#maybe you wrote freezing memory with that knowledge/intent but

[blarfkey]

Armistice -- Reylo ficlet

So I’m spending part of my quarantine digging up old fics and polishing them. I wrote this down right after TROS as a way to let some of the Reylo out of my system. I never intended on publishing, but I’ve grown more proud of it. Tell me if I should throw up on AO3.

BTW -- this is only been lightly beta’d lol. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since Crait, that last look Rey sees on Kylo’s—on Ben’s face—haunts her. As she stared him down from the ramp of the Millennium Falcon, she expected to see anger reflected back at her. Or hatred, jealousy, murderous intent. Especially after hearing how vicious and unhinged his fight was with Luke, how he ordered everyone in the base killed on sight.

Instead she just sees . . .

Grief.

But what haunts her the most is how easily it settles around him, like a second cloak. It’s not a fresh and angry wound, it’s a scar that aches in the middle of the night, that signals the weather, that looks back at you in every mirror.

It’s an old friend.

She knows grief like that.

In the desert, there was always wind whistling through the gaps in her makeshift home. On the Falcon, the ship sang to her in various groans and beeps and whistles. Now, settled on Ajan Kloss, they have to sleep with ear plugs to block out the deafening noise of the jungle.

But nothing is louder than the silence that triggers the Force Bond. It’s her only warning, that sudden dampening, as if someone opened the airlock on a ship. The lack of noise is worse than the noise.

Rey braces herself. So fast—so unpredictably—does he flicker between Kylo and Ben—she never knows what to prepare for. At least on Ahch-to, she had her own anger, her own grief, to guide her. But now boundary lines between friend and enemy have muddled, colors running together to create something she has no idea how to quantify.

He could scream at her or beg for her and she doesn’t know which one is worse. Or how she would react to either.

Instead, only the silence greets her.

Rey turns around and finds him on her bed, laid out on his back, one arm bent against his chest, the other nestled against his side.

He looks dead.

Fear—sharp and surprising—rises in her throat and she takes careful, silent steps towards him. Close enough to see his chest fall ever so slightly. Her own chest rises and falls with her relief, and then she chastises herself for being ridiculous. Of course he’s not dead. She would know— instantly—

He snorts softly in his sleep. Rey freezes, both dreading and hoping for the moment he wakes up. His head drops to its side and does not stir again.

She hears nothing but the sound of his breathing, deep and even. The first time he took off his mask struck her speechless. The monster she had feared looked so young. So impossibly human.

And that’s the way he looks now, in the dim light of her room. He sleeps with the depth of the exhausted and it has eased the furrow in his brow, the drag of his lips, hidden the ferocity of his eyes. He looks like a vision of another person, another Ben, someone who didn’t turn, someone whose hand she could take.

It’s that thought that carries her to the edge of the bed. She hesitates a moment before slowly lowering herself to perch on the edge.

Still he does not wake.

Her hand reaches out and nudges a lock of his hair from his forehead. He has a mole, buried in the hairline by his temple. The urge to kiss it rises up in her, fueled by the knowledge that she could probably get away with it in his current state. Rey swallows, brings her hand down to his chest, and clasps his hand—the one she could not take -- in her own. Her palm rests whisper-light against the back of his hand, her fingers barely skimming the sides of his own.

She sits like this for a long moment, watching him breathe, tracing the lines of his profile. Trying to remind herself of who he could be, if she could just reach him. Any moment now, the connection will break and this moment will become just a memory, but right now, it’s real and it’s hers. It’s one moment of peace between them after so much fighting, so much pain and bitterness and betrayal.

The press of his thumb jolts her from her thoughts. She stares as it brushes, almost reverently, across her knuckles. Her heart leaps in her throat, forcing her to take long, deep breaths. She drags her gaze to his face precisely because of how afraid she is to do it.

His eyes are heavy-lidded from sleep and look at her with such yearning, it hits her like a sucker punch. She hardly dares to breathe as he lifts her hand slowly, gently, to his lips.

His mouth is hot like a brand.

And then he’s gone.

When he saw Rey at his bedside, he thought he had dreamed her. He had been awake for days, the sting of their loss on Crait sending the rest of the First Order scrambling. There was no way she could be real. After all they put each other through, he expects nothing more than her rage.

Such raw power, such feral anger—she reminds him so much of himself. She walks the knife’s edge; if he thought he could just reach her, he could tip her over into the abyss with himself.

But that was Snoke’s desire. He doesn’t want her to turn, to lose that brightness within her, he just wanted—wants—her near. He wants to not be alone. He wants someone who understands him, who looks at him full of hope, and kindness—like she did in the elevator.

And for a moment, his weak, stupid self thought he could have it.

So when he felt her fingers ever so carefully latch onto his, he knew it was a trick of the mind—a fresh way to torture himself. He kissed her hand the way he would have done if she had taken it—and then he woke up.

Now he stares down at her prone form, her knees tucked into her chest, breathing deep and even, and realizes it was not a dream at all.

Rey of Jakku sleeps the rest of the exhausted. She does not stir at his sudden presence. His lightsaber hangs from his belt. He could kill her before she could take her next breath.

Even lost in the depths of his anger, he never had the will to act on such a thought. And he doesn’t think he ever shall, even if her own blade sits at his throat.

In sleep, her hair drapes in disarray. It spills over her shoulder, dangerously close to catching in the small, open-mouthed snores that tumble from her lips.

He remembers—suddenly—vividly—her fingers brushing back a lock of his hair from his brow. In his dream state, it had felt like his mother.

In that moment, she could have done herself the favor of killing him.

(If she had turned like he thought he wanted, she would have.)

Slowly, on the verge of chastising himself, he kneels at the side of her bed and reaches out.

Instantly, he recoils at the stark contrast of his dark leather gloves against the paleness of her cheek. It reminds him too much of the interrogation chamber, of how deeply he tried to frighten her— precisely because she unsettled him so much.

Of how terribly that backfired on him.

Finger by finger, he tugs off his glove before reaching for her again. The wavy strands of her hair feel glossy against his finger tips. He keeps his touch feather-light as he tucks her hair behind her ear, hardly daring to believe his own audacity. A lock of her hair slips back like water down her cheek. His thumb brushes against the shell of her ear as he brushes it back.

She mumbles something too garbled and faint to understand, her hand drifting to wrap softly around his. He freezes when her eyes start to flutter open, struggling to drag herself from sleep. He needs to step away—he needs distance—what is she going to think when she wakes to him touching her—

Frozen in place, he watches helplessly as the fog of sleep clears from her gaze. He sees the exact moment clarity appears, when reality crystallizes behind those eyes.

His breath lies trapped in his lungs, bracing for her reaction.

She tenses beneath him, muscles coiled and ready—a wariness that tries hard not to tumble into fear flashing in her eyes.

It shames him. When he saw her at his bedside, even as a dream, her presence never struck him as anything but welcome.

He hovers over hers like a nightmare.

He pulls his hand back, but she only grips it tighter, her eyes searching his with an intensity that makes him feel horrifically exposed.

“Hello, Ben,” she murmurs, voice soft with sleep.

He swallows against the lump in his throat. The name doesn’t hurt like it used to.

“I thought it was a dream,” he whispers to her. “But it was you, wasn’t it?”

Maybe that’s why he’s here, hand clutched in hers, to confirm for himself the moment that has haunted him.

“Yes.” Her gaze dips away from his with faint embarrassment. “I’m . . . sorry.”

Sorry . . . to offer him mercy, kindness, comfort . . . when he deserves nothing but her all-consuming rage.

He shakes his head. “Look at what I’m doing.”

His hand is still buried in her hairline, thumb still resting against her ear.

It’s not so much a smile as the possibility of one that softens her mouth. Memories from the elevator flash across his mind. It’s as hard to look away from her lips then as it is now.

If she hadn’t disappeared, he doesn’t know what he would have done.

