#probably realized they were stacking all their eggs in one basket

[okami-zero]

NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE NEW ARMORED CORE!!!!

THERE WAS A TRAILER FOR ARMORED CORE VI IT LOOKS LIKE OLD SCHOOL AC NOT LIKE ACV I AM SO FREAKING HYPED!!!!!!

FROMSOFT dusting off my beloved IP after TEN YEARS. Wonder how many Souls/borne players are like "What the hell is 'Armored Core'?" XD

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

[libraryofloveletters]

the 9-1-1 men seeing you in the LAFD sweatshirt and cuddled up to them 😍🥺

Sweaters

Author’s Note: I added Hen too because I couldn't help myself :) also it’s currently the morning of February 8th. Here’s a lil fluff for y’all before we go batshit crazy over the buckley family secret tonight 😌

Word Count: 1.8k

--

Hen 

Laundry day. 

Oh how you despised laundry day. 

You never did the laundry but Hen wasn’t home today and you figured it would be nice for her to come home and not have to worry. So as a good partner would, you tumbled through the house and collected all the dirty clothes, which included the flour covered shirt you were currently wearing and tossed it into the machine. 

Now, if it were up to you, you’d just continue your day without a shirt but it seemed odd to do that, especially since you didn't know if Hen would be bringing any company home with her. Digging through the drawers, there were no clean shirts. 

Are you kidding me right now ? 

Finally spotting a shirt under a stack of pants, you tugged it out of the drawer. The front had the little fire station logo on it and the back read Los Angeles Fire Department. Not giving it a second thought, you pulled it on and went about your day. 

Hen should be on her way home soon and you were sitting on the bed surrounded by clothes, folded and unfolded. You never realized how much work it took to fold laundry, you laid back against the pillows. The last thing you remember was the smell of freshly washed clothes. 

“Babe? I’m home! Where are you ?” Hen calls out as she walks into the house. It was quiet but your car was in the driveway. 

“Y/n ?!” she calls again, walking further into the house. Turning into the bedroom, she smiled at you. You were surrounded by the laundry and fast asleep. She moved some of the clothes over to the drawers and sat beside you on the bed. The bed shifted as Hen pulled the blanket over you. 

“Hey” you give her a sleepy smile, “hey you, how was your day ?” she asks as you shift closer to her. 

“Good, I did the laundry” you mumbled, your eyes shutting again. 

“I like your shirt” she chuckles

You mumbled an answer, “yeah it looks better on you” 

“I think I like this one better on you” her arm wraps around you as you fall back to sleep. 

Eddie 

“What colour should we do ? We got blue and red and uhhh-” you reached into the cupboard for the little bottle of food colouring “yellow” you turned to Christoper who was beside you. The two of you were baking cupcakes for the team. 

“Green!” he shouted and you nod. “Sounds like a plan, now my little scientist, what do we mix to make green ?” “blue and yellow” he said, you take the lid off the little blue bottle and hand it to him, you do the same with the yellow. The two of you pour a ridiculous amount of food colouring in the frosting. Plugging in the mixer, you began mixing the frosting. After a few minutes, the two of you looking into the bowl. 

“Well, that doesn't look right” The frosting a mucky green, almost brown colour rather than just the normal, light green colour you were going for. 

“We should buy frosting instead” Chris says, sticking a finger into the bowl and tasting the frosting. “Does it taste good at least?” he gives you a smile, you take that as a yes. You were looking up grocery stores that were still opened and Chris was washing the frosting off his hands. You moved so that he could be the paper towel and accidentally hit the on button on the mixer.

Frosting ended up everywhere. 

“Well that’s not good” You and Chris laugh. You wipe the frosting off his face and send him off to change his shirt as you clean up the kitchen. Looking down at your own shirt, you too, were covered in frosting. You walked to Eddie’s room and found one of his LAFD shirts laying on his bed. Pulling off your own, you pulled on his instead. 

“Maybe we should just buy cupcakes instead ? We can just eat these later ?” 

“Yeah!” 

The two of you headed out to find a store that sold cupcakes and was still open. it was currently 10:30 at night and technically, Eddie told you to have Chris in bed by 9:30 but you could never say no to Chris, especially when he asked to bake with you. Arriving at the station, you headed in together. Bobby was the first one to see the two of you. He walked you two up to the kitchen where the team was. 

“Dad!” Chris shouted, getting his father's attention. He looked surprised to see you two there. “Hey buddy!” he gave Chris a hug, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We have cupcakes” he told his dad, Eddie smiled and let him go. Chris went off to see Buck and Chim. “Hey you” you smiled at Eddie, walking over and setting the box of cupcakes on the counter. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, you settle yourself between his legs, leaning onto his thigh as he sat on the stool by the counter. “Yeah. We attempted to make cupcakes but the frosting part was a bit of a disaster so I just borrowed this” 

His arms wrapped around your waist, “that’s okay, it looks better on you anyways” 

Chim 

These back to back shifts were kicking your ass. You hadn't had a proper night’s sleep in over a week and you were running purely on the fact that coffee exists. You finally had a night off and thought it would be nice to spend a night with your boyfriend. You arrived at his place a few hours before his shift ended. 

His fridge was stocked for once and you decide you’d make dinner. You weren’t the best cook in the world but you knew enough to make a decent meal and not burn the place down. It didn't take long to make dinner and you still had half an hour before he got home so to the shower you went. 

The shower felt like heaven on earth considering that you had been living off coffee and mini naps in the break room at work. You managed to find a pair of pants you left there after spending a night, as for your shirt, you couldn't find any of your shirts. 

What kind of person leaves pants but no shirt ? 

You pick up the one you had on before only to find a stain on it. Tossing it in the laundry basket, you turn to the closet to find something. There had to be something in here that you could wear. Not that he’d mind coming home to dinner and a shirtless you but you rather eat with your shirt on. You pulled out a t-shirt from his closet, it was his LAFD shirt but it didn't seem to make a difference to you, you’d leave it before you went back to your place. 

“Honey I'm home!” Chim laughed as he shut the front door. You practically skipped out of the bedroom, it had been way too long since you last saw him. “Hi, I missed you” you pull him into a hug, “I missed you too” he smiled. 

He looked over at the kitchen, “you cooked too?” 

“Yeah, I had some time” 

“Can I take a shower or is dinner gonna get cold ?” 

“That’s fine, it’s probably already cold,” you laughed, “I'll heat it up, go take your shower” you push him off to the bathroom before going to the kitchen. You tidy up a bit as he’s in the shower. 

“Babe?” he calls as he walks into the kitchen, “have you seen my- there it is” he points to the shirt, you look down. 

“Sorry” you give him a smile, making him chuckle. “It’s okay, I'll wear the other one.” 

“Wait, you have more than one?” 

“Yeah, obviously,” he laughs, “why would I only have one?”

“Well then, I'm keeping this one” 

Buck 

Opposite shifts sucks. 

Although the two of you live together, you kept missing each other. Whenever he was coming in, you were leaving and when you were leaving, he was coming in. For the last 2 months, your relationship consisted of “good morning, have a good day at work” and “good night, sleep well” as you pass by each other on the way out. 

You finally just gave in one day and called in sick. Were you sick ? No, but you were exhausted. You were working morning shifts and Buck was working nights, so you’d be home when he got home today but he didn't know that. Seeing that you were already up, you made you way over to the closet to get a hoodie because for some reason, it was freezing in the apartment although it was probably warm outside. You spotted Buck’s black LAFD sweater in the closet, it was your favourite of his but it looked better on you, or so you thought. 

Walking down to the stairs and to the kitchen, you find the stale coffee that Buck left in the machine on the counter. Dumping it in the sink and putting on a fresh pot. The fridge was empty, for the most part, there was milk, eggs, cheese and what looked like leftover takeout. You managed to find pancake mix in the cupboard and dumped all the ingredients in a bowl. The door unlocked and Buck’s shoes thudded against the wall by the door. 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to kick your shoes off like that ? You’re going to scuff the wall” your back was facing him but you glance over your shoulder to see your boyfriend. He seemed shocked that you were home. 

“I thought you had work ?” he makes his way over to you, hugging you from behind. “Called in sick, thought we could spend the day together ?” 

“Yeah, I like that idea” he kisses your neck, as his arms wrap around your waist. “Maybe we should just go back to bed” he says as he lifts you off the ground. The whisk falls from your hand and falls into the bowl, “Buck! come on, I'm making breakfast for you” you pry at his hands, he just squeezes you tighter. 

“I just wanna cuddle, I miss you” he somehow turns you around, his hands now gripping at your thighs. He mustered up his best puppy dog eyes and gave you a lil pout. “You’re an overgrown baby Evan Buckley, do you know that?” you roll your eyes, he smiles at you. 

“Yeah, I know” he makes his way up the stairs and back into bed. He dropped you on the bed, you shifted back up against the pillow. He joins you in bed after he changes, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“Why do you smell like my cologne ?” he looked down at you, “is that my sweater ?” 

“You mean our sweater ? Yes it is” 

Buck laughed and shook his head, “yeah, our sweater looks cute on you” 

----

taglist: @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma 

[the-river-person]

Renaissance

“YOU’RE ACTING VERY ODDLY, SANS.” Noted Papyrus one morning when he bumped into his brother on his way to the stairs. Sans wasn’t really ready for the day, his pajamas rumpled and his eyes sleepy, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. What was strange was the fact that he was carrying a basket full of dirty laundry and was on his way to put them in the wash. If it had been the first and only time, Papyrus might have hugged him with joy and thanked the Angel for miracles. But that had happened over a week ago and Sans had since done this and other chores without prompting several more times. Blinking up at him with an expression that very clearly said that he wasn’t really all awake, Sans tried to grin. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to get some clean clothes, is that so weird?” “YES,” said Papyrus. “ YOU LEFT A SOCK ON THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR FOR OVER A MONTH, PROBABLY LONGER WITH THE RESETS IF WE’RE BEING HONEST.“ That encouraged a snicker from Sans. “It’s still there actually.” “I’M WELL AWARE. BUT DON’T TRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT! YOU’VE BEEN ALARMINGLY ACTIVE FOR YOU AND I INTEND TO FIND OUT WHY.” Sans gave him a thumbs up and a wink and Papyrus glared at him before stalking down the stairs, his head tilted up to give an air of disdain towards his brother, who laughed. Breakfast was an interesting affair. The Egg and Cheese Breakfast Muffins that Papyrus had made were pretty enough to look at, though entirely inedible. He’d found the recipe in a book at the dump and had been attempting to recreate the dish. The only real reason this batch hadn’t gone quite right was because they’d gone rock solid at some point during the baking. Still, he’d also made some bacon, so they’d eaten that. There was much less of a restriction on food nowadays. Normally food was collected and sold through the vendors with a stock being held in reserve in case the fields stopped producing or the garbage stopped flowing. But since the world would reset every few weeks the reserves weren’t kept as big and more foods were allowed through. Some monsters, like Papyrus, were taking advantage of the excess to experiment more with various dishes. Sans had to admit that his brother’s cooking skills were improving by leaps and bounds, and only rarely ended with something they couldn’t actually eat.

Everyone’s lives had been severely rattled by the recent events. Sans hadn’t realized how much would have to change in their new circumstances. With no need to spend time and effort farming or collecting food and resources to maintain their lives, many Monsters had turned to entertainment. At first Mettaton’s tv show boomed with success as the only real official source of digital entertainment the Underground had to offer. But it was only two Resets into their new lives that the first alternatives had begun popping up all over. Amateur musicians began uploading videos of songs to the Undernet, either of their own composition or covers of existing songs like the “Angel’s Prayer” that children were fond of singing. Not all of them were spectacular, but they got the enthusiasm, praise, and encouragement of everyone in the Underground anyway. Not a single video went unseen, and several more were created because some Monsters were inspired by what they’d seen and heard. The Spiders who lived in Hotland put on a televised performance of Web Swinging crossed with Ballet where they performed “Coppélia” to the absolute delight of all their viewers. Even the Queen, seemingly returned from death overnight and the cause of much initial confusion and fright in the populace, made a concerted effort to aid Monsters in reforming their lives in some constructive way despite the lack of work. She founded a school where all those who wished to learn were invited, regardless of their age, and various Monsters were invited to come lecture or teach all kinds of subjects to whoever wanted to learn them. Since no school building could be made that would stay past the Resets, they made do with hundreds of tents upon the crystal starlit fields of the Grand Cavern. Both Papyrus and Sans had signed up for some of these. Toriel’s baking classes were fun and there were often treats to be sampled afterward, including her famous Snail Pie. Though Papyrus would groan in feigned agony as Sans and Toriel shot pun after pun back and forth at one another while working, he didn’t really seem to mind all that much and occasionally would contribute a pun of his own, though Sans could never quite tell if it was intentional or not. Old Seam it seemed had decided to participate in the fun as well. Though he’d been a soldier in the wars and now ran a little shop in New Home, he seemed thrilled to totter his way all the way down to the School in order to teach magic tricks. Young Monsters sat wide eyed with astonishment as the old Cat-Monster made lights appear and vanish, caused rubber balls to pop endlessly from his mouth only to turn into wisps of smoke when he dropped them one by one into a glass of water, or make his wheezy laughing voice come from various objects such as Queen Toriel’s teapot or a desk or someone’s stack of books. Everybody loved the tricks and spent a great deal of time trying to learn how to do them, with limited success. Toriel only stepped in once in order to stop Monster Kid from doing his own version of one of Seam’s best tricks, which involved sawing a volunteer in half and having their lower half walk around a stage before somehow putting them back together. Wherever you looked, Monsters were creating and innovating, finding new ways to create a working life. When the world Reset itself, they’d start new projects, continued practicing hobbies, set up tents or made temporary stages for performances or meetings. Games were played, songs written, and some particularly industrious people still found ways to put themselves to work. Through it all, Sans was beginning to feel more and more like he was being cornered. Monsters talked, and many of them wanted justice for the Resets and the loss of any chance to escape from the Underground. Others weren’t sure it mattered anymore as long as the human continued their duty of Resetting, or thought maybe the human should stay hidden in the Ruins even as they Reset the world every few weeks. Whispers mentioned the Judge. Surely the Judge would know what to do? Surely surely the Judge could tell them what was right?

He hated it. With each passing day the idea of having to tell the truth about his position inched closer and closer to reality. Even as the Queen avoided him outside the structured time of their classes, and Alphys grew obsessed with perfecting the Solution so she could undo her terrible mistake, Sans found himself finding ways to stay busy, to keep moving. If he never paused for too long he wouldn’t have to think too hard about his role. Wouldn’t have to wonder how he was going to live up to their expectations. The Royal Judge wasn’t supposed to be a public duty, it was something secret, private. The Judge was an ordinary monster for a reason, someone who could judge even the King or Queen fairly if it came to it. Now... He wasn’t sure he could judge fairly, not after everything. And while the whole Underground waited for his decision. No, he didn’t want it. But there wasn’t going to be much choice. Wishing, not for the first time, that he could just fly away in a rocket ship to mars and never look back, Sans occupied himself by helping Mettaton with a class about Acting Methods. Specifically he was supposed to come in and try to sell a Hot Dog to Mettaton while the other reacted in various ways depending on the character being portrayed. It was silly, and watching the robot prance around and loudly proclaim his own virtues to his audience was kind of fun. It was like everything was still normal. Even though the world had changed and it felt like nothing could be the same, there were still things that wouldn’t change.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty- One - Ghostlight

To my grandmother Mina, who inspired this character. Thank you for never leaving me alone. I am who I am because of you.

The next morning was not an ordinary morning. It was a morning heavy with doubts and despair. For how can a parent endure the threat of having their own child ripped from their arms? How can someone deal with such a loss?

Victor, however, was characteristically proficient in setting his feelings aside, focusing only on the solution. He would have to find a way to keep his son safe, and he would have to find it fast, as he couldn’t bear to see his wife like this, riddled with worry. As soon as he felt her breath become even and deep, the exhaustion of the day winning over fear, he decided he would use the quiet of the dark to think of a solution. He spent the night on his leather sofa, whiskey in hand, surrounded by every legal book he owned, in search of an epiphany. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. He would sleep later, enjoying the glow of his happy wife, when they had solved the matter at hand.

As the sunbeams started to touch the wooden floors of the spacious living room, Victor rose his eyes from the pages filled with legal terms, sighing both in exhaustion and frustration. The lawyers would know better than him, anyway. At that moment, his most pressing matter was waking up his family and feeding them properly, but not before texting his assistant to schedule a meeting with his personal legal team at the earliest opening.

He was surprised to find the bed empty and neatly made. He entered the bathroom only to find it untouched, no fog from a hot shower, no towels used. In fact, the bathroom smelled like it had just been cleaned.

“Andy?” He called again, hearing some noise from the other side of the hall.

The laundry room was warm compared to the rest of the apartment, a strong scent of fabric softener lingering in the air. Victor was surprised to see several baskets filled with folded freshly clean laundry on the laundry room’s counter.

“You did all this? How long have you been here?”

“Owen needs his soccer gear clean by tomorrow.” She answered from behind the dryer’s door.

“You didn’t need to do all this. You could have asked the housekeeper.” He helped her hold it, taking a few steps back to stretch it.

“I couldn’t sleep and you weren’t there.” Andrea focused on folding one of Owen’s t-shirts. “And there is no use thinking about that woman, there is nothing I can do about her. This, I can do.”

“Ok, forget about the laundry. Come here.” Victor took her hand gently.

“I mean, I can’t make him stay, but I can do his laundry, right?” Her voice faltered slightly.”At least I can do that. I get to be his mom for now.”

Victor slowly wrapped his arms around his wife, enveloping her in a soothing embrace.

“We will solve this, there is nothing to be worried about.” He held her tightly, whispering into her hair.

“She’s his grandmother, his blood. No judge will refuse her custody.” She spoke into his chest, and he could feel her tears staining his sweater. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“There is plenty we can do. We’ll talk to the legal team today.”

He swayed gently, almost lulling her to calmness. It was evident that this was extremely painful for her, her last shot at motherhood, and still they were struggling. After a while, he felt her relax a little. He gently took her chin and lifted it, making her look at him.

“Go take a shower and get dressed. I’ll prepare a nice breakfast for us and get Owen ready, ok?” He kissed her temple, as his hand guided her by the small of her back towards their bedroom.

Andrea entered the bedroom and stepped into the shower, hearing his husband turn on the mixer in the kitchen. She couldn’t care less about breakfast, she wasn’t even sure she would be able to eat. Part of her was angry at Victor for being so calm while she felt like the faintest breeze would make her fall apart. She understood what he was doing, he was being strong for her. He was putting aside his own feelings for her benefit, he was ignoring his own fear to deal with hers, but that was not what she wanted. Part of her wanted him to cry with her, so she wouldn’t feel so unhinged. So… alone.

With a sigh, she turned on the hot water, letting it slide gently over her body, washing away the tension and the tears. Victor was in fight mode, that’s what it was. He would not let that woman take their son, and Andrea would fight for him too, with all her might, but… She wasn’t sure they should. Pamela was Owen’s family, the family he didn’t know he had. If he was at the orphanage and she showed up, it would be a reason for joy, not sorrow. Who were they to take him from his biological family, under the pretense that they got to him first? What if Pamela really had turned her life around, and wanted to give a good life to Owen? With his grandmother, he would learn more about his mother, about his past, about his culture. He would know where he got his red curls from or his sweet brown eyes. Although Andrea and Victor could provide him a good future, all they had from his past was some old pictures and his mother’s suicide letter, which she probably wrote in desperation. Maybe Rebecca would have forgiven her mother if she was in a better place mentally.

On another hand, although she hated to admit it, she felt exhausted. She let herself believe that she could be a mother, only to fail miserably. Her body was the first to betray her, with a bleeding womb and lifeless eggs, and now society was failing her as well, taking away her adoptive son. Maybe she should accept the fact that it would never happen, and stop trying altogether. She made herself sick for feeling this way, but she couldn’t help it. She had gone through so much hurt, fought so hard already. Laying down the sword and relinquishing the battle seemed like the only feasible option now. Maybe the wise choice would be to let go of Owen and just embrace her fate.

Her heart shrunk with guilt as she walked into the kitchen to find Victor and Owen happily bantering, preparing breakfast together. They were so happy. If there was a higher power, how could it not want them to have that?

“Mom! Mom! Look what I did for you!” Owen showed her a plate of pancakes, bananas, and pecans carefully placed on top of the stack, resembling a smiley face. “Dad made the pancakes, but I cut the fruit.”

“Good morning, my little Bug!” She held him tight, fighting away tears. “That looks amazing!”

“You weren’t feeling well last night, so I wanted to surprise you!” The boy smiled widely at her. “Are you feeling better today?”

Andrea mustered all her strength, wanting to keep that smile on that sweet little boy’s face. Now, more than ever, she didn’t want him to see her sad.

“I’m feeling so much better just looking at you.” She pulled him to her, giving her son the tightest hug. “I’m starving, I could eat you and your pancakes.” She pretended to bite him, Owen laughing loudly as he tried to evade his mother’s attack.

It was a morning heavy with doubts and despair, but they would try to fill it with happiness and love. For that boy, the parents decided to put their own anguish aside and live in that happy moment, jesting and laughing, discussing whatever childish topics he wanted to talk about.

Victor and Andrea looked at each other, both catching the other’s worried gaze. With a smile, they held hands, fingers locking together in reassurance. Whatever battle they had ahead, they would do it together, for the sake of their happiness. For the sake of their son. For that brief moment, they allowed themselves to hope. They weren’t alone. They had each other.

The lawyers were already waiting for them in LFG’s conference room, as instructed. Andrea sat on the chair beside him as Victor observed her carefully, trying to remember if he ever saw her this defeated, eyes sunken and sad, a tired expression, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Victor’s stomach shrank with worry, but he swiftly used the feeling to feed his fury instead.

“Did you see the documents I sent you this morning? What is your insight?” He asked the lawyers, unwilling to waste any more time.

“We still need to study the adoption laws more thoroughly, but so far we found no inconsistencies.” One of the lawyers spoke carefully. “According to the law, the grandmother has parental rights, she is the child’s next of kin.”

Victor grew agitated, as that was not the answer he was hoping for. In his mind, there shouldn’t be a law that would allow anyone to remove a child from his family like that, adoptive or not. He fought the temptation to rub his temples, wanting to look strong in front of his wife.

“In that case, what can be done?”

“As I said, we will analyze it in more detail, but so far, all indicates that the judge will decide in her favor.” The lawyer explained. “We need a good strategy in court, evidence that the child’s best interest is to remain with the adoptive family, instead of a blood relative. That letter you sent us may win us the case.”

“What letter?” He heard his wife ask. He chose to ignore her question.

“Let me know when you have something else.” He got up from his chair. “We are done for now.”

The lawyers quickly followed his lead, all leaving the room. Andrea, however, sat in place, eyes gazing at him coldly.

“Is it the suicide letter Rebecca left?” She insisted.

Victor sat down again with a sigh, taking his wife’s hand.

“You don’t need to worry about this.” He gave her a reassuring look. “Leave it all to me.”

“You are going to use the suicide letter that Owen’s biological mother wrote right before her death?” She sounded disgusted. “Do you realize Owen will probably be in the room when they read it?”

“As a last resort.” He was adamant in his decision. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“Will you really use such a hurtful event for Owen just to win?” She removed her hand from his, not looking him in the eyes. “Do you know what that will do to our son?”

“I will do whatever it takes to keep him with us, where he belongs.” He declared coldly. “I thought you wanted that too.”

“So you’ll scar him forever just to win? What if he doesn’t belong to us? No matter how hard it is for us, he found his family. He has a grandmother.”

“Yes, he has a selfish and abusive grandmother, whom his mother tried hard to keep away from him!” Victor got up, feeling his blood start to boil. “Is that the person you think our son should be with? Is that the family you think he should have? The same person that scarred his mother so deeply she felt no choice but to end her life?”

“She turned her life around, she wants to do well by her grandson.” Andrea replied. “She made a mistake, she paid dearly for it, she lost her daughter, her own family, and she will have to live with that pain. Who are we to say she doesn’t deserve a second chance?”

“You are defending her?” Victor asked, incredulous. Andrea confirmed it with her silence. “You are a fool to believe a single word that comes from that woman’s mouth.” He shot back bitterly.

“And you are selfish to think you are entitled to decide important things about other people’s lives for them. Victor!” Her eyes were pleading. “I am not defending anyone, if anything I’m defending Owen! I love that boy, I would give my life for him, but I can’t just decide he’s better off with me! I have to think about what’s better for him, even if it hurts me. I have to consider what he needs!”

“What he needs?!?” Victor almost yelled. “It’s incredible how gullible you can be! She walks into your office, tells you some pathetic sob story, and you fall for it? You should have fought for our son right then, put her in her place, instead of holding her hand and showing sympathy!”

Andrea paused, eyes wide in disbelief.

“You blame me for this?”

“I’ve seen you challenge adversity with a strength I could never find in another woman. I’ve seen you turn your life around, fight for what you want, face your abuser with commendable determination.” Victor spoke softly. “I don’t understand why you won’t be as strong for your son. For us.”

Victor had never touched a woman in anger, and he would never lay a hand on the person that he devoted his entire life to. However, at that moment, looking into her eyes, he felt like he had slapped his wife hard, so much that he could almost feel his hand sting. Still, he couldn’t feel sorry for what he had said. Her apathy was infuriating. She didn’t even fight back, try and prove him wrong. She simply blinked away a few tears and turned to the door.

“You know, you say I always see the best in things. Wishful thinking, you call it.” She spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Andy…”

“I can’t see anything good now.”

She wasn’t quite sure how she left that conference room, she felt like floating out of her own body, legs moving on their own accord. She arrived at LCG, hoping no one would notice she had been crying. Entering her office, she sat at her desk, her mind way too busy to work.

This had happened before, she could remember, this conflict of ideas. Victor was adamant in what he considered to be the right thing and left very little leeway for other options. He would easily mistake Andrea’s inertia for lack of interest, not considering that she wasn’t so quick to assume she knew what was right, she needed the time to consider the feelings of everyone involved.

In Andrea’s eyes, Victor’s inflexibility didn’t make him a bad man. She actually loved that her husband had such solid values that he expected people to follow, especially himself. He was a steady pillar in her life, doing whatever it took to keep her safe, and although sometimes it would lead to arguments, Andrea was thankful for that. It was one of the things that made her love him, how selfless and loving he could be.

But this time, things had gone too far. His determination was blinding him, and he was lashing out in the ugliest of ways: he was blaming her. It was so unfair, she stood up for him so many times, how could he tell her she never fought for him? It was like Victor couldn’t see her efforts, would not acknowledge her love, unless they were provided in his own terms. Again, like she did before their wedding, Andrea wondered if she was the right person for him, if they belonged together. She almost wanted to punch him for being so oblivious. How could he not see that she would go to the moon and back while bleeding herself dry for him?

“Is everything ok?” Diane asked as she walked into her office, interrupting her thoughts. “Henry called asking for you, says he saw you leaving the conference room crying.”

Andrea felt his eyes water once again.

“We had a fight.” She confessed.

“How bad was it?”

Andrea’s heart tightened in her chest.

“The worst ever.”

Diane sat on the chair facing Andrea’s desk with a sigh.

“Look, you and Victor are in a lot of stress right now, with that bitch wanting to take Owen.” Diane spoke calmly. “Emotions run high, people say things they don’t mean.”

“He blames me for it.” Andrea declared bitterly. “He says I didn’t fight hard enough.”

“Damn.” Diane whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Goldman says he canceled all his meetings and asked to be left alone. He’s not even taking calls.” Diane’s statement only made Andrea feel worse. “He’s probably beating himself up for it. You know he doesn’t believe that.”

“Maybe not.” Andrea shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I think the best you can do is give you both time to calm down and reflect. Focus on work, maybe, let him cool off. You can talk to him later.” Her friend advised.

Andrea stared at her phone, considering her friend’s words. She should call him, talk things through. Even if he believed she should have been harsher with Pamela, even if he thought she wasn’t fighting hard enough, he would never hurt her like this willingly. He loved her, she knew that much. They could sort things out, with a cooler head, and everything would be ok. She would be able to show him her perspective, and she would listen to his, and they would make a compromise. They had to. Their marriage was at stake. However, it was probably wiser to wait for the dust to settle.

In the meantime, she would try her best to focus on work, although her mind kept wandering back to the CEO on the top floor. She couldn’t help but glance at her phone, hoping it would ring, his face appearing in the called ID. However, a watched kettle never boils, and for Andrea, the kettle was her phone that kept stubbornly silent. Eventually, the clock on her computer signaled lunchtime, and on a normal day, her husband would call her to see if they could have lunch together. However, her phone didn’t budge.

