateful for their constant communications that he was able to listen in to over the radio.

The staticky chatter filled the room with background noise while he made some calls to keep TV crews and reporters away. The last thing they needed were swarms of nosy individuals crowding the area and putting themselves in danger. That, and the mass panic that would no doubt ensue if it was revealed that there was a bomb primed to explode in the centre of Los Angeles.

His forefinger tapped impatiently against the desk. There was nothing more maddening than someone taking their time to relay information to him when there was an ongoing crisis at hand. It was a tricky situation to navigate and time was ticking. There were a lot of variables to consider when dealing with a threat situation such as this and though his team on the ground were handling the investigation of the bomb with meticulousness, he still had his part to play.

Though if he stepped back and took in the whole picture, he’d be able to see that this bomb-maker, the Ghost, had already taken the hard choice out of their hands should the worst come to the worst. Phoenix had been made aware of the threat and had, so far, been able to clear the suspected blast vicinity, keeping potentially hundreds of innocents safe. Leaving only two to be affected.

The lives of the many, outweighed the lives of the few, but it was harder to be impartial when the few included someone very important – not just to him, but to the whole world.

FEBRUARY 2018

If Director Webber were standing next to him, she would have zero reservations whatsoever about calling him a coward.

And maybe he was.

But if anything, it was her fault for putting the idea in his head. It really was easier to face someone if they didn’t know that you were there. If anything, this at least made him a better father than the man two months ago who had refused to step foot into the Phoenix infirmary for fear of…something. What exactly he hadn’t quite worked out. Being seen? Being recognised? Being forced to have an adult conversation with the son he left all those years ago?

So, now here he was, lingering in the long stretch of hallway, paying the medical staff no attention as they wandered past. He was stood close enough to Angus’ room to see in, but far enough away to keep it from being obvious why he was there.

The distance wasn’t necessary. Not anymore. Not after Angus’ list of enemies had long since outnumbered his own. But hiding was second nature to him now and it seemed not even his son could reverse the trait that had been so strongly ingrained into his very DNA.

Angus wasn’t alone in his room, accompanied only by his overwatch who, up until half an hour ago, had been pacing so restlessly he was sure the man would wear a hole into the polished floor. Now he was sitting in the single chair positioned next to the bed, hand periodically reaching up to run through his mess of hair or across the stubble of his chin.

He could remember that feeling all too well. A mission gone bad. A partner injured in the field. The long night waiting for news.

Angus was asleep in the bed, pale blue sheets pulled high up to his chest exposing a heavily bandaged shoulder. It was a successful surgery, he’d been informed. Bullet removed and skin stitched up with minimal issues. They would let him stay the night but by morning he’d be good to return home with an abundance of painkillers and the instruction to take it easy.

How was it that his son had been shot more times under his leadership than he ever had in an active war zone?

Though when he had hired Angus, he hadn’t expected a crazed admirer to quickly be included in the package. Murdoc had been popping up on his radar repeatedly since the Phoenix Foundation’s first encounter with him a year prior and his obsession with Agent MacGyver was concerning to say the least. They were lucky he had been feeling generous today, inflicting a non-fatal flesh wound with his bullet instead of anything more permanent.

And now to top it off, he’d received word that Murdoc had escaped from custody, again…

Once Angus found out, that instruction to take it easy was going to need to be a strongly worded command from Director Webber for his son to even consider following it seriously. Though he was sure the team could handle the stubborn ways of their fellow agent.

Glancing through the window, he took one final look at the pair before wordlessly slipping away to get a head start on the search.

MAY 2018

He’d been imagining this day for years.

He just didn’t know why Angus had to decide to quit on the one day he finally got the intel he had been waiting months for. Time sensitive intel too. He couldn’t waste this opportunity to take down Jonah Walsh just because Agent MacGyver had been having doubts about his place of work.

When Director Webber had called to inform him, he’d told her to send Angus his way. Two birds, one stone and all that.

The large country house had been mostly empty when he’d arrived, only one gun-wielding thug who, after a bit of a tumble, had been easily incapacitated. He was having a nice nap in the pantry now, safely out of the way.

It was a big, open house with high ceilings and polished furniture. Not exactly the backdrop he was expecting when notified of the cartel’s latest bolt hole. But honestly, he didn’t care if it was a 5-star hotel or an underground sewer, he wasn’t staying long. As soon as he cracked the safe and grabbed what was inside, he was gone.

Careful footsteps approached from behind and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Just in time.

The dial clicked beneath his fingers and as he began rotating it to the left to continue the combination, it occurred to him that he hadn’t actually considered what his first words to his son would be after fifteen years.

“Wouldn’t take another step if I were you.” He said without thinking as Angus softly trod right on the loose board he’d noticed earlier. Good enough start as any he supposed. He never could do things normally. “That weak floorboard is actually a pressure plate attached to an IED.”

“…You’re lying.” Angus replied sceptically, which was…surprising. Not the tone of voice— no, Angus was far too smart to not see through that. But the words. Zero comment, zero recognition of his father’s voice. Maybe it had been too long.

“Maybe. Take another step and we’ll see.” The dial clicked again. “What do you want.”

“Director Webber sent me here to speak with Oversight.” Angus’ voice was steady, if not a little frustrated. Unfazed by the situation he had walked into. Unprepared for what he was about to discover.

“Oh, then you got him.” He turned around to look over at the man standing behind him.

Time for the moment of truth…

Thanks for reading! 🖤

#macgyver #macgyver fic #my fic

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sokkascroptop · 4 years

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traitor (sokka x f!reader) pt 17

part 1 | part 16 | part 18

A/N: Best girl friends Katara & Y/N 😌How?? do people write chapters that are less than 4k. I’ve been cursed. Also, it’s canon now. They fist bump in the atla universe.

Their second kiss was everything that the first wasn't. Where that one had been quick and desperate; one that felt like it held all the words Sokka didn’t know how to say, the second was soft and full of happiness that they didn’t have to say anything at all. It was almost enough to make Y/N forget the dull ache in her side and the pounding of her head. But it wasn’t long before they were interrupted.

“I’ll check in here–woah.” Aang stood just outside the tent with his jaw on the floor. “Sorry!” He squeaked, a pink blush lighting up his cheeks. He ran off and Sokka and Y/N were alone again. They shared a look of horror and scrambled apart.

“Do you think he saw?” Sokka grimaced.

Y/N widened her eyes. “‘Do you think he saw?’” she mimicked in his deeper voice then promptly shoved her face in her hands. Oh gods, Y/N didn’t know that this level of embarrassment existed.

She only had a second to think of an excuse for what they had been doing, because as soon as Aang had disappeared, Katara replaced him.

She paid no attention to Y/N who was furiously blushing and smacked Sokka’s shoulder. “Sokka, she’s hurt! What are you doing?!”

“Ow, hey! Katara!” Sokka rubbed the place she had hit him. “Aang, why did you tell her!”

Aang peeked his head in the tent. “I didn’t say anything!”

“He didn’t have to!” Katara chastised. Her eyes softened as she looked at Y/N. “How do you feel?”

“Much better, thanks to you.” Y/N wrapped her arms around the girl in a tight hug.

Katara held her shoulders. “Come on. Now that you’re awake we need to get moving.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped anxiously. “Why?”

“While we were out, we spotted more Fire Nation soldiers coming into the village.” Katara must have felt Y/N tense under her hands and gave her a squeeze. “It’s okay, but we don’t want them to find us. Come on.” She helped pull Y/N to her feet, glaring at Sokka when he reached out to help. He shrank away from them both and started to collect the blankets.

Y/N allowed herself to be led out of the tent with Katara’s arm around her waist. Y/N was grateful for it, she didn’t realize she’d be so dizzy standing up. “You know, it’s really okay, Katara. I kissed him,” She murmured.

Katara let out a great sigh and gave Y/N a smile. “I knew you liked each other but I’m allowed to question your sanity because Sokka’s my brother.”

Y/N laughed but immediately clutched her side and doubled over as a stabbing pain shot through her body. “Ugh, don’t make me laugh.” She collapsed next to Toph on the ground and leaned her back against Appa’s side, out of breath from the short walk from the tent.

“Are you going to help them clean up camp?” Y/N asked the younger girl.

Toph picked at her fingernails. “Nah, I’m keeping you company.” She paused and then turned to look at Y/N–well, as close as she could, she was looking over Y/N’s left shoulder. “You scared everyone last night.”

Y/N looked to the other three; Katara was rolling up sleeping bags, Aang was covering the smoldering fire with dirt, Sokka was wrestling with his tent and losing. Toph’s voice had been low enough that no one but she had heard.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Y/N didn’t know if she could possibly feel worse about everything.

Toph shrugged and gave her a light punch on the leg. “Don’t do it again, yeah?”

---

Once everything was packed and Appa took off, Y/N leaned against Sokka in their usual spot at the back of the saddle as a silent apology for what had happened after their interrupted kiss. Sokka draped his arm over her shoulders and at sight of that, Katara sent her a wry smile.

Y/N leaned close to Sokka’s ear. “Did you tell them what I did?”

Sokka didn’t need her to elaborate. He sucked in a sharp breath before he answered. “I just said we got ambushed. No details.”

Y/N stared off into the distance at the fluffy clouds. “Don’t tell them.” She slid down further and let her head fall heavy on his arm. She was exhausted, but she was afraid to close her eyes, afraid for what would haunt her behind her eyelids. Eventually, she succumbed to sleep, and was blessed with a dreamless, weightless nap.

However, not all her sleep was so uninterrupted. It was two days before she had her first nightmare.

The logical part of her brain knew this was a dream, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. She was stuck in a loop, forced to relive killing Kaito over and over. If that wasn’t bad enough. It wasn’t always Kaito, it was Aang and Sokka and Katara and Toph. Sometimes it was Zuko and Azula, even Mai and Ty Lee. Everyone Y/N cared about, everyone she loved and yet here she was, letting her sword slice cleanly through their throats like it was nothing. Eventually, Kaito’s face stopped showing up, and so did his voice. It was replaced with pleas from her friends, “Please Y/N, don’t kill me!” “Y/N, I promise I’ll never leave you again, please don’t do this.” “Y/N, you know this is right!”

Each of their voices echoed in her ears until they bled together and she couldn’t decipher who was begging for what. Y/N had had enough, she wanted out of this nightmare–

Y/N woke with a start. Her face was stiff with dried tears. Luckily for her, she didn’t wake up screaming. It was pitch black out out and she could hear Appa snoring to her left. She rolled onto her side and looked at who was closest to her. It was Sokka. She focused on his drooling face until her heart rate slowed down and she was able to drift back to sleep.

---

Y/N wanted to sleep, but Sokka wanted to train, so that’s what they did. Though she wasn’t much of a training partner while she was half-awake and lying in the grass at his feet.

“You know, you’re supposed to be critiquing me,” Sokka said, finishing a move with his sword. “Not just admiring the view.”

Y/N shaded her eyes from the sun. “I’m not admiring the view.” That might have been a lie, but she was never going to tell Sokka that. “I was just waiting until you were done to tell you what you were doing wrong.” Y/N squinted up as Sokka approached her.

“What did I do wrong then?” Sokka’s eyes were crinkled in a smile. Y/N was silent. “That’s what I thought.” he said proudly.

“Come on, help me up”–She held out her hands and allowed Sokka to pull her to her feet–“I’m done watching you show off while I have to sit on the sidelines.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, swinging the hand he still held between them. It was an honest question, but there was a hint of worry behind it.

It had been two days and Katara’s water healing was doing more for her than any Fire Nation healer could ever do. Y/N poked at the pink scar on her stomach “Only when I move fast which is why Katara won’t let me spar,” she said begrudgingly. It was partially true. Katara had told her she needed to take a break from sparring, but Y/N was grateful for the break. As much as she loved it, and sometimes needed it, she couldn’t imagine picking up a sword, her sword, that killed two people and using it against Sokka. Even if it was a sparring match. It felt wrong.

As they crested a hill they noticed Aang standing on the side of a large mud pit where Toph and Katara were wrestling. The two of them joined him and watched as Toph kicked mud in Katara’s face.

“What are they fighting about?” Sokka asked Aang.

“I don’t even know.” Aang shook his head. “Hey guys! I thought we were supposed to be training me?”

Both girls quickly stopped their fight when they realized they’d garnered an audience. “Very well, pupil. I believe we’ve had enough training for today.” Katara spoke in a sharp voice that sounded like she was a Fire Nation teacher or noblewoman and Y/N bit back a snicker.

Katara pulled herself out of the mud pit and stomped back to camp while Toph bent the mud off herself and waded back to the other three. “While Katara cleans up, let’s go have some fun!!”

“Yes!” Y/N shouted along with the two boys. Finally! Something that she was actually going to be allowed to do. For the past two days she had sulked around camp doing nothing except help Katara with chores. Not to mention all the down time meant her mind was racing. She needed a break to get away from flashbacks of that night that plagued her every waking moment.

“Y/N, you should stay back and let me heal you some more before dinner.” Katara waved her over.

Y/N immediately deflated. “No. Come on Katara. I’m so bored. I want to go have fun with the others!” She pouted. She felt like a little girl who was begging her mother for candy. But the look on Katara’s face said she wasn’t budging.

Y/N turned to the other three. She squeezed Sokka’s hand. “Have fun guys.”

---

Katara hovered her hands over Y/N side. The water was soothing and made Y/N sleepy. It was probably best she stayed behind, or at least Y/N kept telling herself that.

“How am I doing, Master Healer Katara?” Y/N murmured.

Katara chuckled and removed her hands. “I’m not a Master Healer.”

Y/N sat up and stretched her back. “I think Aang and I would both beg to differ. If I was in the Fire Nation, I’d probably still be on bedrest like, dying from infection or something. Not able to walk around and do things.”

“I guess I just always wanted something different. I didn’t want to be just a healer.” Katara began to putter around camp, pulling out bowls and rice, preparing to make dinner.

“Well, you’re really good at it. Not that you're not good at combat waterbending, because you’re amazing at that too.”

Katara pursed her lips. “I trained in the Northern Water Tribe with Aang. There they don’t let women learn fighting styles.”

“That’s awful!” Y/N was so surprised to hear that there were still places around their world that didn’t lend the same opportunities to men and women. “But you obviously know them so how did you learn?”

“I had to challenge the Master to a duel for him to take me seriously. I know healing, but it isn’t enough for me.” Katara looked at Y/N in the eyes with a determined furrow of her brows. “I never want to have to beg for someone to take me seriously ever again.”

“No one should have to do that.” Y/N knew what Katara was feeling, she just wished she could apply the same logic to her own life when it came up. Katara was an accomplished waterbender, there was not a doubt about that, and some might say that Y/N was an accomplished swordswoman, but she could never take that seriously. She always needed to be better–no–the best. Of course none of that mattered to her now. She was her best and look at what that had done.

“Are you...okay?” Katara had stopped what she was doing and looked at Y/N earnestly.

“What do you mean?” Y/N twirled a piece of her hair around her finger.

“You’ve been acting differently. You’re quieter around everyone. And you’re always tired.” Katara pointed out as Y/N yawned.

“I’m fine. It’s all probably because I got hurt. My body’s recouping or something.” Y/N didn’t know whether Katara believed her, but she stopped asking questions.

---

“Oh spirits, Katara is going to be so mad that we’re doing this.”

Sokka slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “We are not thinking about Katara’s wrath right now. We are thinking about fun.”

Y/N slipped an arm around his waist and watched as Toph handed over their bag of coins–all the money they had–to the scam artists in the street. “What is the point of this game anyways?”

Aang answered her. “You throw those sticks with the symbols on them. You win if both sticks have the same symbols face up.”

Y/N bit her lip as she watched Toph take the sticks from one of the sneering men and toss them onto the stones underfoot. Both she and Sokka leaned forward, waiting with bated breath. Just as it seemed that one of the squared off sticks was going to flip, it stopped. Three painted red circles were face up on both sticks.

“Yes!” Y/N jumped in the air. The rush was instantaneous. Her heart was beating fast and she was lightheaded. No wonder the others didn’t want to stop doing this! This was the first thing in days that actually felt good, and Y/N wanted as much of that as she could get her hands on.

Toph snatched their bag of money back from the stunned men and Aang grabbed the bag of money they had bet against her and the four of them ran off down the streets.

“What are we going to buy first?!” Aang asked.

“I think I have an idea.” Y/N smiled mischievously.

---

The four of them were lounging in the center of town, around the giant statue of Firelord Ozai spitting fire. It was so grotesque that Y/N laughed when she first saw it. She also might have mused low enough for only Sokka to hear about what the Firelord might have been compensating for with such a large, scary statue.

“I don’t care what any of you think, the Fire Nation has the best chocolate anywhere,” Y/N sighed happily. She was laying on the stout wall surrounding the statue. None of them knew if it was disrespectful, but no one had come to chase them away either. Y/N hoped that it was.

Aang was laying on the wall too, in the opposite direction as Y/N with his head just brushing hers. He held his fist above her face and she bumped it with her own. “Agreed,” he said.

“I finished mine.” Sokka tilted his head back from where he was on the ground and laid it on Y/N’s arm. “Can I have some of yours?”

Y/N broke the tiniest piece she could manage and placed it in Sokka’s hand. “You should have savored it instead of eating it all in one bite.”

“I can’t–” Sokka popped the piece Y/N gave him in his mouth. “–no self-control.”

“If you guys are done flirting. I want to get back to scamming,” Toph droned from the ground next to Sokka. Y/N didn’t have to turn and look to know the face she was making.

Y/N grinned. “That’s not flirting, Toph. This is–” Y/N grabbed Sokka’s chin and laid a loud kiss on his cheek. “Mwah!”

Y/N would have been satisfied just hearing Aang and Toph make fake retching sounds behind her back, but she was even more pleased when she saw Sokka’s reddened cheeks. She poked one lightly before saying, “Let’s go scam some people!”

---

This was the second fight in as many days between Katara and Toph that Aang, Sokka and Y/N had to witness. The three of them shared a look as the girls argued in the middle of camp as if no one was around.

“I’ll stop when I want to stop!” Toph stomped away and made a rock tent around her, shutting herself from the rest of them.

“Welllll,” Sokka snatched a bag of coins from next to Y/N’s leg and held a hand out to her. “Speaking of money, we’re off to spend some. Come on, Y/N.”

Katara stepped in front of her. “Y/N, you shouldn’t keep going into town.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow and looked down at the younger girl. “Why? Considering what happened in the last one? Or is this just another one of your new rules?”