The first thing Leia taught her in her training was how to sense and block others with the Force. Knowing how Rey’s interrogation went with Kylo Ren, keeping him from discovering the base becomes a matter of the greatest priority. Especially since there are so few of them left.

Rey expected the bond to die along with Snoke, not to become stronger. When they touched hands on Ach-to, it felt nothing as solid as the lips on her fingers, that first night in her room. And the touch of his hand in her hair, beneath her fingers—it took a long moment of panic before she could convince herself that he hadn’t physically broken into the base.

When they come together, it feels too real. What would happen if they started seeing each other’s surroundings? What if he hears Leia in the background?

The risk is too great. So Rey spends weeks building up her walls until she can’t feel him anymore. Each time it feels like a betrayal, an abandonment.

Each time does not get easier.

That agility course will be the death of her. She knows it. It’s impossible. If Luke finished it, then he’s a goddamn liar.

Oh, but she came so close today.

She collapses on her pallet in the Falcon, utterly drained. In fact, as the pull of sleep grows heavier, she nearly misses the sudden density of silence, a pleasant weight beside her, another warm breath near her ear.

Rey’s hand flops to the side and it hits something—someone—solid.

She turns sluggishly to face him. He lies next to her, on his side, dark circles haunting his eyes.

It has been months and months since she has seen him or felt him. What does it say about her that she missed these stolen moments of peace?

His eyes track hers with a dark intensity that was not present in their previous interactions. A thread of unease runs through her. Rey swallows and burrows her head into her pillow.

“I’m too tired for a fight,” she murmurs to him.

“I don’t want one.”

But his eyes say differently. They bear down on her, as fathomless as space, only made sharper by the dark circles that lie underneath.

Tentatively, Rey reaches out and brushes her hand against his cheek. She has much more experience in provocation than comfort, especially with him, but she doesn’t like the hard edge of that look in his eyes. Something has changed between then and now, despite them not having a formal confrontation since Crait.

Are you alright? she wants to ask. What happened? What did I do?

Ridiculous questions, each one. As if he would answer. As if she doesn’t already know the answer.

Her thumb swipes delicately across his cheekbone as her fingers trace the stark line of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed. He feels so warm, solid, and alive underneath her touch. It is almost impossible to believe that he isn’t in this very room with her.

The dip of his scar brushes against her thumb and she flinches, jerking her hand away. His eyes snap open, his gaze sharpening with—not condemnation, exactly . . .

Acknowledgment.

“You should admire your handiwork,” he murmurs, pressing her hand with his against the scar.

Rey swallows. Presses her palm down the ridge of his scar as if she could erase it with her touch. In that moment, she had been feral with rage. If the earth had not shattered in half, she might have very well killed him. In fact, as she boarded the Falcon while his reinforcements were out of sight, she believed she had.

The first time she saw it, his scar—blackened with stitches—she felt a surge of pride. The great and fearsome Kylo Ren, taken down by a scavenger with a borrowed lightsaber she had never used before

Now the sight of it makes her sick.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t,” he bites back.

Don’t start, his eyes say to her. Don’t say things you can’t take back.

So far, there has been an unspoken rule—do not mention the past. They are skirting dangerously close to breaking it.

“Okay,” she says, tracing the edge of his hairline, whispering over the mole she discovered. “Okay.”

For a long moment, they do nothing but gaze at each other. Rey catalogs the freckles and beauty marks dotting along on his cheeks and forehead, the slope of his nose; the faint shadow of stubble above his lips. An unwelcome truth struck her,  as it did that moment on their way to see Snoke: how could someone mired in so much darkness be so beautiful?

Because he had so much light just waiting to be uncovered—or so she thought. As if Rey, a nobody, could have ever been enough to reach him in such inky darkness.

What thoughts must he have for her, she has no idea, as his gaze skates from her brow, to her nose, to her lips. Whatever they may be, his gaze sharpens with sudden resolve. His hand bridges the distance to cups her cheek, her jaw, the broad span of his palm a warm, comfortable weight.

She leans into hit.

“I’m coming for you, Rey,” he says. “I won’t stop until I find you.”

She swallows.

Something surges in her core, crackling underneath her skin.

It’s not fear.

Anticipation.

“And what exactly is going to happen to me when you do?” she finds herself whispering back.

“You’ll find out when I get to you.”

She swallows, her eyes dipping down to his mouth. “That’s if you catch me first.”

He mirrors her gaze, eyes locking on her lips, much like they did in the elevator.

“I guess we shall see,” he says.

He leans into her, thumb dragging across the corner of her mouth—

For a wild moment, she thinks he is going to kiss her.

For a wild moment, she is going to let him.

And then he’s gone.

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments: Bonus Chapter

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: None

A/N: This is just a little bonus chapter as a special treat for hitting 200 followers! You guys are awesome! This coincides with Chapter 3 of The Experiments. Happy reading! Let me guys know if you’d like more things liked this in the future!

Read the main story here!

**

Today was his lucky day. Not that he had many of those in the last fifteen years. 

It seemed every time he was awake, he was being stuck with needles or carted off to be drowned or pumped full of chemicals that made him feel like his entire body was ripping itself apart. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which he preferred: being submerged in the tank for an endless hour, getting one gulp of real air before being dunked back in, or being strapped to a table while the doctors smiled down on him, pressing a button so another blue liquid could be shot into his bloodstream. Both were a nightmare, one that he was being spared from for the time being.

Apparently, it wasn’t his turn as the guinea pig and the tank had sprung a leak. He hated the thought of which of his brothers weren’t so fortunate. Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Yixing. They weren’t fighters and they didn’t deserve this. None of them did, but - well, here they were.

That was, perhaps, the only downside to being left alone for the day. He was able to let his mind think, draw up pictures of his brothers and their own personal hells. With his fist clenching tightly to the thin sheet on his mattress, he tried to chase the thoughts away, a small rumble vibrating his chest when he failed.

Letting out an angry hiss, the door to his cell slid open. He didn’t turn to look at whoever had entered. Silently, he prayed that they just needed a blood sample and weren’t here for something more drastic. The light footsteps and slight change of scent in the air told him that his visitor was a female. To his surprise, she didn’t say anything but instead picked up the chair that he never used and positioned it so she was sitting down in front of him next to the bed.

She didn’t say anything. He still refused to look at her, thinking just maybe she might go away if he didn’t interact with her. The minutes ticked by and she didn’t move. It was a standoff. Or maybe she was just even sicker than the other doctors and was messing with him as a little game before dragging him off. He’d heard the guards snicker about what fun they had occasionally with Yixing, cutting him and beating him because it wouldn’t leave a mark and they thought it was good fun to pass the time. Just the thought of it was enough to make him sick. 

Enough.

“Just get it over with,” he growled, still refusing to look at her.

He could hear her shift her chair before she asked, “Get what over with?”

“Don’t play games with me!” Only an ounce of control remained as he turned to face her, just enough to keep his face calm. Her question had come out so innocent, but the years had taught him better. “Stick whatever needles in me you want to and leave.”

The woman held up her empty hands. Only a file, notebook, and pencil laid in her lap. She didn’t even have gloves on. Only her pristine white doctor’s coat hinted at who she might be. “I don’t have any needles with me. I’m simply here to talk. My name is Dr. (y/n) (l/n).”

Her voice came out soothing, if a little unsure. Getting a better look at her, he knew he’d never seen her before. Taking in her appearance and supplies she brought with him and dredging up vague memories, he came to a simply conclusion:

“So you’re a shrink?”

She shook her head, little loose strands of hair bouncing off her temples. “No, I’m not. Officially, I’m a blood analyst, but I think there’s more to what’s going on inside of you all than a biological change. That’s just the surface of it.”

So, she was the one who studies his blood after the fact. Must be fun, sitting in a chair, looking at blood that belonged to someone that was once human. 

Just for a second, he was curious as to what his blood would look like now, under a microscope. Did it resemble anything of what hers looked like? Or was that just the surface of their obvious differences? And did she really want to know how the changes in his blood had changed his head? How animalistic they’d all become?