It was overwhelming. She was at risk of losing her son and her marriage was hanging by a thread. She felt like she had no place to fall on. She was losing her footing, her ground, her pillar. Tears came without her realizing, and she released them with loud sobs that she stifled with her sleeve. She was exhausted, she couldn’t do it anymore. She needed her husband. She didn't care for an apology, she just needed to hold him; she needed them to be well again, at least as well as they could.

She got up and took her purse, decided to go to LFG and invite her husband for lunch. She had no idea how that would go, but she would take a chance. The moment she closed the door to her office, her phone rang.

Several floors up, Victor was in a debate with himself. He missed her, he was worried about her, but the guilt and the shame were freezing him in place. He had acted imperiously, making all the decisions by himself, disregarding everyone around him. Andrea could be at fault, but he was at fault too. She didn’t deserve the things he had told her.

He recalled their moment in the laundry that morning. It was clear that Andrea’s reticence wasn’t because she didn’t love her son. She loved him deeply, he was sure of that. She simply wanted him to be happy, even if she was unhappy. Victor wanted to win, while Andrea wanted Owen not to lose. Because he had lost so much already. This was her dream, to have a family, and she would willingly give it up so Owen had the family he needed. That’s how selfless she really was.

He couldn’t help but clench his hands in anger, what an idiot he had been. Now, more than ever, it was important that they were in this together. She needed him and he needed her. It didn’t matter who folded, he didn’t care if he took the first step, there should be no place for ego or pride in their relationship. He almost lost her once, he couldn’t lose her now. He wouldn’t. He took his phone, ready to call her. But before he could, he heard a knock at the door.

“What now?” He replied, frustrated.

It was her. Her eyes were swollen, her nose red. She had been crying.

“Andrea…” He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but for some reason… He didn’t.

She let out a loud sob, like someone had stabbed her in the heart, tears falling freely. That was enough to make Victor jump from his chair. He didn’t want to make her cry like that.

“Please don’t cry.” He hugged her tightly. “I hate to see you cry.”

“Victor.” She looked up at him, her lip trembling. “Your aunt called.”

Victor stared at his wife, confused. What did his aunt have to do with anything?

“She said…” Andrea trailed off, her throat too tight to speak. “Mina passed away this morning.”

He felt the floor sway under him, taking all the strength he had not to fall apart there and then. And despite their argument, despite all the hurt there was between them, she held on tight to him and kept him steady, giving him solace as emotion took over reason, giving him strength as his body shook. That’s when I knew I had kept my promise.

Life is like a play, I read somewhere. We are the characters that God created, and although we don’t have a script, we do have a role. Mine was to love that little boy. Even though he wasn’t mine, he was the thing I had of mine the most. And the scene I replayed the most in my head, during the whole play that was my life, was the one of a lonely boy leaning on my kitchen counter, after seeing his mother leave the house to live in another country.

“Everybody leaves me, Mina.” He said in a very low voice, almost like he was ashamed to admit it.

“That’s not true, Hummingbird.” I caressed his raven hair. “Your mother isn’t gone forever, and you can visit her whenever you want.”

“Why can’t I go with her?” He asked bitterly. “It’s not like he cares about me. She was the only one who cared. And now she’s leaving.”

“You shouldn’t fill that little heart of yours with the worries of adults.” I smiled, although my heart was breaking for that little boy. “And hey, I know I may not be much, but I’m here. I care.”

“I care for you too.” He looked at me with honest eyes. “You are my best friend, Mina. Without you, I would be alone.”

“My sweet hummingbird.” I hugged him as tight as I could. “Hey, let’s make a deal. I promise I will always be here for you, so you’ll never have to be alone. For your whole life, Victor, whenever you feel alone, you can come to me, just like you do now.”

“You won’t be here my entire life.” His eyes were sad. “You will die, eventually.”

“Then I promise I will only die when I know you’ll have someone else that will never leave you alone.”

“You can’t promise that. You won’t be able to keep it.” He challenged me.

“I can and I am. You’ll see.”

As I watched her caress his cheek, his hair, whispering comforting words, I knew my boy would be ok. Even in the darkest of times, my Hummingbird would be safe, because he had his light.

As for me, I was just a ghostlight, shining on the stage of this Universe, waiting for another play to come.

[dreatine]

Fic: Family,Cookies and Luck

Title: Family,Cookies,and Luck

Author: dreatine

Rating: G

Pairing/Characters: Matt Simmons and the Simmonses girls

Disclaimer: I own nothing. CBS owns all....

Summary: Matt has to supervise his daughters selling Girl Scout cookies with some unexpected help

CMBingo 2020 Square: The Simmonses

Thanks: Sharon and Edgar for making sure this is coherent...I hope

Note: This is kind of based on my experiences selling Girl Scout cookies when I was little.

Note 2: Find the hidden Max Brenner reference( meaning the Rachael Leigh Cook reference)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Matt!" Luke said,as they were getting ready to go home. "Anything planned for the weekend?"

Matt flung his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah. I'm the chaperone for Lily and Chloe's Girl Scout cookie sale."

"Awww..." Tara and JJ cooed together, laughing.

"Did you know that last year the Girl Scouts sold over 200 million boxes of cookies with Thin Mints being the most popular?" Spencer said, grabbing a couple of books off his desk.

"I didn't know that, Spence." Matt replied. "I know Lily and Chloe are not going to sell THAT many tomorrow, for sure."

Emily and Rossi came up. "So, what are we all doing this weekend?"

"Matt here is going to be the cookie lady," Luke teased.

"What?"

Matt explained. "I'm helping out Chloe and Lily selling Girl Scout cookies at the store."

"That sounds fun." Rossi replied, sarcastically.

"Nice support there, Rossi." Tara said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hey, sellling cookies with the kids outside is not my idea of fun." Rossi replied. "Why don't I just buy all the boxes and save you the time?"

"Thanks for the offer, Rossi." Matt answered, "But, we have to sell them like this because it promotes responsibility, time management and whatever else the handbook said."

As they were walking to the elevators, Emily asked. " So, how long do they have to sell?"

"Two hours only. From 11-1. The girls are Daisies, which are the youngest group, so no more than 2 hours with 2 chaperones." Matt answered.

"How did you get suckered into it?" Luke inquired as they piled into the elevator.

"Last year, Kristy did it but because she's busy with Rosemary, so I'm the lucky one." Matt said. "Usually, it's one parent for their child or in my case, two children,  during the one shift."

JJ asked. "What store?"

"Ralphs at Elm and Sherman." he answered, the doors closing, the team nodding.

********

Saturday morning, Ralphs:

"Yeah, Sheila. no, no...it's okay." Matt assured on the phone. "I can manage. I'm sorry to hear Mary Anne is sick. I hope she feels better."

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Lily asked, smoothing down the sign as Chloe neatly arranged the boxes.

He put his phone in his pocket. "Mary Anne is sick, so it's just the three of us today."

"Yay!"

Matt smiled. "All right, girls. Let's go over the rules." Lily and Chloe gathered in front of him." Chloe, you did a nice job of stacking up the boxes. And Lily, the sign looks great." the girls' beamed at him. "Now, remember, stay close to the table and ask people as the come OUT of the store if they would like to buy cookies. Not as they're going in." they nodded. "Now, what do we say?"

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" they said in unison.

"Good. If they say yes, direct them to the table." Matt said, "And if they say no, what do we say?"

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Very good. Always be polite., no matter what." He put the cashbox on the table. "You have the cookie names down, right?"

"Yes."

"Great." he clapped his hands. "Now, let's sell some cookies!"

*******

Spencer's apartment, Saturday morning:

"These pancakes are delicious, Max!" Spencer said, stuffing another into his mouth.

Max blushed. "Thanks, babe. It's the vanilla and the cinnamon." She stood up and dropped her plate into the sink. Coming around to Spencer, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "So, what's the plan for today?" she asked, her breath tickling his neck, causing a shiver down his spine.

Wrapping his hands around her forearms, he replied. "Well, I had an idea."

"Ooooh...what's going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?" she asked, kissing his head.

Blushing, he answered, "I thought maybe, we could go to the store."

"Okay..." she dragged out, confusion in her voice.

Laughing, Spencer kissed her forearm. " I didn't finish, beautiful."

"Go ahead." she whispered in his ear.

"God, you need to stop doing that,  I'm losing my train of thought." Spencer whined, Max giggled. "What was I saying?"

"You wanted to go to the store." Max said. "Sounds like there's a reason."

He nodded. "Lily and Chloe, Matt's girls, are selling Girl Scout cookies today at the store. And I thought that we could stop by to support them?" he turned to her, questioningly.

Max beamed. "That sounds wonderful! I love Girl Scout cookies."she kissed him on the lips. "You, Dr.Reid, are a great friend."

Turning crimson, Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her into his lap. "You, Ms.Brenner, are an amazing girlfriend." he responded, cupping her face to kiss her.

*****

LeMontagne Household, Saturday morning:

"Cher?" Will asked. "We're running out of things, bread and eggs for sure. I think we need to go to the store, soon."

"I know." JJ walked into the kitchen. "How about we go today with the boys?"

"I can go by myself." Will looked up to see JJ smiling sheepishly. "I know that smile. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go to Ralphs on Elm and Sherman to support Matt and the girls who are selling cookies today?" she smiled.

Chuckling, Will answered. "All right, Let's go, The boys would love to see the girls again."

JJ leaned in to kiss him. "Great. I'll get them ready."

****** Meanwhile, back at Ralphs:

"Daddy, no one is buying." Chloe whined, disappointment on her face.

"I know, sweetie." Matt sighed. He knew this would be hard but didn't realize how difficult it would be. They'd been there for close to a half hour and no one wanted to buy. He thought with his two precious girls, that customers would be excited to buy from two cute little girls but they kept giving excuses not to buy, some more outrageous than the next. He thought two little girls would make it easy to sell because they wouldn't be turned down but it still happened. He couldn't imagine how the older Scouts did it. Probably near impossible. 'Maybe I should have had Rossi buy them all.' he mused.

"Daddy! Uncle Luke is here!!" yelled, Lily.

Swiveling his head, Matt spotted Luke coming up. "Hey, man." he slapped his hand. "What brings you here?" he asked, surprised.

"Roxy needed food." Luke answered. Turning to the girls, he said. "Hi, girls. How's it going?"

"Not good." Chloe replied, sadly.

"We haven't sold anything." Lily chimed in.

"I'm sorry." Luke said. "I'll buy some on my way out."

"Really?" Lily asked, excitedly.

"Yup." Luke looked at Matt, who had a curious look on his face. "What?"

"Roxy needed food?" Matt asked, warily. "That's the best you could come up with? Isn't there a Petco by your house?"

Swallowing, Luke grabbed a basket. "Yes, but they have better prices here.And I have a coupon." Turning to the girls." I'll be right back."

With that, Luke entered the store, Matt shaking his head.

********

20 minutes later:

After Luke left with 5 pounds of dog food and 5 boxes of cookies, things started to pick up for the sale. Four customers stopped by and bought at least 2 boxes a piece, causing excitement from Lily and Chloe. Matt loved seeing his girls happy and they were doing a good job remembering cookie names as well as the prices with Matt making change. As he was marking down which types of cookies had been sold, he heard Lily say, "Aunt Emily!"

"Hi, girls!" Emily waved. "How's it going?"

"Great!" Chloe answered. "We've sold 20 boxes."

"Wow."

"Uncle Luke bought the most. He bought 5!" Lily replied.

"Did he?" Emily looked up at Matt, who was eyeing her with suspicion." Well, since I'm here. I'll buy some too."

'Yay!" Lily jumped up and down.

"Emily.."Matt warned.

She shrugged. "What? I had to go to the store to pick some wine for a romantic dinner with Andrew." she winked.

"And there were no liquor stores around your place?"

"Not with these low prices. " Emily picked up a basket. "Besides, Keeley loves cookies." the girls cheered.

Matt shook his head. "Emily.."

She threw up her hands in defense. ' Hey, I'm the boss. If I want cookies, I'm getting cookies." she grabbed a basket.  "See you in a bit, girls."

"Bye."

No sooner had Emily went into the store that Matt saw a familiar face walking across the parking lot. 'Tara' he sighed.

"Hey,Tara!" he yelled.

She waved at them. " Hey, Matt. Hey, girls."

"Hi, Aunt Tara." they responded in unison.

"How's business?"

"Good. We sold 20 boxes." Lily answered.

Tara smiled. "That's great."

"Uncle Luke was here and Aunt Emily is in the store." Chloe said.

"Aaah.." Tara answered, eyebrows raised.

"What brings you here this morning?" asked Matt, smiling.

"Weekly grocery shopping."

"Uh,huh." Matt replied, looking at Tara disbelievingly. "Across town?"

She shrugged. "They have excellent produce here. Best carrots."

"Right."

"Well, girls, Good Luck." Tara got a basket. "I'll be back to buy some cookies!"

"To go with your carrots, right?" Matt asked, teasingly.

"Of course. Balance is key." Tara waved, entering the store.

*****

Hour later:

After Tara and Emily, who both bought more cookies than they needed, using the explanations of 'for Keeley' and ' for my Psych colleagues', the two women left and traffic dropped. There was a sale here and there but the bulk of the boxes sold were from his team.  He loved his team for doing this for his girls but part of him knew it wouldn't always be this easy for them. But, that was a conversation for later.

Checking his watch, he realized they had just under one hour left. He wondered if anyone else on the team would stop by. 'Let's see, still have David,Penelope, JJ, Spencer..'

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" Lily asked.

"You're cute." the lady said. "But, my granddaughter already sells them I'm sorry."

"Thank you, anyways."

Matt smiled, marveling at how the girls were still polite despite being turned down. He was so proud of them. As he was checking over the cookie sheet, he heard Chloe yell. "Aunt Penelope!"

"Oh! Lookie here! My beautiful little daisies!" Penelope cooed over them, wrapping them up in a hug.

"Good Afternoon, Penelope." Matt offered, grinning. "What's up? Casual shopping?"

"I needed to buy some snacks for my group." she explained, perusing the boxes.  "And everyone likes Girl Scout cookies."

"You're boyfriend was here about an hour ago." Matt teased.

Penelope snapped her head up. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Not yet." Matt smirked. " How many dates have you been on?"

"Four." she mumbled.

"Sounds like a boyfriend to me." Matt said, grinning ear to ear.

"Shush! Mister!" Penelope shook her head. "I'm here to buy cookies from my angels."

"Which ones do you want, Aunt Penelope?"

"Let me see.." she scanned the sheet. "I'll take 3 Thin Mints, 3 Samoas, 2 Trefoils, 2 Tagalongs, 2 Do-si-dos. I love peanut butter." Penelope offered, as the girls collected the boxes.

"Twelve?"

"Yup."

"Penelope.." Matt drew out. Penelope hit him, "Hush, My group is big and they need fuel." Facing the girls, she smiled. "Now, how much?"

"How much, Daddy?" Chloe asked.

"60 dollars."

"Wow!!"  and  'That's a lot." both girls screamed.

"Anything for my daisy angels." Penelope grinned.

"Thank you, Aunt Penelope."

"Anytime, my beauties!" Penelope put the cookies in her bag. "And you, Mister, send my love to Kristy and the baby and the boys." she kissed his cheek. "I'll see you later."

Thank you, Penelope." Matt said, kissing her back.

"Bye, my loves!"

"Bye, Aunt Penelope."

'So, who's left?' Matt mused.

********************

12;30 pm.  Half hour to go:

"Daddy, we've almost ran out." Lily said, arranging the remainder of the boxes. They had just had a handful of boxes of each variety left.

"I see, girls." Matt replied, marking them down on the sheet. The last 45 minutes had been busy. Not only did selling pick up from strangers at the store but like he thought, two more members of his team showed up for support. David came a little bit after Penelope, saying he needed some cookies for Ringo and his poker buddies, while JJ and her family, came by under the pretense of needing groceries which Matt asked why not go near home when Will gave up the game by saying they wanted to support the girls. JJ bought half a dozen and Rossi bought only 10 after Matt had to stop him from buying the entire inventory. It wasn't an easy thing but Matt did it. He said it wasn't fair to the girls who were trying to develop responsibility and luckily, Rossi relented.For now.

"Thank you. Have a nice day." Chloe replied, as an elderly couple bought two.

"How many, Chloe?" Mattt inquired.

"Two. One Trefolis, one Thin Mints." she said, as Matt marked off the respective boxes on the sheet.

"Look, Daddy! Uncle Spencer and Aunt Max!" Lily exclaimed, waving.

'I knew it.' Matt thought to himself. He knew out of anyone on his team, Spencer would show up. He was so good with supporting kids and their activities. He knew about the endless soccer games and school plays Spencer attended on behalf of his godchildren.

"Hi, Lily. Hi, Chloe." Spencer greeted them with a wave.

"Hello, Matt."Max said. "Hello, girls!"

"Hi, Uncle Spencer and Aunt Max." Lily called, causing both Max and Spencer to smile at their names.

"Hey, guys. What brings you by?" Matt asked, knowingly.

"We wanted to buy some cookies."Spencer replied flat out.

Matt laughed, causing confusion. "Thanks, Spence." he clapped him on the back.

"What for?"

"For being honest." Matt explained. "The others came by, with varying excuses for coming by but you were straight up honest about it."

Max giggled, squeezing Spencer's hand. "Truthfully, for a moment, we thought about making up an excuse but decided to be upfront about wanting to help."

"Who else came by?" Spencer asked, looking over the cookie selection.

"The entire team."

"Really?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. And the excuses they gave were so funny,"

"What were they?"Mas inquired, pointing out a couple of cookies to Spencer.

"Let's see. Rossi needed some for Ringo and Emily said there was cheaper wine here than anywhere else. And Tara needed cookies to balance out her produce."

"You're kidding me."Max chuckled, as did Spencer.

Matt smiled. "It was funny to say the least." he watched as Chloe and Lily were telling Spencer all the varieties with him listening intently to everything they were telling him. Max watched smiling lovingly. "That's great that they came by. Families do that."

Matt agreed. " They do."

"Babe, have you decided which ones you want?"

Spencer wrapped his arm around her. "Well, thanks to Lily and Chloe who did an amazing job of explaining the types to me, I've decided on..." the girls beamed at him. " I want the Thin Mints and Samoas. And the toffee ones for sure. What do you want, love?"

"I love peanut butter, So, I'll take the Tagalongs and Do-si-dos."

"Good choice." Spencer said. "Here's 25 dollars." he handed the money to Lily.

"Thank you, Uncle Spencer." Lily took the money to the cashbox.

"Here are the boxes, Aunt Max."

Max put them in her bag. "Thank you, Chloe."

"Thanks for stopping by." Matt offered.

"Anytime."Max replied as Spencer carried her bag.

"See you on Monday." Spencer said, again wrapping an arm around Max, waving goodbye.

"Thank you, Uncle Spencer and Aunt Max!" the girls screamed, waving wildly.

Matt smiled, watching them walk away. Max was right. Family supports each other. And if one thing he knew for sure, was that not only his family at home was everything he could have hoped for but so was his work family.