Y/N was half-joking but something about how Katara was acting rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t like how Katara was blaming everything on Toph and she didn’t like that she was trying to tell them what to do. Then again, everything put Y/N on edge lately, so she didn’t know what was real or imagined anger. She knew that Katara was just trying to be protective of her, whether she meant that she was still healing or that she meant that she was in danger from being attacked again, Y/N didn’t like either one. The only joy that Y/N had had in the past few days was going to town with the others and stealing from the scammers. Otherwise, her mind was flooded with images of blood and dead friends. Y/N hadn’t even touched her sword since, not knowing if the blood had stained the steel red. Sokka promised her he washed it off, but it felt cursed now.

A hurt look crossed Katara’s face and she stepped out of the way. Normally they agreed with nearly everything. Y/N felt bad but that feeling left as soon as it came. Y/N needed this. She didn’t need Katara protecting her.

---

“This is the dumbest purchase you could have made, Sokka.”

“But also the coolest, right?!” The beady eyes of Sokka’s new messenger hawk bore into her, asking her to give another answer other than yes.

“I guess. I like mine better.” Y/N drew the new dagger at her side and checked her reflection in it. It was a ceremonial knife; heavy and would be hard to wield, but Y/N couldn’t help that shiny–and sharp–objects caught her eye like she was a magpie. It also made her feel better, having a weapon other than her sword. Something that was clean and untainted, something that was still beautiful.

“Now Hawky–”

“I beg of you, pick a new name.”

Sokka frowned at her, then turned back to his hawk. “Hawky, we already have a lemur at camp, so I don’t want to see any fighting.”

The hawk screeched in Sokka’s face.

Y/N dragged one finger down one of the hawk’s red wings. “Okay, he’s kind of cool. Do you think he’s saying, ‘Yes, I promise not to fight’ or ‘I’m waiting until you go to sleep to rip your eyes out’?”

“Oh, this is really not good.”

“Yeah, I know. I tried to tell you not to buy��”

“No,” Sokka grabbed Y/N’s elbow before she could walk too far away. “This.”

On the wall was a wanted poster for one, ‘The Runaway’ with a very accurate, yet crude drawing of Toph on it. “They’re not going to let us come to town alone if we keep finding wanted posters of all of us.” Y/N ripped the poster down and rolled it up.

---

“What is this?” Katara dropped a piece of paper in Y/N’s lap. It was Toph’s wanted poster. The same poster that should be in the bottom of Y/N’s bag, hidden, never to see the light of day again. Toph had asked Sokka and Y/N to keep it between the three of them and Y/N had kindly hidden the poster to do just that. They’d be leaving soon anyways, so what was the big deal?

“Why were you going through my things, Katara?” Y/N asked calmly, but underneath, her blood was boiling. Why did Katara think she had the right to go searching through her things when she felt something amiss?

“I–” Katara knew she didn’t have any defense for going through her bags. “Why would you hide this from me? You of all people know that this is not okay!”

“Me of all people? What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N had stood up now. She towered over Katara but that didn’t mean she was backing down. The girl was a spitfire.

“I thought you would be on my side!” Katara shouted.

Y/N scoffed. “Why? Because I’m used to following orders?”

“That’s not what I–”

“Just accept it, Katara! You’ve started to treat us like we’re all children. I don’t need your help, I don’t need your protection. I don’t want it! You’re not Sokka’s mom, you’re not Toph’s mom, you’re not Aang’s mom and you’re definitely not my mom. So stop asking me if I’m okay and stop telling me what I need!” Y/N grabbed her sword, hellbent on getting out of camp as fast as she could.

“Where are you going?” Katara asked.

“I’m going to train, Master Healer Katara! If you’ll let me!” Words that she once meant as a compliment, lashed out venomously. That sweet conversation where it felt like they were spilling intimate secrets was a million miles away. And for the first time since they had met, Y/N hoped that she had hurt her friend. Maybe then Katara could understand what Y/N was feeling in her chest every time she breathed.

---

Y/N sat on one of the many cliffs around their campsite with her feet dangling over the edge. It reminded her of the cliffs around her home on Ember Island. When she was younger her brothers had taken her out there and let her jump with them as long as she kept it a secret. Y/N wondered absently if she’d ever feel that rush again, the rush of jumping into the water from a cliff or the rush of keeping a secret like that. Now that she was older, secrets were just heavy burdens one was forced to carry.

Y/N touched her sheath next to her. She didn’t even know why she brought it. She didn’t want to look at it, let alone draw it and wield it. But it still was a comfort to have it near, just as it had been her whole life.

“Hey.”

Y/N didn’t turn to acknowledge Katara. Despite this, she sat down next to Y/N. They both stared at the water hundreds of feet below them. Y/N was starting to feel the guilt for yelling at Katara creeping up.

“I made up with Toph.” She paused. “I also talked to Sokka–” Y/N flinched but Katara continued like she didn’t notice. “–I don’t expect you to tell me everything. But I know when something is bothering you. You’re on edge, you barely sleep. Something happened in that forest and I don’t mean you getting hurt. Something else, something they did or said. Or something you did.”

Y/N violently shook her head. She felt like she was going to be sick. “I can’t–”

“You don’t have to.” Katara wrapped her in a hug that Y/N didn’t think she deserved. “Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” Y/N returned the hug. She had changed her mind. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to look out for you when you were used to looking out for yourself for so long. It didn’t mean she was going to tell Katara, or any one else, for that matter, but having the option was nice too.

---

A/N: I tried to stay with the storyline completely but it made the chapter like, super fucking long so I veered off and we got this hot mess.

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jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

He’s backkkk

It took some careful planning, but eventually, Rikarah had what she needed to be able to bring Kilgrave back to life.

She already had a safe and secure location where she would be uninterrupted during times of needed concentration- her open rented home, just outside of Manhattan. She had never bothered to inform Phillip that she had a rental house; it seemed a better bet to keep the information of her multiple living quarters, unused for most of the year, to herself, just in case. Phillip had been far from discreet, and there was a reason Rikarah had chosen a secondary lodging outside of the business of cities such as NYC, Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, or Manhattan itself. She was a loner at heart, but her interest and her focus tended to be on others, and it was necessary to spend most of her time among them in order to know them and their lives. This distant secondary home was to be used only when necessary, to recharge, or for specific situations such as this.

It hadn’t been difficult to obtain a picture of Kilgrave. After the incident on the dock, he and Jessica and Patricia Walker had been all over the covers of newspapers everywhere, so it was a simple matter of a few clicks on a smart phone to find and save a picture of the man in question. It had taken more time to obtain something with Kilgrave’s DNA. Rikarah had attempted to trace the location of his body- somehow she suspected he had been neither traditionally buried nor cremated, and it was her guess that he was likely being used for scientific experimentation or study, legally or otherwise, within the government or whoever else had been the highest bidder of access.

With some creative thought, she had been able to trace back several of Kilgrave’s last known addresses, including the childhood home of Jessica Jones, which was unfortunately no longer standing after its bombing. Nevertheless, Rikarah had discovered that the “Kilgrave survivors” group Jessica had formed over a year ago, with the intention of drawing out Kilgrave and gaining information on him, was still active and meeting regularly.

It hadn’t been difficult to insinuate herself into the group for a few weeks as a new member, pretending to be one of the traumatized survivors of the incident of Kilgrave-directed violence on the dock the evening he himself had died. Rikarah had enough research information to be able to nod along and briefly and tearfully provide her own version of events. Meanwhile she took note of the people who had spent prolonged time with Kilgrave- being his driver for a week, forced to let him live in their home for longer, or forced to wait on him as a cook, bartender, or masseuse.

Those were the ones that may possess something that would carry Kilgrave’s DNA, even now. Those were the ones that she made the effort to befriend, to offer a shoulder and a listening ear. And a few episodes of feigned attraction and friendship had been enough for one clearly still traumatized older man to allow her into his home and his bed, and with minimal encouragement from Rikarah, to lead her in a tour of the house Kilgrave had made his lodging for a time- the house the man still lived in.

“It was terrible,” the man told her, actually tearful as he shook his head, eyes cloudy as though reliving what he spoke of. “I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t speak or even move without him giving me the okay to. He used my house as though it were his, and then one day he just left and didn’t come back. I was terrified that he might return, any moment, and I couldn’t predict when or do anything to stop him. He didn’t even take all of his things with him, and I was afraid to do anything to get rid of them, or even move them, in case it made him angry if he did come back. I know he’s dead now, but even now I’m afraid to touch his things. That’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

It was pathetic, in Rikarah’s view, but it was also fortunate for her. Because among Kilgrave’s “left behind things” were a comb, toothbrush, and some clothing including socks and underwear. All certain to contain Kilgrave’s DNA.

She had charmed the man with sympathetic words and touches, assuring him of his bravery, lying without a flicker of remorse about her own supposed fear. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for him to be convinced that he was now strong and brave enough to let some of those items go, “just a few to start with, the ones most associated with him personally”- and that she, Rikarah, in spite of her own fear, cared enough about his healing to be the one to take them away to make sure they were disposed of.

She still couldn’t believe the man was gullible enough to fall for such nonsense. But he had actually leaked tears and hugged her, thanking her for her empathy and giving him the chance to start a new life.

Ironic, and amusing, really, that in all actuality, she was bringing back what he feared the very most, all in the name of helping him put it behind him.

So armed in her remote rented home with the personal objects of Kilgrave’s and a clear picture of his face, Rikarah sat cross legged on her bed and emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of her intention. She stared at Kilgrave’s picture, her hands stroking over each object containing his DNA, and pictured him awake, alive, and whole before her. She imagined the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, every synapse and nerve once more sharp with activity and use. She envisioned the blood running through his veins, and as her own small body grew taut and gave off fevered heat with the effort of her actions, she reached out for the knife beside her knee. Grasping it in her left hand, she slashed a shallow x over each of her palms, and then at the surface of each of her feet. Hands shaking slightly, she smeared the blood over the comb, the toothbrush, and the clothing, combining their DNA.

With a final shudder of effortful focus, Rikarah spoke aloud Kilgrave’s name. She could feel the air grow thick and strained, as though holding something moving and living and shifting in shape, and she slumped back, exhausted, against the bed, watching with satisfaction as a human form began to slowly knit itself into view in front of her.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. The revived bodies started first with skeletons, then filled up with internal organs and muscles and sinew, before finally being knit over with skin and hair and the other details normally seen on the outside. It was no different with Kilgrave, and eventually, there he stood, naked, panting, and wide-eyed at her bedside.

Rikarah smiled, more in self-satisfaction at the accomplished task than at the sight of the man’s naked body. She didn’t consider him overly impressive in his physique, but he would do. It was the man and his mind, not his body, that mattered. She more than anyone knew it was a mistake to overlook people for their physicality.

“Where the bloody hell am I?” Kilgrave sputtered, disoriented, seeming to struggle to draw in breaths. His lungs, being new again, were likely still adjusting to breathing. “What’s the matter with me? And who the fuck are you?”

When Rikarah didn’t immediately answer, too tired to bother, Kilgrave straightened, pointing a finger at her, and took a menacing step forward, raising his voice. “I asked you a question, are you deaf? Answer me!”

“I’m sorry, Kevin, but I don’t take orders from anyone if it doesn’t suit me, and certainly not from you,” Rikarah said coolly, lifting an eyebrow from her supine position on the bed. “As you quite literally owe your life to me, I would expect a little more respect and gratitude, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll assume you’re rather in shock at the moment, given you’ve just gone from bones and brain mush to a living body again, and let the rudeness slide.”

Kilgrave’s eyes bulged, and he recoiled, alarmed as much by the nonchalant response he had just received as the strange situation he had found himself in. To speak an order and have it not obeyed immediately was beyond his comprehension.

“But I told you to do it!” he almost whined, staring down at the small and clearly unintimidated woman resting on her side in the bed. “I told you to, and you just- the only person who could ignore me was Jessica, and-“

He stiffened, his face paling, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rikarah again.

“Jessica did this, Jessica used that sedative thing on me, didn’t she?! You’re with her, you’re one of her people!”

“Certainly not,” Rikarah corrected him, exhaling with a weary and somewhat impatient sigh. “Jessica knows nothing of this- yet. As far as she believes, you are long dead, and she is glad of it. After all, she was the cause.”

She sat up, watching wryly as the realization and the memory of his own last few moments of life, just before Jessica snapped his neck, came back into the forefront of his thoughts. Rikarah gave him a few more moments to process this against the obvious reality of his current status of being alive before addressing him again.

“Yes, Kevin, you were dead, and for over a year now, too. You would have stayed that way, if not for myself and my own unique abilities. Some gratitude and a certain level of loyalty is not unwarranted.”

“I was dead,” Kilgrave repeated, the words stunned, almost disbelieving. “And you’re saying- what, that you resurrected me? You?” He snorted, looking Rikarah up and down dismissively. “No offense, love, but you hardly look the type to have that sort of power.”

“And Jessica does?” Rikarah countered. “I’ll grant you that she has the advantage in height, but she’s of a smaller frame even than myself, and what she may have over me in physical strength, I can outdo in the sheer enormity of my ability. She may be able to kill someone with a punch, but I’m the one who can bring them back from the dead. If you ask me, I have the greater power, and therefore, the greater true strength.”

Kilgrave looked her over again, more carefully this time, assessing rather than dismissing her. He took a step closer, still seeming not to care for his nakedness as he narrowed his eyes at Rikarah, anger losing out to eagerness in his eyes.

“You know Jessica,” he asserted. “Where is she?”

Rikarah wagged a finger at him playfully, a small smile curving her lips.

“Am I really so uninteresting, that I bring you out of death, and you would forgo all details to chase after another woman? Perhaps I was wrong in my interest in you. Perhaps someone else is more deserving, and you can simply go back to where you were before.”

“Wait, no, that isn’t it, love,” Kilgrave backpedaled, his smile at Rikarah forced at first as he raked a hand through his hair, then more genuine. “Of course I want to know how you managed this, and of course I’m glad for it. And I certainly want to know how it is you don’t listen to a thing I tell you to do,” he muttered, more to himself than to Rikarah, before addressing her again. “But if you know Jessica, then you must know something of our history, and why I would want to know where she is. She’s the one who killed me, you know. She’s the one-“

“That,” Rikarah interrupted, to Kilgrave’s barely contained outrage, “is in the past. The present is right here, with me, in this moment. Choose wisely, Kevin Kilgrave, and choose now, while you still have the choice before you. You can realize that I am no ordinary woman you’re dealing with here, that you owe me your life and your loyalty, and I owe you nothing and cannot be ordered into anything you may want from me. Believe me, I hold no liking for Jessica Jones, and as long as I am the woman who comes first and foremost in your world, I care little for how you choose to play with her. And I am certainly not opposed to letting you know every detail of what you have missed knowing of her life over the past year that you’ve been dust and bones.”

She paused, tilting her head, and gave him a moment to consider, before concluding, “Or you can choose to be foolish, ungrateful, and quite frankly, a bumbling, pathetic corpse, stumbling off on your own in a world that has moved on without you. You would have none of my help or my connections, none of my knowledge, and you would displease me greatly. When and if Jessica Jones kills you again- and she would, you know, if you just pop up on her in her new life without my assistance- then you can be certain I would not lift a finger to bring you back. So, then. What shall it be? I would think the decision obvious, but perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I believed.”

For a moment Kilgrave stood there, motionless, perhaps still in shock, or perhaps genuinely weighing out his obsession with Jessica and his desire for revenge against the logical reasoning of Rikarah’s words. But then he nodded slowly, reaching forward to take hold of Rikarah’s hand in his.

“Well, it would indeed be a fool’s errand to let a woman like you slip out of my grasp. Why don’t we start over with introductions, and perhaps something in the way of an explanation.”

And as Rikarah began to speak, giving Kilgrave some if not all of the answers he craved, she noticed his body relax further, his expression growing more and more fascinated as he came to understand more of the extent of her actions and her power. It wasn’t quite the way, she was sure, that he had looked at Jessica, but for now, it was enough.

It was enough, in fact, that after he had dressed in some of his old clothing and taken time to familiarize himself with Rikarah and her home, that Rikarah was willing to give him the phone number, if not the address, of Jessica’s new workplace, Heroes for Hire. And she sat back, interested and indulgent, as he placed a call, from a cheap prepaid phone she had bought in anticipation of his need for one.

It was Trish who answered, her voice bright and cheerful as the company’s head. “Heroes for Hire, we provide help, heroism, and honorable services for those in need in a time where true heroism is more needed than ever. How can we help you today?”

“Ah, Patsy,” Kilgrave purred, snickering to himself when he heard Trish suck in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing his British accent and self-satisfied tone. “So good to hear a familiar voice, but unfortunately, yours has never been the one I wanted to hear, and you prattle on enough as it is on that bloody talk show of yours. Give the phone to Jessica. Tell her she has a message from an old friend, would you?”

“This isn’t funny,” Trish said tightly, her voice controlled but barely keeping back anger. “Whoever you are, pretending to be that man is not a joke, it’s cruel, and-“

“Ah, but this is no joke, Patsy, can’t you recognize your own would be lover?” Kilgrave asked rhetorically. “Have you had so many men now you can’t remember the voice of all the ones whose throat you stuck your tongue inside of? Let me help you out, then. I’m the one who told you to put a bullet in your head. Fortunately enough for you, that doesn’t appear to have worked out, I never did find out why. Care to explain it to me, Patsy?”

He and Rikarah both heard Trish suck in her breath on the other side of the line. He doubted that this incident in the bunker was something anyone but she, Kilgrave, Simpson, and Jessica were aware of- and out of the four of them, both men were dead. Or supposed to be.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer than before. “What do you want?”

“Unfortunately, Patsy, for me to really make you do what I’d like to make you do, you’d have to be a good bit closer to me than a phone call, something about pheromones,” Kilgrave said casually. “But I do have other ways of making you do as I’d like you to. Put Jessica on the phone, or I will have six people show up at her doorstep and cut your name into their own foreheads. If she tries to stop them, they will cut her as well. Is that something you want to have on your conscience, Patsy? For a simple conversation?”

The line went silent for a few moments. When Jessica came onto the line, her voice was hard and cold as steel.

“Who the fuck are you, and just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, playing this kind of sick joke?”

“And hello to you too, Jessie,” Kilgrave exclaimed, putting an exaggerated bounce to his voice. “No joke, you never did have much of a sense of humor to waste any on. I won’t say it’s good to hear from you, since I had to get murdered, raised from the dead, and then still call your sister first and threaten her for you to speak to me, and I must say that hurts a man’s feelings.”

“You’re not him. You can’t be, you’re just some sick asshole who needs to fucking go put his dick in a-“

“Oh, Jessie, I can see your language is as filthy as ever, every bit as appalling as your fashion sense. Let’s cut off all the protests of my supposed death and just check your office email, shall we?”

Five minutes before the phone call, Rikarah had shot a quick video of him smiling and waving into the camera, with the date and time of the video clearly time stamped at its bottom. With a few clicks, he sent the video to the public Heroes for Hire email address, cutting off the call.