Raising an eyebrow, he put his focus back on what was being discussed at the moment. “And so you want to dissect my head?”

The woman nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching up. She must have been holding back a smile now that she’d gotten him to speak. “In a sense.”

Pulling her eyes away from him, she plucked a pen out from behind her ear and opened the notebook, flipping to a fresh page. Looking back up at him, she asked, “How long have you been here?”

“You should know that. It’s in my file.” He didn’t mean to snap, but her question was infuriating. Everything she wanted to know, every surface level question she could possibly ask was listed right in his file, he was sure of it. They wrote everything down, logging every little reaction he had or didn’t have.

“I want to hear it from you.”

Looking in her eyes, the sincerity was obvious. They looked back at him with warmth and a softness that he hadn’t seen in years. She wasn’t like the others. Harm was not her intent, although the reflex he’d built up over the years saw all of them as a threat. 

No, the one who sat in the chair and patiently waited for him to give her an answer to her question was not a menace that wanted to dissect him and use him for her own amusement. She was holding out a metaphorical hand to him, to keep him from drowning.

“Fifteen years, give or take. It’s hard to keep track sometimes.”

Her muscles tensed up, freezing her in place. With a frown, her eyebrows knit together and she scribbled something in her notebook, keeping the angle just so where he couldn’t see what she was writing down. In her next question, her voice was less stable, trembling just a bit to go unnoticed by normal, human ears.

“And have you always been in this room?”

Harmless or not, her line of questioning was still annoying. “You’re asking questions that you should already know the answer to.”

Sighing, she put down her pen. “I don’t know the answers, that’s why I’m asking.”

He pulled his eyebrows together, not expecting that kind of response. The other doctors here liked to act like they knew everything, quickly covering up any flaw that might expose a weak spot in their knowledge.

Putting the notebook and file down on the floor beside her, Dr. (l/n) leaned forward, sending her scent to him like a wave. It was a natural, human scent, not covered up by too many spritzes of perfume. There was a slight citrusy undertone to it, most likely from her shampoo. He liked that smell. It was comforting; a small glimpse of the outside world he hadn’t seen in a long time. As subtle as he could, he took several deep breaths, trying to memorize the scent.

While concentrating on his breathing, he almost didn’t catch what Dr. (l/n) said next. “I’m actually fairly new here. I was barely able to get permission to speak with you. Soon, I’ll talk to the others as well.”

The others? He pushed back a smile, knowing that Baekhyun would just talk her ear off. She might even prefer the younger one’s company over his considering their different levels of cooperation. That last thought almost made him growl, although he wasn’t sure as to why.

Copying her posture, he leaned forward, getting as close to her as he dared. “And why do you want to talk to us so badly?”

She didn’t flinch with his invading of her personal space. “Because I still see you as human.” Her voice was just barely a whisper, but he heard her loud and clear. “You’re more than just something to poke and prod. So, I want to know how it’s all effecting you.”

Human. He hadn’t been referred to as that in a long time. No one else, including himself, saw him that way. How could she? How could she get so close to him and not be afraid? How could she talk to him like he couldn’t kill her if he simply lost control?

There was something about her. As cliché as it sounded, there was.

Straightening up, he looked away, fearful of what he might let slip past his lips. Instead, he felt she needed to be reminded of the truth. “But I’m not human. None of us are.”

“I don’t believe that,” she argued. “You were born human. No matter what happens to you, you’re still human.” She said those sentences with such conviction, he couldn’t find it in him to counter it with facts.

Was he born human? Yes, that was true. But humans couldn’t do what he could, what his brothers could do. There were definitely events that could happen that could turn someone into something not human, but origins didn’t dictate how you changed. The tadpole may call itself a fish, but eventually it would change into a frog.

“You’re not like the others.” He kept his eyes trained on her, trying to get to the root of her own otherness. How she could be so compassionate and bold when the others were weak and indifferent?

As if she was uncomfortable under his gaze, she swallowed and bent down to pick up the notebook and file. A distraction. Was he confusing her as much as she confused him?

Oh so quietly and barely looking him in the eyes, she asked the most forbidden question.

“What’s your name?”

He smirked. Bold indeed. “You’re not allowed to know that.”

“Why won’t you let me know that?” she asked defiantly.

He shook his head. “It’s not me that made that rule. It’s them.”

A dangerous, determined look flashed in her eyes, making him admire her even more. “So, break the rule. Just once.”

Leaning forward, his lips felt like they were on fire in anticipation to speak the word they had been barred from forming for years. His ears burned from a yearning to hear it as well. To hear her say it.

“Junmyeon. My name is Junmyeon.”

She smiled, a soft, welcoming smile. His heart thumped in eagerness. Would she?

“Junmyeon.”

[crowned-ladybug]

Rainbow

Just putting it out there, this is dumb as heck. I literally just took six colours and something associated with each colour, wrote a drabble based on each and mashed all those together into one thing to pretend I can write. It’s not good.

Each story focuses on different characters/sets of characters/relationships. It’s a bit of fluff and a bit of exploring relationships, but it’s nothing deep. Romantic stuff is there, but it’s not super centered around it. The first story is by far the darkest one, and even that isn’t that dark at all.

Characters: oh fuck, so many. Dark, Anti, the Host, Google, Chase, Chase’s kids (Sammy and Grayson), Bing, Angus, Amy, Kathryn, Ethan, Pam, Marvin, Jackie

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: none. Ships included are Danti, Bingaverage and Marvelsepticeye.

1. Red – Anger

"Would you just shut up?!" Dark snaps, his teeth growing into fangs for a single moment. His aura cracks around him, distorting his image and draining the colour from everything around him. White noise flares, following his voice. For a moment, Dark is an image of pure, unbridled and furious power, destructive and fearsome.

The other egos in the room freeze and stare at him in shock, wide-eyed. Some flee the room completely. They hadn't been doing anything special, certainly nothing with the intention of upsetting Dark. But Dark grew annoyed with their noise and his own inability to concentrate on the book in his hands, and instead of just getting up and leaving, he snapped.

But within the same moment, Dark's arm is grabbed in an iron grip, keeping him from moving forward. Anti places himself between Dark and the rest of the egos, reflexes keen as ever. He knows Dark better than anyone else in the room, and Dark knows him. If there's anyone who can placate him, it's Anti. And powerful as Dark may be, Anti doesn't fear him. Dark would never hurt him, and even if he did, Anti knows he isn't exactly weak either. Though he wouldn't fight back, he could take it.

But Dark doesn't attack him, just like Anti knew he wouldn't. His face softens ever so slightly when his eyes lock onto Anti's. His aura calms and settles around him again, and the white noise quiets until it's nothing but a few sharp pops telling of Dark's still restless power.

Dark closes his eyes and sighs. He's still wound up and stiff, but his anger calms as quick as it had come. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, only to Anti now.

Anti's hold on his arm loosens until he's just keeping his hand there to offer comfort, fingers slowly starting to move to rub soothing patterns against the fabric of Dark's jacket. "It's okay," Anti murmurs. He can hear the quiet hustle of the other egos behind himself and knows that more of them have probably left by now. "I know you're trying your best."

Without a word, Dark lowers his head. He feels bad for snapping like that, no matter Anti's attitude towards his actions. He's learning to deal with his anger and do better and not hurt anyone in the process, but he's not quite there yet. He hopes the other egos know he didn't mean to scare them, because he doesn't know how to say it.

With a small, gentle smile, Anti leans forward and presses his lips onto Dark's forehead until he can feel the skin smooth out again, Dark's frown slowly melting away. His hand slips from holding Dark's arm down to his hand and he gently tangles their fingers together. His smile grows when Dark sighs and straightens his back again.

2. Orange – Creativity

The Host's fingers glide gently over the keys of the Braille typewriter his friends had got for him as a gift, just in case he ever felt like writing again. He smiles wistfully. Maybe it's time he used something like this again.