He was truly a lucky guy.

~~~~~~~

the End.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 116: The Eye of the Snake

No one even had the chance to scream as they all landed in a very small room, but instead watched the transformation happen in reverse in rapid succession. Moony had barely gotten to his feet before Remus stood in place, and that only lasted long enough for his eyes to roll back into his head and he fell to the floor, unconscious and naked. The other two animals vanished with much less fanfare, a little pop and only one was left.

Peter rolled off the bed he hadn't even registered he'd been on, blanket in hand to cover him, while all eyes instead turned to the still whimpering dog splayed out on the floor in a puddle of black and red.

Not an ear had been saved from his cries in those echoing mountains, even Alice who hadn't dared turn on a light once she'd been able to go no further in the disturbingly small cave.

James was already knelt over him, speaking fervently the spells they usually used on Moony until his high-pitched keening finally subsided, eyes still half-lidded. Too in pain from the burning wounds to get comfortable to sleep, too exhausted to even take in this new place.

Prongs sat on the ground to pull and rearrange gently so that Padfoot's large head was cushioned on his thigh, sprawled out on his lap and still halfheartedly whimpering. "Everyone's okay, don't worry," he crooned as if to an infant, one hand kneading gently at the scruff of his neck, the other tucking away his wand and turning a gentle palm over his spine and down his legs to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Finally his heavy breathing evened out, but James still winced and held him tighter as his hand came away covered in so much blood.

He'd healed the gashes and mended the broken bones, even the internal damage should have sown itself back together, but he did not know the spell to help with blood loss or even if there was one other than a potion they had no hopes of getting the ingredients for. They'd only ever learned enough to help ease Remus of the worst of it until Madam Pomfrey arrived, and despite the dangers of running with a werewolf, only a few bites and scrapes ever came of it as he never had any interest in fighting them for dominance, let alone trying to eat them. Nothing ever this serious.

He snorted softly at his own train of thought, letting his hand rest gently against the beating heart. He'd be alright, he had to be. He'd sleep it off, they'd get some food into him and Alice, everyone would be fine, they just had to survive this.

"How long will he have to, be like that?" James looked up in surprise, his eyes finally taking in where exactly they were, and his heart thudding for a moment in shock as he realized it was just Regulus in front of him, wide-eyed and curious once more.

"Um, probably should be for a day or so," he answered, distracted as he looked around properly. A large queen-sized bed dominated the room, a thick, crochet blanket still clung to the foot of the bed that Peter was eyeing like he wanted to rip that off too, the quilt covering Moony also looked homespun. A pair of thin, wire-framed glasses sat on the table behind him, and the black book rested on the opposite nightstand, but otherwise there didn't seem much décor to speak of. "A lot of saliva got into the wounds-" he stopped and winced heavily, that was going to burn worse than the original wounds, not to mention scar. "Just, better safe than sorry, he'll work it out of his system and be back to normal in no time. So long as he stays Padfoot, there won't be any problems."

Regulus didn't seem to question any of this, but instead reached his hand out tentatively, brushing his fingers across the crown of his skull. The dog's thick fur felt surprisingly soft. Lupin had said they helped like he'd never believe, and damn if that didn't make more sense than ever right now... "Where did everyone else go?" Potter asked, his eyes on the open door behind him.

"Alice was hoping to find a bathroom, said something about a potions kit if they were lucky, but it leads into a scullery. I don't know more than that." Longbottom had been limping and she'd been anxious to mend that, werewolf in his vicinity or not. Evans had hovered and kept watching Potter, but she'd backed out of the room. He hadn't been able to do more than turn his head slightly to see it all, eyes still trained on his brother.

James sighed, they probably should check that out just to be safe. The last thing they needed was yet another surprise in some stranger's house. Gently nudging until Padfoot was off his lap and apologizing quietly as the soft whimpers started up again, he went over to Peter and grabbed Moony's feet in the burrito of blankets he was still in, the dried blood on it already covering Peter's own spells to heal the damage done to his leg. Peter supported under his arms as they got him onto the bed, and then the two repeated this on Padfoot. He did awaken, stirring and huffing, but a few gentle words calmed him and his bright gray eyes lit with understanding, as he went slack in their grip until the mattress was beneath him. They watched as he nuzzled up against Remus's legs and curled into a ball still trembling slightly, Peter finally taking the quilt and throwing it over him before joining the other two at the door, but leaving it open behind them, just in case.

The washroom at least didn't seem very threatening. There was a bathroom door ajar, but his eyes focused on the stack of freshly laundered wizard's robes sitting in a wicker basket, and James peeked into the cupboard above this to find several threadbare pants and shirts. He dug around for a moment before selecting one of each that should fit Remus, then shrugged and went through them again looking for some for himself. There seemed to be a bit of a variety to his surprise, and wondered how many people lived here. He set those aside for now to keep going though.

The answer came when he followed the two into a very familiar kitchen. He'd only been in it once, but it had been a memorable experience.

"Oh good, you stayed awake," Alice called from the stove. She didn't have the red hair, but she easily reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, the amount of times he'd pictured her here in her home turf.

"Was too keyed up," he admitted, but even to his own ears his voice dragged a bit. They'd only been awake two hours at best since their last lie down, but the night caused a bone-deep weariness in him like they'd just spent a whole twenty-four hours dealing with Moony again.

"Here then," Lily got up from the table and offered him a plate covered with sausages already half-drowned in syrup. "I'm sure they won't mind," she added with a smile.

A real, genuine, one could almost call it teasing smile. His brain shut down. His stomach sent a sizzling sensation tracing through every nerve ending in his body. "I, um," he took the offered plate on autopilot looking her dead in the eye, and she let the smile linger as she went back to the table, sitting back down next to Frank as she went back to her fried potatoes and tomatoes.

Silence hung in the kitchen for several long moments as he stood there like he'd been clubbed over the head. Peter and Regulus went forward and began helping themselves to the feast and had dug in for several moments and he still hadn't moved. Peter bit into his eggs with a little too much gusto to stop himself from laughing. Remus and Sirius were going to die they'd missed this. He cleared his throat and directed at anyone who would answer, "so, since when can we leave the room we landed?"

"We could back in the Divination classroom from Trelawney's office," Regulus kindly reminded, but they'd had a lot going on during that time, so he wasn't surprised this detail hadn't been acknowledged in a while. "Maybe we could even before that, but none of us tried to get back inside the Dursleys' home." He was personally glad nobody had tried in Grimmauld place either, someone probably would have died if they'd tried traversing that whole house at once.

"No one tried to leave the Gryffindor dorms to see if we could go into the common room," Alice added. She was kicking herself a bit she hadn't realized the Dursleys' one specifically, her foot had been hanging out of the cat-flap door to Harry's room and she hadn't thought of trying to get the rest of herself out by just opening it?

Frank's eyes glazed over in thought for a moment before saying, "maybe we even could have left the locker rooms to go onto the Quidditch pitch, but I wonder if we couldn't still go beyond that. We can go up the staircase here, but only into Percy's room, none of the others."

"I can't help but wonder if it's because Charlie's room was given to a sibling we haven't gotten tossed into yet," Lily sighed.

"We still can't even get into their living room or the yard, so we still seem pretty confined, it's just slowly getting better," Frank shrugged.

"I'll take that," Lily said in delight.

"Molly does have a potions kit by the way," Alice added in kindly, scraping the last of the bacon onto a plate and bringing that to the table before digging in herself. James still hadn't moved. "I'm not surprised really she'd keep something like that on hand, with all these boys here. There were quite a few things in there Lily and Frank seemed excited over."

"Ditany," Frank nodded seriously.

"Some bubotuber pus," Lily stated.

"A bit of Wiggenweld Potion," Frank added.

"And some blood restorative," Alice finished, taking a hearty bite of a bacon and egg sandwich she'd put together. Clearly she spoke of that one from experience.

"We'll probably just have to nick the lot," Frank winced in shame for admitting this, even as he patted the little white box and cast Alice a smile of no regrets.

"We'll definitely find some way to pay them back if, you know, if it's actually gone or something for real in their time, or whatever," Lily stated in no uncertain terms for the wonky sentence.

"Great," James finally snapped out of his reverie, but then set the plate on the counter even as he still hadn't taken his eyes off of her. "I should, probably give that to them now, they'll sleep even better."

She nodded without surprise, going back to eating her food with far more investment than should really be needed as she gave it a little push in his direction.

Peter stuffed one last bite of eggs into his mouth and followed him, stopping to pick up the clothes left out, James coming in with the tiny vial of blue potion, still full from someone having the forethought already to use a refill charm on it.

The four left in the kitchen didn't break the silence, not yet, as they all reflected how different things felt from the last time they'd been here.

It was hard to tell if the kitchen felt the same impact. Despite the fact that it was still night outside, it was blitheringly obvious this wasn't the same night they'd just left, let alone the day they'd been here last, yet nothing of consequence had changed that they could see. The clock with the Weasley's hands was still drifting aimlessly, the drawers were still overpacked with the same muggle paraphernalia. None of it yet answered the much less pressing question of how much they impacted each environment when they left it.

They weren't really surprised when the Marauders didn't come back, but none of them felt like trying to fall asleep either. Lily finally got up and snagged that deck of cards off the counter, the self-shuffling charm must have worn off, because she began shuffling them and asking if anyone wanted to play a game.

"I've never heard of it," Regulus whispered quietly.

"Neither have I," Frank shrugged, helping Alice to stack up some plates and lead them to the sink which began cleaning them at once.

"I can teach you, it's really simple," she promised, and nobody argued after that.

Lily was the only one who spoke as she explained the game to the three of them, but they were all smiling just a bit at the mostly luck-based structure after only one practice hand and three real rounds. It only took five though before Frank was trying to stifle a yawn, and Alice was quick to make an excuse.

"Neither of you are tired yet?" She still confirmed.

"Not even a little bit," Lily shrugged.

"Nah," Regulus frowned, all thumbs as he tried shuffling the deck again, but it scattered across the table as his bridge collapsed. He couldn't even blame it on an injury, they'd kindly dabbed Wiggenweld Potion onto his sore fingers. His face puckered, but he leaned forward and quickly began pulling them all back to him to try again.

"Well, we're going to borrow Percy's bed for a bit then," she only barely blushed at saying this so casually, but they'd been doing it for practically this whole trip so most of the embarrassment had subsided long before now.

"Alright then," Lily did look up at them with clear curiosity, Alice didn't sound even the least bit sleepy, but offered her hand to Regulus to show him how to do it again instead of saying anything.

He handed it over wordlessly and watched her every move as she shuffled in slow motion.

The two held hands up the narrow staircase up to the second floor, slipping into Percy's room properly now, when they'd only opened the door before just to check if it would.

Here, it seemed, finally was some sort of answer that their passing through didn't have an affect. The bed was still properly made, when she knew for a fact they'd left the blankets in disarray from their springing upon it, and the bottle of ink Sirius had knocked over looked untouched. There was even more thick dust upon every surface.

One could argue somebody had just straightened up and abandoned the place again, but it was hard to fathom a motive for any of the Weasleys' doing so. They both had to cast Tergeo several times to get the room any kind of bearable, let alone sleep in without sneezing their noses off, but as the two crawled under the covers, Frank whispered in her ear, "I was faking that yawning you know."

Alice laughed in surprise as she nestled against his chest. "No, I hadn't suspected you of that." She ran the tips of her fingers across his palm for a few moments before whispering, "that's the first thing you've really said since we landed here."

Frank kissed her temple as he mulled over how to answer her. "I suppose I'd never stopped to consider, why exactly, those guys went and did something so wildly dangerous and illegal themselves to hang around a werewolf. I was more stuck on the man-eating monster bit to, ah, see the other aspects."

He grasped her fingers to get her to stop, that was starting to tickle. "I saw it out there though," he breathed into her ear, "what you and Lily seemed to instantly get. They care for each other, they'd die for each other, Sirius Black really was going to die to stop Lupin from getting to me." It should have been obvious long before now, but he really would admit now his prejudices had kept him pretty narrow minded on this. It wasn't Lupin's fault, he didn't want to hurt any of them, and those three Marauders knew that, everyone had figured that out before him. "Remus," he corrected, deciding if going through all that hadn't put them on first-name terms he didn't know what could.

She shivered at the idea of how close that must have been for him to have had such a good picture. The story had been easy enough to piece together, why else but her boyfriend bleeding would Padfoot have to restrain him with such ferocity? She hadn't exactly wanted details though. "I thought he was dying out there," she hadn't wanted to admit this, afraid it would only make him hate Remus more telling how close she'd been to him as well in such a dangerous time, but now she admitted, "he just looked, so in pain, right before," she stopped with another shiver at just the idea of having to go through something like that once a month. Then the heart wrenching cry of the animal, she'd been convinced Sirius Black was dying on the other side of that log barrier keeping the werewolf away and she'd done nothing to help.

Frank shivered with her, but then instantly relaxed and just held her tighter. "I don't think Lily was kidding about trying to invent that Wolfsbane potion even earlier," he added on.

"No, I'd imagine she wasn't," she could hear the grin in his voice. She still held tight to him as guilt warred with practicality. She couldn't deny anymore Frank hadn't been all wrong either, they really could find themselves in 'Moony's' vicinity again at any time, but there must be some better option out there than his mates constantly taking a beating for them every time.

"Might help her with that," he muttered, thinking he definitely owed the guy more of an apology than that, but it was at least a start.

Lily and Regulus were both very much aware this was the most time they'd spent around each other period. There was no peril to avoid, no book to read, they were simply trapped in this room with only each other for company and a deck of cards.

The game simply gave their hands something to do, and they did have to concentrate on it a bit, but the awkward silence started to wane as Regulus really got the hang of it. By the tenth hand he was shuffling with moderate success and dealing out the cards like he'd done it countless times, and by the eleventh the two started to realize they may both have a bit of a competitive streak.

Regulus was finally the one to break the long stretch of silence as he managed to beat her for the first time, and her response was to sigh she shouldn't have taught him that move. "Who taught you how to play this?" He hoped his voice wasn't as stiff as it sounded to his own ears, and that she wouldn't realize same as him this was the first time he'd tried talking to a muggle-born.

Though technically, he had no idea what Peter's blood status was. He'd admitted once already he'd never met his father, and though he hadn't outright said it Regulus had sussed out from his home and a few lapses in knowledge of wizarding society over their talks his mother was a Muggle, so he was as good as a muggle-born in some people's eyes. He just didn't want to be one of those people anymore.

"My mum," she smiled at the memory, while doing several extra shuffles of the deck to make sure she didn't get that hand again. "My sister got very bored with it and didn't want to stay past the second time, so it became a thing with me and her, we'd play for hours," as she dealt out the next hand.

He found himself completely fascinated at nearly everything she'd just said. He wasn't unaware she had a sister, that Petunia Dursley deserved a far worse word than mudblood thrown at her, plus he still remembered that boggart they'd come across, but it was the way she spoke about her in past tense, like he kept thinking about Sirius.

There was also the fact that she'd done such a thing as play a game with her mum, did all parents do that, or was it a Muggle thing?

He thought over his words as he collected the new cards, but didn't think there was anything offensive in them. Still, he spoke cautiously as he arranged his hand, waiting for her to give him a dirty look any second so he would stop and not ruin this. "Me and Sirius used to play Three Brothers, but not since we were a lot younger, he hadn't even started being an arse yet if you can believe it."

The cheek had not been the part of that he was concerned with sharing, but to his disbelief she actually giggled.

He sat there just staring at her despite the fact that it was his turn. He kept waiting for something to happen, but even he wasn't quite sure what. He'd never asked why you shouldn't hang around muggle-borns.

"What's Three Brothers?" She asked.

"It's a kids' story," he paused and chewed on his cheek for only a moment, but it was ridiculous at this point to even let the thought flutter about her learning something to do with wizards as he finally went and the pattern continued. "There's these three objects these brothers won from death, and when you have them all, you'd be master of death. A stone that lets you see the dead, a wand that can't be beat, and a cloak that repels any spell. When Sirius read it to me, we went on a quest about the house, looking for them. In the attic, all the spare rooms, you name it."

Lily was baffled something so lighthearted could have taken place in that miserable home, but then she wasn't more sure if she was disappointed, or unsurprised when he finished, "we eventually nicked father's wand, and he grounded us for a week for doing something so silly. Sirius doesn't like playing games with me much since."

His smile was childishly delighted as he won the hand again, it was hard to believe this was the same lad simply sitting here chatting with her when he'd once laughed at the most degrading of insults right in front of her.

He'd never outright called her that though, never really bothered to speak to her at all anymore than she had him. It was not lost on her as he now shuffled for a new game with ease that they'd all been rather stuck in their ways.

Alice and Frank really had dozed off, but only for an hour or two for a nap, when they came back down they saw Regulus and Lily were still at it, and a scorecard had been produced at some point. They'd won a pretty equal amount of times, and both seemed convinced they were going to trump the other eventually, but they spoke to each other with casual ease as they recalled what had happened at Slughorn's last party.

"The boys still out?" Alice felt bad for interrupting, but she was starting to get worried. How long were they supposed to sleep that kind of thing off before someone checked on them?

"Yeah," Regulus said casually enough. His sharp eyes missed nothing as he played his next card but kept the door to the scullery in his periphery.

"I think this is a common thing though," Lily added, her voice trying for casual, and failing. "I mean, Lupin does miss classes quite a lot, we all knew that, and those guys make up excuses for him all the time, so they probably know better than us."

"Did you want back in the game?" Regulus asked, and Frank wondered if it was his imagination some of the stiffness had left his voice.

"Sure," they both agreed.

The four whittled away at least another hour at it, until Alice finally convinced the two with a mild insanity problem they could call it even, and went to make some more breakfast, as all the ingredients were ready about the kitchen instead of hoping she could get into the Weasleys' cellar. By then though they were all growing restless and obviously watching the door.

"I'll go try and wake them up," Regulus finally volunteered what they were all thinking. "If they try to kill me, just know, I would have won eventually," he finished with a leveled look at Evans, who just smirked and pocketed the deck.

He pushed the door open quietly to find them all piled onto the bed. Sirius, err, the dog, Padfoot?, was now stretched out almost comfortably with his head across Peter's chest and feet digging into Potter's back, his own furry behind right on Lupin's nose that was not causing him to miss a beat of snoring. He sucked on his cheek for a moment debating how to do this, before finally deciding Peter was the least likely to sock him in the face on any given occasion, let alone being woken up.

He eased up and gently tapped him on the shoulder, but it wasn't his voice who said, "going to take more than that to get them up."

He made a very undignified squeal of surprise that should have woken up the whole house as he watched Potter. His eyes hadn't opened, he didn't even seem to have moved, but when he frowned around at the others again he realized it was the truth. Peter had merely grumbled and twitched but kept on snoring, and Sirius and Lupin hadn't even done that.

When he looked at Potter again his eyes were blinking hazily open, rubbing his knuckles into them and finally shifting to get up. He grabbed Arthur's glasses by mistake, went cross-eyed, and then finally stretched as he eyed Regulus wearily fixing his own in place. "How long we been out?"

"Couple hours, five maybe," he shrugged, none of them had been wearing a watch when this happened, and they weren't even sure it would have worked regardless.

"That's it?" His face scrunched up with displeasure. "Oh we're doomed, Moony's been out for two or three days after a night like that." Then he paused and assessed the lot, and glanced out the window as he reconsidered, "but, he also wasn't changed for nearly as long as usual, so we might get lucky and not have to set the house on fire."

"I'm sure the Weasley's would appreciate that," he nodded, eyeing the giant black shape curiously once more.

"Any food?" James cut in, and Regulus dragged his eyes back away from his furry brother but merely shrugged. Then he seemed to take the hint, and finally left.

James rubbed his eyes for a few more moments, but thankfully the tempting sounds of sizzling meat already had Padfoot and Peter's nose twitching to life. Maybe this process would have been easier if they were all Hufflepuffs instead.

Regulus hadn't been all wrong going after Peter first, only a few pointed prods and shakes with the promise of breakfast and he was rolling out of bed with some unintelligible grumbling before stomping off. Padfoot was usually more difficult, but his tail was thumping in excitement as he stretched instead before James even had to say anything, the food probably smelt even better to him like that.

"Ahah," he quickly scolded when he recognized the other way he was stretching, about to change back. "You are not to change back for twenty-four hours mister."

The dog huffed, and Regulus couldn't help but agree. "How exactly are you going to enforce that?"

Potter whirled on the spot to scowl at him, clearly annoyed he was still hanging around, but he was just too curious to pass up seeing Sirius like this.

"Fine then," he turned back, "until we finish this book."

Sirius huffed again, and Regulus laughed to realize he still recognized that gleam of challenge in his brother's eye. "I imagine that won't be any easier to stop him talking that long."

Potter threw his hands in the air in frustration before turning to him and snapping, "can I help you?"

"No," Regulus shrugged, "just watching."

"Well I'm so glad you're enjoying the show," he grumbled, turning back to Padfoot with actual sternness in his voice that surprised him, he really hadn't thought Potter had it in him. "I mean it Padfoot, you do not change back until I say so, you got really messed up, and I want you to wait. Better safe than sorry."

His brother finally let out a huge bursting sigh, but nodded and hopped off the bed still on all fours. He reared up and snagged the book on his way out, tail held jauntily in the air with an odd bit of smugness Regulus couldn't guess at. Did he think he could read that while barking at them?

The two walked into the kitchen amongst several odd stares, but Peter explained before he could while making a plate, "James wants him to wait, better safe than sorry."

It wasn't so funny anymore hearing them both say the same thing back to back in the exact same weary tone.

"Okay," Alice drew the word out a bit, but finally set up a plate, hesitated a moment, and just put it on the floor. Padfoot pounced on it and was licking the plate clean in moments, but in fairness, he did that even when he didn't have that kind of tongue just to annoy people.

The bathroom in the scullery was only a toilet, sink, and medicine cabinet, so sadly nobody got a shower this time, but Remus considered that a good thing as he shuffled along, James probably would have followed him in there as he stayed right behind him. It was a miracle he didn't have his hand on his back like an invalid.

He'd blindly dumped half a jar of brown sugar onto his eggs and scarfed down those before finally some real life began to stir in him, and he blinked around in confusion muttering, "how are we back in the Weasleys' kitchen?"

"Magic Moony, keep up," Peter snickered as he dumped yet more ketchup across his eggs, the plate looked more like a bloody mess than the werewolf's.

James properly explained their new theory, and by then everyone had finally slowed in their eating, if not stopped altogether.

Remus had nothing to argue against any of that as he scraped his fork uneasily across his plate for a moment before finally putting his dishes away and going over to Padfoot to fetch the book. He figured people were going to be glaring at him regardless from now on, may as well pretend in his own head it was at that.

Padfoot had been waiting for just such a thing, and quickly snagged up the book he'd kept under him while eating, and took off to the opposite side of the kitchen. "Oh no, we are not doing this again!" His face was almost luminescent pale, despite the sleep and food he still seemed only passably functional, but there was a genuine smile on his face as he effed his own words and started after him.

The game didn't last long, no one was in doubt Padfoot was going easy on him and let himself be cornered after only one romp around the kitchen, but finally Remus bent down and grabbed the book. Even Sirius didn't dare play tug of war with such a precious thing as their escape, and he let the slightly soggy mess splat to the ground.

"You're disgusting," Remus told him pleasantly.

The dog barked a laugh, did a little spin on the spot, and then went over to plop down in front of the still hot stove. He was still smiling as he eased back to the table and almost forgot to tense up at putting all attention on him as he read, "The Eye of the Snake."

"Oh great, what does Malfoy do to annoy him now," Regulus huffed under his breath. He'd already gotten Harry kicked off the quidditch team, a grievous insult that even he would have decked his fellow student for. Malfoy had been a sore loser from the beginning and even this was still a new low.

"Erm," Frank surprised them all by clearing his throat, and almost meeting Lupin's eyes without flinching. "I'm ah, curious, but um, how do you, I mean, what do you remember, well, we can't read when we're not all awake, so-"

"Well, technically, he is awake," Potter stated, eyeing him oddly, his tone much more sarcastic than waspish, but Longbottom had sounded nothing but curious, so he was trying to restrain himself.

"I remember," Remus answered much more quietly but sincerely, eyes twitching to a few more bits of toast left, to Frank, to the book like he couldn't decide what to address. "Hagrid came back and told where he'd been, Umbridge was an arse. The details are fuzzy and vague, but," he shrugged and finally settled on telling the book he remembered what had transgressed, fighting back the urge to scream as the pain had been the most clear in his head, and Padfoot wouldn't have had to restrain him like that except for the worst of reasons. Something had nearly gone very wrong, he hadn't needed James to tell him that.

He decided against elaborating that he did remember things better when he'd eaten, he didn't think Longbottom would want to know that. It had only happened a few times anyways, he'd come across a few predators that met Moony's liking, like a blood-sucking bugbear or even an acromantula that was only human-sized, more for the challenge and then eating the kill for victory rather than actually having a taste for it. They all knew what Moony really had a craving for.

Nobody interrupted him again as he started, the trio worrying about Hagrid's coming lessons and the range of possibilities of how he'd get fired for basically anything he brought to class.

The lesson turned out to be fantastic though, as it went over Thestrals.

"I've heard of those!" Remus exclaimed with the most energy yet, though really it was a miracle that amount of sugar he'd ingested hadn't done that already. "My dad's mentioned them, you can only see them if you've seen death."

His grin slipped away though as he muttered, "oh," in surprise, now eyeing Peter and Longbottom.

"Guess your dad never actually described them as creepy, skeleton, horse-looking things," Peter sighed.

"Nope, he's just mentioned them in passing. Ah, sorry, again," he finished sheepishly.

Peter just shrugged and helped himself to more juice. He'd never held anything against his friends, he wasn't going to start with that. A part of him still remembered how resentful he'd been feeling right before his catastrophe of a future was spelled out, and he'd spent many an alone hour worrying how that had built up and turned him into someone who could do that to James.

"Who did you see die?" Regulus blurted in surprise.

James twitched like he wanted to reach across the table and slap the idiot on the neck, even Padfoot huffed and eyed the heel of his brother's shoe with temptation and they all suddenly realized what a bad idea having him run around with available sharp teeth was.

Peter didn't seem bothered by it though, answering casually enough, "my Uncle Pierce*. He'd been sickly for ages and bedridden for that week, Mum told me not to go in there, but I did, guess it was just bad timing I happened to be watching him when he, you know, wasn't sleeping anymore. I was ten," he finished with a casual shrug that he hoped hid well how he'd come blubbering into the living room to his mother about his Uncle starting to look funny.

His friends had heard this before, but Remus still felt like an idiot and was kicking himself as he kept going he'd never put that together as he eagerly read the descriptions of them again and all of Hagrid's fun facts.

Alice laid her hand on Frank's, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles with a silent question, but he merely answered by kissing hers in return and turning quietly to ask Lily if she wanted to play that card game again. He'd tell her, just maybe not now, she already had a dislike for his mum and this probably wouldn't make things better.

Lily had barely gotten the cards clear from her pocket though when everyone really was scowling at the book in Lupin's hands just like he'd wanted as Umbridge arrived, and made even more of an arse of herself than usual.

"That woman has no bounds," Lily seethed, nearly crumpling the queen of hearts up in her fist before correcting herself.

"Can hardly believe someone so bloody awful exists, treating him like that in his own class, and we've been living with You-Know-Who murdering people by the day in our Daily Prophet," Alice agreed with quiet ferocity.

Frank just winced, but not for the reason everyone but Alice assumed. He now thought himself being just as bad as her, the way he'd treated Lupin, but certainly wasn't sympathizing with her like Potter's glare insinuated. He wanted to correct him, but the words 'I don't think your friend wants to eat me anymore' sounded obtuse to his own ears.

Their terse mutters and grumbles weren't making this better though, so Lily offered offhand and absolutely casual if Pettigrew and Potter wanted to be dealt in.

Peter agreed, he'd even heard of the game they'd been playing, but James opted out and tipped the chair back, rocking it casually as he watched everyone, especially her, with open interest once more. He still didn't know what she meant by it, that plate of food from before his nap, nor just casually speaking in his direction at all! It's not like he expected her gratitude at protecting her out there, he'd do it for anyone for Moony's sake.

It killed something inside of him to even turn down this offer and enjoy her attention freely, surely they could even partner up on whatever this game was, but Remus was already shuffling uncomfortably at having put himself the center of attention like the idiot they knew he was, but he'd been as aware as Padfoot he was going to do this to himself just to prove how normal he was when he woke up. At least him not playing along didn't make Remus feel so singled out. That didn't mean he wasn't slightly tempted to push the idiot out of the chair and have him sit on the floor with Padfoot, all attention would be off him anyways, win win for everyone-

Regulus had eaten no less than half the loaf of bread with just butter and cinnamon, and soon began regretting it as his stomach swirled when the pleasant DA lesson ended and the book spiraled into territory he'd certainly never expected this to go in, and was clearly the only one. Everyone around him was laughing and tittering softly about Harry's first kiss with Cho, when Regulus had dropped half his hand in surprise.

The good mood wasn't meant to last in anyone as Harry went off to bed, and his thoughts weren't able to linger on girls much longer at the following nightmare.

Potter tipped his chair over in surprise, Padfoot jumped to his feet, hackles raised but no snakes to fight off in here, the rest of them stayed still as statues when Arthur Weasley was attacked, and in the deadly silence that followed as McGonagall arrived for Harry, Remus loathed finishing the last sentence as he looked one more time around the homey kitchen with dread, he wasn't the only one wondering if they'd ever come back here again.

HPHPHPHP

*Do I in fact imagine that Pierce Polkiss may be a Jr., and is some relative of Peter's, considering they're both described with a rat like face? Yes, yes I do.

[when-they-write-stuff]

I didn’t get all the way through the list, but I already couldn’t choose, so 55. “Sorry doesn’t fix everything.” or 75. “What are you talking about? You’re married!” or 80. “But you promised..”

Written for: “Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

- -

“Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe.”