“But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll hear from me again soon. If you miss me before we meet again, you have the video for comfort’s sake.”

As Kilgrave hung up, glowing with renewed feelings of power over the fear, rage, and helplessness he had stirred anew in the two women he had just spoken to, he sent a genuine smile in Rikarah’s direction, who returned it in kind.

“You know what, I like you, Rikarah Pallaton. I think we’ll get along just fine after all.”

#jessica jones roleplay #Jessica Jones #luke cage roleplay #Luke Cage #trish walker #trish walker roleplay #kilgrave #kilgrave roleplay

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the-lady-of-stars · 3 years

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A Welcome Touch

Requested by @mackstrut 💗💗💗💗

Prompt: #1 - Kissing the other’s bruises/scars

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Warnings: angst, description of injuries, the typical hurt-comfort trope

A/N: Really enjoyed writing this one bc Obi is a soft baby and deserves all the kisses. Also I’m still taking requests!! I’ll link the prompt list here. 💗 So sorry for the delay I’ve been mega busy but here I am now writing this at midnight lmao so forgive me if there are mistakes anywhere. Also this was inspired by Karen Miller’s book “Clone Wars: Wild Space” in which Obi almost dies like 300 times and gets super badly injured so yeah- enjoy!

You had waited until the temple halls were abandoned to sneak your way into Obi’s room, not willing to even risk being caught by Master Yoda who had the habit of being exactly where you didn’t need him to be at any given time. It had become a routine at this point. Sit by the door of your quarters at the temple until you could sense no ones presence in the halls then creep down the corridor to Obi-Wan Kenobi’s room.

Normally, upon opening his door, you were greeted by the man himself entangling you in his arms and holding you there until the sun rose the next day. Tonight, however, you were met with nothing but cold air. All of the lights in his room were off, the only visibility coming from the pale white glow of the stars from the window.

“Obi?” you called out softly, cautious that something might be wrong.

No reply. Deciding to search for him you advanced further into his room, looking around until you finally noticed him. He hardly looked himself at all; small, withered, almost delicate looking, as though if you touched him he’d crumble into dust like a pressed flower. He had bandages and bacta packs building a layer between his skin and his surroundings, but what skin was visible looked dull and bruised.

His mission to Zigoola with Senator Organa had been traumatic for him, the Sith holocron taking over his mind and soul in the most torturous of ways. You’d been worried sick about him, sensing that something was terribly wrong through your shared bond.

When he’d arrived home you had thought him dead, blood pouring from all over him, skin a ghastly white, his robes which fit him perfectly when he left now hanging off of him like a child playing in their parent’s clothes. You had kissed him then when the healers had eventually left, pressing your lips desperately against his hollow cheeks as though you could kiss your life into him, tears wetting his face. It had taken every muscle in his poor body to lift his hand to take yours, and he soon passed out from the exertion squeezing it in reassurance took.

But now, after two weeks, Obi had been released from the temple healing centre and allowed back to his own quarters, where he was to be confined for the foreseeable future until his recovery. Tonight was his first night back in his own bed, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel even half the man he was before departing for Zigoola. He felt hollow, faded, weak. And more importantly to him, unworthy of a caring touch. He had gotten used to every contact meaning excruciating pain for him during his time on that wretched planet, so much so that he had forgotten how it felt to be caressed, constantly on edge like a spooked loth cat. The poor man had nearly fainted when Anakin pulled him to his chest. And now here you were, standing in front of the bed he was curled in on himself on, looking at him with pity in your sweet eyes.

“Obi,” you cooed, tone of voice soft and gentle.

He flinched, eyelids twitching and lithe fingers trembling.

“May I come closer?” you asked, not wanting to frighten the darling man you adored so much.

No verbal response, but you just caught a swift nod giving you permission.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, you settled in front of him on the bed, watching as he observed your every move.

“How are you feeling, my starlight?” you prompted.

Obi couldn’t think of a word to even begin with. What to say? Empty. Soulless. Vacant. But instead, his body answered for him. His eyes began to sting, tears pricking bitterly at his lids, chin and cracked lips trembling. Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t cry. He didn’t allow himself to feel such emotions. The entire time on Zigoola and in the Medbay he didn’t let a thing get to him, composing himself as any Jedi should. But now, thinking back on the nightmares he had been subjected to for days on end, not sleeping for one moment due to the fear of his past terrors reliving themselves behind his eyelids, he let go.

A broken sob forced its way out of his throat, his hands coming up to claw at his face, leaving red marks. Instantly you reached out and took his hands, gripping them in yours to stop him from doing any more damage, grounding him in the moment. Ever so carefully you reached into the force and directed affirmations of safety, love and care into him, causing him to clutch your hands as though they were the only thing keeping him alive.

“Oh, Obi. Come here, darling, I’ve got you,” you sighed, leaning in to let the man bury himself into your chest. Obi found solace in wrapping himself around you, releasing choked sobs into you as he let himself feel the emotions he had been keeping behind a wall. He sought the tender touch you offered him, gladly welcoming the slow circles you rubbed on his back. He breathed out a shaky sigh as you pressed a tender kiss to his hairline, grounding himself in the moment as you rocked him back and forth in a comforting cycle. He gasped into your neck as his sobs eventually slowed, drawing in the breaths he so desperately needed.

“I’ve got you, my love. You’re safe. You’re home. I won't let a thing happen to you, I swear it. I’ll keep you safe,” you whispered into his ear, pressing a kiss just above it.

“Th-thank you,” he panted, the words smothered by his struggling lungs.

“Shhh,” you hushed him. “Don’t speak, darling. You need to rest. Come, sleep on my chest. I’ll watch over you, make sure you don’t have any nightmares.”

He nodded, but you could tell that he was still too on-edge to sleep yet despite his exhaustion. So you began at his hands, pressing a soft kiss to the scrapes and blisters that littered his palms. Then you moved to his knuckles, kissing over the deep purple bruises that had formed like poisonous clouds. You went up his arms, skirting around the bacta patches and bandages, tracing the shapes of his many battle scars with your lips. You felt his trembling begin to slow down, so you continued. Moving to his chest, you followed the scars on one side with your fingertips, caressing them with utmost care while continuing to kiss the others. You slid your hands out of his grasp and to his back, fingers sliding from muscle memory to where you knew he had a large silver scar that slid from his shoulder blade to his hip, drawing patterns on it and kissing his broad shoulders which became less tense with every kiss until he was completely relaxed, head falling forward to put its weight on your shoulder.

Obi sighed peacefully, moving to pucker his lips slightly and press a kiss of his own at the junction of your neck. A silent thanks.

At that signal that he was finally calm enough to sleep you lay back, carefully bringing him with you. You slid under the covers, spreading your arms as an invitation. Obi nestled in until he was situated lying on top of you, head on your chest, tucked beneath your chin and body draped over yours, legs tangled. You pulled the covers up to his neck, keeping him warm and safe, then ran your fingers through his hair methodically until you heard his breathing even out as he fell into a deep slumber. And finally, for the first time in weeks, Obi-Wan Kenobi slept uninterrupted, settled against the body of the love of his life who he knew would protect him until their dying breath. And there he found his well-deserved peace.

#Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #star wars imagine

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sourbat · 3 years

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Here’s a little ficlet I wrote today. Please give it a little glance, and let me know what you think :)

Summary: Nathan listens in on an intimate conversation and becomes increasingly jealous over it.

Pair: Magnus/Toki

Toki’s never been one to leave his door closed for long. Nathan is used to passing by the small room, sometimes at the earliest hours of the morning, and finds the door agape, lighting aglow and showing off the interworking of Toki’s short, erratic attention span. He’s seen Toki hunched at his desk, indulged in the time-consuming process of building model planes, and he’s seen Toki rolling all over the floor, tossing his controller and screaming at the television screen. There is Toki coloring, tossing his crayons against the wall and complaining about the mess he made with his stuffed animals. Front row seats to Toki rocking. Toki dissecting his actions figures. Toki purposefully breaking his things. There are nights where Toki frantically rearranges his room, and times where Nathan approaches the stretched light and hears the young man muttering, but often pitifully whining, in another language. There are cold, silent nights where the door is closed, and Nathan can still pick up the sounds of whimpers and stifled cries. There are instances where Nathan knocks, fewer where he enters and talks to the guy. Sometimes Nathan cleans. Picks up robots with missing legs, or ones that contain screws where they shouldn’t be. Most of the time, Nathan continues onward, leaving Toki to his devices.

It’s nearing one in the morning when Nathan’s throat tires, and concludes another successful night recording lines with Pickles. After they split, Nathan enters the familiar hallway that eventually leads to his room, and on his way, finds the long, dim light emitting from Toki’s bedroom. Like before, he thinks little of the dimly lit room, but notices a gentle sound emitting from it as he approaches.

Kid is sleep at the desk, he thinks when he catches something muffled, something that sounds like slow breathing. The thought to turn off the lamplight and let Toki sleep uninterrupted arises, and Nathan considers it as he reaches the room, figuring if the floor isn’t covered with too much crap, he’ll give Toki a break this time. His pace slows as he heads for the door, footsteps adjusting and soles rolling to muffle his sounds, and when he gets close, Nathan picks up on a conversation.

“…milks and apples?”

Toki’s talking. He’s whispering to someone. A conversation centered on food.

Nathan readies his hand, already thinking to tell Toki it’s getting late, too late for a midnight snack, but a raspy chuckle stops him.

“Hold up, dude. We got one paragraph left.”

It’s Magnus’ voice.

Nathan’s chest tightens, muscles instinctively bracing for an incoming attack that won’t happen. Magnus isn’t here, not really, but his mere presence taking the form of some voice over the phone is enough to make Nathan’s bottom jaw ache from the subconscious grind.

Nathan withdraws from the door, furthers himself away until he can barely register the conversation taking place. No, not a conversation. He picks up on Magnus’ voice, the solidity and clarity as he carefully pronounces each word. It’s a recital. It’s him narrating. It’s Magnus telling Toki the story of a bunch of dumb animals trying to run a farm, and in all likelihood, it’s also Magnus trying to induct Toki in his bullshit philosophy.

It’s a few sentences of Magnus gently concluding a chapter to a fatigued Toki, and by the time Nathan remembers the finer details, the windmill and Magnus ranting about how their country will end up in the same sad state as the farm, it’s over. There’s silence, the sounds of Toki shifting in his bed, and Nathan draws closer.

“Alright, we’re done with chapter 3. What do you think?”

A pause. Nathan worries Toki will confess to a lack of understanding, but then he suddenly speaks up. “Don’t thinks it ams fair the pigs gets all the apples.”

Another chuckle. “Well, I don’t think it’s fair either.”

A blanket kicks up. Something folds. The mattress groans. “I thinks all the animals should be sharins,” he hears Toki say into the phone.

“I feel the same way, Toke.”

“Why didn’ts them pigs share, Magnus?”

A simple, but foolish question, Nathan thinks. It suggests more than a lack of understanding, but gives away that Toki doesn’t comprehend the deeper layers, and that this is just a story about talking animals for him. Nathan’s bottom lip curls inward as he relives a memory of Magnus lying on top of the sofa, pages held open with thumb and pinky. Magnus tells him of a dystopian future where everyone’s at the bottom, where there are worker bees and handful of queens at the very top. Metaphor after metaphor, and Magnus peeling off his jacket because he’s so excited, tongue tripping at the increasing velocity of his words.

Nathan remembers, and admired that side of Magnus. Magnus, who always had something to say, who unleashed a crashing wave of information that, although incomprehensible to Nathan, sounded good. The man had passion, to say the least. Only problem was him constantly trying to insert it, to force it into Nathan’s head, his thoughts and his message. Cram. Shove. Jam. Hammer it all in, and when none of it stuck, and Nathan never applied, Manus got mad. Grew cold, distant and resentful.

Poor Toki, Nathan thinks, and awaits Magnus’ vengeful attack on the kid’s lack of intelligence.

“Well... why do you think the pigs won’t share?”

The question takes Nathan by surprise. He almost second guesses, thinks maybe it was Toki who asked, but then hears Toki hum aloud and guess it’s because the pigs want to keep the good tasting food for themselves, which is why they lied in the first place. Nathan hears another chuckle, this one louder, and approving.

“So, you know they’re lying?”

There’s a giggle from Toki. “Ams not a very good excuse,” he says. Magnus agrees, tells Toki he’s on to something, and the compliment earns stupid little noise from Toki. “I wonder if them animals will change their minds abouts them pigs…”

“You’ll have to wait later, man.”

“Oh, why nots now?”

“My break ends in about five,” Magnus replies. Nathan hears the disappointing sigh emitting from Toki. He hates to hear it. He hates knowing the rise it gives Magnus knowing Toki wants him to continue reading. The silence in the air hangs low, affecting everyone. “We’ll talk more about apples and the farm later, when you’re awake, alright?”

“Oh, okays.” More blankets shift as Toki nears the phone. Or maybe he’s holding on to the phone. Nathan has his back to the wall, eyes looking away from the light, from the intimate scene he never should’ve listened in on. “I likes the story so far. Even though them pigs ams kinda fishy, the horses and other animals ams nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Strange to hear his voice so soft, so gentle and accepting of another man’s limitations. Even weirder to hear Magnus compliment the horse. Last he remembered, Magnus hated the horse. Nathan grimaces at yet another memory that dared to rise from his personal, repressed storage. He crushes it before it can take form, but Nathans still wonders where the hell was this version of Magnus 17 years ago?

“Well, time’s almost up.”

“Thanks you for readins to me,” Toki chirps. Magnus tells the kid no problem, and Nathan silently gags at the sound Toki makes. A loud, audible smack. He’s kissing the damn phone. Really, Toki? “G’night, Magnus.”

“Sweet dreams, Toki.”

Nathan stares out, mind dwelling on the conversation. Where’s the damn cross comparison, the conspiracy and literary theories, and that long rave about how ignorant Toki was for not considering the “bigger picture?” Why wasn’t Magnus mad at Toki for asking such a dumb question? Why was it that he got yelled at for not understanding Magnus, for crushing his vision, for not appreciating his contribution and message, but Toki gets to be read to, gets to ask stupid questions and earns warm appraisals for coming up with half-assed responses? Where is the fairness in that?

Nathan blinks, and realizes it’s silent. The air is still and lacking the warm glow from before, and the stone wall pressed against his back emits its solid, unforgiving chill. The light in Toki’s room is off, and was likely turned off the moment the call ended, and now it’s just him, standing alone in the dark, obsessed over the memory of a man who no longer existed.

Nathan hangs his head low. No fair. I at least knew it wasn’t about animals.

#magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #nathan explosion #magtok #hammertooth #implied magnate???#metalocalypse #fanfic #needs editing

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audreyhheart · 4 years

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Last month I read The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst. Essentially, Brideshead Revisited set in the 80s with sex, drugs and Margaret Thatcher. In other words, I'm here for it.

The first novel I ever read by Hollinghust was The Sparsholt Affair. Though I enjoyed it, I felt like he was circling the story in that book instead of telling it. Thankfully, I had the opposite experience with The Line of Beauty. I was fully immersed in the protagonist, Nick Guest's, desires and anxieties as a gay man living with the straight, wealthy family of a conservative MP while not being any of those things himself. He's an aesthete, doing a PhD on the literary style of Henry James, and more concerned with beauty than the substance of a person's character. You know he's on collision course with the Feddens' who deep down see him as nothing more than a pet, but he is too enamoured with the idea of them to let go. This book is as much a celebration of the excess and materialism of the 80s as it is a critique of those values. Its portrayal of the upper class is handled with biting humour and Hollinghust doesn't shy away from the sex. Did I mention that it's sexy? It's SEXY.

This weekend I watched the 2006 adaptation, a BBC miniseries starring Dan Stevens as Nick Guest (PERFECT casting btw). It was very faithful to the book and unlike film adaptations, a miniseries has enough room to explore secondary characters and subplots without dragging out the story the way a TV series might.

It really captured the mood and decadence described in the novel, so much so that watching it felt like rereading the book. At first, I didn't think it had anything to add to the experience but Hollinghurst's prose is quite dense at times and the show allowed me to relive the most vivid scenes uninterrupted.

One issue I had with the adaptation was that it made the characters, especially Nick's wealthy lover Wani and Nick himself, more sympathetic than they are in the book. I admired that the more daring scenes were included, but the humour just didn't have the same bite.

The miniseries seemed to take a moral position that the book does not. Nick's struggle between living for the love of beauty or the love of people isn't neatly squared away in the book after his relationship with the Feddens' blows up and he is left with no one. The book ends on a melancholic note and posits that maybe a life lived for beauty is worth it.

I highly recommend both the book and the miniseries. Though the novel is a much richer and absorbing experience overall, Dan Stevens is fantastic as Nick and the scene where he gets Thatcher out on the dance floor is truly iconic.

#the line of beauty #alan hollinghurst #brideshead revisited #dan stevens #the sparsholt affair #book review #miniseries review #goodreads challenge #lgbt reads #first read of 2020

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doitwritenow · 5 years

Text

Raven on my Wrist

K so I have this headcanon that in a soulmate universe, Tony is consciously aware of each resetting of Stephen’s time loop with Dormammu. Because they’re connected, he lives through and remembers each moment he relived, unlike the rest of the world.

So I wrote a diddly. The soulmate idea is basically that you have a living tattoo of an animal that reflects your soulmate, showing important events and extreme emotions as they happen. Idk. Enjoy?

------

It was the music that tipped him off.

The chorus of ACDC from the surround-sound of his workshop, in the back of his soul, skipped. It rewound about thirty seconds in half a moment.

Tony looked up, jerked out of his aura of concentration by the blip and a strange sickness in his throat. He glared at the ceiling and spent a few moments blaming it for pulling him out of the Zone, before wondering aloud, “FRIDAY?”

“Yes boss?”

“Is something wrong with the wiring for the stereo?”

“I didn’t think StarkTech was capable of such civilian malfunctions.”

Tony pointed at the camera in the corner. “Don’t get smart with me, FRI.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the AI replied innocently.

Tony snorted.

And the music skipped, accompanied by a throb at the back of his mouth, again.

“There’s got to be something wrong, FRI,” Tony muttered, striding away from the dismantled suit.

“With what, boss?”

“With the stereo system!”

“I detect no problems with the speakers, wiring, or input,” the AI replied, sounding confused.

“But it just skipped,” Tony muttered. He made his way over to the cubby in the wall that housed the receiver, poking at it irritably. “It’s on Bluetooth; that shouldn’t happen.”

“I don’t understand--”

The music rewound and Tony heard the words “nine lives! Cat’s eyes!” for the third time. And because he was looking at the system, Tony saw it wasn’t just the music; the whole display seemed to skip backward in time.

