#the thought has been rattling inside my brain since yesterday

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I was watching S3E15: Dorothy's New Friend yesterday (the one with Barbara Thorndyke), and when the girls are talking about Rose's masquerade ball, Blanche says:

"We've gone for the past five years. We may hate it, but we always go."

Now — Golden Girls isn't exactly known for its perfect continuity, so this might just be an error, but if we take it at face value, this is telling us that:

1) in S3 the girls have been living together for five years, if we assume they already felt close enough during their first year as roommates to accompany Rose to the masquerade ball (otherwise, they've lived together for more than five years). Which means:

2) when Shady Pines burns down and Sophia comes to live with the Girls, they've been living together for at least two years already. (As a side note, iirc Dorothy states in S1 that Stan left her about two years prior, so I guess this implies she started living with Blanche and Rose right after her divorce). Which means:

3) when Rose says in the finale that there's too much to say about 7 years of fights and laughter and secrets and cheesecake, she's talking about the group of the four of them, but actually she, Blanche and Dorothy have spent basically an entire decade together.

A decade. As if seven years wasn't painful enough. I need to scream

[frenchpuppycormier]

fluff 10 and/or 11 + supercorp for the sentence starters pls 💞

"Are we on a date right now?" / "I think I'm in love with you."

—

Saturday signals the best day in Kara's book for one simple reason: the farmers market. It's the perfect place to buy fresh produce directly from the grower at a lower price than those pesky retailers. Not to mention, it's fresher and it's a great way to support local communities.

Kara enjoys it most in the early morning between 8 and 9 when the California heat hasn't bombarded its citizens yet. One of her favorite memories of going to the market was when she first arrived on earth, and Eliza and Alex took her to the one in Midvale. Eliza bought her the sweetest miniature doughnuts which practically melted in her mouth. She's been a huge (understatement of the year) fan ever since.

The farmers market is located 20 blocks from her apartment, just a short jaunt or flight for the hero.

Today she decides to walk and enjoy the nice cool breeze, and the warm sun spilling on her face. She can already hear the acoustics of a folk band covering a Fleetwood Mac song at the end of main street. The leaves are starting to change, indicating the beginning of fall, and the ones already on the ground crunch beneath her feet.

Her reusable cloth bag with the words, "Okey Dokey Artichokey" and a cartoon artichoke with a smiley face and tiny stick arms, is slung over her shoulder. Lena had given it to her as a gag gift, but Kara uses it the most out of all her bags. Any gift from Lena is special and she will always treasure it.

As she rounds the corner to the market, she sneaks another look at her list to remind herself what she needs, when she bumps into someone. Hard. Fortunately, Kara manages to grab the other person's arm before they fall.

"Oh my gosh," Kara cringes. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was—" she interrupts herself when she sees, "Lena?"

"Hey there, slick," Lena laughs and nudges the hand latched on her arm to tangle with her fingers.

Kara responds by swinging their arms back and forth, like what friends do when they haven't seen each other in months. But Kara and Lena just saw each other yesterday. This is normal, right? Kara thinks. The fluttering in my chest is completely common whenever I see my friends....Right?

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Kara speaks before her brain can catch up with her.

Lena's face lights up with a sly grin. "Can't a woman go to the market every once in a while?"

"N-no no, of course you can," Kara laughs awkwardly, "I meant, gosh I'm not sure...I guess I just didn't expect to see you here. You live all the way on the other side of town."

"Relax, love," she chuckles and squeezes her hand and releases it, Kara immediately missing the warmth. "I'm teasing you. But to answer your question, I'm in desperate need of fresh kale, and I heard this particular stand has the best in the city."

Kara feigns gagging and Lena playfully shoves her shoulder. “I still don’t understand how you can eat that stuff.”

“Who knew the green stuff that incapacitates you was kale.”

“More like your eyes,” Kara mumbles.

“What was that?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “N-nothing,” she rubs the back of her neck. “Um, so….do you care if I join you? Wandering aimlessly through the market checking out food stands with my best friend sounds like the perfect way to spend my Saturday morning.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Lena replies, smiling brightly.

—

“Oooh, look! A food truck!” Kara points.