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, that’s what Ms. Morrell told Stiles to think about. He sat across from her just like he had nearly two years ago and picked at the hem of his shirt instead of his lacrosse stick. He hadn’t played lacrosse in a long time; not since the Nogitsune. Not since the return of Kate 2.0.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to look on the positive side of things. He was told that by everyone else, at least. Certain other people remained elusive. Certain other people who made Stiles so mad, he stopped going to counseling for an entire three months until his nightmares started waking him up in screaming fits and night-sweats again.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to think about the sun and the moon. And he was so fed up with everything sometimes.

He was so fed up with everything.

Like what they faced after Derek left. So many things. Stiles learned what it was like to be considered untrustworthy. He learned what it was like to be considered a real murder. To have blood on his actual hands.

He did this… thing when no one else was around. He didn’t tell Morrell about it and he didn’t tell his father. He most certainly didn’t tell Scott, but they hadn’t been talking that much lately anyway.

And if Stiles’s dad was to snoop around his bedroom one day, he might find a neat stack of letters. Ones that were never sent out, but always slipped in clean envelopes. Ones that were all addressed to the same initials, but there was never an address. Stiles didn’t think he’d send them even if he got an address; but it was a lot like the instance with Derek Hale’s number currently in his phone. He’d stared at it for hours before, debating making a call. A text. Something.

He never did though. Stiles thought he’d have a lot less control with the texts. So he wrote letters instead.

When Derek Hale first left Beacon Hills, the words; “Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe” had circled through Stiles’s mind so often, he thought he was going crazy.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

When Stiles had gone into high school, he’d never expected to come out of it surprised he’d survived. They all made jokes years and years ago, yeah. But Stiles still couldn’t believe sometimes that he’d survived.

When he graduated as a senior, he’d stopped going to the counseling sessions. His dad had tried to bring up actual therapy but Stiles was at the point where he realized how Derek had felt when he first returned to Beacon Hills years ago. Once upon a time, when Stiles had been an idiot sixteen-year-old kid and Derek was nothing but tired and sad. 

For the first time, Stiles kind of wished he could go back in time and apologize.

Because hell, Stiles was tired. He was sad. He was tired like when Derek had buried himself in his childhood house and attempted to ignore the world. He was sad in that sometimes, he felt like he’d lived and died a dozen lives, and maybe he was just going through the motions these days.

He might have looked for Derek in the crowd the day they’d graduated. Because if Derek Hale was ever going to return to Beacon Hills, it would be then. When most of the danger had passed, when most of them had survived.

Most of them. Not all.

Stiles attempted to organize a vigil for those who hadn’t made it to graduation. A little ceremony. Something, anything, to remember that they all weren’t so lucky.

No one except for Lydia, Melissa, and Stiles’s dad had shown up.

They’d lit candles, murmured a few quiet words, looked over the graves, and Stiles wondered how much it had hurt Derek to lose so many of his pack. Peter had called it like losing a limb. Stiles sometimes wondered if the pain he’d felt when Derek had left was similar to that.

He hadn’t just felt like he’d lost a limb though. He’d felt like he’d lost so much more.

Stiles liked to believe Derek would have come to the vigil if he would have known. Maybe he would’ve taken a candle and stood by Stiles’s side as they overlooked Boyd and Erica’s graves. Surrounded by wolfsbane, because Stiles didn’t know if that was an actual thing, but he remembered seeing it around Laura Hale’s grave so many years ago.

He’d nearly gotten caught when he snuck out one night months ago to plant it. But there was over a handful of purple flowers growing now. Dancing across each grave. Crawling up the stones. Not in the perfect circle like it had been for Laura but… maybe it was enough.

Though, Stiles didn’t know how that could be enough if he hadn’t been.

He’d told himself he was going to leave Beacon Hills after high school. For good, maybe. Or at least for a few years. And Stiles had managed to stay gone for a solid semester, but then his dad had been shot in the line of duty.

Nothing fatal; a shoulder wound that put him in the hospital for six days and took him out of duty for another three months after that. But Stiles had driven straight back to Beacon Hills and hadn’t looked over his shoulder since.

Two years had passed and Stiles sometimes still wrote the letters.

He kind of thought it was stupid.

-

Hey, Sourwolf, remember that one time you left Beacon Hills without telling anyone? Yeah, well, I do too. And I’m so fucking pissed at you for it, I would literally kill to say that to your face. Which, funny story, wouldn’t be my first murder. Remember that time you said I’d be alright? That everything would be alright?

Yeah, well, that’s a bunch of bull.

  Stupid question, but would you pick the sun or the moon? That doesn’t make sense right now and I know, I’d be getting the ‘Seriously Stiles?” growly brows right now. But I’d really like to know. For… scientific reasons. Shut up, I’m probably not going to send this anyway.

  By the way, of the sun and the moon, which one of us is dying here?

  You think I would have had enough riddles to last me a lifetime at this point, but Morrell doesn’t seem to think so. Both her and Deaton get under my skin sometimes, you know? Like, is a straight answer really so damn hard?

It sure as hell seems like it.

  I’m supposed to be graduating and living my life pretty soon. I still can’t make a proper boiled egg and sometimes, I forget not everyone wants to hurt my friends or family. Funny, right? I’m fucking hilarious.

  I swear to god, I love you.

-

Stiles took this one class that talked about poetry and all the questions of the universe. He wasn’t sure why he took it exactly, but there was one thing that caught his attention from the beginning. One story about the moon and the sun; and the constant chase, the constant sacrifice that they made for each other. Over and over again.

He hated that class for all he was worth. He didn't think that was much anymore.

Stiles went to college for another year with no official degree in mind, but maybe he could be a history major or something? But then he got the call that his dad was planning to retire soon and Stiles found himself taking a few steps back. Turning away from the morning classes, the late-night parties, and all of those normal things, and applying to the police academy instead.

For some reason, he always thought Derek would’ve made a good deputy.

Stiles still looked for him sometimes.

He looked for grey-green.

-

I think I could track you down if I wanted to. You know, talk some sense into your little werewolf-y brain. I’d probably say something about ‘Having a plan B’. Because there has to be something else. We were always supposed to have a plan B, weren’t we? Maybe yours was leaving. Maybe it was not looking back.

I just wish I could’ve left too.

-

When Derek Hale first returned back to Beacon Hills, Stiles had friends at the local coffee shop, friends at the Sheriff’s station, and even a few friends from his old Uni days. He had them scattered here and there. He hadn’t written a letter in ages.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles didn’t actually know it until he ran into the man while grocery shopping. Derek had gone stock-still down the aisle, a basket held loosely in his hand, and Stiles’s milk had gone splattering to the floor.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles was told it was ‘a second chance’. He thought that sounded painfully familiar. He also thought, for a moment, he was going crazy again.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Sometimes, he thought he could leave it all behind. Scott had long since followed the rest of his pack to New York City and Stiles had lost touch long ago. There was still the occasional supernatural baddie in Beacon Hills; but Stiles had a little bit more than a baseball bat now.

There was this… misfit group. Those that had been left behind. Stiles; when he’d become a Deputy. Lydia; when she returned back to start her own online company from the ground up. The few who had never left. Or never stayed gone.

Then there was Derek.

Stiles hadn’t planned on speaking to him ever again, thank you very much. He’d made a beeline from the grocery store and either Derek hadn’t followed, or he’d been too preoccupied with the newly spilled milk to give chase.

Stiles saw him later at the coffee shop. He turned right back around and suffered the station’s coffee for the rest of the week.

He saw him running in the early mornings when he left for work.

He saw the man in his sleep.

It had been so long since Stiles had woken up with the memory of blazing red eyes, or sharp electric blue underneath the moonlight, or the simple green-grey that gave him the saddest look before turning away. 

It had been so long.

Stiles made a bonfire in the preserve one night with a pile of his own kindling; a little stack of papers. But then he never went through with it.

One morning, there was a man in his apartment building.

Stiles had never thought his ‘fight or flight’ instincts would kick in when he was facing Derek Hale. But then the man was standing in front of him in nothing but sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He held a bag of bagels in one hand and his mail in the other and it took Stiles one second too long to realize the bastard was living in his building.

It took Stiles one minute too long to realize he was crying.

See, Stiles had imagined their future meeting over and over again in his mind. When Derek had first left and Stiles was still raw, he imagined he might scream a little bit. Maybe curse the man out.

Or maybe just beg him to stay.

Then as the months had stretched on, Stiles thought maybe he’d just give him a hug. That maybe, maybe if he could prove to Derek Hale that there was something left for him in Beacon Hills, he would consider staying around for a little longer.

Jump to three years later and Stiles was just standing here like an idiot, silent tears spilling down his cheeks. And it took him far too long to realize he was crying.

Derek was only a few feet away by the time Stiles snapped back to reality.

Some part of his mind was tempted to punch the man. Some part was tempted to turn and storm off. Stiles thought he could only be more pathetic if he dropped to his knees along with the tears.

Derek looked utterly torn. Stiles hated how little he hated him for a moment.

“Stiles—”

“Do you remember the day you left?”

Derek’s mouth snapped closed and Stiles’s words were trembling. The man made an abortive move forward as if he was going to reach out, but then he promptly drew back. Stiles’s heart twisted in his chest.

“Huh, Derek? Do you remember the day you left?”

“It was… a long time ago.”

“Yeah, asshole, it was. But I just want to know one thing,” Stiles said, and he hated himself for how pitiful he sounded. Because right now, he was pretty sure he hated himself more than he hated Derek Hale. If he even ever had. “Did you ever look back?”

Derek’s jaw ticked and he didn’t say a word. Stiles felt like his stomach had dropped.

“Did you ever think about returning?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

And that wasn’t the answer Stiles had been looking for, but maybe it was the one he should have expected. Silently, he nodded, turning back away. He wasn’t trembling so hard anymore but he still felt like his world was falling apart at the seams.

“Wait, Stiles.”

Despite himself, he froze. Despite everything, despite knowing better. Derek looked shattered when Stiles glanced back and for the first time, he wondered if the man had possibly missed Stiles and much as he’d missed him.

But then Derek just ducked his head again and Stiles knew he was an idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

Though turning away, eyes burning, Stiles sure as hell wished it did.

-

I swear to god, I hate you.

-

Stiles never asked to fall in love, alright? He never asked to look into grey-green eyes and find himself rendered useless. If someone had told his teenage self that one day, he’d been spending his life thinking about a certain leather-jacketed asshole, Stiles would have laughed them off.

If his life was a movie, Stiles thought Derek would have shown up on Stiles’s doorstep. Maybe with flowers, maybe with just an apology.

Stiles would have been careful, cautious. But he would have let Derek in. There would have been soft conversations, possible tears, maybe even a love confession. And then Stiles would have been alright again.

Derek Hale never showed up on his doorstep. Stiles still dreamed of grey-green eyes.

There was this part of him that sometimes still came to the shocking realization that Derek was back in town. When one of the deputies introduced Stiles to his new ‘good friend’ and Stiles had nearly had a panic attack at the sight of Derek’s face. When he went to the farmer’s market for the first time since he was a child and turned the corner to run face-first into a soft henley and firm chest.

Sometimes, Stiles had to stop and take a breath. 

And then like the snap of two fingers, suddenly Stiles nearly stopped breathing altogether.

He’d survived his teenage years. He’d survived psychotic werewolves and bloodthirsty alpha packs. He’d survived demon possession and being forgotten by all those he loved. Stiles had survived one thing after another. All of those dozen lives that he’d lived.

He took a bullet to the chest on a Tuesday morning. And Stiles was pretty sure he was finally going to die.

But when he came-to, it was in a hospital room.

Stiles felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his brain. There was the faint sound of a beeping machine and someone was hunched over where he laid. Stiles managed to blink once, twice, a low groan leaving his lips, and then the person was jerking like they’d been shot.

Derek Hale made an abortive move to stand, looking like he’d been caught red-handed doing something illegal. Stiles focused in on his face slowly, confused for a second, and then he was pretty sure his heart stopped.

Slowly, Derek sank back into the chair at his side. “Stiles?”

“You’re not really here.”

The man’s face did something strange and Stiles was almost tempted to reach out and touch it. But he still felt like he was floating outside of his body, ears ringing, and this wasn’t real. Either he really was dead or they’d put him on enough drugs to make him see what Stiles usually tried to pretend was a bad dream.

Derek looked terrified. Which was funny, because usually their roles were reversed.

“Stiles, how are you feeling?”

“You’re not really here,” Stiles said again. God, why did his brain hate him? The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and Stiles thought that up close, his face looked a little less hardened than it used to. His eyes were a little less sad.

“Stiles, you’re in the hospital. You were shot.”

“I know that,” Stiles said, huffing despite himself. “But you’re not here.”

“I am.”

“No,” he said softly. “No, because this is all a dream. Or a hallucination. Or a nightmare. You’re not here because that’s not allowed. We’re not allowed. Someone told me and I’ve spent three years thinking so.”

Derek flinched. Stiles managed a weak chuckle.

“We’re not allowed, Sourwolf.”

And then Derek Hale took his hand. 

Stiles’s brain logged offline for a moment. His heart skipped a beat. Because Derek Hale— dream Derek Hale, hallucination Derek Hale, whatever— had his hand. And Stiles could feel the warmth of his skin. The steady beat of his heart. The callouses that lined his palm.

Derek took his hand, squeezing gently, and for a moment, Stiles just stared.

Then he yanked back like he’d been burned.

“No, Derek. No, Derek, no Derek, no! You’re not here! You can’t be here! Get out. Get your furry ass out right now or I swear to god, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

The words were asked gently. Derek raised a brow, glancing down at Stiles’s chest, and his features tightened a little as he looked back up.

“You’ll what, Stiles? Nearly die again?”

“Fuck you.”

“I…” the man's voice wavered. “I’m sorry, Stiles. But I’m not going anywhere.”

And wouldn’t Stiles have loved to have heard that years ago? Derek would have come back or maybe he would have never left. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t supposed to have gone anywhere from the start.

“Why?” Stiles asked. “Why now?”

Derek dropped his gaze, starting to pull his hand back. But Stiles latched on as if it was a lifeline. Grey-green eyes snapped back upward and Derek nodded, gripping his hand tight again. “I… I heard what happened.”

“Yeah, so I nearly died. I’ve nearly died plenty of times before, you know. You never showed up then.”

Stiles was pretty sure he was hitting every single point of pain. Because Derek looked more and more stricken with every word and if Stiles was a better person, he would stop. But suddenly, it was all spilling out of him. Because yeah, he could hate the man silently all he wanted, but that had never done him any good.

“Why did you leave, Derek? Goddammit, why did you leave?”

“I had to.”

“You had to leave Beacon Hills?”

“Stiles—”

“Or what, Derek? You had to leave the pack? You had to leave me? You had to scurry off into the night and never so much as call? I wanted so bad to hate you, dammit! How could you let me try and hate you?”

“Because that’s what you were supposed to do!”

Stiles froze. At some point, Derek had drawn away. He just looked at Stiles now, eyes blurry and jaw clenched. For a moment, Stiles was pretty sure he was going to get up and leave. But then the man just ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“That’s what you were supposed to do, Stiles.”

“Why did you leave me, Derek?”

“Why would you ever want me to stay?”

There was this one letter Stiles had written asking himself the same thing. Why did he want Derek back? Why did he even care whether or not the man decided to suddenly up and leave?

Why Derek Hale? Why would he ever care about Derek Hale?

“Because when you left,” Stiles said shakily. “It felt like losing a limb.”

Derek made a soft noise at the back of his throat, shaking hands clasped together in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the floor and Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the ex big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills so fragile. But he was pretty sure right now, if he said the wrong thing, Derek would shatter.

“Because you were gone,” Stiles said. “Before you were even mine.”

Some part of him thought Ms. Morrell was wrong. There was no moon or sun. There was no chase, there was no sacrifice. Unless it was on both sides. Because dammit, Derek looked like Stiles had just said everything he’d experienced. The man breathed out shakily and nodded once more glancing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

“I know.”

“Are you staying?”

“... Yes.”

“For good?”

For a moment, Derek stared. Then he nodded. Stiles smiled a little and for the first time in a while, felt like he really meant it. He shifted, pulling himself into a sitting position and wincing a little at the stretch of his injury. Derek straightened and Stiles just waved a hand through the air, managing a small laugh.

Slowly, the man relaxed back. 

“Then me too,” Stiles said softly. “I'm sorry for trying so hard to hate you.”

Derek huffed, eyes shining. And it had been so long since Stiles had hoped he’d actually ever get to see that. He reached out and Derek took his hand, squeezing tightly. And it was all so real. The pulse point beneath his fingertips. The long fingers intertwined with his own.

It was all so real.

“I’m not leaving again, Stiles.”

And beneath Stiles’s fingertips, the heartbeat of the man stayed steady.

-

There’s this thing about the sun and the moon, Sourwolf. One can’t survive without the other. And it’s always been about survival between us, right? Sometimes, I’d love for that to all be a lie. I really would. But I need you to survive, remember? I need you to survive, which is why I haven’t let you go.

Which is why I might never let you go.

- -

I should really know better than to write at night bc nothing but angst ever ensues. Thank you so much for the prompt, Matt! I had fun with it <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[inliar]

broken signals

word count: 3.9k

yuto-centric; seungjoon-centric

two years ago, yuto woke up in a field, and now he is a farmer. his past was easy enough to forget, especially considering that he couldn’t even remember it in the first place. but it’s proving to be much, much harder to ignore.

loss one. loss two. seungjoon kind of hates how easily people can be categorized into neat little titles. especially since the people in question are more than just failed missions. he always hopes, deep in his heart, that he’ll find a way to bring them both back. but he’ll settle for one; the one he can actually communicate with.

a/n: 3/3 fics on my ao3 that i forgot to bring to tumblr.

warning: traumatic symptoms

yuto hates night the most, which is why waking up is the best part of his day. when he first started working, one of his grandparents had to come and physically shake him out of his slumber. but, now that his body has gotten familiar with the farm and its customs, he doesn’t need that anymore. his biological clock has taken to waking him up at 4:30 a.m. every day so he can start his chores. as his grandmother would say, the cows wait for nobody.

he doesn’t bother to wash up — he’s going to get dirty again, anyway — and instead changes into less comfortable yet more durable clothes. it’s still dark outside, and he’s too lazy to light a candle, so yuto just sort of mentally crosses his fingers and hopes his shirt isn’t buttoned the wrong way. not like it matters too much here, as the only beings he has to impress at this time are the farm animals, but he’d rather not look like an idiot in the odd chance he actually leaves the property area.

the chores themselves are so systematic they’re almost therapeutic. grab the buckets on the way out to milk the cows. one, two, three, four, and then bring them back in and exchange the full buckets for empty baskets. set the baskets beside the hen cage and go feed the inner barn first, lest the animals riot. fill the horses’ trough with hay. offer a carrot to one of them, and send a well-meaning glare at the other one who always tries to run away whenever he opens the stable. fill the cow’s trough with feed, and pat each of them gently on the nose for a job well done before heading out.

when he arrives back at the hen cage, one of the baskets is gone. sure enough, a familiar figure is crouching inside the cage, slowly yet surely collecting the eggs on the right side of the pen. “i thought i told you that i can do the morning chores by myself, now.” yuto calls, jogging towards the enclosure. “you should be resting, grandpa!”

“hush, child, i’ve been doing this since before you were born.” the old man says, waving a gloved hand in yuto’s general direction. “i know well enough how much work there is in the mornings. i don’t know why you keep insisting on doing it all by yourself.”

“you don’t even know when i was born,” yuto protests, grabbing the remaining basket and entering the enclosure. he squats by the left side of the cage and begins steadily collecting the eggs.

“at my age, trivialities like birth years don’t matter for those as young-looking as yourself.” the old man chuckles as yuto finishes checking the last nest. wordlessly, the old man offers yuto his filled basket.

he takes it with his empty hand and stands up to exit the cage. “is grandma sleeping, at least?” he asks, hopefully, waiting as the old man unlatches the cage.

the old man laughs, this time, a full bellied laugh that echoes across the open plains as he exits the cage. yuto moves one of the baskets to his other arm and single handedly fastens the latch behind himself. “son, i couldn’t stop that woman from doing what she wanted if i tried. knowing her, she’s probably waiting on these eggs to finish breakfast.” the old man says as they start their trek towards the house.

“she’d want to be awake at this time?” yuto asks, incredulously.

“that’s part of it. she’s always been the restless type, hated doing nothing when she could be doing something. but it’s also a habit. like me, and like the fine man you’re shaping up to be—”

at this, yuto smiles.

“—she can’t help but wake up when the birds start singing.” he explains, fondly.

yuto nods. “that sounds about right.” he muses. “at least, from what i know about her.”

“you’ve been here for what, a year now?” the old man asks.

“about two years, i think.” yuto corrects, not unkindly.

the old man exhales in disbelief, his breath forming a short-lived smoky cloud in the morning haze. “that long, already?” he remarks.

a pause. even after all this time, yuto still doesn’t quite know how to talk about his sudden arrival. it’s too strange to ignore, but too delicate to talk about so lightly.

yuto says nothing in return, watching the patterns his breath makes in the brisk air.

“but yes,” the old man continues, sensing the sudden tension in the air and breaking it. “you’ve been here long enough to have figured us out.”

“and i’ll be here for much longer, if you let me.” yuto says, smiling.

“is that so?” the old man asks, a note of pleasant surprise evident in his voice.

“of course? why would i want to leave?” yuto counters.

“well, doesn’t a young man like yourself want to go see the world? i was quite the wanderer myself, back when i was your age.” the old man says, a hint of a nostalgia lingering on his weathered face.

yuto’s smile falters as he tries to tamp down the sudden wave of something. vivid flashes of images flicker through his head, like an unwanted, corrupted slideshow invading the blank screen of his mind. a space station. a train. a meteor storm in the desert. seven white desks in a black room. a museum, at night, with alarms blaring. he shouldn’t know what any of these things are. why does he?

“i think i’ve had enough exploring to last me a lifetime.” yuto murmurs, pensively.

“pardon me?” the old man asks.

yuto shakes his head, breaking out of his trance as the strange moment passes. he plasters what he hopes is a convincing smile on his face. “i-it’s nothing.” he stammers, and then curses inwardly. stuttering is the opposite of casual.

it doesn’t go unnoticed. “are you sure you’re feeling alright, yuto?” the old man asks, concern painted over his features - which quickly morphs into the slightest tint of fear. “are you hearing those voi-”

“no! no, it’s not that, i promise. that was a one time thing, and a long, long time ago. i’m all better now, really!” yuto exclaims, rushing to assure the old man.

he doesn’t look convinced, but at least he doesn’t look afraid anymore. “if you’re sure about it, then.” he says, warily.

a lot of things go unsaid, but yuto understands them, anyway.

-

he hurtles into the abandoned room and frantically rummages through a filing cabinet. he’s already been here for far too long, and time is something he’s never had enough of. but he can’t leave yet. not before he finds it.

yuto doesn’t bother cleaning up after himself. no point if they already know he’s here. he shuffles through a stack of papers on the desk, allowing them to fall clumsily back into a pathetic semblance of a pile. it’s not here. it was supposed to be here. someone found it already.

a flash, and he’s stumbling out of a building. alarms are blaring, red and blue and loud and accusatory. “someone is here”, they seem to scream, insistently. demandingly. “find him, find him, find him.”

he curses and runs faster. spotting an entrance, yuto slips into a secluded alleyway where he’s certain he won’t be followed. yet judging by the hooded figure yuto senses a few feet behind, he couldn’t be more wrong. before the stranger notices, yuto unsheathes his gun. points it to the stranger’s forehead. cocks the trigger.

a flash, and asteroids are falling from the sky. his skin is dry, and his eyes and mouth sting from the dust.

“this is why we sent you back.” a voice says, echoing in his head. it’s hauntingly familiar, in a way yuto knows he should remember. in a way yuto feels like he’s heard countless times before.

“we wanted to change things,” it continues. the air begins to vibrate, the trepidation of oncoming disaster choking out his heart. yuto fights the urge to cover his ears, to collapse onto the ground and scream. “we didn’t know it would end like this.”

the voice resonates in his bones. yuto shivers, feels goosebumps angrily crawl up his skin.

“come back,” it says. it pleads.

yuto frowns, shakes his head as the ground beneath him trembles. dimly, he recognizes that the asteroids must have reached the surface. he gets the funny feeling that, should things have ended differently, he would have died here.

“please.”

-

yuto’s eyes shoot open. it’s not cold, but he’s shivering anyway.

‘no’, he realizes with a start, he’s shaking. his mouth tastes like ash: bitter and dry and unpleasant and frighteningly real. he also sort of wants to cry. it’s instinctive, like his impulse to run away and never come back.

despite having spent an entire night lying down and doing nothing but sleeping, yuto is panting as if he’s run a marathon. (or as if he’s ran into an alleyway. ran to hide. ran to— no).  his heart is racing. everything is dark and uncomfortable and much, much too fast.

‘breathe in, breathe out,’ yuto thinks, begs. he attempts to force his lungs to reset into a normal, functioning pattern. it takes an embarrassingly long time, but he eventually settles into something that can pass as regular.

this is exactly why he hates the night. night is when he sleeps. when he sleeps, he dreams. and his dreams are never quite right. they’re too bright, too loud, too vivid. too real.

yet, yuto muses, the dreams are far better than the voices. with the dreams, he can squeeze his eyes shut and trick himself into ignoring them as soon as the day starts. he can busy himself with farmwork and gardening and chopping firewood to dull the pain. but he can’t ignore the voices. the variety of tones that echo in his head — a baritone drawl, a sunny chirp, a melodic velvet — all tinged with concern and saying the same sorts of things. “come back, yuto. don’t you remember? please?”

“no,” he wants to yell back, “leave me alone!” because he can’t remember. he’s tried and he’s tried, but all he gets are flashes of images that are too fantastical to be real. nothing in the world is as sleek and shiny as the buildings in his recollections. it’s almost like they’re from some sort of fairytale or alternate universe. which is entirely, completely, and utterly impossible.

voices in his head, visions in his dreams. neither are a good sign. yuto genuinely thinks he’s sane, and his grandparents do as well. not that he’s told them anything — all they know of is a single panicked episode he couldn’t hide in front of them — but their approval means the world to him all the same. they found him and took him in when he was nothing but a lost boy in a grass field who couldn’t remember anything but his own name. in yuto’s eyes, they saved his life. and he refuses to confide to them anything that could cause their honourable names to be tainted through association with an insane stranger like himself. that could bring them trouble.

yuto is perfectly functional, if you ignore the fact that he can’t wake up quite right on some days (see: today). but no one else who heard his tale would think the same. it’s why he doesn’t go out often, and prefers to spend his time in the comfortable confines of their property. here, there’s no one new to watch if he has another episode. if he doesn’t want to get thrown into an asylum, or cause his grandparents any more unnecessary concern, he needs to eradicate whatever it is that’s screwing with his head. and if he can’t do that, he needs to be careful. but how much longer can he keep this up for?

he picks up a pillow and mashes it into his face. it’s the wrong kind of dark right now; not the fuzzy dark of dawn, but the black and shrouding dark of nighttime. yuto can afford to sleep a little longer. or, in any case, he can afford to try.

yuto squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that everything is okay.

-

“are you watching his feed again?” hyojin’s voice asks. seungjoon doesn’t bother to turn around.

he feels more than hears hyojin’s footsteps approaching, before two arms grab the back of seungjoon’s chair. hyojin leans over to watch the screen. “stop pushing me down,” seungjoon mutters, swatting blindly behind him.

“i’m only touching your chair?” hyojin protests, grabbing seungjoon’s arms and shoving them down. seungjoon sighs, but acquiesces and stops trying to hit him.

they stay there like that for a moment, sitting or standing, and simply watch the screen. yuto is looking at a pile of freshly picked corn in the candlelight. he picks one up, deftly unshucks it, and places it in a neat little stack that is forming on the side.

“do you want to go get dinner?” hyojin offers, unmoving.

“i’m not hungry,” seungjoon replies, eyes still glued to the screen.

“when’s the last time you’ve eaten?” hyojin asks. seungjoon doesn’t reply.

hyojin hums, tapping a short rhythm where his fingers rest in the chair. “i know you hate it when i say this, but you watching him isn’t going to do anything.” he waits for a reaction, any reaction, but seungjoon remains silent.

“this isn’t part of your job,” hyojin continues. “we have people monitoring him 24/7, and you’re the first person that they notify if anything happens. you’re not allowed to communicate with him while he’s awake, anyway. the CEO himself ordered it, so you don’t have the authority to override it. and we really don’t want a repeat of last time.”

seungjoon pushes his bangs back with his off hand and exhales, shutting his eyes. right, last time.

an inhumane screaming noise, loud and painful and entirely yuto.

an elderly couple crouching in front of him, repeatedly asking him how they can help.

his heart rate, his blood pressure, both spiked up to a concerningly high rate. his vitals alarm is blaring. the cameras in yuto’s eyes don’t reveal yuto himself, and seungjoon wonders, with a grim sense of dread, how he’d be feeling if he could see the state yuto was in himself.

they really, really don’t want a repeat of last time. hyojin’s right. he knows it, hyojin knows it, and he knows that hyojin knows that he knows it.

“the entire unit is worried for you. at first we thought this was a coping mechanism that would help you get better, but you’re only getting more stressed. it’s okay to take a break, but it’s not okay to keep working only to drop all your responsibilities. have you realized that you’ve left jaeyoung to single handedly take care of your team’s duties?”

seungjoon curses under his breath, finally turning around. “ah, shoot, i didn’t mean to do that.”

“i know. we sent minkyun over to help him out. he asked me not to bring it up, but you need to realize what you’re doing.” hyojin says, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“it’s just—” seungjoon starts, and just as suddenly stops. he flails his hands in the air a little, desperately trying to convey the hopelessness and frustration that’s suddenly welled in his throat. has breathing always been this hard?

hyojin nods, perfectly understanding. it’s amazing what over a decade of friendship will do for you. “take your time,” he says, patiently.

seungjoon takes a deep breath. and another one. collects his thoughts into some semblance of coherency. opens his mouth.

“this is different from ... minseok.” he begins, ignoring the way hyojin flinches a little. seungjoon feels the same.

“minseok was both our responsibilities. but yuto, he’s mine. and we didn’t even lose communication this time. but we can’t send him back to reboot his memories without his permission, and he doesn’t even remember how to give permission in the first place. i just have to sit and watch as he feeds some stupid cows or harvest some stupid crops! he is one of the smartest people in this agency and he’s farming? i just - ugh, i want him back.”

seungjoon kicks the wall underneath the computer desk. to his dismay, it barely makes a noise. he’s not any less frustrated, and he’s definitely just bruised his toe.

hyojin nods again, seemingly satisfied with seungjoon’s outburst of emotion. “it’s the first time you’ve been open to any of us in a while.” he comments, pensively.

seungjoon doesn’t grace him with a response. that cheeky little brat.

“i’m picking up dinner. is jajangmyeon alright?” hyojin asks abruptly.

“what?” seungjoon says.

“not a question. i’ll be back with the food in five minutes. oh, and i ordered tangsuyuk too.” hyojin states, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking it.

“have you forgotten that we’re not supposed to eat food around the very expensive computers?” seungjoon asks, raising his eyebrows.

hyojin’s lips quirk into a half smile. “since when have you and i followed the rules when it comes to food?”