“That,” Tony gesticulated sharply at the object, “is very irritating.”

“What is, boss?”

“FRIDAY, please stop and just help me, would you?” Tony laughed.

The AI didn’t respond for a moment. When she did, it was with honest befuddlement. “Stop what, boss? I was trying to help.”

“Me figure out what’s wrong with the stereo?” Tony smirked. “I don’t think so.”

“I detect no problems with the speakers, wiring, or input,” FRIDAY said again.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Tony sighed. “You said.”

Another pause. “I don’t believe I did, sir.”

Tony’s gaze snapped up. “No, I remember quite clearly, and I even got a good amount of sleep last night. I ate this morning. There’s no reason for me to be making things up again.”

The music skipped.

Tony groaned, rubbing at his raw throat, then reached into his pocket for his phone. “Either its this song,” he muttered, “or the bots and FRI are playing an elaborate practical joke on me.”

He skipped the rest of ‘Back in Black’ and rocked back onto his heels to wait, watching the stereo intently. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Shatterproof’s lyrics blasted uninterrupted through the lab. Tony couldn’t help but bob slightly to the beat.

And about thirty seconds later, more pain bubbling at his neck, it skipped.

But not to the beginning of his new song.

Back to ‘Back in Black.’

Back to the same line of ‘Back in Black.’

“FRIDAY I swear to God--”

“What, boss?”

But Tony didn’t hear her. He was staring at the nanotech synthesizers in the corner, the automatic arms that collected his nanobites into organized conglomerations. For thirty seconds, he didn’t answer.

The music skipped.

And in half a moment, the arms had seemingly teleported. Thirty seconds of synthesized tech had disappeared from the stages beneath them.

“What.”

Then he saw the blood.

Dripping out from under his sleeve, his palm was turning ruby with sticky fluid. Tony yelped and moved to wipe away the stuff against his sleeve, unsure where it was coming from. But it didn’t wipe away, it didn’t smear or stain the fabric; it seemed to be staining his skin.

Tony rolled up his sleeve, confused and more than a bit nervous.

And saw the raven.

He only had time draw in a breath of shock before the music had skipped, the nano-arms had teleported, and his sleeve was back down.

He wasted no time pulling off the garment, staring at his exposed arm.

Against the muscle of his forearm, his soulmark was writhing. The raven’s wings were spread wide, as though to ward off some unseen attacker, and it’s beak gaped open in a silent screech Tony imagined he could hear.

As he watched, the raven stumbled. It fought to keep its wings extended, fought to keep its feet, but crashed down in a spiral toward Tony’s palm, rippling over his skin. Tony waited for it to stop, for his soulmate somewhere to hit the ground, but the raven just kept right on falling--

Until it had slipped down to the tips of his fingers.

Until it had slipped off them.

Tony felt the sickness again, and realized it wasn’t pain; it was an undeniable sense of wrong because the mark was gone, because the raven didn’t come back, because it wasn’t coming back--

Because his soulmate was dead.

The music skipped.

Tony was staring at his shirtsleeve, again.

“No,” he whispered, or maybe shouted. What was going on, what had happened, what had he done wrong, who had killed his raven--

But the music. The nano-arms. His shirt. Time itself, rewinding around him. FRIDAY rewinding. Why wasn’t Tony rewinding? Tony didn’t want to think the words time loop. But he couldn’t stop seeing his raven fall from his fingers, wings drawn helplessly.

He ripped off his shirt, not caring how strange it must look to FRIDAY.

And there, on his forearm, was the mark.

Tony had just enough time to let his shoulders sag with relief before his skin was suddenly covered with ebony feathers and red splatters as that unseen attacker came at his raven again.

And that something ripped the beautiful creature’s wings from its body.

Tony watched his soulmate bleed out, bile crawling up his throat.

Again and again and again.

#and that is all #whoops #ironstrange #fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #soulmarks #tony stark #stephen strange #fanworkstuff #this was fun

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ageofevermore · 4 years

Text

iron heart | tony stark

summery → tony stark’s daughter deals with the death of her father after he sacrificed himself to save the world.

word → 1626

warning(s) → mentions of death

add yourself to my taglist

She barely recognized the small, clammy child's hand that forcefully claimed a place within her enclosed fist, or the darkness that drew closer after every moment she spent uncaringly gazing out at the unchanging ripples in the water. Her heart felt empty as sunlight hit a shard of metal in the distance, only amplifying the grief that paralyzed her body. She hadn't left the dock since her mother had released the small bouquet of wildflowers and metal that had once been inside her fathers chest. The last physical part of him had been lost to the depths of a lake she'd never bother to explore, and she wasn't sure how that pain could ever ease.

The small person beside her was quiet, only soft sniffles and wobbly bottom lips offering reassurance that she wasn't alone in her sorrow. After alien invasions and multiple hydra takeovers, Madelyn Stark had surrendered her vulnerability to the prominent promise that her father could, and would, come home after it all was over and done with. But he hadn't come home after Thanos, and he never would walk through those wooden doors again. Anthony Stark, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, had laid down his life to save a billion others. His selfless actions had rendered both Madelyn and Morgan fatherless, and Pepper Potts completely devastated.

Years ago — before the iron man suit or the Avengers initiative — the story of metal strong as iron was just a saying of affection between a father and his daughter. All those nights ago, when Madelyn and Tony would sit beneath the stars on the roof of Stark Industries, tales of great adventure were conceived and after every great escape would come the words, my love is stronger then iron.

On nights when neither could sleep and the stars were hidden by clouds, they'd escape to the lab to forge a tangible representation of their inseparable bond. Durning the process, small hands would clench and grab at the neckline or Tony's shirt, offering advice on how they could make their Iron Heart project better.

When Madelyn had prompted the idea of Iron Man, it had been the result of cold medicine and delirium, though when the coughs and sneezes subsided her determination to succeed was driven and true. The small child with bright blue eyes and unruly brown hair formulated the perfect symbol of unity and strength using the schematics that had once been dedicated to their Iron Heart project.

Madelyn wished she could go back to those days, sit with her father for a while as they slaved over blueprints and schematics until the early hours of the morning. She wished it could all just be that simple again, without the threat of alien invasions and death lurking over her shoulder. Never would she take Iron Man away from the world, though on days like these when she was confronted with the worst, she wished the world would have considered that the man beneath the metal had a family waiting for his return.

Madelyn stood from the docks with a sudden inability to remain still. Her being was shaking, trembling from the sheer emotional distress she was under, though she paid it no mind, instead looking down at Morgan who was peering at her curiously. Grabbing onto her sisters hand again, she made her way back to the cabin where she and Tony had unpacked thousands of memories over the course of five beautifully uninterrupted years.

Wanda visibly flinched as Madelyn brushed past her, her sorrow thick and heavy and unbelievably painful as it flashed before the avengers eyes. The mood had already put a damper on the young sokovian, though the depth of which Madelyn felt for her father was sickening and heart-wrenching.

"Mad—" Pepper called for her step-daughter, watching the distant gleam in the girls blue eyes grow farther and farther from the reality they shared. Madelyn Stark was completely lost to the memory of days when her father was alive and well.

The sea of avengers sitting in what was once Tony Stark's living room watched warily as Madelyn brought Morgan towards a shelf of priceless artifacts. Pepper stepped out from behind the kitchen island, throwing a dish rag to the side with her eyebrows drawn in curiosity. Both girls were spitting images of Tony while in the depths of his worst funks, though now the promise of late night juice-pops wouldn't ease their misfortune. They'd have to find their own way out of this long, dark tunnel.

Madelyn reached up for the shimmering sculpture that would withstand the test of time, holding it tightly to her chest as if to relive the small moments of its assembly. They were moments she could barely remember, though she cherished what minuscule details she could muster. Morgan reached towards the iron heart sculpture as well, brushing her small fingertips across its surface with interest.

"Dad and I made this." Madelyn's voice broke, though her strength didn't falter as she bent down to further dissect the sculpture for Morgan. "Look." She gently turned the iron heart around, showing Morgan the two visible patches of missing metal.

The older of the two girls drew in a harsh breath as a new wave of unconsolable tears made their way upon her. Madelyn hadn't stopped crying since the news of Tony's death reached her ears two days ago, though each time she cried the weeping became more painful. She feared that the urge to crumble would never diminish, though she wouldn't let Morgan see her so weak.

Madelyn reached into her shirt, retrieving the small shard of metal that she wore proudly each day. The only difference now was that the identical shard was no longer clinging to the interior of the Iron Man suit. The small charm that symbolized so much was instead laying in Madelyn's pocket, begging to be worn by a man that would never breath again.

Reaching for the other necklace, Madelyn lifted it over Morgan's head, laying the cold chain atop of her sisters silky black dress. "Dad would want you to have it." Madelyn whispered gently, reaching to put the iron heart back into place on the shelf when a dim beam of light projected from the top.

Tony Stark grinned happy with himself as he paced around a very disheveled laboratory. Schematics and blueprints were thrown about everywhere, shards of spare metal and faulty wrenches tossed aside onto every available surface. The sun had set ages ago, instead a city skyline painted a picture just outside of the windows behind him.

"Does it work yet, Daddy?!" An excited voice called, small little hands grabbing onto the billionaires pants with utter impatience. Tony bent down to pick up the small child, a teasing grin on his face as she wriggled about anxiously. Strands of unruly brown hair fell into Tony's mouth when he attempted to answer, though he figured the small child had already figured it out when she leaned in impossibly close towards the microscopic camera. "Hi!" She waved, clambering higher up onto Tony's chest when she realized his hesitation to proceed. "Say hi, daddy!"

"Hi." Tony waved, a bright smile filling his features as he took appreciation for the small piece of technology that meant more to him then the billion dollar corporation he was standing within. “What do you say we include Jarvis?”

The small child shook her head, once again reaching for the silver heart with pure adoration. “No.” She exclaimed, once again waving to metal as if it had the limbs — or ability — to wave back. “But, we gotta tell it about us, Daddy. Like you tell Jarvis about your day.”

“Well, I’m Daddy—” Tony was cut off by loud giggles, small hands pressing against his cheeks as if to cut off his incessant lies.

“I’ll tell it!” The young child exclaimed, determination on her features as she wiggled down from her fathers arms and instead sat happily on the desk. “That’s Tony Stark, and I’m Maddie Stark! I’m four—”

This time it was Tony’s turn to cut off the little girl, tickling her sides as he spilled all her secrets to the small immobile metal structure. His smile, unchanged by trauma and heavy burdens, was bright as he continued to ramble on and on about favorite constellations and ice cream flavors. The world seemed so small in the moment, just him and his little girl to impress, though that reality wouldn’t stay the same for long.

“I think it’s breaking, Daddy.” The small girl spoke as she watched the iron heart begin to flash with sad, disappointment filled blue eyes.

The picture faded slowly, much to the younger version of Madelyn’s prediction, though sound was still spilling from the metal heart as she watched it brokenly. Every person in the room had lost Tony Stark, though the world was only missing Iron Man. Now, that fact seemed even more primitive.

“I love you stronger then iron.” The voice of a small child filled echoed around the cabin, Pepper Potts sniffling sadly as she watched her two daughters grieve in the silence of their own suffering.

“My love is stronger then iron.” The sound of Tony’s promise was the final undoing of all the composure Madelyn could muster.

The girl crumbled to the floor in absolute dispare, heartbreaking sobs shaking her body as the iron heart tumbled to the ground, slipping past Morgan’s fingers as she attempted to catch it. Unlike Madelyn, it didn’t shatter, but yet another scratch was added to its front.

Tony Starks love for his daughter outlasted the test of time, though inevitably he left them behind to collect the pieces of a world that was vulnerable to opposing threats.

#steve rogers #thor #x reader #tony stark #avengers #endgame #pepper potts #wanda maximoff #iron man #dad!tony #stark!daughter #stark!reader

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alternitavely · 4 years

Text

Werewolf Idea Chapter 6

@lovely-llamas-bro for the support and hype!!

@kitkat-the-snacc for all the help and support!

______________

Edward awoke from an uninterrupted slumber.

He yawned and stretched out, a series of pops and cracks being let out from his large body. He looked down to see his large, gnarled claws holding him up and was startled before he quicky recounted the events of two days past. Giving his head a good shake, he looked around to find Dempsey talking to Takeo.

"I think we should start moving while we can," he said, his rough voice strikingly loud in contrast to the long hours of silence Richtofen's ears had grown accustomed to. "We don't know when the next wave of freak bags are coming, or how many there's gonna be, and I don't feel like waiting around to find out."

Takeo nodded in agreement, taking note of the German who stood and made his way to the Trees to relive himself.

"But how can we be sure the doctor is strong enough to travel?" He replied, "And if something happens to him once more, what can we do if we are being attacked in the open?"

The American turned a worried glance to the returning Beast who stumbled as he tried to become familiar with his new body.

"We will help him however we can." Nikolai assured the two men. "But Dempsey is right, we should continue onwards now that the Doctor is able."

The Russian strapped his belt properly before walking over to the German, explaining to him their current plans.

Takeo and Dempsey went to gather their things from their shelter, the warrior cringing at the blood that now crusted the sheath of his Katana. When they returned, they saw their Russian comrade assisting Richtofen in tying his belongings and a few leftover slab's of dried deer to his back with a rope they had found in the German's sack.

The four gathered and began their trek into the deep forest, bounding through and around large trees that seemingly grew thicker as they progressed. The heavy over growth of the evergreens gave a deep shade to the four men, but did not give much protection from the brutal downpour of freezing rain that shook them to their bones.

With half-frozen fingers, Takeo pointed towards a large tree with limbs that branched off as if they were roots, many hung low and were full with greenery, enough to give some shelter from The rain.

As the Survivors finally made their way under the trees protection, they layed their things down, unable to continue in the storm.

"We've gotta wait this one out." Dempsey said to the others, "No way we can make our way through that, and besides, I'm tired of being soaked."

The other men held no objections as they began to wring out whatever clothing they could. Richtofen pawed at the rope that had slipped a bit and was now digging into his skin due to his shift in position. He had grown tired of fumbling and tripping over and into trees as he tried walking of two legs, and had resorted to treading on all fours in a rather efficient sort of crawling- trot.

He may have splashed Dempsey with mud every now and then, but nothing could be proved.

Nikolai was quick to assist the German after her heard the whines, and gathered the materials from his back.

Richtofen's heavy fur was completely drenched, his coat plastered to his body making his appearance akin to a giant rat that had just left the pool, as the Marine was sure to point out.

Edward sat, and stool his arm a bit, seeing how it relived his fur of water. He shook parts of him at once, and eventually stood as an idea popped into his head.

Takeo had noticed the German getting into position, but he was too late to stop him as he shook his whole body, loud and rapid flipping and flopping sounded as the Doctor shook the water from himself, getting the surrounding area and people wetter in the process.

When he finished, he looked up to see three unimpressed faces staring at him. He huffed, and looked sheepish as he tried to apologize.

Tank shook his head and began to remove his over coat and shirt, hanging them on a low enough branch for him to reach to drain out a bit. He walked over to Richtofen as the other did similar things, but not going completely shirtless.

The American chuckled and asked,

"What, you two shy or somethin'?"

Nikolai shook his head, and Takeo responded,

"I would rather not remove more layers than necessary in this cold."

The Marine shrugged and sat by Richtofen, laying on his side confidently with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed. Richtofen, though not entirely dry, was much drier than the other three, and much warmer than some tattered up ripped shirts to use as cover from the low temperature. He stiffened a bit, not expecting the American's actions, but relaxed as he layed on the ground, curling instinctively on himself, and thus around Dempsey, tho conserve heat

The other two questioned his actions at first, asking him,

"What are you doing, Dempsey?" And, "Are you sure that would be the best for either of you?"

But the American pointed out that huddling up for warmth with others was part of basic training, and Richtofen was the warmest of all of them, making him the the best option to perserve warmth.

The other two men eventually gave in and huddled together, and fell asleep while Edward kept watch.

He made sure to keep them warm that night.

It was deep into the night when Edward felt Dempsey shuffle and shift in his sleep

He looked up at the man, seeing his face scrunch in displeasure and feeling the riding and falling of his chest quicken. Richtofen whined, and nudged the American with his snout, flinching back when the Man flailed and grabbed him, waking abruptly in a cold sweat.

The German whined again as he pushed at Dempsey's hand which slowly began to relax and release him.

"Sorry, Eddie." The Marine said, softly. He opened his mouth, looking as though he wished to say something. He didn't, however, and moved to stand.

Richtofen acted quickly, and forced the other down, curling himself around him more. He couldn't explain that he was their for him, and open to listen, but he could damn well try. He felt the Marine sight deeply, and then turn his body to lay on his side, arm under his head while the other reached to stoke the German's fur-clad neck.

"Take me out to dinner first, why don't you?" He chuckled, appreciating the other helping him calm down.

Edward felt his face grow hot and he looked away, hearing the Marine laugh quietly.

Eventually, the hand slowed as Dempsey fal back to sleep, and Richtofen lifted his large bushy tail over the man, dispute how difcult and strange it was to manipulate the new growth.

Dempsey slept as soundly as the other two men, who had shifted off of Richtofen some time ago, untill the sun rose, and Edward's world went black.

#cod zombies #black ops zombies #nikolai belinski #edward richtofen #tank dempsey #takeo masaki #werewolf #fanfic #gay #very soft #soft #i love these idiots

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

Text

15.01 Back And To The Future rewatch notes

Note to anyone reading: I’ve already written a mishmosh of other posts addressing stuff in this episode, so this post is not a comprehensive list of every important or interesting thing in 15.01. This post is “things I haven’t otherwise talked about elsewhere yet” or “things I’ve been meaning to talk about in more detail but haven’t yet,” or “things I’d otherwise be compelled to write into the transcript doc in the other tab and really really shouldn’t.” Because that’s actually the purpose of this particular rewatch-- writing up the transcript. Which is happening in the other tab. :P

(i’m gonna go post the transcript now, so it should be up as soon as I get all the html un-screw-ified... >.>)

That said, let’s gooooo!

well, under a cut because long-ish >.>

I already talked about the song choice, and the fact it was the opening montage music in 9.10 (rip Lamp-- yes, this song has forever been the imaginary background music to Lamp/Other Lamp, sorry, the brain wants what the brain wants). It also reminded me of 11.04, the Night Moves scene, combined with Dean’s joke about how Piper brushed Sam off without giving him her number, and Dean replied “We got tonight, who needs tomorrow,” where Sam asks Dean if everything is a Bob Seger song to him. Because, heh, here have another Bob Seger song summing up the end of the road here.

But I love how the lyrics MATCH UP with the action in this opening scene.