"What do you think, Google?" he sighs. "Should the Host give his old profession another try?"

Google looks up from his work, his eyes dulling from a glowing, unnatural blue to a darker shade. He's working on the floating screen before him, lines of code slipping by so fast that only he can understand them. But now that he averts his eyes the screen freezes and a flashing cursor appears in the spot he'd last looked at.

He's sitting at the same table as the Host, the two of them keeping each other company silently. Well, really he's keeping the Host company, as Google doesn't technically crave human presence, but he doesn't mind much. He definitely finds the Host to be one of the less irritating egos.

"That's for you to decide," Google shrugs, turning back to his work.

The Host sighs, ignoring the coldness of the response. Google is a machine through and through after all, refusing any sort of unnecessary humanity, and the Host is used to that. Frankly, he just needs someone to listen to him, or at least let him talk to himself in peace.

"Sometimes the Host misses writing," he withdraws his hands from the typewriter and places them on the table. "He wants to write good, happy stories now. There aren't nearly enough of those," he's unaware that Google stops his work again and turns his full attention to him, eyes squinting with a hint of curiosity. "The Host wants to write his friends stories to make them happy."

"I'd say go for it then," Google shrugs again, and the Host stiffens a little as if he hadn’t been expecting Google to say anything at all. "While I don't really get creativity or sentimentalism or anything of the sort, I do think that you should give it a try if you think it would make you happy."

The Host smiles quietly. Those were some very, very un-Google-like things to say, and maybe that's exactly why they make him feel happy. "Thank you, my friend."

Google watches with the faintest smile on his lips as the Host straightens his back and sits up more, hands reaching for the typewriter again.

3. Yellow – Joy

"Gimme tha-...no, the other one!" Chase waves his hand towards Sammy, who's sitting with the box of chalks on her lap and sorting through them. He gets back to work as soon as he gets the blue he'd been asking for, and the box gets knocked over as Sammy stands and runs back to her own drawing on the pavement with a green in her hand.

Sammy is taking her task of decorating the hopscotch her and Bing (and previously Grayson, until he decided to move on to drawing flowers growing from the edge of the pavement instead) are working on very seriously. It's crooked and colourful and some of the numbers are upside down, so it’s exactly like any proper, well-done hopscotch should look like. Meanwhile Chase is aiding Grayson in drawing flowers and those typical kinds of birds that you can just tell were drawn by a parent not skilled in drawing on the pavement. Grayson appreciates the help anyway.

Sammy scrambles up, covered in colourful dust from the chalks from head to toe, and enthusiastically tests out what they have of the hopscotch so far. She jumps around with all the delightful energy of a six-year-old and reads the numbers out under her breath. Chase stops drawing and watches her hop by with a soft smile.

Suddenly Sammy comes to a halt and she drops her previously raised foot next to the other. "Pop?"

From the other end of the hopscotch, Bing looks up with the brightest smile imaginable. At some point Sammy had decided that Bing must be her dad too, and both her and Grayson had just started calling him "Pop" from then on. The first time they had declared Bing their dad, he cried. He also cried a lot more times after that. He's still over the moon every time.

"Yeah?"

Sammy stares thoughtfully at the tiles right at her feet. "I think we left out twelve."

Chase snorts, then tries to hide his laughter by holding his arm in front of his face. In response, Bing throws a uselessly small piece of chalk at him.

4. Green – Peace

"Y'know," Anti hums with a smile as he jumps from rock to rock. There's a path right next to him where Angus is walking, but Anti prefers the adventure of going slightly off it and jumping around, looking down at the creek they're following every other step. "I love nature, though I wouldn't really feel appropriate screaming about it, if you know what I mean?"

Angus laughs. He has a quiet, soft laugh even when he's really enjoying himself. "Oh, good times. Good memories."

Anti nods and keeps jumping along with a wide grin.

They stop in a spot where the creek takes a sharper turn and the rocks near the edge aren't everywhere. Angus crouches down next to the water and Anti makes himself comfortable on a bigger, stable rock. They splash their arms and face with the cool water, and Anti decides that if they're stopping for a break, he might as well eat one of his remaining granola bars.

"Thanks for bringing me out here," he smiles between two bites when Angus settles on the rock next to his. "I'm having a ton of fun."

"Glad you are, mate," Angus grins, throwing his head back lazily to stare up at the canopy above the two of them. He feels at home.

"We should do this again the next time you come visit," Anti says, eyes flickering to his friend before looking back to the creek. He doesn't usually have anyone to go hiking with, and he rarely has the heart to just go alone. Chase, Seán and Signe are usually too busy, Dark doesn't like hiking and Wilford is a safety hazard even in a padded room. But Angus, who is kind of like everyone's cousin, is exactly the nature-loving and knowledgable person to go hiking with. He doesn't visit often, but from now on Anti knows he will try to go hiking with him every time he does.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," he watches as Anti's ears, for once not hidden by magic or a cap even though they're in the human world, perk up at that. "There's lotta cool places in the world to see, y'know."

Anti nods quietly, just watching the forest around them, the auburn leaves on the ground and the lively green undergrowth and countless saplings growing over them, the mossy rocks covering the slope slightly to the right and the spots of sunlight that dance on the water. It's a very nice, peaceful place.

"Where are we now, by the way?" he asks, looking at Angus fully. Angus had just dropped the two of them here without telling Anti where they were going or even just giving him coordinates. Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise, not like Anti has any idea on what the forests of different regions look like exactly anyway.

"Somewhere in the Northern part of the Carpathian Basin," Angus shrugs. "The forests are nice and peaceful here, perfect for a nice day out. No wildlife's gonna come attacking you here."

"Yeah, I was...hoping you wouldn't bring me somewhere we could die," Anti laughs, still quiet because the forest seems to have the same hushing effect on him that libraries do.

"You can die anywhere if you just try hard enough."

"Wow, thanks, Mr Ray of Sunshine," Anti mocks and gently shoves the other by the shoulder.

"You're welcome, mate," Angus shoots back right away. "Maybe next time though. No promises," he claps Anti on the shoulder, then hops off his rock and stands, shrugging a bit to adjust his backpack. He waves a hand signalling Anti to follow. "Come on, let's move."

5. Blue – Trust

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Dark asks, one eyebrow raised as he stares at the people gathered around him, almost as if silently asking if they'd all lost their minds.

"Is the big scary Darkiplier scared of ghosts?" Kathryn grins and Ethan has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep himself from laughing out loud.

Dark immediately turns to Kathryn. Were she just some random human person he would be angry, but these people (and maybe especially Kathryn) he considers a pleasant company, maybe even friends. And so he didn't rudely tell them to leave him be when they (read: Kathryn, Amy, Pam and Ethan) had come to him after nightfall and asked him if he wanted to go on some late night adventure with them. In a way he actually felt honoured that they had chosen him to be part of their delightful antics.

"I can guarantee you that whatever is out there, I'm scarier. But you humans are much more fragile and easily startled, I would worry for your safety."

"Well, that is very sweet of you mister big man," Pam responds quicker than Dark would have expected. "But we're not going to hunt serial killers or anything. We'll be fine. We're just going to the wine cellar!"

"Correction, Pam wants us to go to the wine cellar, because she thinks it's a good idea-" Amy adds, but she gets cut off by Ethan as he leans towards Pam with comically wide eyes.

"Which it clearly isn't!"

Pam laughs. "Ethan, it's just a wine-"

"It's spooky!"

Pam's comment of "fine, a spooky wine cellar" gets drowned out by Kathryn's and Amy's laughter. Dark watches them go back and forth quietly, just shy of smiling at them. He must admit, they are quite a delight to be around.

"Very well," he finally speaks up, and every head immediately turns to look at him. He feels a bit like he's dealing with children, but he's not sure whether it's because of their behaviour or because he's by far taller than any of them. "I will go to the wine cellar with you."

His words are greeted by cheering.