seungjoon opens his mouth, and closes it. he chooses to nod instead. he couldn’t argue with that flawless logic even if he tried.

as hyojin walks out, another agent walks in, holding a clipboard to his chest with his arm. seungjoon frowns; he thought he knew everyone in his division, but he doesn’t recognize the man who just came in. “are you looking for someone?” seungjoon offers, tentatively.

“oh, no, i’ve just been stationed here.” the agent says, glancing down at his clipboard. “i’ve been told that tonight i have to monitor agent YO-425-83 —”

at this, seungjoon stiffens.

“— and orchestrate his dreams.” the strange agent finishes, unaware of the inner conflict that’s just risen in seungjoon’s brain.

seungjoon tries a smile. it feels forced and awkward on his face, but he hopes the other agent doesn’t notice. “were you debriefed on exactly how you were to do this?” seungjoon asks, his voice restrained and thick.

“somewhat, yes. i was given a file,” he starts, procuring a USB drive out of seemingly thin air, “and i was told to play the video into his memory feed. the rest, they said, was self-explanatory.”

oh. this is dangerous. seungjoon should most definitely not sit here and watch whatever memories they try to feed into yuto’s brain. he’s not mentally strong enough to handle it. it’s one thing to watch yuto on the farm, where he is a completely different person who never knew seungjoon or his life as an agent. it is another thing entirely to watch him be the person who he once was, only to have that fleeting image ripped out of seungjoon’s incapable hands yet again.

but seungjoon couldn’t stop himself from watching if he tried.

“may i monitor the process?” he decides to ask, rummaging through his bag propped up on another chair before pulling out his special badge. “i’m a supervisor, and this is a very delicate mission, so, as it’s your first time doing this, i’d like to ensure nothing goes wrong.”

the agent’s eyes widen. “y-yes, uh— of c-course, sir!” he stammers, fumbling over his words before dropping into a hasty bow. “i am so sorry, if i had known—”

seungjoon raises a hand, backing away from yuto’s monitoring computer and gesturing towards it. “no need to worry, you’ve done nothing wrong. now, why don’t you set up the system? we wouldn’t want to be late.”

the new agent hastens to oblige, pulling another chair in front of the computer before inserting the USB drive and typing furiously. the password screen clears, replaced by the thumbnail of the yuto’s dream’s video. it’s black, which gives no indication as to how this is going to go.

“would you like a headset, sir?” the agent offers, holding one out. “or do you not need to hear how the dream is going to monitor it?”

“thank you,” seungjoon says, putting the headset on and noticing how it cancels out the whirring of the computers and other white noises. for better or for worse, he is going to be fully immersed in this dream.

seungjoon holds his breath as the agent presses play.

it’s the strangest set of memories, and for once, seungjoon has no clue what the CEO was thinking. he can faintly recall where the scenes were from, though, based on the stories yuto had told. he’s searching for the key in an abandoned apartment. he’s investigating a fully secured museum, escaping from the alarms. he’s running from the authorities, hiding in a not-so-abandoned alleyway as he holds a gun to changyoon’s head, not realizing who it is. how is this supposed to help yuto gain his memories back, again?

the scene changes once more, and the proceeding image sends a chill up his spine. seungjoon curses, soft and low. it’s the asteroids; the reason why yuto had to go back and change things; the reason why he isn’t in this time and place anymore. if he could, seungjoon would take to a space station and destroy every single asteroid that ever dared to exist. every single stupid chunk of rock that stole parts of his life away. almost subconsciously, seungjoon switches the microphone on his headset to ‘on’.

“this is why we sent you back,” seungjoon says, sadly. dream yuto stills, says nothing, does nothing.

“sir?” the other agent asks in confusion. seungjoon ignores him.

“we wanted to change things,” he continues, watching as the asteroids get closer and closer to the ground. “we didn’t know it would end like this.”

‘didn’t know that you would be stuck in the past,’ seungjoon wants to add, but can’t. the last time they gave such a direct clue, yuto had an episode. he never wants to see yuto in pain like that again.

dream yuto shivers. for a second, seungjoon allows himself to hope that his words are working. that, once this is all over, yuto will activate the ‘return’ signal like he’s always been able to do.

“come back,” seungjoon pleads, letting the desperation bleed into his words.

dream yuto shakes his head, and it’s with a horrible jolt that seungjoon realizes the dream is coming to a close. before the moment ends, seungjoon squeaks out one last word.

“please.”

the dream stops.

seungjoon slumps back and stares at the monitor for a tense second. nothing happens. he pulls off his headset, gently placing it on the desk in front of him, and angrily swipes at the tears that have been rolling down his face.

-

hyojin drove him home.

he had taken one look at seungjoon’s miserable state and the computer in front of him before piecing together what he had missed. hyojin offered a brisk apology to the baffled, new agent in front of him before gathering his mess of a friend and declaring the work day over. seungjoon was in no position to disagree.

“take a nap. or watch a movie, or eat the jajangmyeon i put in your fridge, or whatever. but if i see you back at work today, i will end you.” hyojin threatened before cheerfully exiting.

seungjoon flops down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that everything is okay. wonders if, maybe, somewhere across time and space, someone out there is doing the same.

[cravingmarvel]

Kill All Your Friends - Chapter One

Bucky Barnes AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just some swear words I think

Word Count: 2700

Summary: You loved so many things about your boyfriend Steve. One thing is his passion to help people! But what you don’t know is that the person who needs his help would become your pain in the ass. Bucky Barnes is stubborn, selfish and messy! But as Steve is whisked away on a business trip, both of you are stuck living with each other for the weekend. 

But, what you both come to find out, is that you have more in common than you think. Bucky wakes something in you, that’s been missing for years… 

A/N: So this was unexpected hahah It seems to me that this story just came running out of my head. It’s so fun to write something that’s not necessarily revolved around angst and death lmao. I just hope you guys love it as much as I do and if you do, please let me know! Feedback is always greatly appreciated as you know! 

Have Fun!

You took another spoonful of cereal stuffing it into your mouth, while lazily scrolling through Instagram almost uninterested by the posts your friends and mutual connections uploaded. Steve stood in the kitchen making breakfast for himself. Nothing like cereal would be found in front of him at breakfast, he believed in a balanced breakfast. Sometimes you wished to be as disciplined as Steve, then maybe you wouldn’t be hungry two hours after having eaten Breakfast.

You’ve been dating Steve for almost four years now. Meeting him on your first day of your move form Utah to Brooklyn. You were clueless, helplessly trying to find your way to your job interview. He really saved the day not only telling you where the building is that you couldn’t find but walking you there himself. You really hit it off from the get-go and both of you have been inseparable from that day.

Steve’s phone started ringing and he didn’t hesitate to answer the caller, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Looking up from your bowl of Froot Loops, you could see Steve still standing in the kitchen, in one hand a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and in the other his phone held to his ear. His eyebrows furrowed together; the concern strong on his features. You couldn’t make out what he was saying, but your food wasn’t your top priority anymore regardless. Eventually, Steve hung up and sat down next to you.

“Is everything ok?” You asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. It couldn't be anything family related; he would’ve been out the door already.

“It was my college friend Bucky. He just lost his job and can’t pay his rent.” Steve looked up to face you. “I agreed to let him stay with us in the guest bedroom until he found something again, is that ok?” The apologetic looks on his face made you melt. Steve couldn’t resist helping people, even if he hasn’t heard from them since college. You have never heard Steve talk about Bucky, but you heard that name pop up once or twice before.

“I’m happy that we can help him out. When is he coming?” You removed your hand from his shoulder and looked down at the bowl in front of you with soggy Froot Loops now swimming happily around.

“Today. I think about five PM.”

As you closed the door behind you, you saw Steve sitting on the sofa, next to him another man his back facing you. It was clear that this was Bucky, so much you could guess. As Steve laid eyes on you, he stood up and the man you presumed to be Bucky did too.

He turned and you were a little taken aback by his appearance. Not that he looked bad, not in the slightest. His slightly messy, dark brown hair reaching his shoulders were pushed back a little and suited the overall vibe of him. His Black shirt, a little roughed up made to look like as if it has lived through some decades. His dark jeans and chunky boots completing the outfit. But what is even more mesmerizing are his eyes. Sure, Steve has blue eyes too, but Bucky’s are strikingly different.

He walked over to you, smiling a little as he held his hand out for you to shake. You felt the rings on his fingers and the firm grip. “I’m Bucky. I’m really sorry I’m invading your space.” He laughed at his own words, letting go of your hand.

“Oh no it’s no trouble, Bucky. I’m Y/n.” You looked into his eyes, smiling right back at him.

“Ok, I think you should unpack your things, make yourself at home, Buck.” Steve stood awkwardly behind Bucky and you just now realized he was here.

Bucky disappeared into the guest room down the hallway connected to the living space. You took your coat off and hung it beside the door.

“I’d never imagine you to be friends with someone like that.” You found yourself wondering what connected these two people together. You walked over to the kitchen area to make some dinner for everyone.

“Believe me, we get that a lot.” Steve walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you close, kissing you softly. You chuckled a little against his lips, wrapping your arms around his muscular torso.

Everything was fine… really. Until Bucky got a little too comfortable. Both you and Steve made great efforts to include Bucky in the household chores, but he just didn’t seem to care. It got even worse when he started to come back to the apartment late and crashing on the sofa. Not once did he clean up after himself and the headaches started for you in the mornings. Finding plates stacked on the coffee table and Bucky passed out.

But it didn’t end there, oh no. Bucky thought it would be smart to get cocky, making his little jokes about how you probably have ocd and then, when he played his music way too loud, he’d be ridiculous as always and tell you that you just have a shitty taste in music. You both got on each other’s nerves, but you wouldn’t let him get away with this.

You fought back hard, pouring water on his head while he slept on the sofa, putting the dirty dishes in his bed and stealing the toilet paper rolls out of his bathroom causing him to shout at you from his on suit bathroom. Not even his shampoo and body wash were safe from your revenge. But you justified it by telling him that, if he can’t clean the dishes, he simply has no right to clean himself.

Not even Steve, poor Steve, could help. He tried, he really did, but you two seemed to have signed a contract to never make this easier for anyone. It was a nightmare. He felt like a counsellor for married couples who seem to have more hate for each other more than love.

---

You flipped your pancake to the other side waiting for it to turn golden brown, as Bucky walked into the room. Steve mumbled a ‘good morning’, keeping his eyes peeled to his laptop. Bucky walked over to the kitchen and with a swift move, took your plate of finished pancakes and walked straight over to the kitchen table.

“Bucky, what the fuck?” You turned around as he sat down at the table, giving you a smug smile. As if that wasn’t enough, he picked one up and bit right into it without cutlery, his smile growing wider.

“Steve, man, I need your car today.” Bucky said, his mouth still full of food.

“Sorry Buck, but I need it myself. You can take Y/n’s if you want.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave the screen, but he knew exactly the kind of expression you have on your face.

“No!” You turned around quickly, anger striking your features.

“I need to get to this job interview. Don’t you want me off your back, doll?” Bucky pouted devilishly, not at all convincing you to give up your car keys.

“And I need to get to work!” You protested in return.

“Guys, please just stop. Babe, I’ll drive you to work and my buddy Richard can drive you home. Bucky needs to get to this interview.” Steve looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and by the look on his face your features softened too.

“Alright fine.”

­---

After thanking Richard, Steve’s co-worker and friend, you walked up to your apartment, taking your coat off as soon as you closed the door behind you. As you turned around Bucky jumped to his feet at the kitchen table and started to ramble nonsense you couldn’t make a sentence out of.

“Bucky slow down. What happened?” You walked closer to him and even though your consistent fighting, you couldn’t conceal your worry.

“I don’t know what happened. This guy just slid across the street right into me, I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. I’m so sorry.” As soon as his words left his mouth, your stomach dropped. You knew exactly what happened, he crashed your car.

“What the hell Bucky? How am I supposed to get anywhere? I don’t have a car for no reason!” Slamming your bag on the table you could feel the heat rising through your body.

“Y/n I swear it’s not that bad. I already took it to a mechanic, and he promised me it will be fixed tomorrow.” Bucky’s face didn’t relax as he continued to reassure you that your car will be fine.

“I need to go grocery shopping today, Bucky.” You ran your hands across your face, trying to calm yourself. It wasn’t the most ideal situation you were in, but it was truly not Bucky’s fault and he even made sure it’s being fixed right away. You were more frustrated than anything.

“I’ll come with you.” Bucky’s face softened and you agreed. “I’m truly sorry, Y/n.”

You look up to his face and maybe, just this time, you could forgive him. “We should get going.”

“Yeah hold on a second, I need to get something first.” Bucky sprinted off into the hallway and you exhaled deeply, putting your coat back on.

---

You guided Bucky through the grocery store, him walking closely behind you holding the basket. You looked at the list you made to find a new item to look for and cross the one off you got, handing Bucky each one to put in the basket. Bucky made it his job to mock you for having made a detailed list of all the things you need for each dish you already planned for the weekend to come. You tried to ignore him as best as you could because you know that this method is a million times better than the way he would be grocery shopping.

“You go make fun of my meal plan, but when you sit down at my dinner table and have a beautifully arranged dinner to eat remember why.” You snapped at him. He got the worst to come out of you when you didn’t need his negativity. And anyway, it’s not like you’re not being the better person, you’re defending yourself.

Both of you left, each one of you carrying a bag filled with groceries. You turned left walking into the direction of your home, but Bucky apparently had other plans. Bucky took off into the completely opposite direction, leaving you to stop and wonder what he’s doing.

Bucky turned around looking at you. “There’s something I need to do. Come on.” He continued walking further away from you, not noticing that you hadn’t taken a single step forward. Bucky stopped and walked towards you, grabbing your hand, dragging you behind him. “I don’t have all day, Y/n.” His grip on your hand wasn’t aggressive, just a little bit dominant.

“Bucky where the hell are we going?” You were tired of his surprises today, but the firm grip of his hand would be impossible to break away from anyway, so you just let him lead you away to wherever he needed to go. Still, you wondered where Bucky would need to go.

You caught up with his pace, but despite in doing so, Bucky didn’t let go of your hand. You just calmly walked around Brooklyn, hand in hand, as if this wasn’t your sworn enemy. As you turned another corner though, he loosened his grip.

“Wait here.” With Bucky giving you the bag, he walked towards an alleyway. A man roughly the age of forty stood against the wall. They hugged and the man pointed to you, smiling warmly.

You stood there, waving awkwardly with a bag of groceries in your hand. You asked yourself why on earth he couldn’t meeting his grandpa friend another time.

Bucky pulled a small plastic bag out of his jean jacket and your jaw dropped right to the floor. He was selling drugs and he took you with him. The other man handed Bucky a stack of money. You nervously looked around yourself as if there would be anyone ready to arrest you. Never in your life did you think you would witness a drug deal right in front of your eyes. Yes, not even in college. Now the answer to the question as to what on earth brought Steve and Bucky together seemed to shift further away from you.

Bucky walked back towards you, stuffing the money into his pocket. He took back the bag and started walking nonchalantly as if nothing happened. “Are you coming?” Bucky stopped and waited for you to catch up with him.

“What was that, Bucky? You can’t just drag me into your dirty ass business!” You asked, trying to make sense of the situation as you caught up with his pace. You weren’t necessarily mad at him, just a little taken aback by the witnessing of a crime. You couldn’t care less about how or where he get’s his money from, if it gets him arrested, it’s his own fault.

“It’s going to pay for your car. And anyway, relax- “Bucky took your hand into his again, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “-Clint is one of my friends.”

It’s not like you didn’t care about the fact that that man was someone random, it was the fact that you were too focussed on him just holding your hand as if it was normal to do that. You stared at your intertwined hands and you were sure there were literal question marks coming out of your brain. One part of you wanted to rip your hand away from his, but the other part didn’t mind.

As both of you arrived at your apartment, you let go of one another and walked into your home, ready to be enemies again, as you saw Steve stuffing his charger into a suitcase.

“Hey, babe, what are you doing?” You set the bag on the kitchen counter, Bucky following your actions, both you and Bucky looking puzzled at Steve.

“My boss needs me to come with him to this really important business trip to Chicago. I have to catch the flight leaving tonight and don’t worry, I’ll be back in like two days.” Steve looked at you with every apology written on his face possible. He knew exactly that this could go just fine or absolutely terrible. You could sense the fear that you and Bucky will basically murder each other. And option two wasn’t that impossible to occur.

Steve moved closer to you, kissing your lips quickly.

“Oh… are you sure no one else could go?” You never want to stand in the way of his career and you never had. It also never really bothered you when he went away for work, but this time, yes, this time you wanted him to stay at all costs. Being alone with Bucky Barnes for two whole days wasn’t your idea of fun. You looked at Steve with pleading eyes.

“No, I’m sorry babe. This is so last minute already. The guy who was supposed to go broke his leg this morning, and I have to get to the airport in thirty minutes so there’s no time to find someone else.” Steve looked down to the watch on his wrist. “Are you two going to be ok here? I would like to come back to see this place still standing and you two still alive if that’s possible.” Steve raised his eyebrows.

Bucky walked forward from behind you to stand next to you, way too closely, putting his arm around your shoulders. “Of course, Steve. Y/n and I will be just fine.”

You exhaled deeply, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Steve smiled sweetly and grabbed his suitcase, kissing you one last time before he disappeared through the door. You looked up to Bucky, who had the most ridiculous, cheesy, evil smile on his face and all you wanted to is throw up. You harshly removed his arm and walked to your room. You couldn’t believe you held hands with him… in public.

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Chapter Two

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5543 Chapter: 4/5 Rated: T+ Summary: They wake in a forest far from home. Bodies lay dead and broken across the clearing. All they can remember is their names. (Madara falls in love with a single look.)

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Chapter 4

Waking up to Tobirama’s face the next morning didn’t happen precisely the way Madara planned it. He’d fallen asleep envisioning the gradual drift back to awareness and opening his eyes to find that familiar gaze blinking back at him with the same morning squint and messy hair he’d been waking up to for weeks. A moment of clarity to help him decide. Instead he was woken up by the sound of angry grumbling, cracking his lids to see Tobirama already dressed for the day and rustling through the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. His hair was still sticking up in wild places as it was wont to do – he never combed it until he actually needed to leave the house – but it wasn’t exactly the soft morning light moment that Madara had expected.

“I know it’s in here,” Tobirama was muttering to himself as he dug through a basket of random items shoved between two stacks of textbooks. “Where would I–? Ha! Yes, I knew it!”

He spun with a worn and yellowed notebook in hand only for his triumphant expression to melt away in to guilt when he spotted the eyes watching him with bleary confusion.

“Good morning to you too,” Madara said, buying himself a little more time to think.

“Ah. My apologies. I did not mean to wake you.”

“S’fine.”

Tobirama smiled at him then and swept across the room. Before Madara had a chance to decide how he wanted to react he found soft lips pressing against his brow in a fond and familiar gesture. He waited for the disgust, for the wave of hatred that had accompanied every interaction between the two of them since they first met at the river as young indoctrinated children, but it never came. All he felt was warm. Perhaps a little fidgety.

“Did you sleep well?” Tobirama asked him.

“No. I had a nightmare.” As soon as the words were out he wanted to hit himself. He really hadn’t meant to admit that.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He’d never shaken his head quite so vigorously before and he didn’t even realize the impression it would give until Tobirama kissed his brow again with an achingly understanding look. Clearly the man thought he’d had an actual nightmare, the type even men like them didn’t want to think about, and for a moment he was possessed of the instinctual need to puff himself up and shout that he wasn’t so weak as to be scared by whatever his sleeping imagination could come up with. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. That was an old habit, yelling at Tobirama, always trying to prove himself the better. His new memories were much more genial and if he wanted a little more time to get himself set straight on what he wanted then there could be no hints of anything but what this current Tobirama expected from him.

“Breakfast then?”

“Yeah, that would be good. Unless you’ve already eaten.”

Tobirama shook his head, offering a hand. After what he hoped was a barely perceptible pause Madara took the hand and allowed himself to be pulled up out of bed. Preparing breakfast together was something they had done often enough to be considered normal and it was nice to just let his thoughts fall away, following along with comfortable patterns. Later he could tear himself apart with indecision. Trying to think right now with Tobirama’s genius mind and sharp eyes watching his every move would be a quick way to get himself discovered.

Guilt washed over him but Madara ruthlessly pushed it away to concentrate on the now.

The now could only last for so long, however, and breakfast was over much quicker than he wanted it to be. It felt like one moment they were standing at the stove preparing rice and eggs and then the next moment Tobirama was drawing him in for a slow lingering kiss goodbye before heading off to romp around in the laboratory he had discovered. With his memories Madara could have told the man what sort of madness usually went on in there and how many dangerous things were hiding in innocuous places like jars on the shelves or unlabeled scrolls. But nothing terrible had happened yet and saying anything would have given him away so he kept his mouth shut, watching in silence as that pert little bottom hustled out the door.

Why, he asked himself as he spun back around abruptly, was he staring at Tobirama’s ass? Never in his life had he so much as considered staring at Tobirama’s ass. Well, not before anyway. He had certainly done more than that in the time since the incident. Madara groaned and wobbled in to the living room so he could collapse on the couch. If he considered himself in any way classy he might have described the weakness in him as an attack of the vapors but he wasn’t quite as delicate as that. Almost but not quite. He still felt quite shaken as the personality and opinions he had developed over a lifetime came finally and truly face to face with the fact that, given a chance to meet again with no prejudice, he had actually come to enjoy having Tobirama in his life. They had grown close. They had been undeniably good for each other.

And they had fallen in love as easily as breathing.

Unequipped as he was to deal with this sort of thing, his first thought was that he should leap up and find someone to talk him through this, someone who could help make sense of the madness he’d gotten himself in to. The big problem with that plan was that there simply wasn’t anyone for him to talk to. Izuna was the last person to ask for an opinion on whether he should leave Tobirama or stick it out to see if these new feelings could handle the pressure of all the past between them. He knew even without asking what his brother’s answer to that would be. And he couldn’t go to Hashirama either because the man had a mouth so big the entire village would know he’d remembered everything long before he ran in to Tobirama again – not to mention the familial bond between them sort of biased Hashirama's answer too. That was pretty much the entire list of people Madara trusted with his personal life. He’d never been a man with a very large inner circle.

Letting his body droop over the furniture like he was only accentuated the confusion inside him so Madara sat up and let his head flop over the back of the sofa instead to stare up at the ceiling. There were really only two options here so he wasn’t sure why he was being so indecisive. Normally he was the type to pick a direction on gut feeling alone and then cling to that decision with everything he had. Stubborn as a goat just like Tobirama had said so many times. Being so unsure was new to him and he really didn’t like the way it made him feel, all twisted up in his belly and hot in his chest like he’d swallowed his own Grand Fireball.

In a moment of true weakness he considered going and talking to Mito. Of all people that devil woman could be counted on to give a brutally honest summary of his options and despite her connection to Tobirama she could probably provide an objective opinion as well. He still decided against it. She had always hated him a little too strongly for his general comfort and the thought of giving her so much power over him make every inch of skin on his body itch.

That left him with absolutely no one to vent to, though, and there was simply too much inside of him to keep it all contained. Which half of his heart did he listen to? One side had been taught that Tobirama was the root of all evil and sneered when he passed but the other side looked at him with soft eyes and yearning fingers and the two halves of him were so at ends he felt caught between two crashing waves in a never ending moment of pure indecision. He needed to decide. And if he couldn’t then he needed to do something with all of the frantic energy building inside as the panic started to rise. If anyone walked in the door at that moment it would take only one look at him to know that something was terribly wrong, just the opposite of the image he was trying to convey.

With jitters in his limbs Madara brought his head up and rolled to his feet all in one smooth motion, heading for the door only to turn back around as he reached for the handle when he realized he was not entirely dressed. It took barely a minute to throw on proper clothing, another four or five to wrestle his hair in to a low ponytail instead of brushing it, then he was moving for the door again and doing his best not to tense automatically as he stepped out alone in to Senju territory. Factually he knew that the people here had gotten well used to him in the weeks he’d been living among them but a large part of his brain now looked around and wondered how many of them were still uncomfortable to see him strolling about unescorted as though he belonged. Until the accident he had rarely set foot in this area of the village and only ever when Hashirama dragged him over for dinner.

Deciding where to go was a lot easier than deciding what to do with the rest of his life. Madara's feet were already heading east almost before he consciously acknowledged where he was going, straight for the same place he had always gone to when emotions or life in general threatened to overwhelm him, one of the only places he felt safe letting everything out. Passing the guards at the gate was as easy as pointing vaguely off in the direction he wanted and they waved him on by without further question. He remembered now that they were used to seeing him pop off in to the woods for a bit of venting and wondered if they knew about the memories he wasn’t supposed to have, if they thought it was odd to finally see him popping off again after so long staying away from his favorite stomping grounds.

The closer he got to the clearing the antsier he felt, like his body knew why it was here and grew only more and more eager with every step. By the time he finally stepped past the ring of seals that would contain the worst of his damage he was nearly vibrating and it was nothing short of a relief to haul back and punch the first tree that dared to grow in his path. Hashirama could always grow another tree. Right now he had some feelings to express.

Way too many feelings and all of them conflicting.

Gritting his teeth, Madara watched the wood explode in to thousands of splinters and thought, not enough. The first tree had no time to fall from where it was clouding the air before he spun and decimated another. And another. It wasn’t enough. Lips peeled back in a tight grimace, he clasped both hands together in one large fist, raised them up, then brought them crashing down to split the earth at his feet. Watching the crack stretch out before him was satisfying but it still just wasn’t nearly enough to release everything he was feeling.

A guttural cry filled with emotions he didn’t even want to name escaped as he lifted his arms and brought them back down again, this time without chakra just to feel the sting of the impact. That helped. When he stood he spun and kicked a tree to hear the shatter of wood and the crashing impact as it fell to the earth. Long used to the thrill of battle, his body responded to his actions out of habit, feeding him adrenaline and pumping chakra hot through his veins. Madara pulled on it and flew through a set of hand signs he could have performed in his sleep.

The fire wouldn’t leave his little ring of seals but just watching the flames chew at the leaves, flickering and dancing and destroying everything in their path, that was better. That was enough. He did it again. Over and over Madara went through his entire arsenal of fire jutsu, screaming with every breath just because it felt good. Something about flame had always been so cathartic to him, cleansing, burning away the feelings he didn’t want to leave room for the calm he so desperately needed. With so much inside of him there could be no easy fix this time but it still felt good to rage and kick up a fuss out here where there was no one to see his moment of weakness, no one to judge as he beat the world in to the submission he wanted from his own heart. The irony did not escape him that so many times in the past Tobirama had been the one to disparage him for his lack of control and here he was being such a fine example of everything the man had been talking about as he tried to decipher his feelings for that very same person.

Of course, he couldn’t keep up that much steam forever. No matter his larger than average chakra stores they were not bottomless. Eventually running through so many jutsu one after the other began to take its toll and Madara felt his limbs flagging, his fingers struggling to form the signs as quickly as he wanted them to. He pushed himself further still. It was another hour at least before finally he kicked a burning tree and found he no longer had the strength to crack it down with one blow or even two. Only when he fell still did he finally realize that he was heaving for breath, sucking in great gulps of air, sweat running down his face in thick rivulets to drip from his chin.

Pausing to look around himself was like watching the world come back in to focus as a genjutsu faded away. Without noticing he had somehow managed to stomp his way in to a completely different part of the forest, still within the massive area of safety protected by seals but quite far from where he started. He didn’t even remember moving his feet very much except to kick at the trees. Turning to look behind, Madara sighed. The forest looked much like it had when they first came through and began tearing up trees to clear room for the first rows of houses back during the initial construction of their village. Hashirama was going to lecture him for hours about being nicer to the trees, the great windbag. He had the power to make entire forests appear in minutes yet he cried every time someone stepped on a twig.

Facing forward didn’t comfort him very much either, standing on the edge of the Naka River in one of the spots where it grew shallow enough to wade across with no chakra. It felt like irony that he would find something even out here to remind him of Tobirama.

Without giving his actions much thought Madara stumbled forward and splashed in to the shallow river, crumpling down to sit on his bottom and allow the gentle flow of water to cool his heated skin. At first he felt a little ridiculous but shuffling backwards a little gave him a nice rock to lean up against and drop his head back to stare up at the sky. Hours had gone by. The sun was much farther across the sky than it had been when he arrived, far enough that he should have been thinking about getting home for lunch except whenever he thought of home there were two places that came to mind and that right there was his entire problem. Where was home really?

His vision glazed over as his thoughts began to drift. All the adrenaline that had driven him onward through his little temper tantrum had burned away to leave him feeling almost hollow in the aftermath. This was exactly what he’d needed. With exhaustion in his limbs and his mind just a little hazy with it he allowed his thoughts to simply go where they would, instinct finally taking the reins over all the thoughts of ‘I should this’ or ‘I should that’.

Stupidly, his first thought was to compare the river water to Tobirama himself. Not so much because the man was basically water in human form or even because of the deep connection he had to his own element but rather because of the coolness of it, the gentle soothing feeling as it flowed on by. It quite reminded him of what life had been like for the last few weeks. Tobirama in private was a cool and soothing presence ready at a moment’s notice to calm the fires that Madara stoked with the easiest provocation. A brush of his chakra was much the same sensation as the flow of water against skin, cleansing, comforting. Lying here with the water flowing around him felt like the river were washing away all the confusion and doubt to leave him with nothing but one simple thought.