♪It's been a long time since you smiled♪ [zombies circle around TFW cutting off their chance of escape] Chuck: Story's over. Welcome to the End. [Cas kneels over Jack's body] ♪Seems like oh, so long ago♪ --NOW-- [in the graveyard, the scene picks up where 14.20 left off, and the music continues uninterrupted from the Road So Far montage. TFW battle a zombie horde, as we zoom out from Jack's burned out eyes and the fighting rages on] ♪And now the stage has all been set♪ ♪And the nights are growing cold♪ ♪Soon the winter will be here♪ ♪And there's no one warm to hold♪ ♪Now the lines have all been read♪ Cas: Sam! Dean! ♪And you knew them all by heart♪ ♪Now you move toward the door♪ [Cas picks up Jack's body and runs, leading the way out of the zombie fight. Sam and Dean follow, dodging monsters and graves] ♪Here it comes the hardest part♪ ♪Try the handle of the road♪ Sam [spotting potential refuge]: Dean, this way! ♪Feeling different, feeling strange♪ ♪This can never be arranged♪ ♪From the famous final scene♪

Then there’s the DRAMATIC ZOOM in on Dean that literally cuts Cas out of the shot as Dean reacts to his line that “Well, I wouldn’t starve.” Like that was the moment Dean began to literally shut Cas out, because he feels that line was Cas shutting HIM out. So instead of trying to deal with any of that because ZOMBIES TRYING TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR is a more immediate concern, he turns his back and goes on his little tirade about Chuck. Like he was reliving that moment he got to smash Chuck’s guitar and wishes he could do it again.

And then we meet Belphegor, who already has a rather hopping tag on my blog, so I’m gonna… just move on a bit from here…

I am in pain over this callback to Bloody Mary, with the teenage girls who seem far younger than the girls from the original. These girls are far more innocent. They didn’t call up bloody Mary, they have no guilt of having killed anyone on their souls. Bloody Mary just… showed up. And tortured and killed them.

But this parallel was twisted. In the original, the girls’ father apparently gave their mother an overdose of sleeping pills that led to her death. in the new version, one of the girls’ parents just got divorced and was compensating by going on a shopping spree and buying everything her daughter wanted. These girls were laughing, loving what that divorce brought them.

It’s sort of a more cheerful parallel to Dean and Cas’s fracturing relationship over their dead son’s body…Well, more cheerful until Bloody Mary kills them, anyway.

Sam learns there’s no sudden worldwide zombie outbreak, so the incident seems localized to that one graveyard.

And at this point I started a THIRD thing I’m working on at the same time, because two was apparently not enough. I think I’m gonna copy/paste that stuff here, instead. It’s about the Three Ghosts of this episode-- each parallelled directly to one of TFW. Bloody Mary was one, and in this episode she was Cas’s parallel. It’s her victims Cas will find-- two little girls who never deserved the fate Bloody Mary dished out to them. But Mary Worthington had been murdered herself, and her killer never caught. So she originally killed people who kept secrets about others’ deaths as a form of revenge against her own killer. In trying to protect others, she became a killer herself. And heck if that’s not painfully Cas… or something he feels he’s painfully failed to do, to protect the Winchesters from having to do horrific things. And he DID sell his own potential future happiness in exchange for Jack’s life, only to have just watched Jack die horrifically. His sacrifice, again, has amounted to nothing.

In this episode, she follows Cas from the house, through mirrors, and reappears in a dark pond to grab at the mother and child Sam had already saved from John Wayne Gacy (yeah, I’ll type that one up next, but let’s finish this first...). So there’s a being now watching Cas from the depths of a dark pool, waiting to reach up and grab him when he finally feels safe. Sounds like… the Shadow.

So on to Sam vs Clowns. Sam’s direct parallel is the ghost of John Wayne Gacy, in clown costume, that he formerly burned in 14.13. In an episode where he was about to come face to face with his own past in the form of John Winchester suddenly appearing in the bunker, torn from the past. It’s an episode where Sam and Dean find peace with who they’ve become, and lay a ghost of their past to rest.

With the Equalizer wound humming along, affecting Sam in mysterious ways we’ve only begun to glimpse, and Sam’s brief flash of himself with black eyes apparently hurting Dean, it’s hard NOT to think of the parallel that Clowns have always held for Sam-- Lucifer. Heck I’ve written about that recently, or at least it feels like I have… but at the end of this episode, Sam stops and looks Gacy in the face and tells him to shut up. Which is something Sam has ALSO said to Lucifer (or at least a hallucination of Lucifer). The infamous “HE SAID SHUT UP TO ME!” of Hallucifer in 7.15, which ended Sam’s ability to shut out the hallucination by squeezing the cut on his hand.

Now on to Dean’s parallel ghost: Constance Welch, aka the Woman in White from 1.01. A woman who was the first ghost of the entire series, who Sam literally drove into her house to “take her home,” where she had to face what she’d done to her own children. She’d killed her own children in a moment of grief after her husband cheated on her, and then killed herself.

Dean had been moments from killing Jack in 14.20, in a moment of grief, but didn’t. Yet he’s now having some serious issues with Cas throughout this episode and by the end, they’re “frosty.”

Belphegor, with Dean, looks for a human heart to use in their spell, and stumble across one of Constance’s victims. Belphegor rips out his heart and holds it up to Dean, when Constance appears. She recognizes Dean from 1.01, who made her go home, and attacks him. Then tries to attack Belphegor, and actually injures his hand.

But this is the ghost Dean is paired with. He drives her off, and Belphegor does the spell to contain the ghosts by putting the heart in a pile of salt.

Okay, now where was I in these notes… right… Town, where Sam and Dean play FBI, trying to stop a benzene pipeline leak. And wow, what a weird story, right? Sheriff was confused, but helped evacuate the townspeople to safety.

I think it’s interesting that this was intended to be another stopgap measure, like putting Jack in the box in 14.19, because they know this spell won’t hold forever, and they know they have no other reasonable way to fix the problem. But they can try to buy some time, and hope they’ll come up with a better solution before things go sideways.

Dean asks Cas to help Belphegor do the spell thing, but Cas refuses, and goes to work with Sam instead, leaving Dean to deal with the demon possessing Jack. Which leads to all sorts of interesting conversations between them… I think I’ve written and/or reblogged enough posts on the queer subtext… er… text even… of these scenes to just point out here that it exists, and is heavy.

Meanwhile Cas and Sam go house to house looking for people they need to evacuate, and encounter the above ^^ ghosts.

So Dean’s stuck with the demon fanboy who admires what Dean did in Hell, and Dean seems pretty uncomfortable about this, but it’s not like he has a choice, you know? Who else is gonna do this? Cas couldn’t, Sam’s already on the other gig, and that leaves Dean. So… instead of denying what he’d done, he brushed it off as “a long time ago.” And then actually asked what the situation in Hell was like. The answer Belphegor gave is… interesting.

Belphegor: You ever seen an ant hill when it's, like, set on fire? [lol no, according to Dean’s wtf face] Okay, well, there we were, minding our own business, you know, flaying people for eternity, like you do, right? And then every door in Hell just sprang open all at once. You know? Souls got out. Sky cracked. And, uh, boom, ta-da, you know?

So all the gates are open, including the Cage, but Michael’s apparently still just sitting there. Which is worrisome. But my question is, if all the gates are open, yet the entire planet isn’t flooding with demons and souls, ONLY through the direct portal into that graveyard, how can what Belphegor said be true? At least, theoretically… But that’s a question for another day, when we have more canon to understand.

So… Dean has to face Constance, who flings him into a dumpster. Which makes me lol think about 1.01 and Dean flinging himself off a bridge to get away from her, and ended up covered in mud.

Cas’s “It’s one ghost,” *two more ghosts appear* “It’s three.” reminded me of “I got this,” “I don’t got this.”

Sam accidentally shooting Cas because the ghost got between the two of them horrifyingly reminds me of 12.17 and Eileen accidentally shooting Mr. Top of his Class at Kendricks when Dagon deliberately came between the two of them. At least Cas is salt-proof, you know?

Belphegor calling out Bad Ghost! kinda reminds me of Dean’s “Here ghostie ghostie ghostie” from 4.13. But REALLY. A demon, who tortures souls for fun and profit, yet can’t do anything more than weakly scold a ghost like a misbehaving puppy? INTERESTING. Because it’s Dean that has to whack her with a metal rod, while Belphegor ends up with deep gouges in his hand that are clearly causing him pain.

Dean hurls the name Casper at Constance before he whacks her, which is also a callback to 1.01. It was Sam who called him out for shooting at her with regular bullets: “What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?” Lol that he remembered that.

Sam pulled a “I’ll hold them off, I’ll hold them all off” hopeless move when he sent Cas away, like Cas once did in 4.22 when he sent Dean away to stop Sam… but Sam actually got out in one piece, even though his gun was empty.

Sam picks up the little girl and runs as fast as he can and only looks back once he’s outside and safe. Like “take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back”

I already wrote about the callback of Dean distracting Sam from tending to his wound with the cut-off joke, reminding me of the scene in 4.09 of Sam doing something similar while fixing Dean’s dislocated shoulder.

And then we have the realization that they’ve never really had free will, just limited choices because of the circumstances Chuck put them in. Sam is unrealistically optimistic that it means that Chuck’s actually gone, now. But that’s the hope he’s holding on to in order to get through this horror.

So this… is what they’re setting up as the guidemap to the series finale. Specifically, Sam and Dean must finally earn their way free. The ghostpocalypse is just step one, and not the true end. There’s still Heaven and Hell to deal with (though Heaven is mostly empty of angels and Hell seems to be actively crumbling now). And Michael, whenever he gets around to walking out of the cage. I’m sure that will go great! Unhinged archangel on the loose! But those are all minor distractions compared with Chuck, because he hasn’t really gone anywhere.

And we still don’t know what Actual Jack, Billie, and the Shadow are up to in the Empty, in their secret meeting in a realm that Chuck has no power. And what about Amara? How does she feel about this now that she’s grown fond of creation? I think there’s a much bigger game afoot than just a ghostpocalypse.

Meanwhile, Sam’s quote here is still setting up the final scene of the series: When we win this, God's gone. Hm. There's no one to screw with us. There's no more maze. It's just us. And we're free.

That’s the goal.

#spn s15 spoilers #spn 15.01

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tosskah · 4 years

Text

Pom Poms and Votes Chapter 4

It’s time for Azula to turn the tables on Ty Lee!

Chapter one, two, and three.

Ao3 link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499431/chapters/50926165#workskin

“Well, are you gonna kiss me, or are you just gonna stare?” Ty Lee challenges.

Azula chooses the former option without a second thought, and leans in to close the distance between them. Her fingers thread easily into the other girl’s silky hair and the soft heat of her mouth feels more wonderful than she could have imagined. The cheerleader’s body melts against her, hands roaming. One kiss folds into another, and another, growing hungrier. Azula slips an arm around Ty Lee’s waist and holds her near, urging her to continue. Their kisses break at last, and Azula’s lips trail her throat instead. She has never heard anything like the breathy, needy gasps those kisses entice, and takes it as encouragement. Her teeth scrape experimentally against the pale skin offered to her, and she is rewarded with a moan that sounds like her name.

“Azula…”

The girl wakes with a start, her dream punctured by the shrill insistence of her alarm. Her heart is hammering, and she is as breathless as she was in her imagination just a moment before.

That felt so real , she thinks, knuckling her tired eyes savagely, as if that could dispel those images from her mind. Her other hand fumbles and silences the alarm. She must have stayed up too late last night. Her body feels like someone has replaced her bones with cement. She allows herself one more minute under the warmth of the blankets before hauling herself up to prepare for the day.

________________________________________________________________________

The morning air has an autumn bite, and she quickly pushes through the trickle of students on their way into the school. Sleep still weighs heavily on her as she spins the combination on her lock. The rest of the students seem to feel equally sluggish, and chatter around her is minimal and muted. That is, until Ty Lee sidles up.

“Good mooorning Miss President!” she sing songs. Azula freezes in the act of hanging up her jacket. Her first thought is of her dream, and she feels her face reddening.

“Morning,” she manages, unable to meet the cheerleader’s eye. Did we really go on a date last night, or did I dream that too?

“Sooo last night was pretty fun, huh?” Ty Lee giggles. Azula finally makes eye contact and regrets it. It’s almost like she knows what she dreamt!!

“Uh-- yes, actually. It was fun.” The word feels unfamiliar in her mouth. She takes out the books she needs in one hand and closes her locker with the other before turning to walk toward her first class. The other girl falls into step beside her.

“And what are your big plans for your first official day as president, huh? Any decrees for your subjects?” Despite the early hour, Ty Lee is absolutely chipper. Azula wants it to annoy her, to grate on her tired nerves, but it doesn’t. In fact, it’s infectious. She feels her own spirits lifting at the silly question. A flash of inspiration accompanies it, and she feels her pulse quickening at the thought.

“Our first student council meeting isn’t until the end of the week, so I’ll have to hold off on sweeping policy changes until then. I… do have one decree for today, though,” she pauses, taking a moment to gather her courage, “And it’s not for all my subjects. Just one of them, actually.” At this, she stops walking and fixes Ty Lee with a direct look. “I think we should go out again. Let’s go see a movie tonight.”

“Really?!” Ty Lee squeals, face brighter than the morning sun. A few curious students turn to look. “Okay!!” The girl enthusiastically wraps her in a tight hug, and Azula stiffens instinctively. It’s too much like her dream, the sensation of Ty Lee’s body pressed so perfectly against hers. She feels her face heating up. The other girl pretends not to notice her awkwardness and withdraws at last, still beaming. Whatever she is about to say next is interrupted by the morning bell. “Oh!! Gosh, I’m gonna be late-- text me the plans, okay?? I can’t wait!!” As she departs, she squeezes Azula’s hand and tosses one last smile over her shoulder before joining the swell of students.

The teenager is dazed. She must be doing that on purpose , she reasons, trudging along to class, Touching me all the time to keep me off balance. She has had the upper hand for too long. Tricking me into a date when I thought it was a political meeting, now this? Ty Lee is much more dangerous than I could have believed. I can’t afford to continue underestimating her.

The class passes by with an uninterrupted drone of the teacher’s voice. Azula doesn’t hear a word.She is too preoccupied with reliving the morning’s interactions over and over again, gauging how she left herself vulnerable to the clever cheerleaders machinations. I must anticipate that she will try to get in close. I need to stop her before she can put her hands on me. Or hug me. She suppresses a shudder. Remembering the hug is too much like remembering her dream, and her thoughts keep drifting to those phantom sensations……The bell startles her back to reality.

“Azula, are you feeling well? You look flushed,” the teacher remarks as students make their way to the door. Azula doesn’t answer, and hurries out faster.

The movie tonight is her chance to turn the tables. Ty Lee will have very little time to prepare. Clearly she had been plotting to ask her out to coffee for some time, but she won’t have the element of surprise anymore. Just thinking about it makes Azula crack a smug smile. As she moves through the hall, she pulls her phone out to check her messages. There are four from Ty Lee. Seeing her name on the screen makes the girl’s heart and stomach contract in painful unison.

Can’t believe I’m nervous over a stupid text message , she chides herself, opening the text.

Hey ur honor~~👀😉

💁🙇I was sooooo excited that i forgot to mention i have cheer tonite until 5😅⏰

👀🎥Can we still see the movie????🎬👀

🍔Also i get suuuuper hungry after practice~!!! 🍕😋

Azula scoffs at the cheerleader’s blatant attempt to control the situation. She thinks she can dictate the time? Fine, let her think she has won that battle…. But the victory tonight will be mine!

The last comment of hers is strange, though. Why should Azula know when Ty Lee is or isn’t hungry?? She puts the thought aside for the moment and works on her response:

No problem. If we meet at the theater at 6, would that give you enough time to eat? We can catch the 6:15 movie.

Satisfied, she sends it and tucks her phone away.

The rest of the day passes by too quickly. Her classes continue to run together in monotonous fog. When she checks her phone again at another break, she finds a reply from Ty Lee indicating that the plan suits her, although there is a noted decrease in the amount of emojis. She makes a mental note of her decisive triumph. Despite this, she feels the return of the almost familiar heart-pounding that keeps occuring when Ty Lee is involved. It must be because she has finally found an opponent worthy enough to keep her on her toes.

_______________________________________________________________________

When the final bell rings at dismissal, Azula bolts to the parking lot. Part of her is worried she will run into the other girl, even though she knows Ty Lee will likely go straight to the gym to practice. It is unsettling, though, that she always seems to know where to find her. I must learn her schedule so she can’t keep surprising me , the teenager notes to herself as she pulls away from the parking lot. Her mind quickly turns to the night ahead of her, already calculating her plan of attack.

Not to be outdone, Azula digs in her closet to find her most form-fitting clothes. Now that she knows she is going on a date, rather than a meeting, she chooses a clinging black long sleeve shirt. The neckline dips enticingly low, and her blood colored jeans cling to her like a second skin. Her hair takes longer to put in order. Since she normally wears her hair up at school, she opts for a half down style, held up with a delicate gold clasp. At last, she deems she is ready, grabs her coat, and leaves. As she climbs into the car, she realizes it is later than she had thought, and weaves anxiously through traffic to make it to the theater on time.

On time, of course, means 15 minutes early. Azula scans the lobby of the theater, but doesn’t recognize anyone. She breathes a sigh of relief. So far her plan is on track. As the time inches closer to 6, her nervousness builds - but with it is a growing sense of excitement for the next stage of whatever game Ty Lee is playing. As 6:00 comes and goes, however, she feels her stomach churn. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of the cheerleader standing her up, and yet it would be the perfect move to claim the advantage.

I can’t believe she has outplayed me again , Azula fumes, scanning the lobby one last time before making her way to the doors. As she opens it, however, she runs full force into a breathless Ty Lee.

“Azula!!” she squeaks, recovering her balance. “I am! Soooo sorry!!! Practice ran long and one of the girls had to give me a ride and on the way here, her car overheated or something because a bunch of black smoke was coming out and we had to pull over and no one would stop to help us!! And then her dad came and said he couldn’t fix it and they had to call a tow truck, but I begged and begged and begged him and he gave me a ride here!! So now I’m here! We can still see the movie, right??”

While her story is impressive, Azula is not swayed by it. Sure, Ty Lee is selling it. Her hair is loosely falling out of the quick ponytail she must have thrown it into after practice. She is wearing the same outfit from this morning because she hasn’t had time to change: blue jeans with large white polka dots, and a bubblegum colored long sleeved crop top, with a pink jacket draped over her shoulders. The girl is out of breath, as if she has run from wherever this other cheerleader’s dad has dropped her off, with her backpack hanging off one shoulder to complete the look of Girl In a Hurry. If nothing else, Azula admires her commitment. She realizes that in all her time scrutinizing her date, she has not answered.