The wine cellar is pitch black and probably indeed very spooky, though Dark can't exactly tell. His aura ripples restlessly around him for a moment, but when it senses nothing threatening, it settles again. The thought crosses his mind that when Anti had told him to “be nice to everybody, and maybe a little sociable for once” maybe he didn't mean this. But he'll be damned if he's not actually kind of enjoying escorting some of his human friends to an apparently very scary wine cellar.

He stands in the middle of the room and watches the faint silhouettes of the rest of the group move about. He can't see jack shit, but it doesn't exactly bother him.

Pam makes her way down quickly and goes all the way to the bottles in the back, seemingly unfazed by the darkness. The others aren't so enthusiastic. Kathryn remains watching from the stairs, enjoying whatever is about to play out without subjecting herself to it, and Amy's occasional small squeals of fear are drowned out by Ethan's steady string of "nope nope nope" from behind his camera.

Amy creeps forward and walks right into Dark, jumping back.

"It's just me," Dark reassures her quietly.

"Oh Jesus," Amy sighs, but there's laughter in her voice. She reaches forward and grabs Dark's arm, and Dark lets her. "Okay, now it's a little less scary."

"If it makes any of you feel any better, there's nothing here aside from us," Dark says slowly, directing his words at the whole group. He watches as Ethan, reassured enough by his comment, shuffles his way down the final stairstep and into the room, only to swear loudly when Pam whispers his name creepily from the other end. Dark doesn't particularly find that fair, but he doesn't feel like interfering. He's having fun.

"You know what? Fuck this," Ethan declares, climbing back up the stairs. Pam quickly shuffles after him calling him a coward, and Dark can hear Kathryn's laugh come from all the way up the stairs. Amy squeezes his arm and whispers a "thanks" before running after them, telling them not to have any fun without her.

Dark remains standing there for a little longer, smiling softly when no one can see it anyway. These people are definitely growing on him.

6. Purple – Magic

Marvin and Jackie are sitting on the ground in their living room. It's a sweet, quiet evening. There's candles placed on a plate on the coffee table, each lit with a different colour of magical flame, and a safe distance from them there's a slowly growing menagerie of paper animals created by Marvin's skilled hand. He's folding them from copy paper just going by his memory, so some of them are a little lopsided and can't exactly stand on their own, but he's having fun with them. And Jackie has got his hands on one of Marvin's sketchbooks and is now doodling along the edges of a page – little hearts and flowers and butterflies, and tiny people running around and holding hands and dancing and being happy. He smiles as he draws one of the best, happiest ones a small cat mask.

There's a few wisps of light floating around the room above their heads, a small by-product of Marvin's magic and a much healthier way of letting go of his random bits of excess magic than letting it build up. They fly around the room lazy and harmless, and they look like fireflies right out of an animated movie. They sometimes like to settle on Jackie's hair for some reason, and Marvin always laughs fondly when he sees it happen.

For a moment Jackie stops his doodling and watches as Marvin hopelessly tries to make his newest creation (a puppy, Jackie guesses) remain standing on the table. Jackie reaches out and takes it instead after it falls over again, and places it on his knee before he goes back to doodling.

Marvin chuckles at him. "What are you-..."

"It's my friend now."

"Okay, wait," Marvin's smile widens as he takes the lopsided paper puppy back. "Close your eyes and give me your hand."

"No, what are you doing to my friend?" Jackie refuses, but Marvin just smiles at him fondly.

"Kincsem," he hums sweetly, and Jackie has no idea what the word means, but he does know that it's either a term of endearment, or Marvin calling him an idiot, or both. He sighs in defeat, closes his eyes and extends both his hands towards Marvin.

When he opens his eyes again, he's lost for words. Marvin has given him back the origami dog and now it's alive, limping around his hands and sniffing at the cuff of his shirt. Jackie looks up at Marvin with a wide grin and he sees Marvin already watching him, waiting for his reaction.

"It's weak magic, it'll wear off in a few minutes," Marvin warns, but Jackie doesn't care. He raises his hands so that the dog is eye level with him and stares at it with wonder.

"This is awesome," Jackie laughs, and his smile only widens when the paper dog takes interest in his glasses. "Hey there, pal."

Marvin just laughs fondly and watches Jackie for a little longer as the wisps floating around the room start settling in his hair again, and then he goes back to creating his little paper animals.

[amberandmetal]

Happy birthday, Sammy

Author: @waywardkitten Featuring: Wincest Square filled: Weecest Warnings: Slight angst. John’s A+ parenting. Mostly just fluff Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3320 Summary: Sam presents as an omega 2 weeks before his fifteenth birthday. John comes home, finds out and acts like John does. Cue big brother Dean and his Cheer Sam up masterplan. A/N: Okay. First of all, I took some creative liberties here because this story is more or less set to a playlist that you can find here (I strongly suggest you listen to it while you read) but the song of most significance (Pearl jam- Just breathe) was released in -09. But for the sake of the story let’s just pretend that that song is a cover of some obscure band who wrote it sometime in the early eighties, mkay? Second, this is inspired by this scene from The perks of being a wallflower and this scene from SPN season 3. Thirdly, I mostly write smut but when I do write fluff, like this, it tends to be tooth-rotting and sappy beyond sanity. Don’t judge me. But yes, if it is indeed super cute fluffy a/b/o weecest you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place. Enjoy ~ Kind words & feedback are food to a creative mind ♡

“Son of a-”

“Aouch”

“Godammit”

His fingers were stiff from the cold night air and his face felt clammy and wet from his own warm, wet breaths as he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel of his father’s Impala.

He could still hear the disappointed tone in John’s voice ringing in his ears; and the look of complete devastation on his brother’s face was something he feared would never fade from his memory.

“Almos-”

“What the hell”

“Come on you motherfucki-”

A loud noise from inside the ratty old house made his body jolt in fear before he realised it was only his dad’s drunken snores from the living room couch. Closer to him was the bedroom he and Sammy shared, and if he listened closely, which he really tried not to, he could hear a soft muffled crying coming from the other side of the frostbitten window. 

Dean could picture his little brother way too vividly, curled up on the bed with his face pushed hard into his pillow to conceal the sobbing; the reason he could picture all of this so clearly was that he’d seen it on one too many occasions, and that knowledge was enough to make his heart break a little. He knew how ashamed Sam felt every time their father made him cry.

Dean sighed and gritted his teeth in a gesture of determination. “Come on, Baby. For me?”

He connected the exposed wires again and with a roar the Impala’s engine came to life. Dean slumped back on the seat with a satisfied huff and patted the dashboard. “Knew you had it in ya”

He let the engine run as he got out and carefully sneaked up to the living room window. John hadn’t moved an inch since he left him on the couch, the TV on full volume and the half empty bottle of scotch still in his hand. Dean clenched his jaw and fists as the 7th replay of the night’s events began playing in his head. “Omega? You’re an omega?”

The disbelief and disappointment on their father’s face was evident even though he tried to conceal it and keep his face neutral. “Dad.. it just happened- I’m still me”, Sam tried.

The smile John gave his youngest was the halfhearted hard-set kind you’d give someone who’d just handed you a big fat bill or told you you’d just been served. “You can’t hunt, Sam. You won’t be safe and..you’ll be a liability”

Sam’s face fell and that was the last straw for Dean who stepped up from the couch. “I can take care of Sammy, just as I always have. Won’t be a problem, sir”

Sam looked up at his older brother, a mixture of emotions ghosting over his face. Dean hated how his father treated Sammy at that moment but Dean was also a good soldier and he knew his place. John laughed bitterly and scratched his neck. “No.”

“No?!”

John threw his hands in the air, giving Dean a look like he’d just told him he was positive the earth was flat. “He. Is. An. OMEGA! You can’t keep him safe. Not while hunting. And I need you there with me.”