Eyes widening, breath hitching, Madara continued to stare upwards without truly seeing the sky as everything inside of him fell in to place with a startlingly gentle click. It was like the clouds parting for a ray of light to come through except he wasn’t really looking at the clouds. For all the confusion he’d been wrestling with since he woke in the middle of the night he had failed to realize one simple yet all-important truth. The memories of hatred, the terrible thoughts of all the wrongs he and Tobirama had committed against each other and all the ways they simply couldn’t work, those only came when he looked for them. When he turned his brain off and let instinct take over his first thoughts of Tobirama were yearning and soft – embarrassingly so. The choice of what he wanted had never been a hard one.

He had already made his choice, apparently. All he’d needed to do was accept it and accepting his own emotions had always been his greatest downfall. Denial was more his forte.

A smile turned up the corners of his lips and Madara just barely resisted the urge to splash both arms about him like a joyful child. Even here where he was completely alone there was no need to throw his dignity so completely to the wind in such a manner. He did bring his hands up just to watch the water pouring out between his fingers, back in to the river to flow away downstream with all his doubts.

His skin was a little pruned when he finally hauled himself out, his clothing sopping wet, and he was afraid to check his pockets to see if there was anything in them that he might have just ruined with river water. But he felt lighter than air and at the same time more grounded than he might have ever felt before in his life. His steps were easy and swift as he wound his way back through the carnage he’d made of the forest, not even the thought of Hashirama's reaction to all this enough to sour his mood.

In fact, his steps paused for a moment only to continue with the smile on his face turning ever so slightly evil. Hashirama. That absolute weasel. He had looked the both of them in the eye and blatantly lied without a single thought for how they would feel when that damn jutsu faded. Best friends or not that was a betrayal Madara would not be quick to forget. That was just the sort of blindly hopeful idiocy he would expect from the man but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take his time planning the sweetest, most painful revenge he could think up. And being possessed of a slightly twisted mind there were all sorts of painful things he could think up to make Hashirama's life a living hell.

And for Izuna as well. Just because they were siblings that didn’t mean he would skimp on revenge when it was necessary. Madara scoffed to think that Izuna had tried to protect himself by telling him to remember he had asked to be left alone. What nonsense. In a state of mind where he only had access to half the necessary information of course he would say something like that. As a good and loving brother Izuna should have given him the other half of the information he needed long before that point. Madara was glad he hadn’t, obviously, but that didn’t change the fact that he should have.

Both of them were due for a world a pain.

Returning home was a much lighter journey than leaving had been and stepping through the same front door he’d run out of earlier brought a feeling of deep relief to have the confidence that he did want to be here. Tobirama’s chakra was still buzzing away where his labs were set up beyond the edge of the compound, no sign that he was heading home yet. It hit Madara just then that he’d never actually stood and watched the man work. He’d heard all sorts of stories from Hashirama of course and made a lot of assumptions based mostly off of rumors but for all that he claimed to know the sort of mad science that went on in there he had never stood and witnessed anything with his own two eyes. Well, nothing beyond the motions of Tobirama pausing in his work to glare at him the few times he had gone to interrupt the man. At some point he really should tag along and see how right or wrong his assumptions had been.

That was for later, though. Right at the moment he was making a mess of Tobirama’s well-scrubbed floors with all the water he was dripping everywhere. Since he was alone here for the moment he felt no shame stripping off so he could deal with the clothing first, tramping back to the front hallway naked with a towel in hand to deal with that mess second. Only once both of those things were taken care of did he hop in to the shower for a quick rinse so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his day stinking of the river.

Lunch time was right on top of him after he was dressed again with his hair brushed out properly so he set about whipping something up for both of them in case Tobirama miraculously remembered to eat. And it was a good thing he did. No sooner had he set the table than he felt that familiar cool water sensation flowing towards him, bringing an unconscious smile to his face. He felt almost like a domestic house husband standing by the table with contentment in his chest waiting to serve the meal he had made for them both and, oddly enough, there was no part of him that balked at feeling that way. Even his pride was purring happily to know that he could make such a good partner.

“Someone looks like he’s had a good day so far,” Tobirama murmured after pausing in the doorway. Ignoring the food for a moment, he first came over to pull Madara close and kiss him gently on both cheeks.

“I did. It was very…enlightening.” He smiled to see his partner pull away to give him a suspicious look.

“Been reading strange books again, I take it?”

“I’ll never tell.”

Tobirama eyed him for a moment more before ostensibly deciding that he could live without knowing. They sat down to eat a peaceful lunch together and Madara was happy to keep the conversation away from himself, asking questions about what the other man had gotten up to in the lab. He wondered how complicated the experiments could be if Tobirama didn’t remember most of his own scientific knowledge or if it was all so instinctually ingrained in him that he was able to pick it back up without much thought.

From the sounds of it most of Tobirama’s afternoon today had been filled with reading through some old notebooks that he’d found hidden in a dusty back cupboard, looking through projects that seemed to have been abandoned some time ago. Just listening to the passion in his voice was so magnetic Madara was left wondering how he could have never noticed before. This was the same passion he’d heard a hundred times and more at the council table and yet he’d never realized before how captivating it could be.

It boggled the mind that he could have been so blinded by an ages-old baseless hatred that he couldn’t see something this beautiful right in front of his face. He almost wanted to find a way to go back in time just so he could kick some sense in to himself. Not just for wasting so much time when he could have been as happy as he had been during this entire episode but for being such a piss poor unobservant idiot. How could he stand to call himself one of the paramount shinobi when he couldn’t see past his own prejudice to something this big underneath? It was almost unthinkable how badly he had failed to summarize Tobirama in his own mind.

They cleaned up from the meal together and afterwards Tobirama noted that he was beginning to feel stagnant, not having exercised in any way yet that day. He invited Madara to spar in the backyard, unaware of the man’s current state of half exhaustion, and Madara was rather proud of himself for not letting the panic show on his face. Instead he sidestepped the offer by saying he had already gone through some light exercise himself. Tobirama only shrugged, moving outside to begin stretching in the middle of the backyard.

Since he really had nothing else to do at the moment Madara brewed himself a cup of tea and settled on the engawa to watch. Observation was the sort of skill one should never allow to get rusty and what better subject to practice on than Tobirama bending his body in to all sorts of interesting shapes? Studying the minute shifts of muscle and the perfect control he had of every motion was a very pleasant way to spend the next hour or so, so pleasant in fact that he began to wonder why they hadn’t done this more often.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to join me?” Tobirama asked eventually with a quiet chuckle. “You have that look in your eyes that says you want something.”

“Maybe I just want you,” Madara heard himself purring, covering his surprise with a sip of tea.

Tobirama rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “Yes, thank you, that wasn’t made entirely obvious by the drool on your chin.”

Horrified, Madara swiped at the corners of his mouth to make sure there wasn’t actually any drool. Thankfully the man was just teasing him. After glaring he harrumphed and stood to clear away the dishes he’d brought out with him. If he was only going to be made fun of then sitting out here didn’t sound very fun anymore. Just because he loved the man, loved his irascibility even, that didn’t mean he had to roll over and take such grievous abuse.

Muffled laughter followed him inside.

Until the other was finished getting a bit of energy out Madara entertained himself with poking around the kitchen and mentally planning out dinner for later. He was only just wondering whether he should tackle some of the laundry, maybe clean up some of the evidence of his little dip in the river, when Tobirama finally came inside, pulling off his shirt as he walked to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Just like that Madara was back to staring. In some ways he had always known that Tobirama was physically attractive, that was the sort of thing that was hard not to notice. But the few times that pale skin and red eyes had snuck in to his imagination as he lay pleasuring himself at night he had always cast such thoughts as far away as possible. He’d been barely willing to even consider the man human so strong had been his hatred and it was only now that he’d been forcibly given a second glance that he thought to wonder why.

What made his hatred so strong for this one person? There were hundreds of other Senju and every one of them had Uchiha blood on their hands. Hell, there were still some of them alive who could be implicated in his own siblings’ deaths, though Madara had no proof to make any accusations. For all his faults Tobirama had always been one of the loudest voices calling to end the tradition of child hunting. It should have been a point in his favor.

“I think I’ll do laundry,” the man in question mumbled to himself. “No one else should have to deal with this stench.” He held his shirt out in front of him with a wrinkled nose and ambled off down the hallway to do the laundry Madara had just been thinking of.

Alone again just like that, Madara stumbled over to the living room and slumped down on the couch in a mirror of the position he had worried away his morning in. Waiting for Tobirama to remember was all he could do, leaving it up to fate or luck was all well and good, but how much of a chance did he really have? When the memories came flooding back and Tobirama remembered how horribly he’d been treated over the years – well, Madara certainly wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t able to see past that.

He sat bolt upright almost before his body had truly settled on the cushions. What was Tobirama going to think about the fact that Madara had remembered everything and yet chosen to stay here like a viper in the nest waiting to strike? In his joy to have finally understood his own heart he realized now that he hadn’t taken the time to consider Tobirama’s or the way his actions might look to the other man. He may not have as much of a chance as he had originally estimated.

Which was already a fairly small chance, if truth be told.

Scrubbing at his face with both hands didn’t help but at least he wasn’t building up more frantic energy that he would need some sort of excuse to run away and expel. Inviting someone to a spar would look incredibly suspicious after he had already claimed to be done with exercising for the day.

By the time Tobirama returned from tossing a load of laundry in the washer and soaking in the warm water Madara had left for him in the tub he found nothing more out of the ordinary than a happy calm looking partner reading a book on the sofa. He was smiling as he selected a book of his own and slid down on the other half of the couch to enjoy a bit of peaceful reading. Madara hoped that his heavy sigh of relief was quiet enough to go unnoticed but just in case he kept the book he was staring at raised to cover his face.

Reading, he had realized, gave him the perfect excuse to sit still and just stare off in the space while his thoughts ran in circles. All he had to do was turn a page every once in a while and Tobirama would never dare disturb him.

What he needed was a plan. If Tobirama’s old memories were going to convince him to leave then what Madara needed to do was give him a reason to stay. He needed to make new memories, happy memories that could demonstrate every reason they should be together. And he needed to get started on that right away; his own memories had already returned, Tobirama’s could come back at any time. That Yamanaka bitch had said their own chakra stores would simply dissolve the foreign chakra inside of them at an unknown rate so the way he figured it his slightly larger stores were probably the only reason he’d recovered first.

It was a race against time now. Lowering his book just enough to peer at the man on the other end of the couch, Madara offered a small prayer that he would have enough. Otherwise the only other plan was to confess everything and hope that for once in his life Tobirama showed mercy.

[howling-harpy]

No question about it

Pairing: Winters/Nixon Rating: G Word count: 3454 Summary: Loose lips sink ships prompt fill: “Dick and Lew have been a couple since the end of the war, pretty much married but keeping it quiet. When Ambrose interviews them in the '90s, he 100% fails to notice. ” Disclaimer:  This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect. In this universe there is also a historian who interviews the men of Easy. He shall be called Steven.

*

Steven was excited for this project. His previous book on paratrooper infantry had been a success as well as a lot of work, and after all that he had thought he was done with the subject. Only he had been wrong, since after accidentally running into a reunion his interest had been completely captured again, and here he was.

He already had a good chunk of the Easy Company men’s anecdotes and stories, and based on those alone Steven knew he definitely wanted to work them into a proper historical publication, and it would feel all the more powerful with personal testimonies. He just couldn’t quite believe that he was here, about to talk to those two men everyone had mentioned in pretty much every story with nothing short of absolute admiration and dedication. Mr. Winters wasn’t an easy man to get to know. Sure, he was polite and pleasant, but as someone trying to dig deeper Steven had quickly noticed that the man wouldn’t spill the beans to just anyone. They had so far talked only on the phone, but even like that Steven had gotten the feeling of being put in his place by a gentle yet strict grandfather whenever he tried to pry into things that apparently weren’t his business yet. But as time went on, Steven had slowly won the man’s trust and assured him he intended to do right by the men – that was the part Winters had been really concerned about: his men. And now finally, Steven had managed to culminate enough trust to be invited here, into the man’s own home. The farmhouse was a thing Winters had been working on for many years as a side project and finally near retirement sold his house in the city and moved there permanently. Steven had driven two hours from the airport to get there, and by the time he turned his small rental car to the driveway the upcoming meeting had turned from distant to palpable. It was a forest green two-story house with a large porch, surrounded by apple trees and garden roses, then vegetable patches and rows of corn, a small potato field and sunflowers. Years of hard work was evident, and the operation looked like it had spread with time and become more and more ambitious. Steven parked his car, gathered his research files, notebooks and tape recorder, walked up to the porch with it all and rang the doorbell. A dog barked somewhere in the house. Steven could hear its paws on hardwood floors as the animal was the first one to get to the door, but only a moment later he heard a familiar voice ordering: “Tom! Basket!”, and then the door opened. Winters had hunched down in his old age a bit but he was still tall, his hair was the colour of faded copper, the remains of once no doubt flaming red, and his pale blue eyes were clear and sharp behind his glasses. He was already smiling when he opened the door knowing who to expect, and he gave Steven an evaluating once-over. “Hello, Steven. Nice to meet you in person, please come in,” he said and stepped aside. Steven smiled, excited and nervous, but in a good way. “Good day, Mr. Winters, thank you. It’s an honor to finally meet you.” “Please, drop the formalities, this is my home and I’ll have none of that here,” Winters said, waving a hand. “Did you find your way here alright?” Steven shook off his jacket and put it in a hanger. “Yes, thanks to your instructions. It was a drive, but the way was easy. You have a beautiful house.” “Thank you. It’s been under a lot of work for a long time. Please, come to the kitchen, we’ll have coffee and something to eat.” Steven followed. The house was warm and cosy inside, carpets on the floor and curtains in the windows, and as he followed Winters down the hallway, he got a glance into a living-room with several overflowing bookcases, a plush couch with embroidered pillows, and a fireplace with two armchairs in front of it. When they passed the staircase to the second floor, Steven had a fright when Winters suddenly slammed his hand against the railing and called upstairs: “Lewis! Don’t be rude, we have a quest!” Steven had been too busy being impressed with Winters and had completely forgotten that Nixon lived with him. He didn’t beat himself up too much about it since he had only spoken with Winters who had also invited him, and Nixon hadn’t spoken to him or agreed to be interviewed. They continued down the hall to the kitchen, a huge space that had the dining room joined to it. There’s already coffee brewing and the small kitchen table had been set for three. “Please take a seat and do whatever you do with those things,” Winters told him while gesturing at his tape recorder and continued to the fridge, where he took various plates out on the counter. Steve spread out his notebook and set up the recorder in the middle of coffee cups and dessert plates. On the other side of the table was apparently Winters’ place with a stack of photo albums and folders of other mementos next to his cup and plate, and Steven felt a tremor of excitement go through him. “Can I help you with any of that?” Steven asked, tearing his eyes from the stockpile of material. Winters had piled up plates and trays from the fridge on the counter and was holding a plate of sandwiches and another of cookies, and now threw Steven an appreciative look, probably actually meant for his mother for installing manners to him. “Sure, if you want to. I’ll get the coffee. Also, there’s a pie in the oven.” Steven got up and carried plate after plate to the table. “This looks amazing, Major, but this is also way too much,” he said and actually meant it. There were cookies, cinnamon buns, little sandwiches, cupcakes, and apparently an apple pie still in the oven too. “Nonsense,” Winters said, “and I meant it about the formalities. Just Dick is fine, especially since you plan to pry into my life.” “Oh, no, it’s just research, and anything you don’t want to disclose you can just say and I’ll –” Steven stopped abruptly when he looked at Winters, saw his smile and twinkling eyes and realized he was joking. Steven laughed nervously. “Yes, well. Casual, then.” The coffee was ready, and Winters picked up the pot, brought it to the table and poured it into three cups. “Casual is the best way to go. I know this must seem like a big thing to you, but to me it’s just how things were. It was a job, and it was over forty years ago. It calls for little fanfare,” he said. Steven sat down and picked up his pen. He had to scribble that down to remember it later, since he knew fully well he himself couldn’t treat any of this as just a job or a casual thing no matter how much it was so to Winters. Steven also glanced at the third coffee cup for the other man living there, who had yet to show himself, but decided not to ask. “So. What do you want to start with?” Winters asked, mixing milk and sugar into his coffee. “Um… Anything you’d like. I’m planning on writing about everything from beginning to end without focusing on any single event or operation. I’d like the full picture. A personal testimony,” he said. “Beginning, then,” Winters said, “that was in 1942.” Steven turned the tape-recorder on, and they started about paratrooper training. Winters talked generally about physical training and equipment, occasionally side-tracking to talk about his fellow soldiers, friends and acquaintances he had made, and Steven interjected only with specifying questions. The thing that actually interrupted them was when the egg timer went off. “That would be the pie,” Winters said and got up. The smell of simmering apples, cinnamon and sugar spread into the kitchen as soon as he opened the oven. Winters brought the pie to the table, setting it down in the middle and tossing the oven mittens to the side. He supported himself on the edge of the table and lowered himself back to his seat. “Now, where were we?” he asked. “Uh… You were telling me about utilizing airborne infantry in Operation Overlord,” Steven answered. Even despite his excitement he had gotten distracted by the pie. “Ah, yes. We were all qualified paratroopers at this point of course, we knew our function, but an actual campaign has so much more attributes to it and there’s no training for those. We didn’t know when or where we were going, or what our mission after landing would be, so – “ he paused suddenly, eyes turned to the door and a new kind of smile spread on his face, lines around his eyes drawing deep. “Look who decided to finally come down.” Steven turned around just in time to see another elderly man entering the kitchen. “Yeah, don’t think too much about it. I’m here for the pie,” Lewis Nixon grunted, brown eyes narrowed at Winters as he came in. He had thinning silvery hair he had combed neatly back, heavy grey brows and white stubble covering his cheeks. He had a reserved look on his face, but he still nodded to Steven in acknowledgment before sitting down next to Winters. “You should have come sooner. Your coffee must be cold at this point,” Winters said. “Oh well, I’ll drink it anyway,” Nixon replied nonchalantly, already reaching for the steaming pie. “You know what the old maids say, cold coffee makes one more beautiful.” Winters’ smile stretched into a grin as he watched his friend piling his plate with pie, then with cookies and cinnamon buns and a singular cupcake, “like you ever needed any help with that.” Nixon took a sip from his coffee cup and glanced at his side, clearly pacified. Wrinkles on his forehead and between his brows smoothed, and when he spoke to Steven he sounded considerably less bristled. “So, you’re here about the war? Has he ranted about our first CO to you yet? Because if you ask about him, you’ll get enough material for all your little tapes,” Nixon quipped to Steven while he mixed sugar into his black, lukewarm coffee. “We talked about him some,” Steven said. Winters had let his feelings be known but hadn’t ranted per se, probably still holding back on that front, as it suddenly occurred to Steven. “Would you like to make a contribution?” Nixon’s lined face was soft and his cheeks slightly droopy, but his brown eyes were suddenly sharp while he simply kept stirring his coffee. “No. Like I said, I’m here for the pie, and I’m not going to answer any questions. So you can turn that recorder off for as long as I’m here.” “Certainly,” Steven said easily and did as he was asked to. Recording was a privilege that he hadn’t always enjoyed anyway, and he had a feeling that if he wanted anything out of Nixon it would be on the man’s own terms anyway. Winters sighed at his friend’s attitude and shook his head but didn’t comment. “We were just getting to D-Day,” he said. Nixon snorted. “Oh great, the worst day of our lives.” “It wasn’t the worst day, Nix.” “You’re right, it was only the worst day of our lives so far. It got steadily worse from there.” “That’s not true,” Winters said, leaning closer to his friend, close enough to bump their shoulders together. He sounded comforting, gentle and warm in a way true friends apparently did after spending most of their lives together. “The next day was a good one. I saw you again, for starters.” Nixon visibly softened at that, gave Winters a yielding look and ceased with his comments, taking a bite of a cinnamon bun instead. “This is good,” he said with his mouth full. Winters smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Anything for you.” Steven watched them from the other side of the table, pen and paper ready now that recording had been denied of him. What he could pick up on was that Winters and Nixon had been on separate planes during the Operation Overlord and been uncertain of each other’s fates for the entire night and most of the next day. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like, being sent on such a dangerous mission separately from your best friend and then not knowing if they were okay for so long. “You didn’t see each other at all while in Normandy?” he asked. Winters refocused on the subject again. “We did, but at that point the invasion was on the way and we were moving tanks to the beach.” He paused to think about something. “That was the only time during the war we were apart, right?” Nixon had his mouth full of pie and he quirked his brows as Winters spoke to him. He nodded heavily, swallowed and smiled slightly. “Someone had to keep eye on you.” Winters leaned back in his chair and gazed at Nixon proudly, a look that he favoured the most when he spoke of the men he had served with. “You did, didn’t you? You kept me sane,” he said warmly, then pointedly added: “Despite your best efforts on the contrary.” Nixon accepted both the praise and the needling with a self-satisfied smirk and a quirk of one heavy eyebrow. “You love me and you know it.” Winters scoffed and smacked Nixon on the arm with the back of his hand. “Just eat your treats and behave yourself, would you?” Steven sensed a natural opening and seized the opportunity with a question: “What was your role there, Mr. Nixon?” Nixon turned to him again and gained that same slightly grumpy seriousness he had entered the room with. “I was the S-3, the intelligence officer. I started as a platoon leader at Toccoa but was quickly transferred to the battalion HQ where I spent pretty much the rest of the war.” Steven took notes. He already knew about Nixon’s job since he had already been praised by several other members of Easy he had already talked to, but personal testimonies where why he was here in the first place. “So you oversaw most of the operations?” “I oversaw all the operations,” Nixon corrected grimly and took a hefty bite out of a frosted cupcake, which somehow didn’t make his displeasure any less stingy. “I observed, listened, scouted and planned. I was always aware of everything that was going on around us and kept everyone up to speed.”   “Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Steven said. Nixon shrugged. “Sure.” For a beat or two Steven waited for him to continue, but he was quickly realizing that Nixon wasn’t going to say a single thing more than necessary. Steven tried to not take it personally as Nixon wasn’t the only man who had refused to talk about the war, but it was starting to look like he really was there only for the various pastries. He glanced at Winters who was taking slow sips from his coffee with a glance to his friend every now and then. Steven tried to be tactful. “It sounds like there was a lot going on behind the scenes.” Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Nixon’s jaw tightened and his upper lip twitched, baring a side of teeth for a moment before he averted his eyes. “I was in the line,” he said, almost snapping. “I might have been a drunk who never fired his weapon, but I was there with the rest of the troops. That’s the spot my work was done in, not in some nice, safe office miles from the action.” Steven took notes. He had to admit that being snapped at by a veteran of Easy Company and Major Winters’ best friend wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but he was starting to understand Nixon’s reasons for not talking about the war much. “May I quote you on that?” Steven asked. Nixon snorted. “No!” he grunted, then seemed to mull it over some and added: “But make sure you get it right. I was there the whole time. I was in the line.” “Of course,” Steven said. Winters reached over to lay his hand on Nixon’s back, whose tensed-up shoulders slumped under his touch. “It’s already there, Lew,” he soothed, hand rubbing his friend’s back. “You know that I think the world of you. You were always there for me, always by my side, reassuring and comforting me. Do you think I’d agree to talk to anyone about that time and let them leave you out?” Nixon let out a deep sigh. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and just breathed for a while, then hunched forward and leaned on the table with his elbows, eventually turning his gaze to Winters who never stopped rubbing his back. For a long moment they sat like that, completely silent but clearly communicating with their eyes alone. Steven didn’t want to interrupt the moment. There was a deep intimacy between the men opposite from him, something deep and strong that they had built during their decades together, and even despite being an outsider Steven felt the warmth of the bond. “May I ask how long you two have lived together?” Steven asked. The moment came to an end. Winters let his hand drop and both men leaned on their own seats again. “Since… 1946, I think?” Nixon answered but glanced at Winters for confirmation. “Yes. We moved to New Jersey then,” Winters continued, “we lived there for less than a year though. Lew’s father discovered and disapproved of us, so we left, moved around a bit but finally settled down here in Pennsylvania.” Steven nodded as he scribbled down notes. “And you stayed together the whole time?” “Well…” Winters started, drawing the word out, “it wasn’t anything we decided or talked about. There just… Simply wasn’t any question about it. We both felt very strongly that we needed to be together, and that’s what we did.” “We’ve always been together since -46,” Nixon added, “that’s forty-five years.” Steven made a note of that. “It must be nice to be such good friends,” he said. Nixon and Winters exchanged a look. “Yep.” “Sure.” There was another natural pause, and once again Steven glanced at the pile of photo albums Winters had readied. He was absolutely dying to get a look at those, to put faces to names and make comparisons. Winters had also told him he had kept meticulous diaries, and things like that were an absolute goldmine to a historian. “Are those all the documents you have?” Steven asked, pointing at the stockpile with his pen. Winters shook his head. “Oh, no, those are simply the photos I have. There’s a whole pile from the regimental photographer as well as photos the men have sent me, personal and from reunions and such. My diaries are not here.” “May I take a look at those? That would be most helpful,” Steven asked. “Yes, certainly,” Winters assured. Next to him, Nixon had relaxed and shaken off the previous gloom. His brows quirked with new mischief and suddenly he grinned. “You have always been the archivist of us. With those glasses you’d make a fine librarian too, Mr. Winters.” Winters gave Nixon a clearly warning look over the rim of his glasses, but Nixon just smirked back at him. “Yeah, keep that up. See where we end up,” he teased, and Winters gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. “You didn’t keep any mementos or souvenirs, Mr. Nixon?” Steven asked. Nixon shook his head. “Nah. I got rid of most of it a long time ago. I got rid of my uniform and everything pretty soon after I was discharged too.” He got a wicked look in his eyes again. “What I do have are my letters, from that time and after too. They take up several shoe boxes, but maybe I should bring those down and read some. He might not talk much but you’d be surprised by some of the stuff my darling soldier boy here can – “ “Nix!” Winters cried out, snatched the oven mitten from the table and swatted Nixon with it. Steven focused on his notebook to hide his smile. He could only hope to be such good friends with someone someday.

[babybirdgyeom]

you, me and bertha (2) | park jinyoung

⇴ neighbor!au, farmer!au, jinyoung x reader.

⇴ summary: moving from the big city to your uncle’s farm in the small village you used to visit as a child was a big and scary step. luckily, you found many reasons to stay. reasons like your cousin bambam, your best friend jaebum or park jinyoung, your neighbor who maybe was more than just a guy you like to nag around with.

⇴ this chapter: jinyoung and the reader and their constant habit of teasing and fighting each other. jinyoung actually being nice for a change, a hidden softie. and, of course, bambam being nosey. (kind of a filler chapter)

⇴ word count: this part: 4.5k   full story: ~30k

⇴ all the other parts can be found in my masterlist, linked in my bio! ♥

After a week you slowly got used to the daily work on the farm, your body was already starting to react differently, your arms weren’t getting as sore anymore and waking up early was bothering you less and less. It was Saturday which means you had to gather all of the stuff your uncle wanted to sell on the market the next morning. Picking out the best eggs, milk, wool and cheese was pretty boring, especially since Bambam left early because he was going on a date tonight with a girl you never heard of. But since you wanted him to be happy, and also his teasing about Jinyoung was slowly getting seriously annoying, you told him it’s okay to go. After about an hour you were finally done with stacking all of it into your uncle’s car as you saw Mrs. Park, Jinyoung’s mother, and decided to help her a bit since she looked like she was struggling.

She was a beautiful lady, always has been. Her black hair was long and even though there were a few grey strands in it by now she still looked as young as ever.

“Mrs. Park, let me help you!”, you shouted while jogging over to her, “Where’s Jinyoung? Letting his mum carry all the heavy boxes of fruits and vegetables alone is not a nice thing to do.”, you said as you arrived, one box already in your hands.

She let out a laugh and you were reminded of how warm her laughter was, it sounded like the giggle of a small child. “It’s fine, I told him to rest for today. He always works so much.”, she let out a sigh, “I’m very thankful, I know that’s not what he wanted to do with his life but he does it for me.”

You never really thought about it that way before - this might explain why he’s still here despite wanting a different life, it was probably hard for him to leave his family behind after losing his dad. While carrying a box full of blueberries you ate a handful, not able to hold back. The Park’s blueberries were always your favorites.

“You still love blueberries, huh?”, She asked joyfully as she was carrying the last box to the car.

“Yes, how couldn’t I?”, you answered, “Oh- I still wanted to thank you for the little basket full of fruits you send to me. I was so happy. The peaches were even better than I remembered.”

Mrs. Park looked at you in confusion for a second before realizing what was going on, the confusion vanished while a different kind of expression came to her face, unable for you to read at first. “Oh, so he can actually be charming.”, she mumbled with an almost mischievous smirk and within seconds you knew exactly what she was talking about.

The basket hasn’t been from Mrs. Park, it was actually Jinyoung being nice. You scoffed a bit thinking about it, wondering why he wouldn’t just admit it was from him. You guessed it just wasn’t like Jinyoung to play the nice guy.

“Mum-”, you heard his voice screaming while walking out of the door to their house. When he saw you he froze for a second, “Oh, hey, (y/n).”, he said with a slight and not really convincing smile.

You nodded towards him, ready to go back to work and leave them alone, as his little brother came running outside after him, chasing after Jinyoung.

“Jinyoung!”, he let out a scream as he tried to jump on his back. He was surprisingly tall for an eight year-old, almost managing to get to Jinyoung’s shoulders if he jumped high enough, “Can I come with you? Please?”