“Yeah, we can still see it,” she replies cooly, not granting the other girl the pleasure of seeing her unsettled.

“Great,” Ty Lee breathes, anxiety loosening as the pair moves away from the doors.

“I got tickets already, since I was here on time,” Azula adds pointedly. The cheer captain winces slightly, but tries to hide it with a smile.

“Wow, that was really thoughtful of you! Like I said, I am really really sorry I was late-!”

“It’s fine,” Azula replies, shrugging, and pulling the tickets out. The frail, uniformed employee rips the stubs for them and allows them through. The silence that stretches between them as they approach concessions is prickly with awkwardness, and Azula basks in it. Finally, she is not the one on her back foot! As she stops walking, her companion does, too. Another victory.

“Do you want to get popcorn or anything, since you just ate?” she asks, gesturing lazily to the counter in front of them.

“Um— well, I actually didn’t have time to eat before we got here- because of the car, so….” Ty Lee replies uneasily. She fidgets with the pink hem of her jacket and adds, “But if you want to just get seats, it’s okay! It’s my fault for being late-”

“No, it’s fine. Pick whatever you want— I’m buying. We’ll just miss the first preview,” Azula answers smoothly. Her smugness is starting to radiate from her now. It doesn’t matter what the cheerleader chooses to order, because all the time she spends eating will be a reminder that pretending to be late was a misstep. That Azula wasn’t rattled by it. And that is worth the few dollars spent on concessions. To her credit, Ty Lee responds as if she has no notion of the magnitude of her crushing defeat.

“Oh!! Really— are you sure? I— that is so nice of you!! You’re the best!” she stammers, glowing with excitement as she surveys the posted menu.

You’re right about that , Azula smirks, stepping up to the counter. She looks to her companion, giving her permission to order whatever she wants.

“Okay, ummmm, could I get, please, a soft pretzel aaand a medium popcorn? And a drink?... Is that okay?” This last question is posed to Azula, apprehensively. Her reply is a true grin, reveling in her achievement.

“Sounds great,” she assures, fighting to keep her smile from overtaking her. Easy now , she counsels herself, Don’t get too confident and give her an opening . Her expression folds into something more demure. Once again, Ty Lee refuses to react to her setback, and instead erupts into an enormous grin.

“Thank you!!” she squeals, bouncing with excitement. Azula offers the cashier her card for payment, and the food is quickly supplied. “You look amazing, by the way,” the cheer captain continues, scooping her treats off the counter and blatantly letting her eyes roam. When Azula is too startled to respond, she adds, “Sorry I couldn’t dress up, but it’s a good thing you look good enough for both of us!”

Compliments on her appearance are rare. How is she supposed to respond? Her face feels hot. Damn , guess she saw an opening after all .

“Thanks,” Azula replies at last, though she sounds uncertain. Ty Lee giggles at that, like something is funny, and leaves her feeling more unsure than ever.

As they enter their theater, the lights have dimmed. They pick two seats on the end of an aisle and get settled. Ty Lee glances at her nervously and seems about to say something, but stops herself. She instead gets to work on her snacks. She must not have been joking about how hungry she gets after practice.

The screen in front of them is flooded with light and the sound kicks in, almost too loudly. Azula relaxes in her seat, picking at the popcorn. So now they just…. Watch the movie, right? Together? Seems easy enough , she assures herself.

Unfortunately, the movie can’t really hold her attention. It keeps drifting over to the girl beside her. It is much more fascinating to watch her watch the film. Ty Lee reacts as though the events are really happening before her, complete with gasps, shouts, and peals of laughter. How strange! If Ty Lee notices her observer, she pretends not to. The snacks do not last long between them, leaving the cheerleader’s hands free to shield her face when the tension is too great, or clap them together in delight when something goes right. Watching them in motion sparks an idea.

It’s true that Ty Lee often puts her off balance with her casual, unanticipated touches. This is Azula’s chance to turn the tables on her! She waits for a lull in the movie, when the other girl’s hand is on the arm rest between them, and carefully slips her own palm into Ty Lee’s. Ty Lee instantly looks over at her, but she is beaming, not alarmed. She is unflappable ! Azula curses, though she doesn’t withdraw her grasp. No need to concede defeat, after all.

Holding hands is….nice. It is pleasant, although she knows her own palm is starting to sweat just a little. When she feels sure Ty Lee can sense the moisture too, she gently tugs her hand out of reach and discreetly wipes it on her pant leg. Now she is torn. Does she attempt to go back for another round? The first try did not seem to shake her. Maybe it isn’t effective.

As Azula deliberates, she notices the music is swelling. The movie must be ending, coming together in some contrived closure that she can’t be bothered to pretend to care about. No sense holding hands, then, since they’ll be leaving soon. She can work out a stronger plan of attack for another time.

The lights come up, and Ty Lee is bursting with opinions on the movie. Considering Azula didn’t really watch it, she cannot contribute, and simply listens as they gather their things and head for the exit. As soon as they return to the lobby, Azula realizes something.

“Do you need a ride home?” she asks, pulling her keys out of her jacket.

“Oh! Well- I can just call my sister to come get me, I don’t want to be any trouble-”

Azula waves the pitiful struggle aside dismissively. “I can take you.” Her tone makes it clear that the matter is closed.

“Thank you!! You really are the best!!” Ty Lee gushes.

Considering this was likely her plan from the start, she hides it well , Azula thinks to herself, impressed. They exit the theater into brisk evening air, and both shiver. Ty Lee steps closer and slips her hand into Azula’s. It takes all her will not to look startled. It feels just as nice as it did in the movie theater. Her free hand curls into a frustrated fist. How is it that Ty Lee can unbalance her so easily? It’s not right.

When they reach her car and their hands part, the night air feels colder, somehow. Both girls are quick to scramble into the car and adjust the heat so it can wash over them. The warm air is met with twin sighs of relief.

“So you liked the movie, then?” she asks, trying to create a distraction as she once again places her hand on the passenger seat to reverse out of the parking spot. The action puts her so close to her date. The one that she was dreaming about kissing.

“Yes!! It was so good! And the snacks were sooo yummy, thank you again for buying them!! And the tickets! Do you want me to pay you back??” Ty Lee starts to unzip her backpack.

“No need,” Azula replies, returning to her seat, well within the boundaries of her own personal space. “My treat.”

“You’re sure?” Ty Lee presses. When Azula nods, the other girl zips her backpack. “That’s very sweet of you!”

The drive to Ty Lee’s house passes quickly, mostly full of chatter about the movie. It feels like they arrive too soon.

“This was fun,” Azula declares, “Thanks for going with me.”

“I had fun, too,” Ty Lee answers, unbuckling her seatbelt. Instead of gracefully exiting the car like last time, she leans in a little closer. Azula feels her breath catch in her throat. It feels like a signal of some kind, like she wants her to lean in too, so she does.

“Can I kiss you?” Azula hears herself ask, though her voice sounds far away. Ty Lee’s gaze drops to her lips before returning to her eyes with a smile.

“Mhmm,” she nods ever so slightly.

Azula’s heart has never hammered so hard. The idea of kissing her in real life is dizzying. And yet… she wants to. She wants to know if it will be like her dream. She leans in closer, tipping her head ever so slightly. Ty Lee tips her head, too, and her eyes flutter closed. That wasn’t in her dream, but it’s a detail that thrills her. Her own eyes close an instant later, and there is an endless, waiting moment before their lips finally brush against each other.

The sensation is almost startling enough to make her pull back, but she holds firm. The kiss is soft, and, if she’s honest, wonderful. In truth, she hasn’t kissed anyone before, not really. There was the time she was dared to kiss a boy on the playground back in the early years of school, but that was nothing like this. This kiss is like floating. Weightlessness. Like everything else has faded away, other than the two of them, in this moment.

It’s unclear which of them pulls away first, but suddenly Azula finds her eyes open. She can’t seem to remember how to form words. And what would she say? What could be said, after something like that?

“Goodnight,” Ty Lee says, her voice breathless in a way Azula hasn’t heard before.

“Goodnight,” she replies, just as short of breath. Ty Lee flashes a smile and slips smoothly out the passenger door.

#tyzula #ty lee #azula #tyzula fic #tyzula fanfic #tyzula modern au #modern au #high school au #tyzula high school au

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phoenix1966sbottom · 5 years

Note

Hi! I really like your blogs and your recs :) Thank you for sharing so many great fics! Could you please rec some fics where Sam and Dean go on a vacation together?

Thanks very much for the kind words. :) This is a quick list because I have said multiple times lately that I am not currently taking fic rec list requests. There’s a lot going on in my life personally at the moment and I ask for understanding. Since folks keep missing those requests of mine, I’m turning off Asks for a while. Feel free to message me for anything other than rec list requests.

Fics where Sam and Dean take a vacation together. As always, heed the authors’ warnings were the fic is published. And please take the time to kudo and comment on the stories you consume, since it’s the only pay an author ever gets!

Let Me Take You Far Away by Eugara on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. Season 10. It’s exactly what they need. A vacation. That’s how Dean can make everything else go away. Cas was right. That’s all they need. A nice, little vacation.

His Pretty Lips, Another’s Lies by ladycrystal_C on LiveJournal. Sam/Dean. Wincest. A painful encounter with a Shapeshifter leaves Sam shaken and starts taking a toll on the boys’ relationship. Unwilling to let the son of a bitch destroy everything, Dean decides he and Sam need a break from saving people if they’re going to save themselves. (warning: it has been some time since I read this. I pretty sure it is only bottom!Sam, but proceed with caution)

Sea and Sand by srmrsj on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. Sam and Dean visit the beach and sex happens.

In the Sound a Thought (Where the Sea Meets the Land) by ignipes on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. The world is simpler by the ocean. (no penetrative sex)

Perfect Day (I’m Glad I Spent It With You) by anniespinkhouse on A03. Sam/Dean. Wincest. Takes place after Red Sky at Dawn (3.05). Sam and Dean go to Atlantic City with the 10K that Bela gave them. As usual, nothing goes to plan for the Winchesters, but perhaps, just this once, it works out better. (non-explicit sex)

Brothers on a Hotel Bed by softywolf on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. “We should go on vacation,” He said casually, grabbing a slice of bacon and chewing on it as he looked at Sam.

“Vacation?” Sam choked out. “Why? And where exactly would we go that we haven’t already been, Dean?”

“The beach,” Dean answered with a shrug. (no penetrative sex)

Sun Kissed Skin by audaciousdean on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. “The beach. The ocean. Girls in coconut bras and grass skirts. Pina Colada’s. That was a vacation.”

Helter Skelter in the Summer Swelter by Spiraling on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. John decides to give the boys a “proper summer vacation” over the summer between Sam’s junior and senior years, letting them camp in the Florida Keys instead of staying in motels. They use their time completely alone in the Florida mangroves, on a campsite right on the beach, to explore the sexual element of their relationship, which had previously only existed behind locked doors and between grimy motel bedsheets.

When the Levee Breaks by Orphan Account on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. After Sam’s first hunt goes horribly wrong, Bobby takes him and Dean to his old vacation home in California, by the beach. Three uninterrupted months of beach time would be a dream to any kid. But Sam can’t stop having nightmares and can’t stop reliving the painful memories over and over again. Too add to that, he has to deal with the sick feelings he’s cultivated for Dean, his brother. And on top of all this, he has one life-changing decision to make that will shake the very foundations of everything he’s ever known.Thus ensues three months that change Sam’s world as he knows it. After this, things will never be the same again.

Dream All the Dreams of a Brighter Tomorrow by whispered_story on Ao3. Sam and Dean spend the summer after Sam’s graduation in a small town in Virginia, while John is away on a hunt. Sam is recuperating from a concussion, Dean worries too much, but there’s whiskey, books, hours spend together on the couch in front of the TV, and the beach is just a short drive away. Things are good and they get even better when Sam kisses Dean one afternoon and they start to explore their feelings for each other. But Sam knows that the summer won’t last forever and he’ll eventually have to tell Dean that he’s leaving for Stanford. All he can do is hope that it’s not going to ruin the relationship he and Dean are slowly building, and that they’ll find a way to make the new situation work for both of them.

In the waves by Lalinka on AO3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. Dean takes Sam on a break to the ocean.

We Time by Marie_Tomas on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Pre-Slash. After weeks of getting inexplicably angry and possessive with Dean, a tired and confused Sam is definitely grateful when Dean suggests that they take a vacation at a luxury hotel so that they can have a break and figure a few things out. Everything’s perfect at the hotel, where Sam shares a bed with Dean and they’re even more cuddly and affectionate with one another than usual, until Dean starts flirting with a woman at the bar, until Sam angrily heads back to their room alone, and he starts to realize that maybe his feelings for Dean are more than brotherly now, and maybe he needs a little more than the cuddling and the shared beds. (no penetrative sex)

Sand Between Our Toes by frozen_delight on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Pre-Slash. Sam and Dean, at the beach. Tag for 10x18 “Book of the Damned”. (no penetrative sex)

at the edge of the world by jejunestars on Ao3. Sam/Dean. WIncest. Sam’s probably in love with his brother, but it’s okay. He’s handling it. (warning: I have not read this one and am only going by the tags the author used. Proceed accordingly)

All I Need (Is You) by Annie46fic on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest. After the third trial is aborted, Dean takes Sam to hospital where he recovers. Dean wants them to rest a while, he needs Sam to get better in his own time so - with Charlie’s help - Dean takes Sam on a luxury vacation to the sun-kissed beaches of Mexico. Charlie suggests their cover should be as a gay couple and, reluctantly both brothers go along with the plan. While they both rest, recover and for the first time in a long time have normal lives, the brothers reconnect but in a way that neither of them ever expected.

#fanfic rec #wincest #vacation #bottom!sam #top!dean #Anonymous #pre-slash

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santiagoswagger · 5 years

Note

“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” + when amy first tells tedford about jacob's romantic stylez confession 👀👀

I believe you asked for angst?!

Shaken by Jake’s parking lot confession, Amy attempts to get through dinner with Teddy.

Prompt: “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

She aimlessly pushes the over-sauced noodles around her plate with her fork, just as she’d done uninterrupted for the last ten minutes.

She should be ecstatic tonight – she’s on a much-needed date with her boyfriend, she’s wearing her favorite red cocktail dress and she’s drinking a glass of wine from a bottle that definitely cost more than eight dollars – but something is off, and it’s not the sub-par spaghetti that Teddy ordered for them at this tiny Italian restaurant.

If only her stupid partner hadn’t dropped a bomb on her and disappeared into the night, knowing they wouldn’t have any contact for six months. It’s officially the dumbest thing Jake has ever done, and she once saw him try to grill a panini with a clothing iron.

She should be fuming – he hadn’t given her a second to process or respond to such life-changing words – but she’s not, and she can’t figure out why. He’s made her mad nearly every day they’ve known each other, yet she can’t be anything other than worried for him.

Jake, the man whose boyish grin has greeted her from across her desk every day for three years, is somewhere in New York City getting drunk with actual mobsters right now. For all he talks about his action hero dreams, she knows how soft he really is. He’s the kind of guy who will tell graphic stories about his one-night stands to anyone who will listen and, on the same day, bring soup to his sick mother. It’s that side of him that stops her from breaking out her baton every time he makes a stupid sex-tape joke at her expense. She knows who he really is.

And now, he’s going to be in constant danger for the next six months.

And he likes her.

“Are you okay, Amy? You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

She looks up from her full plate to find Teddy staring at her, sympathy and concern swirling in his kind eyes. She mentally berates herself for not giving him the attention he deserves as she thinks about another man.

Their two-month relationship has been pretty perfect so far. He’s considerate and thoughtful, and they have a lot in common, even if he does talk about pilsners more than she cares for.

She offers him a remorseful smile, which he returns. She feels guilt sear through her chest like molten lava. “I’m fine. It was just a tough day, that’s all.”

She sticks a pile of noodles onto her fork and is about to finally take a bite when Teddy interrupts.

“Do you want to talk about it? That’s the benefit of dating a cop, right? I understand what you go through on a daily basis.” His expression is so earnest. She wants to run out of the restaurant and never return.

She sighs, setting down her fork. The guilt soars further into her gut, and she knows the only way to rid herself of the toxicity is to get it out into the open.

“Today was Jake’s disciplinary hearing. He got fired.” Saying it out loud is like ripping off a Band-Aid – it happens so fast and all she’s left with in its wake is a shooting pain.

If Teddy is surprised, he hides it well. He moves to cover her hand, sitting idly on the cloth-covered table, with his own. “I’m sorry, honey. I know he was your friend.”

“And he told me that he likes me.”

His hand retracts so fast, she can practically hear it move through the air. “He what?”

“Well, he didn’t really say it in those words. It was more like he wished something would happen between us, romantic-stylez,” she blurts frantically, moving to gulp her fancy wine. It burns her throat going down.

“Romantic-stylez?” Teddy splutters.

“You probably don’t know him well enough, but that’s very on-brand for him,” she says, chuckling awkwardly. She instantly regrets it.

Teddy is silent for a moment, lost in thought as he sips his pilsner. Amy watches him, arms crossed in front of her torso, at a complete loss for what to do with her hands.

“What did you say when he told you?” He’s looking at her with a guarded expression. She can usually read him so well, but she suspects he’s breaking out his finely-honed detective skills to get to the bottom of a very convoluted situation, as he would in any perp interrogation.

“I didn’t say anything,” she responds quietly, eyes fixed on a stain on the tablecloth as she relives the moment. “He walked away before I could.”

“What would you have said if he hadn’t walked away?”

She pauses. She remembers opening her mouth as Jake retreated with his box of desk toys, but she has no idea what she had hoped to say.

“I don’t know,” she says truthfully, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

Teddy sighs and wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin sitting in his lap. Jake probably didn’t know he needed to put his napkin in his lap at a fancy restaurant. She wonders if the FBI will give him some etiquette tips before he has to dine with the Ianuccis. She feels a slight pang in her chest at the thought.

“What does that mean, Amy? Do you like Jake?”

There it is. The question she’d been asking herself for the last two hours since she’d finally left the precinct parking lot. She doesn’t have any more clarity now than she did then.

She’s seen a shift in her partner in the last year, a new maturity that she attributes to Captain Holt’s arrival. She can’t pretend she doesn’t find him attractive or that his goofy smile isn’t completely magnetic, but she’s nearly thirty-one years old and magnetic can’t be the only thing she looks for in a man anymore.

“I don’t know,” she says, and she can see Teddy’s spirit plummet. “I think – I think that maybe I’m confused?” She hates that it’s all she can offer him.

He pauses, playing with a loose thread in the tablecloth. “What do you want to do?”

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly the way she would cigarette smoke. She could really use a puff or two right now.