He gave Sam one last look before taking the bottle of scotch he’d bought on his way home and sunk down on the couch. He stared blankly at the TV. “This discussion is over. Tomorrow I’m taking Sam to Bobby’s”

The thought of just taking Sam and running away had entered his mind on more than one occasion. But he knew it was useless. An unmated omega without a legal guardian was fair game as far as the majority of the world’s alpha population was concerned and Dean couldn’t do that to Sam.

It gnawed at him. The knowledge that he could help and protect him- be everything Sam needed- if they just weren’t brothers.

Dean had presented as an Alpha about two years ago. He’d supposed it was late but he wasn’t bothered since he was sure he’d be a beta just like both his parents. When he popped his first knot saying he was confused would be putting it mildly. But it had in some way come as a blessing. He was sure Sam would be an alpha too as it was common for siblings to present as the same gender, and that meant they couldn’t possibly be together. And that was a good thing. That made it easier. He couldn’t remember when he started feeling differently about Sam, when his goofy dork of a brother sparked something other in him than brotherly love. He hadn’t exactly woken up one day and been hellbent on kissing his brother, it had just sneaked up on him over the years until he couldn’t deny it to himself anymore. He never acted on it. He kept it to himself and focused on keeping his scent under control.

Sam’s first heat had been mild and only lasted for three days, but it had still been hell on Dean. Absolute torrid hell. He knew Sam had probably been able to smell the arousal on him from a mile away and he was beyond thankful for Sam having the good sense not to mention it.

They had decided to not tell John over the phone, that maybe it would be easier if they delivered the news face to face with their father. And oh, how wrong they had been. John had just come home that same day, a notebook and pencil-set badly wrapped under his arm; it hadn’t taken long before he’d scented the air and the makeshift gift had came crashing down onto the floor. He’d been away on a hunt and just barely been able to make it to Sam’s birthday. Dean had a feeling they all wished he’d been held up.

-

Tap, tap, tap

“Psst.. hey- Sammy!”

The sizeable lump of blankets and pillows on the bed stirred a bit. “Come on, hurry up! It’s freezing!”

A bedhead like no other rose up and looked bleary-eyed at Dean. He rubbed his eyes and dragged his hand under his nose as he made his way towards the window. It took a few tries but he finally managed to work it open without making too much noise. Dean had to swallow down the growl that threatened to rip through his throat at the distinct smell of distressed sad omega that came wafting through the window. “D-dean? What’re you doing out here? Where’s dad? Is he dragging you out on a hunt again?”

Dean willed the last of his alpha instincts away and then chuckled. “Easy, or you gonna go hypersonic”

He swatted Sam’s hands away from the window sill and climbed in. “I don’t wanna wake up dad”, he shrugged as an explanation at Sam’s confused expression.

“Get dressed. Warm! And don’t ask any questions”

When he turned to Sam and realised there were still tears in his eyes he got closer and wiped them away gently. “Trust me, kid, this’ll be fun”

Sam dragged his hands under his nose again with a sniffle and nodded an ‘ok’ before he started rummaging through his duffel- they had as usual not cared to unpack.

When they both were dressed in warm sweaters, jackets, scarves and gloves (Sam had insisted that if he needed them, so did Dean) they made their way out the window as silently as they could. When Sam saw the Impala he looked at Dean “Dad sleeps with the keys to that car, how did yo-”

“He has his tricks. I have mine. Come on, Sammy”

They got in the car, both rubbing their hands together for warmth; it was unusually cold for May, even by northern standards. Dean experimentally gave some gas, seeing if the motor vehicle gods were still in his favour, before deeming it okay and backing out of the driveway. Sam curled up on the leather seat in an effort to keep himself warm as he looked out through the window. “Where’re we goin’, Dee?”, he asked without turning his head.

“I don’t know”

Sam turned his head to his older brother with a raised eyebrow. Dean gave him a crooked grin and a wink and started fiddling with something in his inside pocket. “I just wanted to give my little bro a nice end to his birthday”, he laughed and threw a small cassette in Sam’s lap. 

Dean glanced sideways while trying to watch the road at the same time, scanning Sam’s every expression to determine if the gift had been a bad idea after all. It was hard to figure out how Sam was feeling since his scent was more or less blocked by the excessive layers of clothing. “It’s just songs that makes me think of you, or us. Shuck it if you don’t want it”, he rushed out.

Sam looked closely at the cover with various songs and artists scribbled down in Dean’s rushed handwriting. He stroked the sides of it carefully and chewed on his bottom lip before taking the cassette out and popping it in the stereo.

Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own Lonely is the night when there's no one left to call You feel the time is right, say the writing's on the wall

Dean shifted his gaze nervously back and forth between the road and Sam as they made their way through the outskirts of town. Sam just stared intently at the stereo, looking very focused. “Have the stereo offended you or something? What’s with the look?”

Sam didn’t look away from the stereo as he answered “‘m just trying to make out the words. It’s really good, Dean..”, he looked up at his brother “..it’s kinda how I feel right now”

And that, that kinda hurt; and Dean wasn’t having any of it. He leaned forward and teasingly pushed Sam back in his seat before pressing fast forward for a couple of seconds. He smiled proudly when the last few notes of the first song rang out. “Every time”, he smiled as Sam scoffed.

“Yeah, great talent there, Dee.”

“Shut up”, he huffed as the next song came on.

“Try an have some fun!” he pushed his elbow playfully at Sam and started singing loudly and off key while using the steering wheel as a drum set

“Guess who just got back today, them wild-eyed boys that had been away! Haven’t changed that much to say but man, I still think them cats are crazy!”, he chanced a look at Sam and felt a jolt of happiness in his gut when he saw the smile his brother fought to keep down. “Come on, Sammy! I know you know this one”, he grabbed Sam’s knee and shook it playfully before continuing his nails against chalkboard singing.

“They were asking if you were around, how you was, where you could be found- come on, Sam. I won’t stop until you join me- drivin all the old men crazy. The boys are back in town the boys are back in town, th-”

“THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOO-OOWN!”

The grin on Dean’s lips was wide enough to break his face as his little brother continued to belt out the chorus. They kept on like that, driving fast through the night towards the tunnels that were the wall between the rundown suburbs and the city, and singing so loudly they were practically screaming, with big dopey smiles on their faces.

A couple of songs later the tunnel lights became visible ahead and Dean began to roll down the windows on his side of the car. Sam eyed him down with a quizzical expression. “Roll yours down too, Sammy. Wanna show you something”

Sam looked a bit unsure and his scent that had started to seep through his jacket changed slightly bringing in a hint of nervousness, but he did as his brother said, reaching back to first get the backseat window down before he made quick work of the front one.

Pearl jam’s Just breathe started playing softly as they entered the warmly lit tunnel and Dean turned the volume up as far as it’d go.

Yes I understand That every life must end As we sit alone I know someday we must go Yeah I'm a lucky man To count on both hands The ones I love Some folks just have one Yeah others they got none

Sam’s eyes were big as saucers as the music flowed out their windows and bounced against the rounded walls creating what could only be described as an acoustic marvel. The song seemed to amplify itself in waves until it felt like it was going around them, constantly growing in volume. Sam couldn’t help but smile wide and happy at his older brother who smiled right back before tousling his hair and speaking a soft “Happy birthday, Sammy”

Sam didn’t even mind his hair getting messed up. He just grinned as his eyes lit up as they always did when he had an idea. He grinned mischievously at Dean before he removed his gloves and got up on all fours on the car seat and slowly started getting up and out the window. “Sammy, wha-”

“Dean, shut up for a second. I want to try this”

“Fine, just hold on” Dean watched worriedly as Sam snaked around and planted his butt on the car door, holding on tightly to the handle on the car ceiling.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt There's so much in this world To make me bleed Stay with me You're all I see Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? Oh if I didn't, I'm a fool you see No one knows this more than me As I come clean I wonder everyday As I look upon your face, uh huh Everything you gave And nothing you would take, uh huh Nothing you would take Everything you gave

Dean quietly sang with the words as he looked at his brother in the periferi. He could just about make out the lower part of Sam’s face, and the blissful smile that looked like it’d almost split his face in two made his heart beat impossibly hard in his chest. 