Before Jinyoung could answer, Ken’s attention was on something else. Or better said, on someone else. To be precise, on the girl standing in front of his mother and brother, a stranger he’s never seen before. “Who are you?”, he asked curious, studying you exactly, “Are you the niece of Minwoo?”

You kneeled down to be at an eye to eye level with him, shaking his hand, “Yes, that’s me. I’m (y/n).”

He had a big grin on his face, “Hi, I’m Ken.” - After introducing himself to you he turned around to his big brother, “Is this the person you made the basket for yesterday?”

Jinyoung shushed him immediately, giving him a warning glance before trying to cover up his story, “Yes, I did it because mum asked me to. Right, mum?”

She let out a sarcastic laugh, making fun of her son, “Sure, Jinyoung. It was totally me asking you to do that.”

A heavy sigh fell from Jinyoung’s mouth before shaking his head in disbelief, “Where is your cousin? He promised he’d help me picking up our new couch.”

“Oh, I am afraid he forgot.”, you said to him, “He’s on a date right now.”

Jinyoung let out a heavy sigh, not believing that Bambam completely forgot about him. Now even more frustrated, he started mumbling, “It’s always the same with this kid.”

“I’ll help you.”, you said determined, not even bothering to ask him first, knowing he’d say no anyway, “I’m done with work for today and I don’t mind coming along.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go alone.”, he said, clearly mad at Bambam, before walking over to his car. You didn’t care and followed him, hoping that he’d be nice to Bambam if you helped him instead. You had little hope, considering the fact you were talking about Park Jinyoung but it was worth a try.

“Stop being so stubborn.”, you said to him as you opened the door and sat down inside the car, “Just accept my help.”

As the two of you drove out of town the sky looked like it was painted in golden colors, the sun slowly setting but the air was still warm, brushing your arm that you held out of the open window.

“Where are we even going?”, you asked the obviously bothered boy beside you.

“It’s not far away, the dude I’m buying the couch from lives like twenty minutes away.”, he said, his eyes glued to the street, “You really didn’t have to come. I could’ve easily done it alone.”

Slowly but surely, you were starting to get annoyed by Jinyoung. You couldn’t tell why but his constant attitude was getting to you but it did, “Dude, you’re the worst. Can you shut up for once and accept help? Stop being so rude all the time, being nice every now and then won’t hurt you, you know? You can take your bad mood out on Bambam later.”

Suddenly he looked at you, his eyes grew wide in shock at your rant. Even though your voice was still low he clearly heard the frustration in it, “What do you mean? I am being nice all the time. I told you that you shouldn’t wear your good clothes to work. That was a piece of nice advice I gave you for example.”

You scoffed at him not knowing if he was being serious or if he tried to make him look good, “You also attacked me because you thought I was stealing chicken and made me churn butter all by hand.”

He chuckled as you brought it up, “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“My arms still hurt. You’re an asshole.”, you rolled your eyes, not in the mood to put up with Jinyoung being, well, himself, when you were just being nice, “If that is your interpretation of being nice I’m very very sorry for your future girlfriend.”

“Hey, now you’re just being mean.”, he said, acting offended and honestly a bit confused, not knowing why the two of you were discussing. Actually, you weren’t really mad at him, you just wished that he could be nice for once.

“Well, maybe you just need a taste of your own medicine.”, you said and let out a pout as the discussion was getting a bit more playful than it was serious.

But before you or Jinyoung could fuel the fire and add anything into the discussion you let out a small scream as he was turning right with full speed, making you feel like you were about to crash, holding onto the seatbelt for dear life, “For fucks sake, where did you learn how to drive? Do you not know that you’re supposed to slow down before turning?”

“If this is already scaring you, I’ll give you the nice advice to not drive with Jaebum.”, he said, chuckling, as he parked his car in front of a big house, “Ready to use the strength in your arms built up from churning butter?”

It took you about twenty minutes to carry all the parts of the couch from the third floor to the trailer on Jinyoung’s car. When you were done it was beginning to become dark outside and the weather was cooling down, making you feel a bit cold. All done, you sat back inside Jinyoung’s car as he was securing the trailer so you could drive back home.

“If you’re cold there’s a blanket on the backseat, you can use that.”, he screamed from outside, “See how nice I am? Caring for you, not wanting you to freeze to death.”

You shook your head amused, “What a gentleman you are.”

The drive home was more peaceful, no discussions this time. You looked outside, seeing a big and bright star in the sky, pointing to it. 

“I can’t get over how beautiful the starry night sky is here. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”, you said, almost sounding dreamy, eyes glued to the sky. It wasn’t even completely dark outside yet, but the first stars were already sparkling brightly.

“Isn’t it the same in your hometown?”, Jinyoung asked a bit perplexed as he looked over to you.

“Not at all. The big city lights drown them. You can barely see some, and if you can, they are not as bright as here.”

“I suppose Ilmon isn’t all bad.”, he shrugged. 

You hummed in agreement, “Except for this strange dude, who can never smile, living next to me I quite enjoy my time here.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Must be really hard to live right next to such an attractive young man, huh? I bet you have a hard time.”

Laughing, you were impressed at his wittiness, “Don’t think too highly of yourself.”

Before you could let him answer your favorite song suddenly started playing in the radio, making you turn up the volume instantly, “You need to shut up now. This is my all time favorite song.”

He started to sing along to the song as loud as possible, laughing, trying to be louder than the radio. 

“I didn’t know you could sing.”, you said, giving him an approving look.

In response, he gave you a small wink, “There are quite a lot things I can do.”

The rest of the drive the two of you were singing along to the radio as loud as you could, having genuine fun together for the first time since you arrived. It was nice to see him let loose a bit. 

Driving up to the farm you already saw Bambam sitting on the porch. He immediately stood up, walking over to the car, already apologizing without you really arriving yet, “I’m so so sorry mate. I completely forgot. I owe you a beer next time we go out.”

Jinyoung chuckled as he parked, “Doesn’t seem like his date had a happy ending, considering he’s home already.”

“Good for me.”, you said, shrugging, “I’m way too tired to carry the whole couch inside anyway.”

You were the first to get out of the car, making Bambam narrow his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you doing in Jinyoung’s car?”, he asked suspiciously.

“I’m doing your fucking job, Bam.”, you laughed.

As you were walking towards your home you were stopped by Jinyoung holding your arm, making you turn around.

“Thank you, I suppose.”, he said, pressing his lips together, “Just trying to be nice.”

You gave him a genuine smile, “No problem. Sleep well.”

“You too, (y/n).”

As you woke up you were almost shocked to see today’s weather. Yesterday the sun was still shining while today it was pouring like never before. The sky was dark and grey and your whole farm looked quite sad, making you wish you could just stay in bed all day, just being lazy, reading, eating and maybe fantasizing about a certain someone. Looking at your phone you saw a text from Bambam.

‘it’s going to storm today, you have to make sure all the animals are in the barn and safe, please. i’m getting food for tonight. see you later, favorite cousin.’

You immediately threw on a cardigan and brushed your teeth, hurrying to get things done before the weather got even worse. Looking in the mirror you scoffed for a second at your sad reflection - your hair was in a very messy bun and your under eye circles were almost black. But there was no time to pity yourself right now.

After you fed and, of course, petted the chickens and made sure that all the windows were closed tightly you ran over to the barn where the cows and goats were in. Your clothes were completely drenched even though the way between the barns was very short, the heavy rain was so strong that there was no way you could’ve stayed dry.

Entering the barn your eyebrows narrowed as you see that the light was on and the food for the cows was already laid out. “Uncle Minwoo?”, you screamed loudly, the rain was so loud that otherwise, no one would hear you.

“Oh thank god, there you are.”, the owner of the voice was coming out of the little hut you kept your tools in, throwing one of the milking machines over to you. You barely had time to catch it because Jinyoung was throwing it without caring if you’d let it fall.

“What are you doing here?”, you asked him skeptical as you sat down to the cow next to the one he was currently milking.

He looked at you with an annoyed expression on his face - but only until he saw how wet you were from the rain. Immediately he burst out into laughter, “Why are you not wearing a raincoat for fucks sake?”, he asked, clearly amused.

“I don’t even own one.”, you admitted a bit hesitant while shrugging, knowing he’d make even more fun of you.

And of course, he did. “How can you not own a raincoat? Seriously, (y/n), you’re something else. Who on earth doesn’t own a raincoat?”, he shook his head in disbelief, still laughing.

You simply pressed your lips together, coming back to your actual question, “But why are you here? Certainly not because you wanted to help me.”

“Hey, maybe I’m not as bad as you think and just wanted to be friendly for once?”, he said, acting offended, “Since you’re always complaining.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

Suddenly you heard a loud thunder outside, making you jump - you usually were not afraid of thunder but the sudden loud noise startled you for a second. What really scared you though was the reaction of two of your cows, immediately after they heard the thunder they let out the deepest and loudest sounds you’ve ever heard of them. They sounded terrified.

Jinyoung immediately jumped up from his stool and walked over to Bertha, the small brown cow, petting its face. “Shhhh.”, he tried calming her down before looking over to you, “I’m always here when it storms. Bertha and Marnie are deadly afraid of the thunder, so I accompany them. It calms them down.”

For a second you thought he was fooling you but before you could say something another loud thunder was heard followed by loud sounds of the cows once again.

“Wait.”, you said confused as you saw Jinyoung pet Bertha once again, giving her a small kiss on the side of her face, “You’re serious?”

He looked at you with a grin, “Of course I am. Go, pet Marnie a bit. She loves getting pet right under his chin, she’s such a lovely cow.”

You did as he said, not really trusting him yet. “I didn’t know he had feelings, Marnie, did you know?”, you asked the cow sarcastically.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head, “I only love Marnie and Bertha.”

Bertha was walking away from Jinyoung to the hay he just put down for them to lie down for a bit, something you barely ever saw them doing, “When I first looked into Bertha’s big brown eyes I fell in love.”, he said loving, petting some of the other cows while Bertha was still lying down.

“That’s adorable.”, you admitted, “Didn’t expect that from you.”

He rolled his eyes at your comment, “You know, I’m not an asshole just because I’m telling you you’re stupid because you don’t own a raincoat or work on a farm with a goddamn Gucci shirt. That’s my way of helping.”, he said confident, “You just seem to not know exactly what to do, so I’m trying to help.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Marnie?”, you asked the cow sarcastically once again, “He is just trying to help by being mean.”

“Fuck off, (y/n).”, he said while walking over to Bertha, who was resting on the ground, lying down next to her, “Just go to your hut, I’ll take care of the cows.”

“No way.”, you said sitting down next to him, “I’ll not leave you alone with my cows. I don’t trust you.”, Of course, that was only an excuse to spend some time with the pretty boy from next door. Both of you were now starting to relax, leaning against Bertha, petting her.

“So, farmer girl, how do you like it here?”, he asked you after a few seconds of silence, seeming to be actually interested in you for once.

“It’s nice, Park.”, you shrugged as he was looking at you, “I like the fact that I finally am allowed to go into the pub the most.”

“I remember when we first were allowed to go in, it was like Harry Potter seeing Hogwarts for the first time.”, he said laughing, “and now we’re the ones that get drunk in there while the younger kids are jealous they can’t.”

“Some things never change, huh?”, you said, looking at Jinyoung, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be truly relaxed in your presence for the first time since you arrived. He was using his arm as a pillow, a smile on his lips - for once a genuine smile, not the usual teasing one he gave you. The rain was pouring so hard onto the roof of the barn it sounded like music. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, a bit of air coming out of your nose, not believing that Jinyoung actually had a soft side.

“What are you laughing about?”, he asked curiously, still with closed eyes.

“I just love the sound of heavy rain.”, you said, also getting into a comfortable position and closing your eyes.

“Mhhh.”, Jinyoung let out, agreeing with you before yawning, “Me too. It’s cozy.”

You felt your eyelids feeling heavy, you didn’t have much sleep last night and your body was shivering a bit because of your wet clothes, Jinyoung was snoring lightly beside you within a few minutes and before you knew it you were asleep too. You wouldn’t have expected the barn to be such a comfortable place to sleep in.

You woke up by someone calling your name. As you were slowly starting to realize where you were, you were just as perplexed as Jinyoung, who was still beside you.

“Did we fall asleep?”, he asked you, yawning.

Suddenly, Bambam was standing in front of both of you, confusion written all over your face, “What the hell are you two doing in here? How do I keep finding you two together?”

Jinyoung shrugged, sitting up as you were doing the same, “We fell asleep, obviously.”

“Why were you here together in the first place?”, he asked, a smirk on his lips, “Did you make out in front of the cows? That’s unholy.”

You laughed at your cousin, “Shut up, please. I’m having a headache.”

“You two are just too cute.”, he teased you before telling you the reason he was looking for you in the first place, “Dinner’s ready. We’re having some meat with different salads and corn. Join us, Jinyoung, your mum and Ken are there too.”

“I don’t know.”, he said, unsure, “I still wanted to meet with Jaebum and Jackson later.”

Bambam narrowed his eyebrows, “Why didn’t you ask me to join, you fuck?”

Jinyoung laughed at Bambam, standing up, surprisingly offering you a hand to help you get up from the ground, “I’ll eat dinner with you and then you can come with me, alright?”, he asked Bambam.

Bambam agreed and the three of you walked over to the big house Minwoo and Bambam lived in.

“Did you find her?”, your uncle screamed from the kitchen as he heard the door opened.

“Yes, I’m here!”, you screamed as you took off your shoes.

Walking over to them, Mrs. Park was surprised to see her son, “Oh, Jinyoung. How lovely that you’re here.”, she said, as cute as always, “Where have you been?”

Both, Jinyoung and you clearly didn’t want to tell them where Bambam found them, not wanting anyone to get a wrong idea. But, of course, your annoying cousin was faster.

“They were sleeping in the barn together.”, he smirked as he told your family, knowing exactly how much you both wanted to kill them, “You two seem to get along better by now.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, “We were just taking care of the cows.”

You nodded, “It’s not like we met to take a nap in the barn.”

Uncle Minwoo and Mrs. Park both giggled a bit at the two of you. “Stop teasing them. They are already flustered.”, she said lightheartedly.

Everyone sat down on the table as your uncle brought the food to the table. It smelled and looked delicious.

“Thank you for letting us eat with you.”, Jinyoung said politely to your uncle.

“Oh, Jinyoung!”, he said laughing, “You’re always welcome. We’re like family.”

He nodded as all of you started eating. The food tasted amazing and the conversation was nice, all of you participating in it, talking about current events and the life on the farm.

“What were you doing before coming here, (y/n)?”, Jinyoung’s mother asked you as you were just speculation about what all of you would be doing if you didn’t have the farm.

“I was working in a hospital as an assistant during surgeries.”, you explained to her, “It was super interesting and I learned a lot about the human body. But the night shifts were the worst.”

Jinyoung looked at you, shaking his head, “I didn’t know that.”, he said surprised.

You gave him a confused glance, “I mean, why would you know that?”

He shrugged, making real conversation with you for the first time, “That sounds so interesting. Did you ever save someone from death?”

You laughed, “Yes, a lot of times. But I think it was more the doctor’s that really saved them, not me.”

Ken suddenly was joining the conversation, being just as curious and impressed as his big brother, “Woah, (y/n). Did you wear all white like the people on TV and ran around the hospital when people were hurt?”

“I did.”, you told him chuckling, “I hated the clothes though. I could never drink cranberry juice because I was afraid of spilling it and people would think it was blood.”

Jinyoung nodded before Ken could answer, “Did you ever see someone die?”, he asked curiously, making his mother gasp.

“Hey, we’re eating! Stop with such inappropriate questions.”, she said almost horrified.

You, Jinyoung and Bambam started to laugh at her reaction, continuing to eat. After all of you were done you offered to do clean the table but Bambam said he’d do it.

“I’ll just go and put on some different clothes and then pick you up, alright, Bam?”, Jinyoung said as he followed you to the door, both of you putting on your shoes.

“Uh-huh, sure.”, he said, grinning at Jinyoung’s obvious attempt to bring you home, even though you didn’t even realize.

Walking from the big house to the small hut took only a minute or two but Jinyoung still brought you home. As the two of you stood in front of your door, you felt a bit awkward. “Don’t let Bambam drink too much tonight. I need him to be fit tomorrow. It’s my day off.”, you joked, Jinyoung nodding.

“I promise to stop him if he drinks too much.”, he said, smiling brightly, “I’ll see you around?”

You scoffed a bit, wondering why he was so nice to you, “Considering the fact that you can see into my living room from your window I think so yes.”

[mimiplaysgames]

The Ocean On His Shoulders (2/2)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 4,321

Summary: She’s been waiting for him for so many years. When he finally sees her, Terra realizes that instead of saving her from the Realm of Darkness, he must save her from herself.

Read on AO3

A/N: Based on @steadyknight‘s prompt of Terra saving Anti-Aqua from darkness by breaking his heart into pieces. WHICH IS SUCH A SAD CONCEPT TO ME. I took the opportunity to explore the consequences of losing one’s memory, which is something brushed aside so often in the games. I completely feel that the consequences of this action are sadder than the action itself. And if you saw my tweet about how I write notes on my outlines and how I had no idea why I wrote down “potatoes” in one of them - this was the chapter I was talking about. I never figured it out, but I improvised, lmao.

It was absolutely imperative that she covered the table in mounds of food. A full basket of toast, a pile of sausages, a stack of pancakes, eggs ready on demand – it was enough to feed a miracle. And she needed it.

All she really wanted, after all, was the right to enjoy breakfast with her family, just like every other normal person.

Terra was happy to sit with them, gleefully accepting more meat when he wiped his plate clean. He repeated five times too many that she was a perfect cook, who had this magical ability to know precisely how to please his stomach.

It wasn’t magic. She had about ten years’ worth of trial and error in understanding what made him tick. Yet this didn’t really dawn on him.

To him, they only just met three weeks ago.

Maybe she thought that feeding him everything he loved would finally make him remember. He never did, and so breakfast continued to make her feel alone.

The only appropriate response to his praise was to accept it, and keep the mood uplifting. Was it to save face? Perhaps. There wasn’t a point in making him feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

“I’ll be steaming rice with coconut syrup for dessert tonight,” she said as she sat down to take her rations. Her smile felt nothing but forced. “Served with mango.”

He stumbled with his words at first, in awe. The Terra she knew would have seen through her façade. Would see she was in pain. “See, you’re a genius.”

If only she could say how much hearing that stung.

“We’ll see if I can cook a decent dinner. As long as someone remembers to bring the potatoes.” She leaned over to Ventus, the exact person who was tasked at supplying her with the ingredients. He was stuffing his face with an entire pancake.

“I’ll bring them, don’t worry,” he said, his words muffled by all the baked flour. “You can store your wrath for a later time.”

“Her wrath?” Terra asked skeptically. He leaned an elbow on the table, his grin hiding behind his fingers as he eyed her, like a sheepish boy watching the girl he had a crush on. “I don’t think you’re intimidating.”

This was probably one of the more surprising effects she discovered: this Terra was pretty open about his attraction toward her. Something stopped him from wearing his heart this much on his sleeve before… he was probably scared of ruining their friendship, since it was also the same reason why she never initiated anything. Now, he had nothing to lose.

And she used to assume he really didn’t reciprocate her feelings. How stupid was she that she scared herself into thinking it would have gone nowhere. How she wished she had done something about it before their Mark of Mastery.

“Oh boy,” Ventus said, swallowing a mouthful. “One day, he’s going to regret saying that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said.

“You’re only the worst person in the world to pull a prank on.” He shrugged, his grin twisting.

She snorted, because it was true. She was at least grateful she could rely on him to make her smile – these days, Ventus was really the only one who could help her. And he needed the laugh, too.

But that was the thing about inside jokes. They were a highly classified language, shared only with those who were invited.

The only thing Terra could do at a time like this was smile politely, like someone who understood he didn’t belong but it wasn’t appropriate to make it obvious.

It wasn’t that he was a complete stranger. He wore his usual sheepish smile, and bore his usual sincerity when it mattered. There still existed certain mannerisms that were so Terra – the way he held his chin when he contemplated, the shrug of his shoulders when he teased. The kindness in his eyes.

She didn’t want him to pick up his plate to rinse off, and to leave the room when he felt he wasn’t wanted.

At least he left with an act Terra would actually do – ruffle through Ventus’ hair.

He nearly forgot to do that, stopping himself at the doorway before coming back to reach over from behind the chair and sifting his fingers vigorously through the blond hair.

Ventus was displeased, staring up at the clumps of hair now flattened in front of his eyes. When he knew Terra was out of earshot, he dropped his fork and rested his head into his arms with an exasperated sigh. “I hate this.”

“I know,” she said, picking at her food. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all morning.

He took out his frustration on his hair, fixing it back up the way he liked it. “The real Terra would know when to play with my hair – and he wouldn’t mess it up!”

It was a ridiculous excuse for him to get upset about. “What’s really bugging you?”

Ventus sighed, dragging it out as much as possible while averting her eyes. His unique look of shame. She prepared for the worst.

“That mission he and I went on together the other day?” he started. “I kind of snapped at him. I felt unsure if I could handle fighting these large Heartless, and I talked to him about it but… The real Terra always knew the right words. He’d say something like ‘you got this’ and pat my head. And I got angry when he didn’t do that – I did apologize to him later, so you don’t have to tell me to do anything.”

He still avoided her eyes. “But now he follows me around and rubs my hair any chance he gets.”

“He’s just compensating,” she said. It had to be so hard on Ventus. Only the stars knew how often she stopped herself from begging Terra to please come back.

“I know…” He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, eyes darting around like he was afraid to say more. “Something else happened, too… he stopped everything and went really rigid.”

She inhaled sharply, remembering that Master Yen Sid had mentioned to expect strange occurrences. “What do you mean?”

“Like he became a statue and he stopped breathing. He didn’t talk to me about it, or tell me if he remembered anything.” He rubbed the back of his hand, finally looking into her eyes for some solace. “I don’t know what I said to make him do that.”

On instinct, she reached over to gently squeeze his forearm, lending him a warm smile. “We’ll be okay. I know it’s hard, but we just have to be patient and wait this out. He’s not going to stay like this forever, I won’t let it.”

She wouldn’t let it.

Those words sounded like something she would say, but they were foreign. She didn’t know where they came from, as she had no idea how to fix any of this. It was natural for her to put on a brave face – after all, she relied on it for thirteen years in the dark. Lying to herself that she was going to be fine.

Here she was lying again, acting like everything was going to be fine. But she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart in front of Ventus. She only did that alone.

And she was alone now after he finished his meal, with her food cold and untouched.

The sausage tasted like nothing, her sinuses clogged up from her dry sobs.

Master Yen Sid examined Terra shortly after he woke up. The diagnosis was that he had split his heart into two pieces, and gave one to her as a shield to protect her from the darkness. His memories of course had no choice but to scatter, the chains that linked them together completely broken.

What went through his damn mind to inspire him to do that, she had no idea.

The team at Radiant Garden couldn’t help, either. Wielding a Keyblade against a heart was forbidden and dangerous – Terra’s condition being a prime example of the consequences. Forcefully removing his piece from her body could be permanently damaging, and who knew what scars were already there.

They knew a witch who could re-link those memories, and his heart would grow to fill the whole left behind.

But they had to find a way to make her exist again. Or something.

She wasn’t going to pretend to understand exactly what that meant. Only that they were alone in their predicament.

If only she was strong enough to keep herself up when she was hurting, strong enough not to fall to darkness. If only she didn’t attack him like a beast. If only he had traded something else instead of his heart, like his Keyblade or a limb to save her.

Maybe she was a horrible person for even entertaining the thought.

It was hard not to. She endured the Realm of Darkness to give him a chance. What was the point of surviving if she didn’t have her family back? Was there a meaning or a life lesson behind her having to say good-bye to everything she knew?

Master Yen Sid had warned her against saying too much to Terra, or forcing him to remember things. It could be throttling. Or painful. It was best to let go and let any traces come to him naturally.

Which was easy for Yen Sid to say. He wasn’t losing anyone. Painful indeed – she dealt with it when she remembered that Terra was with her the very first time she ever saw snow. That they knew every good hiding place in the castle back in the Land of Departure – some of which they never shared with Ventus.

She questioned whether it was the right approach.

But observing Terra sometimes made her realize why it might be. Without any memories, Terra didn’t know the meaning of terror anymore. No Mark of Mastery to beat himself up over. No Xehanort. He was cheerier now, so much like how he used to be long ago before the stress of becoming a Keyblade Master took a toll. Before they were separated. And he deserved to be this happy and worry-free.

She still questioned whether she was doing the right thing.

The only thing that stopped her tears from falling each night was a warmth in her chest. Terra – the one she knew, the one who left a part of himself inside – heard her. And the stir in her heart would lull her to sleep, like he was hugging her from wherever he was, to remind her that she was never alone.

She placed her hands on her chest after dropping her fork, feeling him again. “I’m trying, Terra,” she said out loud. She spent so many years talking to herself in the dark, and being in the light was no different. “It’s so hard.”

A moment passed before she calmed down. It was still the beginning of a new day, and it will be long. Days in Disney Castle lasted far longer than any world she had ever visited before. But it was the best place for Terra to recover, she believed. He was surrounded by inhabitants who were jovial, trusting, and kind. They lived in the moment, completely undisturbed by the wars with darkness outside. They looked for reasons to stay positive.

She found him in the library - which was considered a lucky event being that it was so huge, numerous civilians have reported getting lost in there for days. He was escorting Queen Minnie, reaching up to a high shelf to fetch her a book. A grin on his face, he lived for any chance to be helpful, especially to a Queen who only stood as tall as his knee.

But it was when he was thanked and left behind that it hit her. Sitting by himself in a busy library the size of their academy with a small stack of books to keep occupied – he, too, must be lonely.

… When he leaned forward to hold his chin with one hand while reading the book with the other, he looked so much like Terra.

He glanced up when she approached him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Don’t be,” he said, waving to the lounge chair across from him. “I’d rather talk to you, anyway.”

She took a mental note to be this forward with him if he ever got his memories back. The stack of books next to him was a pile of heroic epics. One of them was The Adventures of Robin Hood, his absolute favorite growing up.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow, inspecting the words on the open pages in his hand. “A love story.”

“A love story?” Not something he’d usually be interested in.

“I didn’t think it was at first. It’s about these two flames. One of them started to overburn its wick, and was going to flicker out. It was too dark to be the only candle, so the other gave its blue core away,” he said, each word making her realize that she knew this story. “This would give power to its friend, making it last longer. You’d think it would die afterward, but now they are blended together, making the room shine brighter. And they never separated again. Sacrificing its blue core… that’s love.”

He showed her the book, and the illustrations are exactly the way she remembered them from childhood. The Tale of Two Lights. Two flames with eyes, and one of pictures showed a flame pulling its blue core out from the inside, like it had reached into its mouth.

Their Master used to read it to them to teach them about the nature of being a Keybearer. To protect others from darkness meant to be willing to utilize their own hearts as a weapon. Bonds kept light alive, and so it was important that Keyblade Wielders were always supportive of one another, for the darkness will try and snuff out a single light.

But he made sure to teach them to never underestimate the power of one’s own personal shine – the blue core didn’t burn like the tip of the orange flame, but its warmth was the most important.

Not once did she ever consider it a love story. Most of the ones she read were stupid and shallow. The prince kissed the princess and the happy-ever-after was given easily like free candy at a festival.

Nothing she read taught her the meaning of it, or prepared her for the choice of jumping into the dark abyss after a possessed Terra.

“That’s an… interesting interpretation,” she said.

“You know it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. The Master used to read it to us when we were kids.”

“What was he like?” He leaned forward, his eyes asking more than his voice.

She wondered if refusing to answer him was infantilizing or rude. If he deserved to know despite that she might trigger an attack.

“He was strict,” she said, her eyes searching the floor. She couldn’t help the smile pulling at her lips as she ventured into her memories. “He made us run laps if we woke up too late. And he gave us extra assignments if we weren’t listening to his lectures.”

But Terra deserved something nice to hold onto, too.

“He thought our birthdays were the most important days of the year,” she continued, “and he never missed them. He liked his coffee black in the morning, and sipped red wine before he went to bed.”

The more she spoke of Eraqus, the more she could visualize him, enough that it pained her to remember she’ll never make him coffee again.

Terra rested back into his chair, his gaze downcast and sullen.

“I remember him.” At the sight of her piqued interest, he corrected himself. “Just a small vision. There are only feelings… I saw him die in front of me. I don’t know why, and that scares me.” His voice lowered significantly. “I think I might have done something horrible.”

“Terra, you were only trying to save Ven-”

“Were you there?”

“No…” Not even Ventus saw what happened exactly, and this wasn’t a conversation they finished before the catastrophe happened.

It was a conversation she needed to have, but now that it wasn’t possible, she only had her beliefs to hold onto.

“You’re the kindest person I will ever meet,” she finally said. “There is no better word out there to describe you, Terra. You could never even think of harming the Master.”

She had to believe it. If she was going to be honest, Terra was always the favorite student. The Master was often way harsher on him as a result, expecting too much. It was to his detriment at the Mark of Mastery, and it was unfair.

But the bond they had was unique, and there wasn’t a way – a single, damn way – that Terra would have a sinister inkling to hurt the man who raised him, even if he was resentful. Even if he had darkness and it was as black as ink. This was Terra, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to find a tissue. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for.” She quickly dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “You know, death and all. It happens.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, a nervous sigh leaving his lips. “Death and all.”

Like two strangers surviving awkward small talk.

Terra was fine, though – no attacks coming to threaten him. But it was so unlike him to be unbothered by the Master’s death, like he never had a father, and she couldn’t bear to think about it. So she sparred with him to take her mind off of these things.

She was the type to prepare for the future, and they were going to have a rocky one. The final battle with Xehanort loomed over them still, and with no memory, Terra was at worst defenseless.

Sparring with him was like teaching someone who had forgotten to practice for years. Most times, he had the right instinct, his muscle memory kicking in to get him into the correct stance. But gone was his knowledge of the way she moved, and it was too easy to dance around him and clobber him to the ground. And this Terra moved in ways she never expected, like he grew up fighting someone else.

The other Keyblade wielders would come over and teach him, as well. The more practice he received, the better.

He didn’t have the drive to be a Master anymore, but when he wiped his Keyblade clean, he asked, so I get to help people?

There were minutes when she couldn’t let go of how worried she was about the ordeal, so she busied herself with other, more menial things. She refused the Queen’s offer in using her animated broom servants, and did most of the cooking herself. The smell of food was intoxicating and a reliable distraction, and since she was preparing a huge feast today, it swallowed hours from her that would otherwise be thrown away to anxiety.