“I think I need some time. Some time to think,” she stutters, eyes pleading. She hopes Teddy understands that it’s not about him, that it’s about her.

He nods twice, slowly. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, if you want.”

She nods. “Thanks, Teddy. I’m so sorry.”

He nods again, averting his eyes, and throws a few bills on the table to pay for their half-eaten dinner before walking out of the restaurant.

It’s the second time she’s been left alone with her thoughts tonight, but this time, all she feels is relief.

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #b99 fic #jake x amy #peraltiago #1.5k follower celebration #rip season one tedford

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softmakoharus · 5 years

Text

makoharu fanfiction - extra ordinary

Summary: It's Makoto's birthday, and spending another day with Haru is all he needs. Words: 7720 Rating: Mature Additional tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Married Life, Frottage Link: AO3 The first thing Makoto notices is the sound of his own name. It’s quiet and distant, floating through the air and landing softly at the edge of his consciousness. A second time, louder with more force, but still retaining its delicate intent. Haru’s voice, he realizes happily. Concluding that it’s something worth waking up to, Makoto opens his eyes to darkness and can tell it’s much too early to be up. Some sort of mistake, then. A dream, perhaps. He closes his eyes to let his dream continue uninterrupted. But he swears he can sense the weight of Haru in bed beside him, his toes lightly grazing Makoto’s leg. And he swears he can hear him calling out his name a third time, more sternly and with just the smallest hint of impatience creeping in. And then he knows he feels Haru’s hand slide into his own, the two hands resting next to his sleeping face. They fit together perfectly, fingers intertwining naturally and predictably like a recurrent reflex. It’s a wonderful familiar warmth, the smallest touch that wraps around Makoto like an enormous blanket and makes his whole body tingle. It’s not a dream, after all. That touch is real. Makoto smiles just a little but refuses to open his eyes again. “Haru-chan,” he manages to sleepily mutter. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. It’s your birthday,” Haru replies, as if that’s all the explanation he needs. “Mm… Happy Birthday,” Makoto mumbles.

The response elicits a surprised laugh from Haru. “I’m supposed to say that. Happy Birthday.” He leans closer to place a kiss on his forehead. When it’s met with little more than a confirming grunt from his tired and stubborn husband, he continues. “Don’t you want to wake up? Hm? I’ll make you pancakes.” “Now? But it’s nighttime,” Makoto slurs. He peeks through his eyes just to make sure. It’s definitely dark. Haru suppresses another laugh at his confusion. Ever since they were kids, it’s always taken Makoto a little while to become fully awake and aware of things. It’s a trait that has only gotten cuter as they’ve gotten older. He lightly kisses his forehead. “No, it’s just early. I’ll let you sleep a little longer.” Makoto smiles, tired but doing his best to show how happy he is waking next to Haru, and drifts back asleep.