He was very well aware of the fact that he was probably giving off some serious Happy Alpha in love scent right then and there but he didn’t care. All the windows were open and Sam and his nose were outside the car so he figured he could allow himself this just this once. Just reveling in the happiness of seeing Sam smiling for the first time in a long while without pushing down and restraining every thought and feeling that arose. “This is incredible, Dee”, Sam hollered from outside the car. 

He had let go of the handle with his right hand in favour of leaning out more. Thankfully it was the middle of the night and there was zero to no traffic- especially out there. The song kept growing around them, gaining momentum in the cylinder formed space, the flickering orange lights ghosting warm shadows over their faces.

Sam held his arm straight out and leaned his head back, letting the cool air whip and dance over his skin and hair. He laughed gleefully as the last notes of the song bounced of the concrete walls. The tunnel came to an end and they re-entered the darkness and star spangled sky. Sam got back into the car and flopped down in his seat with a new dopey grin plastered on his face. “Thank you, Dean. This was amazing”

Dean just smiled back and petted Sam affectionately over the neck like he used to do when they were younger.

He was driving them towards a lookout point near the tunnels where kids had probably gone to make out once upon a time before parents had stopped caring. Springsteen’s Born to run came and went before the cold started to seep in under their clothes; they quickly rolled all the windows up again as a song Sam didn’t recognise came on.

Looking for a way Maybe now, maybe in a day Cause nothing gonna change If we stay around here We gotta do what it takes Cause it's all in our hands We all make mistakes But it's never too late to start again

“Dean..?”

Dean didn’t answer or even acknowledge that he’d heard him. He just started to quietly sing along, acting as if he was unaware that Sam was with him in the car.

“If this life, gets any harder now don't ever mind, you got me by your side and any time you want we can catch a train and find a better place cause we won't let nothing or no one keep getting us down. Maybe you and I should pack our bags and say goodbye and fly away from here. Anywhere, I don't care. We'll just fly away from here, our hopes and dreams are out there somewhere. We won't let times pass us by, we'll just fly”

Sam shifted a bit in his seat and that seemed to be the moment he chose to scent the air. Dean peered over at Sam just in time to see his nostrils flare, his nose stuck up high in the air. Sam opened his eyes and returned his head to its normal position slowly. He had a faint look of disbelief adorning his features. Dean’s cheeks heated before he could do damn much about it.

“Dean? Wha- I.. wait, hang on. You said those songs were about us?”

“Don’t take everything so literal, Sam!”, Dean snapped. He felt terrified though he tried to not let it show. He clearly hadn’t thought things through when he made the mixtape- he just knew all these songs that started playing in his head whenever he looked at Sam and the natural reaction to that was wanting to let Sam know about it to make him happy- it hit him then like a ton of bricks; to make his omega happy. He was a stupid, stupid man.

Sam’s scent suddenly grew stronger and Dean tried to focus on breathing through his mouth, too scared to read the rejection and confusion that undoubtedly was there. “Just the feeling, the sense of the songs made me think of us. Not- I mean.. How easy is it to find songs with the exact right words? It came out weird and let’s just forget it. We’ll shuck the tape when we get back and I can make you a new one with some Bowie or something instead.”, he muttered, eyes fixed on the road as he parked the car next to a tree. 

They had a view of the whole town up there. There was silence for only a few seconds before Sam cautiously spoke up “Dee.. you smell like..-”

Dean crumpled, closing his eyes and leaning forward with his head and arms against the steering wheel. “Just let it go, Sammy. Please”

Sam reached out a tentative hand and looked like he was just about to say something as his head snapped up towards the stereo. David Bowie’s Heroes flowed out through the speakers softly and Sam let out a faint rush of air. “That’s my favourite song”

Dean sighed. “I know”

The first touch underneath his upper arm came as a shock and made him jerk at first. He was then unceremoniously but gently pushed back against the backrest as Sam cuddled up against his chest and wrapped Dean’s arm around his smaller frame. Dean held his breath.

“Calm down”, Sam grumbled as he began nuzzling Dean’s clavicle and neck; and Dean just sunk into it, letting out all the air he’d been holding in one big exhale.

“I just wanted to say that you smell amazing, and I love you too”

[dracofrosi]

When a Spirit is Born

I wrote this awhile ago and have decided to continue drabbles of this. It’s gonna be on and off, and if you would like me to write a specific thing in this verse, go ahead and message me. 

Here’s the OG link for this story:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400574

Happy Reading!

Draco Malfoy was Excited.

He woke up on June 4th in a good mood. He spent the first hours of his day getting ready. He went through his morning routine of brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and changing his clothes. He stared at himself in the mirror, pleased with what he saw. he looked impeccable, like a Malfoy always should. His clothes were sharp and tidy, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair was combed, but not gelled. He got out of that habit in the middle of third year.

Draco heard a slight 'pop'.

"Master Draco," the house-elf, Minky, said, "Mistress be wanting you downstairs. She say breakfast be ready."

Draco turned to Minky and nodded, prompting her to leave. He straightened himself and left his room.

Great, I'm starving! I wonder what she made!

Draco paused to stare intently at the wall. The voice was back. For many years, Draco had heard the voice, never been without it. It would always speak, whenever something childish came along, whenever he crushed a mudblood's spirit. The voice was always there! He dare not speak to his parents about it, knowing the Black family tendency to be driven mad. He would rather live with the voice than be viewed warily by his parents, quite like how they viewed Aunt Bella. He only ever acknowledged the voice when he stomped it away. Like now.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll go back to my corner of our mind.

Satisfied with that response, Draco turned away from the wall and continued towards the dining hall.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Breakfast with his Mother and Father was pleasant. They asked if he was sure he didn't want a party for his birthday and what presents he wanted. He knew what he wanted, he only asked for it since he got back to school. His parents were slightly on edge with the request, but they agreed that it would be a fun trip. To see the creatures he had read about in books, oh what a brilliant trip tomorrow would be. Never mind learning anything from the Hagrid the Oaf, who couldn't even control a hippogriff, much less keep it contained. He was going to see real beasts behind fences, with the knowledge he'd be safe.

He'd get to see things he never thought he would see.

You see, Draco Malfoy had begged his parents to go to the zoo. A bit strange for a fourteen year old to ask after, but nonetheless, he did. Draco wanted to go to the Danfiege Haven for Creatures. This reserve hosted hundreds of thousands of creatures, some wizards and witches couldn't even imagine. Draco had the urge to go there, like he needed to be there for some reason.

Gee, I wonder why you feel that way?

He would figure it out when he got there. Today was meant to be a day of relaxing. Draco read a book from the library. He decided to fly around the estate for a couple of hours. He always felt like the wind was carrying him though the air. It was exhilarating. When night had fallen, Draco was tuckered out. He was ready to fall asleep. He took a quick bath and curled up in his bed, excited for what tomorrow would bring.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Draco Malfoy was unhinged.

His dreams that night were filled with snow and ice, falling and drowning. He dreamt of being lonely, never being seen. He saw great furry beasts and small house-elf creatures. He dreamed of snow globes turning into portkeys and sleighs that soared through the sky with reindeer attached. Little fairies, that looked like hummingbirds twittered in his mind. Golden sand filled his dreamscape. Hulking eggs stomped his mind.

Why.

Why was he dreaming this? What did his mind create? Surely someone with this much imagination couldn't be sane. This looked to be a reality the Loony Lovegood created!

The moon shone brightly in a flash.

He wished for the thoughts, the ideas his mind created, the memories he was remembering, to stop, Stop, STOP!!!

Everything faded to black as he said the words, No need to be afraid. We're just gonna have some fun!

Mary...

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You and I need to have a talk.