Ventus helped her cut the venison, and she looked around the large kitchen (four times the size of her bedroom back home) for ingredients.

No potatoes.

And she had to worry about feeding Sora, Riku, Kairi, and Lea tonight. Donald and Goofy were also coming. The King and his wife… it was going to take forever to prepare.

“You forgot the potatoes,” she spat.

He waved his hand like it was no big deal – clearly he didn’t know how long it took to boil them. “I’ll get ‘em, don’t worry.”

She was going to bark some more when Terra arrived at the doorway. He held his fingers to his temple like he was taming a headache, and his orange Wayfinder found a place in his other hand.

They froze as they watched him, too eager to interrupt whatever he was going to say about that trinket.

“There was…” he started. “We were standing together, under the stars one night.”

It was all he said. It could have been any night, but he held that Wayfinder like it mattered and it had to be one specific night above all.

Ventus saw this opportunity and took it like a landslide, running up to his friend while pulling out his green Wayfinder out of his pocket. “Yeah! She made these for us that night so we always stayed connected.”

She joined them, comparing her blue counterpart with theirs.

Terra was impressed. “You made these?” He inspected his, slowly taking in all the details of metal and glass. “They’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t something he’d normally say – beautiful just wasn’t a word he would use to describe anything related to her. But apparently he hid quite a lot when he told her things like Oy, you’re such a girl sometimes as he held his Wayfinder for the first time long ago.

“Thank you.” It was the most polite thing to say. “Was there anything else you remembered?” She held her breath, not expecting much.

“No,” he said, rubbing his neck like he knew he disappointed her. But he still smiled. It was pleasant at least. 

Even Ventus’ grin fell some. He really had to learn not to get his hopes up too high.

What she really didn’t need was to have the other wielders barge in on them like this. A feast wasn’t the place to witness letdowns.

“Well, the smaller things are worth celebrating, right?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron out of nervousness and putting her Wayfinder away. She looked around for something to change the subject. “Ven… the potatoes.”

He nearly snarled at her, but he was terrible at rebelling. “Fine, I’ll go get them now, your Highness.”

“I could help you carry them,” Terra offered.

Ventus looked as though someone just slapped him across the face. “I’m strong enough to carry them on my own.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She knew that wasn’t what Ventus wanted to hear. He was expecting Terra to tease him further about it, maybe even strike up a competition to see who could carry the most potatoes. Ventus would lose every time of course, but it was the bonding that counted. Disappointment sunk again.

To make up for it, Terra ruffled thoroughly through blond hair, and Ventus grimaced to save face when he fixed it. She wondered if he understood that Terra was sincerely trying so hard.

She decided it was a good idea to help him out, at least this one time.

When Ventus was out of earshot, she said, “I’ll make another potato stew, and you should stuff the sack with bricks next time. He’ll never talk back to you, again.”

Terra snorted. “That’s hilarious, you think he’ll be offended?”

“Nah, he likes pranks.”

“I’ll definitely do it, thanks.” He sounded like he was desperate for a way to break the ice with Ventus, and she gave him all the relief he needed. He hovered around the kitchen counter, watching her cut into vegetables. “Do you need help?”

She was going to reject his offer, yet she’d hate to see him left out again.

But she stopped herself from handing him a knife.

He froze.

Completely.

Staring off into her like he couldn’t see her anymore, his eyes fixated with a look of sheer horror, like whatever he was witnessing was disgusting and it frightened him so much that he was about to beg for mercy. He shuddered furiously. He didn’t allow himself to breathe at all, and tears gathered so much in his eyes that they fell without waiting for him to blink.

“Terra,” she called, but he didn’t respond. He wouldn’t breathe.

“I’m here, Terra,” she said, dropping the knife and reaching for his face. “You’re safe.”

He didn’t respond to her touch either. She nearly called for Ventus’ help when he took a large, sharp inhale like he’d been drowning, and he rubbed his face as he drew deep, heavy breaths. The movement scared her, and she jumped back to clutch her beating chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

At the sound of her voice, he grabbed her wrist and looked right into her eyes. This time, he was looking at her. Like he discovered something he lost.

“You’re Aqua,” he said.

He knew her name as a stranger’s, but now it was like he knew exactly what it meant.  He smiled widely, the tears falling right into his mouth but he was too busy at the brink of laughter to taste them. He searched her eyes as though he was examining something precious.

“Did I give you my blue core?” he asked.

It was futile to stop her tears, and she nodded, her own smile drawing out like it needed to be seen. It was more natural to hug him than to reply, and his embrace was tight, like holding her was a necessity to live.

“What do you remember?” she asked into his shoulder, making it wet with all her tears and snot.

“Not much.” His voice chocked, half in laugher. “Just that you were so stubborn, and I needed to beat you on the head with some common sense.”

She laughed, something that sounded like crying but it was all molded together in a heap of nonsense. He held her tighter, making sure she kept standing as he rocked her back and forth. She was finally home in a world where light burned brightly enough that she was sure her transgressions were all exposed.

To hear him define her fall to darkness, her feral beast, as simply stubbornness made her feel forgiven. Even if he didn’t know what her mistakes really were, yet.

It was such a Terra thing to say.

A/N: So a lot of the concepts in this are inspired by Joshua's words in DDD:

"By ourselves we're no one. It's when other people look at us and see someone... that's the moment we each start to exist."

I don't normally nerd over the writing process in these notes, but to illustrate this, I actually made it purposeful not to name Aqua at all in this chapter except for one time - when Terra names her. Just a little something I wanted to experiment with, which was tricky in narration, having to do all of this without naming her XDD.

[alphawave-writes]

It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Siebren and Harold spend their first christmas eve as a couple together in Harold's apartment. For this pair of middle-aged men, that means ugly sweaters, movies, and a lot of kissing. 

This was done for @oldstupidtmplar, who wanted me to write a fluffy fic based on their Christmas art, which you can find here. I HIGHLY recommend checking them out. Their art is just beautiful, and has definitely inspired how I write these two.

Read it here, or find it on AO3. For more Sigma, check out my series 'The universe sings’. For more Sigma x Harold fluff, check out my other two fics here and here

-

If Siebren thought Horizon One’s Christmas decorations was excessive, Harold’s apartment was in a league of its own. A Christmas tree was adorned with the traditional ornaments and also various coloured paper chains—a remnant of Harold’s half-Chinese heritage. Wax candles had been lit and burnt away, leaving behind the lingering scent of gingerbread. If he peeked through the doorway, a basket of apples wrapped in colourful packaging paper lied in a tiny basket on Harold’s kitchen countertop, side by side with a variety of snacks and desserts. Fairy lights line the backwall of Harold’s living room, opposite a small couch and a TV.

On a table in the corner of the room, Siebren noticed a stack of books on zoology and animal biology. Next to them was a single framed photograph. Siebren remembered this picture. It was taken months ago back on Horizon One, less than a week before he and Harold were to head back to Earth. In the photo, Harold smiled toothily at the camera, two thumbs pointing up while Siebren himself smirked beside him, eyes scrunched up to give an expression that’s halfway between coy and smug.

Siebren only realized he had picked up the photograph when he heard footsteps behind him. He quickly replaced the photograph on the table as he turned around to face Harold. He was wearing what many university students called a ‘christmas dad’ outfit. His thick rimmed glasses matched horrendously well with his green Christmas sweater, where a caricature of a gorilla sat side by side of two snowmen.

Compared to his simple red sweater adorned with stars, Siebren looked almost fashionable. “I think you win the ugly sweater contest,” he smiled.

“Heaven forbid I look good on Christmas Eve,” Harold chuckled. His eyes glanced to the photograph, his laughter fading into a warm smile. “Like the picture?”

“The-the photo?” Siebren cleared his throat loudly, averting his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Siebren, I know you saw it.” Harold grabbed the photo and gazed upon it fondly. Siebren stood behind Harold, looking down on the photo from Harold's shoulder. “You looked good,” Harold said.

“I look smug,” Siebren muttered.

“You look handsome." He placed the photo back, turned around, and stole a kiss from Siebren’s cheek. “This one turned out quite nicely, actually. I'm thinking of taking it to the shop and framing it.”

Siebren blushed. “Really? I-I mean, that’s not necessary. I wouldn’t want to impose.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“It's a good photo. We look cute.” Harold waved Siebren to follow him to the kitchen. “Come on over. I managed to find a store that sells stroopwafels here in Hong Kong. Probably not as great as your homemade ones, but they’ll do in a pinch, right?”

Siebren stared at the photo, his cheeks still pink. He didn’t have the guts to ask Harold why he went through the effort of printing and framing that particular photo. Sure, they were dating, but for less than a year. He didn’t think he had that much impact on Harold’s life—not enough to warrant a framed photo of his face in Harold’s home, at least. A man’s home is a sacred, special place, after all. A single photo on a man’s living room, when there were no other photos in sight, that was something significant.

“Siebren, come on. You said you’d make me your boozy eggnog.”

“C-coming,” Siebren stuttered before heading for the kitchen. His lips pursed. “And it’s called advocaat.”

It was clear from the spotlessness of Harold’s kitchen that the man didn’t cook often. The fridge had few edible food items, the pantry mostly consisted of non-perishables, and the pots and pans were a bit too spotless. Still, Harold’s kitchen was as organized as his desk, so it didn’t take long for Siebren to get the ingredients he needed: egg yolks, salt, sugar, brandy and vanilla extract. Harold watched from the opposite side of the kitchen island, chewing on a gingerbread biscuit. Siebren knew better than to ask Harold for help in the kitchen. 

As he cooked the ingredients in a pot, his eyes couldn’t help but drift to the lone hallway, where two doors sat. One was the apartment’s sole bathroom, and the other was Harold’s bedroom. The very same bedroom he was expected to sleep in tonight, within the covers of the bed, next to Harold’s sleeping form. A new wave of heat crept up his cheeks and down his chest.

It wasn’t a new thing for the two of them to sleep together, but that was all that ever occurred, never anything more. It was different back on Horizon One because they were on a space station where professionalism and thin doors were the standard, where sleeping side by side on the same bed is tantamount to scandal. That was as far as they allowed themselves to bend the rules, if not out of fear of losing their jobs then to protect the tentative peace of the moon base. But now he was here in Harold’s apartment, in Harold’s domain. Horizon One’s rules didn’t matter here. They could be as intimate as they wanted to. Trouble was, Siebren didn’t want to be more intimate. All he wanted to do tonight was curl up by Harold’s side and dream pleasant dreams. He wasn’t sure if Harold felt the same way now that they were back on Earth.

He filled various mugs with the bright orange advocaat mixture, being careful not to spill anything on the pristine kitchen countertop. Harold helped him put them into the fridge where they will refrigerate. Afterwards, they made themselves comfortable on Harold’s couch. Harold turned on the TV to a web streaming service before passing the remote to Siebren.

His eyes lingered on Siebren’s feet. “You know, you can take off your socks if you want, Siebren.”

“Really? Finally.” Overeagerly, Siebren whipped the socks off his feet and stuffed them into his pant pocket. By his side, Harold stifled a laugh. Siebren frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just so cute how excited you got over it,” Harold giggled.

“Bare feet promote better circulation for the legs.” Harold gave him a withering smile. Siebren added, with a pout, “My feet get sweaty.”

“There it is,” Harold laughed. His arm wrapped around Siebren’s neck.

Siebren’s response was to wrap his arm around Harold’s waist as he flicked through the meager listings. He wasn’t completely surprised that Harold’s taste largely seemed to compromise of Asian historical dramas, not that Siebren was a fan of them. Documentaries and sci-fi shows were more his thing. He clicked on search. “Any preference?”

“Nothing really.” Harold rested his head on Siebren’s shoulder. “Something simple with a nice story. Doesn’t necessarily have to be Christmas related.”

“I believe what you just told me is a preference,” Siebren smirked.

Harold rolled his eyes, amused. “Just pick the movie, tiger.”

Siebren’s eyes narrowed a little as he clicked in and out of a few movies, none of them satisfying his tastes. After a while, he clicked on a bunch of boxes in various different filters. The counter of available movies on the top left hand corner ticked down.

“Siebren, you’re not searching for a research paper. This is just a movie,” Harold laughed.

“But how else are we going to optimize our movie watching? By highlighting key words, sorting by genre, rating, and ranking, we shall theoretically get the perfect movie that will satisfy both our tastes. Observe.”

Millions of movies came down to just one. In the genre listing it’s titled as ‘vintage’ and ‘animated’. A rusted, cubical robot waved happily against the backdrop of what appeared to be another planet, the Earth glowing an ethereal blue in the distance. An old Disney film called 'Wall-E'.

The two men paused, looked at each other, and shrugged. Siebren pressed play on the remote, and the two of them curled up into each other, pressed so close that they could feel each other’s body heat. Harold is comfortable and warm in his arms, a welcoming distraction from the mysteries of the universe. 

The movie turned out to be surprisingly good fun, although perhaps not for the reasons intended by its creators. Harold was overanalyzing the movie’s themes as it relates to the Adam and Eve myth, while Siebren makes a game out of pointing out all the scientific errors within the movie. Harold kept his mouth shut when the plant was introduced, but became very vocal once the spaceship shot up into space.

“Aren't there sensors for this? Did they not refuel the spaceship?”

“I know,” Siebren laughed, amused to see Harold get so passionate. “And this is supposed to be for a scouting mission for a single robot.”

“I’m one person, and I've been in spaceships 5 times smaller than that. Why don’t I get a gigantic missile like that when I go up to space?”

“Maybe if you become a robot, you’ll get special treatment.”

Harold slapped his own forehead, snickering. “Heavens, no. I rather like being human.” He turned to Siebren, eyes low, his voice dripped with innuendo. “Some things you just can’t do as a robot.”

Siebren gulped loudly, keeping his face forward to the TV. Harold let it slide, sniggering to himself, quieting as his attention was inevitably drawn back to the movie.

The rest of the movie passed by in relative silence, the two of them only piping up if they saw something worth discussing. Still, even the scientific improbability of a colony of humans traveling the stars for thousands of years could not distract them from the love story that was core to the movie. Though the two robots never said a word, their love was as clear as day. In a strange way, it reminded Siebren so much of his romance with Harold. So much of their love was expressed through actions and song, not words. 

In the final moments of the movie, the main character robot had reverted to factory settings, removing the personality and autonomy that made it human. Siebren reached for Harold’s hand, the contact leaving electric sparks. He sucked in a breath, his eyes darting to the side. Harold brushed his hand on his jaw, pulling his head to face him. The two robots shared a tender kiss, their love restored, the Earth panned away to reveal the dirt and debris that floated outside its atmosphere, but Siebren didn’t see any of this. All he could see was his own image, reflected in Harold’s wanting eyes. ‘It only takes a moment’ from Hello, Dolly! echoed throughout the room as Harold ran his thumb over Siebren’s chin.

And that is all, that love’s about

And we’ll recall, when times runs out

Siebren’s eyes closed as he felt the hot breath hit his cheeks, calculated the estimated time of impact when lips crashed against lips. Harold looped his arms past his waist, pressing pause on the remote. The movie had been paused, but the lyricists still kept singing their love song in Siebren’s head, their voices the only thing Siebren can hear aside from his own heavy breaths.

That it only took a moment

To be loved

A whole life long

Siebren barely registered the faint scent of apples before lips—then tongue—pressed against his mouth with the impact of a meteor. His hands felt for Harold’s shoulders, bracing from the shudders of the aftershock. The string lights illuminated Harold in prismatic colours, his tongue a solar flare that burned Siebren from the inside out. Siebren’s mouth eagerly opened, flicking his tongue, desperate to mimic the very actions that threatened to unravel the very molecules that made up his body. He was at Harold’s mercy, intoxicated on Harold’s taste, trapped underneath Harold’s love.

Harold shifted beside him, lifting one leg so he could straddle Siebren. His smile was small but indulgent. His eyes twinkled like the stars. His hands trailed down to Siebren’s stomach, hovering over Siebren’s thick thighs, fingers twitching in anticipation. Whispers of Harold's lust hovered in the air, choking the once-clear air.

It's all too much for Siebren. Too much, too soon.

His eyes flew open, a hand pushing Harold away slightly. The distance between them widened by two centimetres, but it was enough to make Harold stop and take pause. Harold stared at him dumbly; clarity had yet to filter into his body.

“Siebren?” He whispered breathily. “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”

“I…n-no, I…” He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted this, this moment, this kiss, but no more than that. He wasn’t ready for what came next. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready.

“Siebren?” Harold repeated.

“Mijn Schatje, I…” Siebren sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry. I’m not ready for…” he pouted. “M-maybe I should find a hotel for tonight instead.”

“W-what? Why?”

“I know what you want. What you want to do to me, o-or what you want me to do to you, but I’m not ready. If you ask me to sleep with you, I’ll just lead you on and…well...” Siebren coughed loudly into his fist, his cheeks crimson in shame.

“Siebren, did you…I didn’t mean to…” Harold’s eyebrows scrunched together. He gazed down to where he sat on Siebren’s lap and took the glasses off his face, placing them on the side table beside the sofa. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, fingertips disappearing into chocolate brown strands. "I didn't mean to push you."

Silence hung between their bodies, thick and impenetrable. All they could do was stare at each other, trying to interpret meaning and emotion behind shimmering eyes.

Siebren ran a soft hand over Harold’s stubble, tracing a pattern of his own creation. Harold leaned into Siebren’s touch, his eyes flutter closed. Their heartbeats slowed down to the beat of the metronome. The tension slowly evaporated from their shoulders.

“I should have mentioned this earlier,” Siebren whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Harold shook his head. “Don’t apologise. You’ve got your limits, I understand. That won’t stop me from loving you.”

“I still want to continue this,” Siebren said. “The kissing, the touching. What we usually do.” He looked away bashfully. “Nothing more than that, if that's okay with you.”

Harold smiled, relieved. “I understand perfectly, my x­­īn gān.”

Siebren had never heard Harold use that particular nickname before, but he thought it must be important when Harold’s hands pressed on his chest and kissed him delicately on the lips. He kissed back eagerly, pulling Harold so close he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest. Fingers glide over Siebren's shoulders, relaxing him. Siebren hummed in pleasure. Yes, this was what he wanted.

They caressed each other, give and take, tracing over cheeks and necks and shoulders and arms. Harold tilted his head to the side, silent permission for Siebren to leave his mark on his skin. And Siebren took it, sucking lightly, just enough for Harold to sigh deeply. 

“Are you OK with this?” Siebren breathed into Harold’s skin.

Harold’s eyes fluttered, a lazy smile growing. “I’ll be happy with anything as long as it’s from you,” he said. He meant every word , and Siebren knew it. He let out a quiet smile, glad and relieved that he had such a kind, wonderful man by his side.

Arms snaked around Siebren’s neck, pressing kisses on his jaw. “Harold,” he sighed.

“Stay,” he pleaded. “It’s cold outside.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “It’s 18 degrees outside. I’m already sweating in this sweater,” he said.

“Then I’ll be cold without you.” His lips nibbled Siebren’s Adam’s apple. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

Siebren responded with a kiss to the bridge of Harold’s nose and a smile. Siebren allowed himself to be led out of the living room, past the kitchen and the lone hallway to Harold’s quaint little bedroom. He had very little time to admire the plain bookshelf and the twinkling lights of the Hong Kong skyline before Harold pulled him to the bed. A laugh escaped Siebren’s throat as Harold wrapped his arms around his body, pressing the two of them so close he could feel the rise and fall of Harold’s chest. They didn't stop touching and kissing each other. 

It's hours when their kisses became less passionate and more lazy, their sighs and groans tinted with sleep. Harold traced his thumb over Siebren’s cheekbone, his eyes half-lidded and fond. “Nǐ de yǎn jing hěn měi,” Harold sighed.

Siebren smiled sleepily. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” Harold responded.

Siebren blushed. “And what about the other one you said earlier? Xin Gan, I think it was?” He probably butchered the pronounciation.

“A secret," Harold giggled.

Siebren hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the melody of Harold's soft laughter. This was what he wanted, to be in Harold’s arms like this, to hear the song of Harold's life thumping in his chest, constant and even. “May I say something in Dutch to you?” He asked quietly.

“Go for it.”

“Ik hou van jou,” he said. “Mijn favoriete plekje is samen met jou zijn.”

“What does that mean?”

“A secret,” Siebren smirked.

Harold huffed, eliciting another quiet chuckle from Siebren. “I’ll find out one day,” Harold declared, his voice laced with mirth and joy. “Just you wait, I will take Dutch lessons, and I will find out what you're saying.”

“It’s good things, don't you worry, mijn schatje," he said. “Wonderful, magnificent things.”

They fell asleep like this, their limbs wrapped around the other, content smiles strewn across their face. Though Siebren was in Harold’s apartment, sleeping in Harold’s bed, he couldn’t help but feel like he had finally found a place he could call home. 

His dreams were short, and he forgot what happened in them when the morning rose, but he remembered that they were blissfully peaceful and pleasant. They pressed light kisses on each other's cheeks as they woke up, drank the advocaat Siebren made the night before from the fridge, and unwrapped the presents beneath Harold’s Christmas tree. Siebren got Harold a stuffed gorilla with glasses that bared more than a passing resemblance to Specimen 28. Harold in turn got him hot pink bamboo socks.

Siebren gave Harold a withering look. "Seriously?" he said, upon which the latter laughed.

Harold brought out a second gift hidden behind the couch—"the real present", he claimed. Siebren was careful to not rip the wrapping paper, revealing a simple but large cardboard box. Inside the box, nestled beneath the stuffing, was a framed photo. It’s a photo of the two of them—the very same photo that sat in the corner of Harold’s living room, in fact, only enlarged. The frame was painted bronze and adorned with classical architecture motifs, making the photo within seem more intimate.

"It was such a good photo I thought I should frame it," Harold said. He gazed fondly at the photo. "You really do look handsome here."

Now Siebren could see what Harold saw. As he gazed at his own, younger face, he didn’t look smug or cocky, as he initially thought. He looked like a man who was absolutely in love.

If he could glance at his reflection, he figured the same expression on the photo was stricken across his face.

Harold pecked Siebren on the cheek. His smile was warm and welcoming like the sunrise. “Merry Christmas, Siebren.”

“Merry Christmas,” Siebren smiled. He bit back a sniffle. Tears began to well up.

“Are you…are you crying?” Harold chuckled.

“N-no! It’s the Styrofoam you put in this box.” He cleared his throat excessively loud, a diversion to distract Harold while he blinked away the tears. “P-perhaps I need another cup of advocaat.”

“Oh, tiger, if only I knew the photo would get you so emotional," Harold laughed, louder than before. "You look so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I am not cute, Harold,” Siebren pouted, which only seemed to convince Harold even more that he was cute. The rest of the Christmas morning was Siebren trying (and failing) to explain to Harold why a middle-aged man of his stature and appearance could not be cute.

[catsandstrawberries]

Real Family: 6

Pairings: BTS x female reader, platonic love

Warnings: Language, domestic abuse (future), neglect

A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback so far guys!

Summary: It’s not blood that makes a family. It’s love.

Masterlist

Just as I thought, I had gotten no sleep that night, and instead choose to watch the transition from night to day. Shortly after the sun had risen from the horizon, a knock sounded from the closed door followed by a head of brown hair poking into the room. 

"Hey, breakfast is ready if you're hungry." The moment I slid into the chair I'm served an enormous platter of food. Eggs, ham, pancakes, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of rolls they set in front of me could keep me going for a week. There's an elegant glass of orange juice set beside my plate and I can't help but look up towards the boys. As if asking for permission to eat. Jin nods his head at me, his eyes crinkling in a smile as I forced myself to eat slowly so I wouldn't look like a complete slob. Most of the boys slowly trickled in, Namjoon being one of the first. Just as he took a bite of his banana a ding sounded from his pocket, he quickly pulled out his phone turning towards Jin and Hoseok. “Bang wants us to take her with us to the studio to do some promotional advertising with her, get photos, make videos, stuff like that.” They continued on with their conversation and I promptly decided that the scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and herbs were much more interesting. 

“Would you like to come to the studio with us (Y/N)?” I looked up from my plate, mouth full and turned to Hoseok, a blush on my cheeks as I simply nodded while swallowing. He pinched my cheeks, a smile spreading across his face, “(Y/N)’s so cute!” I flinched at his hands, nervously looking down just missing the hurt and confused gaze that fell on his face. Thankfully, Tae had entered grabbing a piece of toast and shouting on his way towards the door,

“let's get going slow pokes, let's not forget we have a photoshoot today!” Jungkook stumbled down the stairs, his hair sticking up in several places mumbling under his breath as he sat down next to me chugging a glass of water.

“Jungkook-ah we have to leave in a few minutes, you and (Y/N) should both go get ready,” Jungkook grumbled, grabbing an apple then shuffling back up the stairs, quickly following in his footsteps I stumbled after him but instead went to my own room. Looking through my backpack for some decent clothes I pulled out a pair of black ripped jeans and a short sleeve blue button down-either that or one of my stained sweatshirts, and pretty sure the boys said I would be doing an interview so I should probably look presentable.

Rushing down the stairs towards the front door I pulled my sneakers on and was met with a white limousine. I stared in awe at the car before jumping in the seat, squeezing in next to Jimin. I stared at all of the boys, somehow dressed casually but still looking like they could walk the red carpet. Namjoon furiously typed on his phone, a few of the other boys doing the same while the rest relaxed against the seat.

“(Y/N) are you excited to see BigHit?” Hoseok broke the silence, the question causing some of the boys to turn to me. “Yeah, Is BigHit where you work?” He nodded at my question,

“It'll be cool to see what you guys do behind the scenes and the process of making music.” Just as the words left my mouth large groups of people surrounded a huge, curved building, windows decorating the corners and bodyguards standing at the entrance and clearing a path for the boys. I visibly tensed at the crowd of people, scenes from leaving the orphanage entering my mind.

“Don't stress too much (Y/N), our bodyguards are good at what they do.” Taehyung's reassuring statement eased my nerves slightly, but as soon as the door opened I was immediately blinded by the bright lights from the cameras. Ears buzzing from the screaming fans, I glanced over to the boys as most of them gave small waves to fans but didn't stop to talk to them. They looked so unfazed by the various screams coming from all directions, how did they do it? Suddenly a pair of black sunglasses were being placed over my eyes, giving the world a darker tint and easing my sight from the bright lights. A hand on my lower back led me into the building through the front doors, and as soon as I was shielded by the glass roof and the high arched ceiling I let out a breath of relief. “I don't understand how you guys do that every day.” I mumbled just as Hoseok had taken the sunglasses off my face that I assumed were his, 

“you’ll get used to it.” 

An older looking man, who looked to be in his late 40's turned the corner. He was wearing a casual dark blue suit, short brown hair and grey wire glasses laid on his face. His arms opened as he saw us, "there's my favorite Kpop group." The man gave Namjoon a hug as Jimin spoke up, "Hey Bang." The man, who I assumed was Bang, turned towards me after giving each of the boys a greeting, a smile on his face, 

"this must be (Y/N), so excited to meet you." He gave me a once over, and I pretended not to notice the judging look in his eyes as he took in my appearance. 

"That's me, you must be Bang Pd?" I reached my hand out and he firmly took it. "Let's all head up to my office and we can talk about the plan for today." The boys nodded, and I followed there lead as they led me through the huge building. Numerous other males and females dressed in suits and dresses passed us by carrying stacks of paper, talking into earpieces, and rapidly typing on phones. Almost all of the workers looked up as soon as we walked by, even those emerged in their phones. Staring at awe at the boys or with a blush on their faces. I guess that's what happens when you become famous. Bangs office was on the top floor, the elevator leading straight to his office after he slid his ID passed a scanner. The room was huge, painted white with a black glass desk sitting in the corner of the room. The room was uncluttered and minimalistic, plants residing in the corner, and on his desk was a simple leather notebook, a computer, and a trophy shaped similar to an old fashioned microphone. It was gold, shiny and on the plaque in bold read, ‘Billboard Music Awards.’ The wall behind his desk, however, was a floor to ceiling window. The bright sun and calm clouds made me wonder what the view would look like at night. 

“Take a seat.” Bang motioned towards the black leather couch in front of his desk but then looked towards me just as the boys sat down. “(Y/N), do you mind grabbing me some coffee from the 4th floor?” A part of me wanted to say no considering I literally had no idea where I was going, also I'm pretty sure that the owner of a huge corporation like BigHit had people to get him coffee. “

Sure,” I said walking towards the elevator. Tae turned towards me giving me a reassuring smile. As soon as the elevator door shuts I couldn't help but press my ear to the door. “Boys, what the fuck are you doing? You're all so awkward around her.” I jumped away from the wall at his voice and decided to stop eavesdropping and actually find out where the coffee was. Once I had gotten to the fourth floor I was immediately met with a room full of people. Concept maps were posted on the wall with different themes such as bad boy, high schoolers, light, lost souls, I stopped in front of one of the boards. Unlike the other ones, this had little to no pictures, words or connections on it. The only reason I had stopped was the two bolded words at the top. It read, ‘family’ and under that, a red string connected it to, ‘adoption?’ 

“Excuse me,” I whipped my head around at the feminine voice, finding a young woman wearing a pencil skirt and blouse. “Are you lost?” She gave me a once over then raised an eyebrow, probably thinking I had snuck in. “Kind of. I'm supposed to bring Bang some coffee,” I mumbled as the woman's gaze hardened, “Okay kid, enough with the lies or I'll call security.” I knew I definitely didn't fit in with the atmosphere but I didn't think it was that obvious. Also, apparently need to work on my acting skills. “I came here with the boys-” she let out a curt laugh wiping an imaginary tear from her eye, “you're telling me that BTS adopted you, why?” 

Funny, I had been asking myself the same question. 

“Honestly I'm just trying to find the coffee, and if you're really worried I'm not who I say I am then you can supervise me till I get busted.” She raised an eyebrow then tilted her head to one of the corner rooms. “Thank you,” I rushed towards the room, finding a setup of multiple foods and beverages, a coffee stand to the left. Multiple types of coffees, sugars, and creams were laid out in front of me and at the sudden realization, I paled. I had no idea what he wanted in his coffee. Let alone if he liked extra dark roast, light roast or anything in between. My eyes glanced over each of the brews and I decided to pick the caramel dark roast with a little bit of cream and sugar. I winced as I put the lid on the cup, what if he hated it? But could he really be mad at me when all he told me, was to get him a coffee? I carefully picked up the beverage heading back over to the elevator and cautiously watching where I was going so I wouldn't be spilling a hot drink all over someone. Before I could press the up button on the elevator it suddenly beeped open, and I came face to face with a wide-eyed Jungkook. He glanced down at the coffee in my hands and gently took it, bringing it up to his lips and taking a swig. His face contorted in disgust and he prompted to throw the cup into the trash can outside the elevator. 

"Seriously (Y/N), that was disgusting we need to work on your coffee tastes." I shifted my gaze from Jungkook and the trash can, 

"wasn't I suppose to bring that to Bang?" His early words then started to register in my brain, "hey! You can't blame me there were at least ten different types of coffees over there and I didn't know which kind he liked." I pouted while Jungkook chuckled, 

"don't worry about it, Bang doesn't even like coffee." I didn't even try to hide my shocked expression but before I could comment Jungkook was pulling me into the elevator with him. "Only ten coffees, huh must be a slow day." He gave me a cheeky grin just as he pressed the button for floor six. 

"Where are we going now?" I asked out of pure curiosity, "WE have a photoshoot." I raised an eyebrow at the stressed syllable, "We?