It’s sunny. That’s Makoto’s first thought as he wakes up, warmed by the sun’s rays that sneak through the blinds and quietly keep him from sleeping in too late. Instinctively, he turns to face Haru, but Haru isn’t there. That’s right; he woke some uncertain time ago, which means it’s some uncertain time now, and smiled as he wished Makoto a happy birthday—of that, Makoto is certain. He turns back to the window and notices the blinds are open a little, concluding that Haru must have done it so that as the sun continued its morning ascent, the light might naturally wake Makoto. Or maybe he had just noticed what a beautiful day it was and wanted Makoto to see it first thing. He does love sunny days, and though the middle of November is just as easily full of cloudy ones, he feels lucky to see a clear blue sky today. His smile widens as he remembers that those big bedroom windows spanning across the bedroom wall were almost the reason he and Haru passed on buying this house. It hadn’t been an easy task to find a house that ticked every single deeply detailed box on Haru’s list of things he was looking for. “The windows in the bedroom are too big. They nearly take up the whole wall.” That had been his flimsy reasoning, and he left it with Makoto as he walked briskly through the living room on his way out the door. Makoto followed closely behind and told him to stop and close his eyes, wrapping his arms around him and speaking softly so as not to disturb the memories that still lived there in the emptiness. Haru grunted, annoyed, but kept his eyes shut, turning around in Makoto’s arms to face him. “What are you doing?” “Just forget about the house for a minute,” Makoto replied, closing his eyes, too. They stood still, holding each other in silence, until Makoto spoke again. “Do you remember when we were kids and I fell in the sandbox? We weren’t good friends yet, but you reached out to help me up.” It was one of Haru’s earliest memories of Makoto. The other kids had rushed off in excitement, none of them looking back to even notice Makoto had tripped and fallen. Haru considered it the starting point of their closeness. It wasn’t the first time they played together, but it was at that moment Haru was determined to protect Makoto in every way. He nodded against Makoto’s chest. “I remember.” “I think that was when I really started loving you. And I never stopped.” Although Haru couldn’t see him, he knew Makoto was smiling, just by the way his words left his mouth, light and fluttering. “The older we got, the more that love transformed. And now here we are, married, and on our way to growing old together. Haru—“ “Makoto,” Haru interjected, opening his eyes to look up at him. It was unusual for him to cut off Makoto’s words, but he needed him to know he arrived at the conclusion himself, albeit with some gentle prodding. “I get it. And I know. I would be happy living anywhere with you.” Makoto met his eyes and squeezed him a little tighter. “This is a perfect house, because we’ll be together. That’s what makes it special. So forget what’s missing, and just picture us sleeping in on weekends in that big bedroom with the light coming in through the windows, and painting those awful gray shutters a nice pale blue, and right here in the living room, we can dance—well, maybe after a couple glasses of wine.” To exemplify, Makoto swayed back and forth with Haru, both of them immediately breaking into laughter. Their laughter filled up the emptiness, enriching it with the start of many new wonderful memories they would make here. Makoto holds his hand up over his face, watching the silver band glint in the sunlight. The day he got this ring was even longer ago than that, and he never grows tired of seeing it shine. He smiles and throws back the covers, supposing it’s time to get out of bed. Though there’s nothing too concrete planned for today, wasting another minute in bed without Haru sounds entirely unbearable. He quickly slips on a pair of socks to combat the autumn chill before making a quick stop in the bathroom. It’s completely silent in the house except for the sound of running water flowing over the freshly picked broccoli from the garden. As he shuts off the sink, Haru feels Makoto’s arms circle around his waist. They fit so perfectly around him, they always have, warm and strong, gentle but protective, a fortress made of flowers. He gives the strainer a final shake to dispel as much water as he can and sets it on the counter beside him. “Good morning, Haru-chan,” Makoto says, pressing a kiss against his temple. “I’m ready for my pancakes.” Haru lightly elbows him in the stomach. “You’re too late for that. It’s almost lunch time.” He takes a piece of broccoli and brings it over his shoulder as a compromise, which Makoto happily accepts. “I was out in the garden while you were busy sleeping all day. I thought you might sleep through your entire birthday.” “I wouldn’t miss my birthday dinner!” “Who says I’m making you dinner?’ “You! You said it, exactly… nine years ago, actually,” Makoto laughs, knowing full well that Haru remembers but never letting the opportunity to relive it pass him by. “It was our first year in Tokyo. My first birthday dinner. We were eating and you got suddenly emotional—“ “Stop.” “You were so happy I complimented your food—“ “There’s no need to repeat it.” “As if I didn’t always compliment your food—“ “Go take a shower or something.” “You looked at me and quietly promised you’d cook for me every single year after that. You were so sincere and your face was bright red. We weren’t even dating yet, remember? You got up to go get some air on the balcony, and I came out with you, and we just stood there, looking out at that scenery we never thought we’d be able to get used to, but we did. A little bit. Over time. Together.” Makoto notices Haru has gone silent, his hands resting on the edge of the sink, and fears he embarrassed him too much with his sentimental remembrance, so he’s relieved when he sees the small smile on his face. He gives Haru a squeeze before removing his arms from his waist. “Fine,” Haru says, doing his best to keep his smile from growing but utterly failing, “I guess I’ll make you dinner. For tradition sake.” “Thank you, Haru-chan. I’m just going to take a quick shower.” As much as Makoto would like to stand there and talk more with Haru, it is late, almost noon, so he should be a little more productive. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where their days together go, how the hours pass by so fast even when time itself seems to stop. “Oh, I’ll join you in a minute,” Haru replies, a combination of feeling a bit dirty from working out in the garden and a bit excited about the prospect of showering together. “I’m just going to put these in the fridge.” Makoto smiles in approval and gives him one more kiss on the cheek before heading back to their bedroom. Showering together isn’t entirely unusual for the two of them; seeing each other naked even less so. But no matter how long they’ve been married and how incredibly intimate they’ve been, Makoto can’t help but feel a rush of giddiness. Haru sets aside one head of broccoli for the fridge, while the rest go into a big bag in the freezer to join the strawberries and green beans that were left over from summer. Though neither of them had any experience growing fruits and vegetables, their garden had been successful—by their own standards, anyway—with its bright berries and lush greens. If nothing else, it at least looked nice, complementing the full blooms of blue and purple hydrangeas. When Haru’s finished cleaning up, he gives the sink a quick rinse and heads to the bedroom. Strangely, he doesn’t hear the running water of the shower. He smiles imagining Makoto, despite all the sleep he got this morning, being enticed by their bed and all its fluffy pillows. What he wasn’t expecting was to walk through the bedroom doorway and see Makoto sitting on the edge of their bed, typing on his phone, completely naked aside from his orange and white striped ankle socks. Makoto hadn’t noticed Haru’s footsteps, but he quickly turns to face him when he hears the small laugh, having forgotten that he got distracted while getting ready to shower. He makes no effort to cover himself; the only embarrassment he feels is from the old thin socks he’s wearing, ones that he promised to throw away a year ago. “What are you doing?” Haru asks, smile persevering, as he walks over and stands in front of Makoto. His own bare foot taps the top of Makoto’s to let him know that he absolutely notices those stupid socks. Makoto smiles and continues typing. He slides his foot out from underneath Haru’s and places it on top, as if to sheepishly acknowledge his acknowledgment. “My boss sent me an email about next week’s schedule. I just wanted to reply before I forgot.” “Ah. I thought maybe you were sending dirty pictures to someone,” Haru teases, taking off his shirt and tossing it behind Makoto on the bed. Makoto sets his phone down on the nightstand. “Maybe you should check your messages.” He leans back on his hands to stare up at Haru, doing his best to smirk flirtatiously, though there’s a strong chance the execution isn’t quite as good as it looks in his head. “Oh?” Haru raises his eyebrows, his own smile never wavering. Makoto is especially cute when he’s being flirty, and the playful grin on his face just makes it even better. He takes a step forward, nudging Makoto’s legs open with his knee so that he can stand between them. Blush tumbles down Makoto’s nose and across his cheeks, sliding all the way up to his ears. He moves his hands to Haru’s hips and leans forward, placing a light kiss just above his bellybutton. His thumbs hook the top of Haru’s pants and underwear, guiding them down his legs. The plan was to shower together, but maybe that can wait until a little later. Haru kicks the clothes away and then gets on his knees, making sure to maintain eye contact with Makoto. Makoto’s not really sure where this is going, but with both of them now naked, he’s glad to let it go wherever Haru wants to take it. Haru quickly removes Makoto’s socks and tosses them to the side. “I thought you threw those away,” he says, eyes narrowing in playful admonishment. Makoto laughs; he wasn’t expecting to be reprimanded for that right now, but he’s willing to do absolutely anything Haru asks in this moment. “I will! I’ll throw them away! Whatever you want.” “I don’t believe you,” Haru says, kissing Makoto’s inner thigh just once before standing up. He leans close, taking notice of Makoto’s accelerating breaths, supposing his heart is reacting the same. “Makoto,” he says quietly, slowly closing the distance between their lips. Makoto somehow suppresses his urge to move forward and kiss him. It very much feels like Haru’s in control right now, and he’s going to give complete compliance. “Yes, Haru?” Haru keeps his voice low, moving to whisper directly into Makoto’s ear. “First one to the shower gets to set the water temperature.” And just like that, Haru turns and runs to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. By the time Makoto is able to process what just happened, it seems like Haru has completely vanished into thin air. “Wha—Haru!” He blushes even more, feeling his whole body get warm as it releases the excitement that was building up inside of him. He races to the door and can’t help but laugh. Just as Makoto enters and closes the glass door behind him, Haru turns on the shower. Water pours out from the shower head, and even though it looks inviting, Makoto is hesitant to step under it, knowing that Haru prefers his showers way too cool. “That was unfair!” “Maybe. But you always set the temperature too hot.” Makoto smiles and lets his shoulders slump. “Haru… it’s my birthday.” “You seemed pretty warmed up a few minutes ago. I think a cold shower is exactly what you need.” “Fine,” he says, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest and refusing to admit that Haru is actually probably a little right. “I’ll just wait here until you’re finished.” Haru shrugs and moves underneath the water, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to wet his hair. When he opens his eyes again and sees Makoto still standing there, he starts to feel bad. Even though he knows he’s not really mad at him, he hadn’t intended for the teasing to go this far. He sighs and takes a step forward to grab Makoto’s arm, dragging him into the water. “Will you get under here?” Before he can protest, Makoto feels the warm water wash over him and laughs. “Haru! You set it hot for me?” “Did you really think I’d make you take a cold shower?” “Well, I knew you wouldn’t, but I thought you deserved some payback for teasing me.” Haru opens his mouth to let it fill up with water and spits out a stream directly into Makoto’s face. Their laughter surrounds them, taking shape as it mixes with the steam now emanating from the water. Haru steps aside for a moment, suffocating under the heat, and sits on the white plastic stool to let Makoto wash his hair. It’s not exactly necessary, of course; he’s more than capable of washing his own hair, but it feels good when Makoto does it. He works the shampoo into a lather, gently scratching Haru’s scalp, taking special notice of the goosebumps that appear on Haru’s arms when he starts to massage his neck and shoulders. One thing that Haru will always be grateful for is Makoto’s hands. They’re large and warm and surprisingly soft, with the ability to touch him as firmly or as gently as each particular situation requires. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward, succumbing easily to the warmth and relaxation. “I’ll give you a real massage tonight, ok?” Makoto says, removing his hands so he can gently rinse Haru’s hair under the detachable shower head. Haru leans his head back and smiles, looking up at Makoto. There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t feel spoiled being with him. Whether it’s just a small glance or a kiss on the forehead, both of which are very abundant, his husband constantly indulges him. And as much as Makoto wants to spoil Haru, Haru wants to do the same, not just because it’s his birthday, but every day. When Makoto’s finished washing his own hair, Haru quickly grabs the orange bath sponge, pouring out a generous amount of Makoto’s apple-scented body wash. “You don’t have to do that,” Makoto chuckles, though he definitely appreciates the gesture. Completely ignoring him, Haru takes a step forward and moves the sponge over Makoto’s shoulders. “I want to,” he finally says, voice quiet, threatening to get drowned out by the sound of the water and the thumping of his heart. Makoto watches Haru as he rubs small soapy circles all over his wide chest and down his legs. The first night in this house, he remembers how exhausted they were from moving everything all day. They agreed to take a quick shower together before bed—a bath would have been nicer, but they agreed they’d probably end up falling asleep in the tub. It didn’t take long for things to escalate from kissing under the running water to Makoto with his hands on the wall and Haru thrusting into him, their moans echoing loudly around them in the enclosed space. But this isn’t the same. What Haru’s doing now makes Makoto feel good in a different way, to be taken care of and looked after. It’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he appreciates just as much. Being together so long, he’s lost count of how many ways they display their love and affection, each one equally precious. Haru directs Makoto under the water to rinse off all the soap. And after taking a much longer shower than originally intended, which usually happens when they decide to shower together, they step out to dry off before returning to their bedroom. Picking out clothes is easy for Haru. He likes to be comfortable, whether they’re going out or staying in. He really only dresses up for dates, rolling his eyes at the way Makoto marvels at him and tugs playfully at his tie or insists on being the one to put his belt around his waist. But really, Makoto thinks Haru looks good in whatever he wears, even something as simple as the black t-shirt, blue hoodie, and black joggers he pulls out of the dresser drawer. While he’s getting dressed, Haru peeks over at Makoto to see what outfit he’s chosen for himself. Just dark jeans and a white undershirt so far, as he stares into the closet with his hand thoughtfully on his chin. Honestly, he could stop right there and it would be fine with Haru, but it is a little chilly for just a t-shirt. Finally he pulls on an oversized turtleneck sweater, Haru’s favorite sweater, actually. It’s light gray and heavy, the knitting thick but soft, with sleeves that hang loosely down to a tight cuff. It’s more of a blanket than a sweater, especially when Haru puts it on, and it makes Makoto look extra cuddly. “What is it?” Makoto asks, when he sees Haru staring at him. Haru smiles, caught, and gives an unexpectedly honest answer. “I just like that sweater. It looks good on you.” Makoto’s eyes soften and he returns the smile, wrapping his arms around Haru to envelop him in his blanket-sweater and once again proving how perfectly he fits inside his arms. Instinctively, Haru inhales and is disappointed the sweater smells a little musty and unworn, having sat abandoned and untouched in the closet for the last ten months or so. It will take a few wears for it to pick up the familiar scent of Makoto, a wonderful mixture of fresh laundry and crisp apples. “Let’s make lunch,” Haru says. “And I’ll give you your present after.” The two of them head back into the kitchen where they started, while Makoto thinks about Haru’s words. “After lunch…” he repeats. They always wait until the end of the day to give birthday gifts, so he wonders if there’s some significance to moving the event up on this unofficial timeline. Pondering, he starts to open the fridge to see what food they have left over, but Haru stops him by practically throwing himself against the door. “I’m not allowed in the fridge?!” Makoto asks, laughing. “Don’t look in there,” Haru replies. Not only is Makoto’s homemade chocolate ganache cake sitting on the bottom shelf, but so are the ingredients for the dinner Haru’s making later on. “Just go stand over by the sink.” Makoto laughs again but does as instructed. Admittedly, he did quickly scan the kitchen earlier for any sign of his birthday cake. Haru has gotten sneakier and sneakier with it every year, mostly to prevent Makoto from chipping away at it throughout the day and completely spoiling his appetite. Haru starts pulling things out the fridge and sets them on the island behind him. “I was thinking soba noodles with that leftover shredded chicken from last night. I picked some broccoli and mushrooms from the garden this morning. And you can make your mom’s sesame-ginger dressing.” “That sounds good!” Makoto replies. “Are there carrots left?” “Ah.” He grabs them and closes the fridge to get started on the noodles while Makoto makes the dressing. “We could grow our own ginger, don’t you think?” “Sure, I think it’s supposed to be easy,” Haru replies, letting the noodles cook while he cuts up the vegetables. He can’t help but look at Makoto out of the corner of his eye every time they cook together. It’s cute how cautious he is about everything, muttering instructions to make sure he remembers what he’s doing. No matter how much his cooking improves, it doesn’t seem that he’ll ever fully trust himself. But when he does find a good rhythm, the mutterings turn into soft hums, gentle melodies that guide him. “I saw that,” Haru says, making Makoto stop what he’s doing. “What?” “That tiny pinch of cayenne.” Makoto laughs; he’ll never understand why people like spicy food. “I wasn’t done! I’ll add more.” “I’m kidding. I can always add more to my bowl. Do you need help? You seem to be taking longer than usual,” he teases. Without missing a beat, Makoto replies, “I just kept getting distracted thinking about how much I love you.” As Haru scoops the last of the cooked noodles into a separate bowl, the spoon falls out of his hand and clangs loudly on the counter. It doesn’t matter how often Makoto says those words. Every time he so casually slips them into a conversation, Haru finds himself completely flustered. “You’re distracting me.” “You mean, you’re also distracted by how much you love me?” “Just put these in the fridge to cool down,” he says firmly, gripping the bowl just as tightly as his words. Haru’s cheeks quickly redden. There’s no stopping it. Makoto kisses them both before taking the bowl and doing as instructed. He returns to clean up his area while sneaking small glances at Haru. He moves so easily in the kitchen, like he could do everything just as easily with his eyes closed. Though Makoto’s skill level will never quite get there, he’s happy he’s at least competent enough to cook with Haru. It’s nice and relaxing and though he never thought he’d say so about cooking, it’s fun. “Was it cold out?” Makoto asks, sitting down at their kitchen table. “The sun makes it seem kind of nice.” Haru looks outside. He didn’t think it was too cold out, but Makoto is more sensitive to the weather than he is. “It should be ok to eat on the patio, if that’s what you mean.” Makoto smiles. “I’m glad. This will probably be the last chance we’ll have this year.” The patio is one of his favorite things about the house, and he thinks it’s a shame they can’t use it year round. Haru pulls the noodles out of the fridge and adds them to the bowl of vegetables, pouring the dressing on top before mixing it all together. There was a time when Haru would taste everything Makoto had a hand in making, understandably with reservation that it was made correctly. It didn’t offend Makoto; he would have hated to ruin a meal with a mistake. But now, Haru trusts him enough not to check his work. “What are you smiling about?” Haru asks, feeling Makoto’s eyes on him. “Nothing. I’m just happy we can cook together.” Haru returns the smile and nods; he’s proud of how far Makoto has come, and he’s happy he helped him get there. Makoto opens the door to the patio for Haru while he carries their two bowls of food out to the small square table. He really did get lucky with a beautiful day, Makoto thinks. The sun shines directly on them, though they do get some shade from the overhead wooden trellis that casts latticed shadows onto the gray stone tiles beneath their feet. And although the in-ground pool looks a bit sad with its cover drawn over it, the large oak in the back of their yard is stunning with its autumn-tinged leaves stretching well above their roof. Makoto shovels the food into his mouth as he looks across the yard, stopping only when he hears Haru laugh across from him. “What is it?” “You know you can swallow before you take another bite.” Makoto looks at him like he still doesn’t understand what he means. “You’ve always eaten like that, like you’re afraid someone’s going to steal it if you don’t hurry up.” Makoto laughs; his parents did always used to tell him to slow down when he eats. “It just tastes good!” It’s the same excuse he would tell them. “Maybe you should savor it, then.” He picks up a single noodle and nibbles the end. “Like this? Is this how I’m supposed to eat?” “Ah,” Haru laughs. “That’s much more proper.” “Well, speaking of proper,” he starts, reaching across the table to swipe his thumb across Haru’s cheek, “somehow you always manage to get some food on your face.” “We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” “Mm,” Makoto concurs. “Probably shouldn’t eat outside where people can see us.” Haru smiles and takes another bite. “I was thinking about going to the store after lunch to buy those stone tiles.” “You mean the ones for the path to the front door?” “Mm. I think I’ll get the darker ones.” “That will look nice. Oh, trash bags are on sale, too.” “I’ll pick some up.” “Do you want me to go with you?” “If you want to.” “Of course I want to!” Haru smiles. “Of course I want you to…” “Good! There’s an ice cream place near the store...” “We’ll have ice cream later with your cake.” “Oh?” Makoto asks, a small laugh escaping his mouth as he leans forward. “There’s a cake? Would it be in the fridge? Is it chocolate?” “Forget I said anything.” Well, there was one surprise discovered. Though, it wasn’t really hard to guess, as Haru makes Makoto a cake every year. Makoto doesn’t press any further. It’s not really that he wants the surprise to be ruined; he just enjoys teasing Haru about his efforts to keep things a secret. “Did you want to take a nap before we go to the store?” he asks, changing the subject as he takes the last bite of food left in his bowl. “Why?” Haru suddenly realizes how tired he is and swallows his yawn to keep it hidden from Makoto. He was up extra early today to prepare various things. A nap sounds nice, but he’d hate to waste the day with that. “You just look kind of tired.” “I’m not.” Once Haru catches up to finish the rest of his food, Makoto stretches his arms across the table to link their hands, slipping his fingers through Haru’s and giving a gentle squeeze. “You worked hard today. Just a little sleep,” he says. “I’ll lie with you in bed.” Haru gives a small smile and a small nod; of course Makoto could see right through him. They carry their bowls inside and place them in the dishwasher. Cleaning up everything else can wait until dinner tonight. Once they’re in their bedroom, Haru folds his blue hoodie on the top of the dresser along with his pants—he hates getting too hot—and quickly gets under the covers. “Leave it on,” he says to Makoto, as he starts to remove his sweater. “I don’t want it to get wrinkled from lying down!” he argues. He knows Haru finds it to be a nice cuddly sweater, but Makoto likes to think he’s just as cuddly in his white t-shirt. His pants are the next to go, and he starts to feel a little silly undressing so soon after getting dressed, not to mention that he won’t even be sleeping. But being in bed with jeans on is uncomfortable. Makoto closes the blinds as tightly as he can to darken the room, though it’s mostly futile against the intense sun and the huge windows. He slides under the cool covers and moves to the middle of their bed to meet Haru, smiling as their eyes meet. “What?” Haru asks, breaking their eye contact to set his phone’s timer. He doesn’t want to sleep too long, but he also wants to be well rested so that this detour wasn’t pointless. Makoto kisses his forehead. “Nothing. You’re just cute.” “Oh? What else?” Haru smiles. This could be a fun game. “I love you.” “What else?” “You’re amazing.” “What else?” Makoto giggles. It’s no struggle to come up with a million more words to describe him. “You’re beautiful.” “Ah, you already said that, though.” “I said you were cute!” “That’s the same.” “No, it’s not! I wouldn’t call myself beautiful.” “Did you just call yourself cute?” Makoto laughs. “That’s not the point!” “Well, anyway, you are beautiful.” “Haru…” “And cute. And amazing.” He lifts his head off his pillow to kiss Makoto, putting all his sincerity in it, from his lips that lock with Makoto's, to his fingertips that push through his soft hair. “And I love you. Now let me set my alarm.” Makoto takes Haru’s phone and drapes his arm over his waist. “Hmm, let’s just sleep till we wake up.” “I thought you weren’t sleeping. Anyway, last time we did that, we didn’t get out of bed until the sun started to set.” “Actually, first we cuddled and fooled around a bit. We didn’t get out of bed until much later.” Haru rolls his eyes. “The point is, we wasted the whole day. We can’t do that today.” It was a good day, though. The lazy ones always are. But then again, somehow, so are the ones where they have a million things to do. Makoto leans in for another kiss, but Haru is resistant, keeping his mouth firmly shut, trying not to budge. Makoto pulls his mouth away, discouraged but not defeated. If Haru’s going to be stubborn for some silly reason, Makoto will just have to try and pull him a little more to his side. “You’re right, Haru. Let’s not do that today,” he says, burying his face in Haru’s neck and smiling when Haru reacts to the feeling of his tongue against it. He’s playing dirty, he knows, cheating almost. He pulls away to meet his eyes. “This time we can fool around before we sleep.” It was hard enough not kissing Makoto just moments ago. There’s no way Haru can resist an invitation this deliberate. At least it will feel more productive than sleeping. And honestly, a part of him was starting to regret pulling away from Makoto before their shower when he so clearly wanted Haru to keep going. He shows his approval by returning the kiss from before, accompanying it with his hand sliding up Makoto’s muscled torso. Haru sits up and lightly pushes Makoto’s shoulder, urging him to lean onto his back, pleased when he gives in so easily. Together, they pull down the covers, and Haru grabs the bottom of Makoto’s shirt to pull it up over his head, tossing it to the floor, staring for a moment at the way his chest rises and falls quickly in anticipation. One thing that Makoto just couldn’t get used to when he was swimming was the feeling of people staring at his half-naked body. Even though they weren’t looking at him with any kind of unwarranted feelings, it made him embarrassed and uneasy. But he loves when Haru runs his eyes up and down his body. It’s the strangest feeling of vulnerability and security. To know that Haru will be the only one who sees this, and to know how much he also loves it. He lifts his hips to slide off his underwear, kicking it to the floor and opening his legs. He wants to be as exposed as he can, for Haru to see every bit of his naked body, for him to hurry up and touch him somewhere, anywhere. “As I was saying…” Haru smiles, kneeling next to him. “You’re beautiful.” They both immediately break into laughter, faces going equal shades of red, less because of the statement itself and more because Haru absolutely meant it with unbridled honesty. Haru leans down to hide his blushing face and places his mouth over Makoto’s nipple while his hand finds the other, his tongue and finger working in combination with those words to elicit soft moans from Makoto. Somehow for Haru, using his mouth like this is less embarrassing than saying things like “you’re beautiful.” Makoto settles for running his fingers through Haru’s hair, desperate to do something to make him give up his own small whines but unable to reach any more significant parts of his body. Makoto uncontrollably moves his hips more and more as Haru continues to lick and nibble his chest, disappointed when he pulls away much sooner than he was hoping. “Don’t stop. It feels good.” “I can make you feel better,” Haru replies, positioning himself between Makoto’s legs. He lies down, letting his head rest against Makoto’s shoulder, while slowly moving his hips against him. He’s in no rush to finish, just enjoying the sounds Makoto’s making and the way he's getting harder beneath him. Haru wraps his arms around Makoto’s neck, breath shuddering as his own cock pushes against his underwear. Makoto grabs Haru’s butt with both hands, guiding him to grind a little faster, to make them both a little wetter, to bring them both a little closer. “Makoto…” Haru whines, and that’s all he has to say. “Mm, ok.” As their breathing becomes more shuddered, Makoto gently rolls Haru onto his side and mirrors his position. Haru puts his hand on the back of Makoto’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss—finally, they both think—tongues meeting, muffling their moans when Makoto pulls down the front of Haru’s underwear to free his cock. He takes his and Haru’s both in his hand and slowly strokes, things quickly getting more slick between them. They break from their kiss to let their voices out, looking down between them just for a moment before letting their foreheads rest against each other. Makoto moves his attention to Haru, slowly pulling his foreskin up and then back down, wanting to ensure they come together. “You’re close?” he whispers, knowing that his long quiet whimpers mean exactly that. Haru nods. “Make us come… Mako… to…” Makoto opens his hand to take in both of them again, stroking faster. They repeatedly call out each other’s name, strained and barely audible, until they orgasm. “I love you. Haru, I love you.” Makoto is always so quick to say those words after they’ve been intimate with each other. “I love you,” Haru always quickly responds. They kiss again, tongues lazily circling each other while their heartbeats slowly return to normal. Makoto reaches over to grab some wet wipes out of the dresser drawer, cleaning off his hands first. “Did any get on you? Or the bed?” He looks down at his black t-shirt, but it looks clean, then looks at Makoto and has to resist laughing. “I think it all somehow ended up on you.” He takes one of the wipes and cleans off Makoto’s stomach and chest. “Eh, not all of it, sorry,” Makoto says, laughing a little as he uses his hand to wipe a bit off of Haru’s cheek. “Do not even make a joke about me getting food on my face.” He laughs harder at that. “I was absolutely thinking about it.” “I knew it.” Once thoroughly cleaned up, they lie back down and face each other, easily finding each other’s hand to hold. These moments after when they’re both still a little hazy and flushed are some of Makoto’s favorites. He feels lightheaded, tipsy almost, like they had too much wine, like they could dance for hours if he weren’t so exhausted. He wasn’t planning on napping with Haru; he just wanted to steal some cuddles. But now he’s starting to feel drowsy. He pulls Haru a little closer, letting go of his hand to wrap his arm around his back, and shuts his eyes. Napping does come with its own perks, Makoto considers. It means they get to fall asleep and wake up next to each other twice in one day. And falling asleep and waking up next to Haru are two of his favorite things to do. “Wait!” Haru sits up quickly. “I forgot your gift.” “Surely it can wait till after we sleep.” “No… it shouldn’t,” Haru says, further confusing Makoto with his peculiar choice of words. Makoto furrows his brow. “Let me guess what it is first! I haven’t had a chance to.” Would it be something that requires sunlight, maybe? A solar-powered object? No, what would something like that even be? Haru stands up and opens the blinds to let in some more light. “You won’t guess it.” Makoto tries every year but never does get it right. “Where are you going?” Makoto leans over the bed to grab his abandoned underwear, slipping it on and starting to follow Haru. “It’s in the other room. Sit back down. And stop pouting.” “I’m not pouting,” Makoto pouts. “Just wait! Is it a… new pillow?” “No.” “A candle?” “You’re just naming things you see in the room.” “It’s not something in the room, then? Is it headphones? New shoes! A… cat!” Haru stops in the bedroom doorway and turns around. Makoto’s jaw drops. “Is that it?! Did you get me a cat, Haru?! Is it a cat?” “Just stay there and close your eyes,” Haru sighs, smiling as soon as Makoto sits down with his legs crossed in the center of the bed and does as he says. Makoto listens, hearing Haru walk out of their room and across the house to their spare room. He hears the door open, a pause, and then Haru’s returning footsteps getting closer and closer. The bed creaks and shifts as Haru kneels closer. And then a sound that is definitely not Haru—the tiniest little meow. Without waiting for Haru’s instruction, Makoto opens his eyes to see Haru holding a small tan colored kitten. “Haru!” “Happy Birthday,” Haru says, transferring the kitten to Makoto’s open hands. The kitten mews again. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” Makoto tells her. And he does. “I love you so, so much.” He looks up to see Haru taking pictures of him with his phone, not even trying to conceal the huge smile that spreads across his face. “Haru, look, she fits in one hand.” He smiles wide and pets her soft little face with his finger. “Oh, what’s her name?” “Whatever you want.” “Honey,” Makoto says immediately. “Because of her color, and because she’s so sweet. Aren’t you just so sweet?” He brings his hand up to his face and kisses the top of her head, nearly fainting when she meows again in response. Considering he once named his fish Fish, Fishy, Mr. Fish, and Fish-Fish, Haru thinks Honey is actually a pretty good name. “Ah, I like it. Honey.” Haru reaches over to pet her. She is very sweet. “Welcome to the family.” Makoto smiles. He realizes that’s why Haru had to give him his present early; he felt bad leaving her locked up in a room, even though he’s sure she had food and water and probably spent most of the time sleeping. “Did she come from Manabe-san?” Haru nods. Over the summer, a lady down the street had taken in a stray cat who was pregnant. When Haru found out she gave birth a few months before Makoto’s birthday, he asked immediately if he could adopt one to give as a birthday surprise. She had been more than accommodating, promising to hold on to the one Haru picked out until today, and dropped her off that morning. “If you want to take her to the living room, I’ll just take a quick nap. Thirty minutes. Then we can go to the store.” Haru lies down and sets his alarm. Makoto holds Honey up in his hands, her eyes closed and purring, undoubtedly feeling like the happiest cat in the world right then. “Look, she’s tired, too. We’ll sleep as a family.” Makoto gets under the covers and sets the kitten down on his pillow, letting her get comfortable in the space between her new parents. She circles a couple times before plopping down, eyes closing as she continues to purr. “And make it forty-five minutes.” Haru gives her another little pet on the head, then moves past her to cup Makoto’s face, fondly rubbing his cheek. “You’re happy?” To say he’s happy is an understatement, but he’s not sure what word could adequately describe what he’s feeling right now, so he simply smiles and nods. “Haru, thank you. This is the best gift.” Haru returns his smile, feeling just as much whatever-it-is-Makoto’s-feeling. “I’m glad I could do something to make this day a little special for you.” He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?” “Well,” Haru explains, “it’s your birthday, but we’re pretty much spending it like any other day.” When they were kids, Makoto’s birthday was a big deal. His parents would always take him—and Haru, too, of course—to some place like the zoo or park or movies, sometimes even traveling to a different city. When he got older, he was allowed to do those things with his friends instead. But as he got older still, the importance of birthdays seemed to fade. Even his yearly birthday dinner with Haru had become completely routine. “I see,” Makoto says. “But you know, today absolutely feels special, because I get to be with you.” “We hardly even celebrated.” Makoto smiles. He gets what Haru is saying, even if he’s most definitely wrong. “I just think… you’re seeing this as a normal day, but our normal days are special. Just being with you every day, whether it’s in this house or at the park or on a romantic vacation… that’s what makes me happy. That you’re there. Really, there’s nothing better than that." It’s true, Haru realizes. He never really thought of it, but hearing it, he knows it’s exactly what he’s always thought, too. His fluttering heartbeat loudly sounds its affirmation. “We’re… wasting time for sleep.” He closes his eyes, hoping Makoto is doing the same so he doesn’t see the blush on his face. “Let’s buy some more wine, too.” “You want to dance with me that badly?” “Yes. I think we should dance more.” Haru opens his eyes to see Makoto looking at him, his green eyes glimmering with adoration. He can’t say no to that. He can’t say no to anything from Makoto, not really, not that he could even imagine wanting to. He nods and puts his hand over Makoto’s, holding on to it, momentarily mesmerized at the way the sun manages to make the silver band on his finger glow, thinking about that as he shuts his eyes. It’s sunny. Makoto feels the light behind him, sees it spreading over their bed. But even if the sun weren’t shining, if the sky were instead gray and cloudy, his day would be just as bright. He looks at Haru. He doesn’t think he’s stopped looking at him since the first day they met. He’s warmth and happiness and sunlight; he's extraordinary, and so is every day spent by his side. That’s the last thing Makoto thinks as he falls asleep. The same as usual.

#free!#makoharu #THIS IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF SELF-INDULGENT JALKJSLKDF #this is what goes on in my head all day #just... domestic fluff #kelly's makoharu fics #my posts

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