Draco opened his eyes and saw a frozen lake in a forest covered by snow. It was a winter wonderland in June. Draco glanced around the lake and came upon a boy. The boy looked much like he did, with snow white hair and pale features. The boy had bright blue eyes and wore strange clothing. He had seen some students, the muggleborns (Mudbloods, why did he start with muggleborn?) at school, wearing them on weekends. What did they call them again? Hoodies! Yes, a bright blue hoodie adorned the boy's top and his bottom was covered in light brown pants, more like rags. He sat atop a hooked staff, like a shepard's staff. His face wore a grin.

"Wha-What? Who are you?"

The boy chuckled, his features shaking in excitement as he crouched on top of the staff that balanced in the ice. He must be using magic!

Who am I? I feel hurt! I've only talked to you everyday of your life....or our life.

"What? You're the voice! You're whose been haunting my mind all this time?"

Duh, did you think I was someone different?

"Why have you decided to inhabit my mind? Get out!"

Geeze, so touchy. It's alright, come tomorrow morning, you won't be bothered by me as much.

Draco felt surprise and suspicion.

"Why? What's so special about tomorrow?"

Tomorrow is when we start to merge. You see, I'm actually you. Well, I'm part of you.

"What."

You'll know tomorrow. From what I understand, this should be fixed by then.

"What should be fixed? What are you talking about?"

Us being separate. You see, we're not. I'm you, and you're me. Soon, my opinions won't have to be a cornerstone of thought for you. It will be you're opinion as well! We'll be whole again!

"What the hell is going on?!"

Don't worry. It's almost morning! You'll wake up with the answers.

"Wait, what?"

Maybe you just need a little push to wake up...

"Huh?"

The boy conjured a snowball, from nowhere, and threw it at Draco's face. Draco dodged it, but slipped on the ice in the process. He heard the boy again before his head cracked the ice.

It's always cold under there. Always something we have to relive...

Suddenly, Draco wasn't on a hard icy surface. He was underwater. He tried swimming for the surface, but his limbs wouldn't move. He felt his lungs start to burn and his head try to explode as he opened his mouth and felt water rushing in-and he couldn't breathe-everything was graying out-someone help him.

Darkness.

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Draco Malfoy woke up sucking in breaths of air, feeling his lungs constrict as memories of water-sinking-cold-no air-

His eyes darted the room and realized with relief that it was morning and that was nothing but a horrible-no-good-very-bad dream.

And then he remembered everything. He remembered his life, his life as a poor farmers boy, with a younger sister -Mary- and a penchant to get into trouble. He remembered tricks and fun games, and snow and ice and Mary, don't be afraid, we're gonna play a game! It'll be fun!

He remembered pulling her towards a thicker sheet of ice and crashing throw the cracking ice that she was standing on, sinking in the water, not knowing how to swim. He remembered dying.

He remembered waking up on top of the lake again, with no knowledge except for a name -Jack Frost- and the moon -Manny- who gave it to him. He remembered 300 years of endless wandering, realizing no one could see him why couldn't they see him? why was he alone?

He remembered meeting spirits and finding out he was a spirit, he had a purpose, a gift of snow, ice, wonder, and fun fun fun!

He remembered the Guardians, and Pitch, and becoming a Guardian, and Jamie, and Sophie and discovering who he was.

He remembered the Monkey King, with his swords and his daggers, slashing at Toothiana, trying to cute off her wings and like hell was he about to let that happen.

He remembered jumping on the Monkey King, freezing his fur and making it cold cold cold but not in time to stop a slash and stab, right at his heart.

He remembered bleeding as North pulled the Monkey King off and punched him repeatedly. He saw Tooth and Sandy rush over to him and attempted to heal him. He heard Bunnymund, the proud Pooka, beg the Man in the Moon to Help him, please. He's dying!

He felt everything fade as the moon illuminated his body and whisked it away, feeling like he was traveling forever, until he opened his eyes and stared at two people staring at him in wonder and then everything faded.

He remembered it all.

Live this life until you want to return as a Guardian. We will welcome you back, Jack Frost. The Man in the Moon had said.

He couldn't remember until he turned the age he died. And the world suddenly looked bright, different, good. Everything he thought he knew, everything he thought he agreed with, he didn't anymore. He was more Jack than Draco now, but until he decided to become a spirit again, he would be just Draco.

With a few changes.

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He could see them. Spirits, minor ones at least, that people didn't see unless they believed, flittering about the reserve. Wrackspurts buzzed around people, infecting their thoughts and feeding the on the negative energy. The Nargles were stealing things from wizard's pockets and putting them in the strangest places.

I guess Looney Lovegood isn't so crazy after all.

He separated from his parents halfway through the tour. For some reason, his feet wanted to take him to the avian house. The wind tossed his hair with affection as he wandered over to the entrance.

That was another fun realization. With the knowledge of who he really was, Draco remembered his good friend, the Winds. He went outside before he was set to leave. He felt Wind breeze about, not recognizing him for who he was. He called out to Wind with a laugh and said who he was with glee. The Winds excitedly picked him up and carried him through the air. It was amazing and slightly terrifying. When Wind finished its fun, Draco felt it curl around him, content to stick around for awhile. Draco didn't think he would be alone for quite some time.

The avian house was filled with brilliant birds and creatures that were harmless to those with magic. The flew around the enclosure, above everyone's heads. Draco stared at the birds with glee before he heard something he hadn't heard in a long while. It was the twittering of a tooth fairy! Draco whipped around, eyes searching for the source when he found-there! It was Baby Tooth!

He slowly walked up to his friend and sat on the rock next to her.

"I guess I know why I wanted to come to the reserve today."

Baby Tooth stopped chattering to the other birds and looked towards him. Draco allowed a grin to stretch across his face as he looked at her.

"It's been fourteen years, so I'll let you off the hook for not knowing me yet. It's me, Jack!"

Baby Tooth's eyes got very wide before she chattered frantically, zipping around him and checking his body for injuries. He opened his mouth so she could inspect his teeth before laughing at the lug she face him.

"I missed you too, Baby Tooth. How have you been?"

She chattered quickly.

"Wow, so things have been hectic right? Did Manny tell the other Guardians about what happened to me?"

She nodded and danced in the air.

"That's good! I can't wait to see everyone!" He frowned in thought, "Do you think they know where my staff is?"

Baby Tooth waved her arms and squeaked.

"North has it, huh? I miss having it. How on Earth am I supposed to visit him when I'm still a human?"

Baby Tooth tapped her chin in thought before she zipped around to the other birds. She chattered with them for a few minutes before coming back to him and burying herself in his pocket.

"Planning to follow me, are you?"

She nodded in agreement.

"Alright then. Wanna go see the dragons? Maybe I can conjure some snow and throw it at them."

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Turns out, Draco stilled had his powers, to an extent. He can fly with Wind and create small bits of snow here and there, but big bouts of ice creation tended to leave him exhausted. He used his magic in the creation of ice and snow, instead of his staff to act as a mediator. He threw some enchanted snowballs at some of the dragons, and witnessed a huge game of tag with puppy-like behemoths. He was laughing at the display when his Father approached him.

"Draco, I see you are enjoying yourself. What are they doing?"

Seeing his Father stare in wonder at the dragons playing with each other, Draco gave him a tired grin.

"They're playing, Father. This has been the best birthday ever! Thank you!"

Draco gave his Father a smile and he was rewarded with a ruffle of his hair. His Father gave him a long look.

"I do believe it's time we retire. You look a bit tired out."

Draco agreed and followed his Father towards his Mother. She smiled at them and hugged Draco.

"Have a good time, dear?"

Draco nodded and yawned.

"I do believe it's time to go home."

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They returned to the Manor and Draco carried himself to his room. He was too exhausted to bathe of change as he flopped onto the bed in a tired heap. Baby Tooth wriggled out of his pocket and zipped around the room. Draco chuckled tiredly.

"Welcome to my room, Baby Tooth. This is where i spend my summers, when I'm not at school. Feel free to explore while I pass out."

Draco closed his eyes to Baby Tooth's chattering and breeze brushing past him as a window opened.