Lena laughs at her zeal. “Let’s see what they have.”

Kara reaches for her hand and twines their fingers together before dragging her toward the truck. Lena’s stomach swoops at the action, but she calms herself down enough so Kara doesn’t notice her rapid heartbeat. Not that she would, considering food is the best distraction when it comes to the blonde.

Little does Lena know that nothing can distract Kara from Lena, especially considering 98% of the time Kara is listening to the constant thumps and quivers of Lena’s heart, but Kara doesn’t say anything.

Kara looks up at the man in the truck and politely rattles off her order, then looks at Lena and asks, “What do you want?”

“Um,” Lena quickly glances at the menu and says, “I’ll have the Avo Smash, please.” She moves to hand the man cash, but Kara stops her and insists she'll pay for it. "My treat."

Once they give their order they move to the side and wait until their names are called.

When they get their food they move to a shady spot on the sidewalk and admire how delicious it looks.

“What’s that?” Kara asks.

“Oh, it’s a piece of toast with smashed avocado, egg, and tomato,” Lena replies, noticing how Kara turns up her nose. Lena rolls her eyes and gestures at her hands, “What’d you get?”

"Uh, only the most scrumptious and melt in your mouth-watering food you can get here," she replies, eyebrows pinched, incredulously. Lena raises her eyebrows in a get-on-with-it kind of way. "French toast bites," Kara finishes, exasperated at Lena's lack of enthusiasm.

"Sweet food for a sweet girl."

Kara's cheeks grow a slight pink. Instead of replying, she dips a piece of her toast in the syrup, and shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Lena simply hums and takes a bit of her own food. Kara smiles like a chipmunk with cheeks full of goodies.

When Lena's finished with her slice of hipster toast, as Kara calls it, a small body runs into her legs from behind. She looks down and finds a small boy with sandy blonde hair and big, blue eyes looking up at her with a toothy grin.

"Hi, there," she smiles at him.

"Henry!" a woman in a flowy maxi dress and brown sandals comes running toward them. She picks him up and gives him a stern look. "I told you not to run off like that!" The woman adjusts him on her hip and shyly realizes she has an audience. "I'm so sorry! He gets too excited about their french toast."

"Oh, no worries," Lena reassures her. She carefully grabs Kara's elbow and says, "This one does too."

Kara acts hurt by placing a hand over her heart. "Well, can you blame me? They're delicious! Aren't they?" she smiles at the boy and waves. He giggles and hides his face in his mother's neck. "Someone's a little shy, huh?"

"He is, isn't he?" the mom kisses his cheek. "I think he has a little crush on you."

"Who, me?" Kara laughs. "No, I think he has eyes for Lena. As most people do." She steps forward and tickles his stomach so he looks at her. Kara holds out her hand for a high five and whispers, "Good choice." He gratefully slaps her hand.

When Kara steps back, Lena is blushing, but rather than call her out on it she ignores it out of respect. Kara smiles at her and Lena smiles back, but then she's suddenly laughing through her nose.

"Darling, you have a little," she gestures at her own face.

"What? I have something on my face?" Kara touches her cheek, but completely misses.

"Here," Lena's fingers tenderly touch the side of her jaw while her thumb swipes her lip. Lena's completely focused on what she's doing, but Kara only has eyes for Lena.

Lena pulls back her hand, thumb now sticky with syrup. Instead of wiping it on the napkin Kara knows Lena has in her bag, she sticks it between her lips and licks it clean.

Kara completely stops breathing.

"How long have you two been together?" a voice snaps her out of her reverie.

Kara gapes at her with wide eyes and stutters, "Um...we, we're uh, just friends."

"Oh," the woman almost looks upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. Well, I'll let you get back to your morning." She smiles at them and walks away, leaving a flabbergasted Kara and quiet Lena.

They don't say anything and choose to ignore it while they continue down the street.

—

"Lena, you have to try this," Kara doesn't give her a chance to respond before shoving a spoonful of gelato in Lena's mouth.

Lena gasps and nearly chokes on the ice cold dessert enveloping her tastebuds. She hisses and nods, as she lifts her hand to hastily catch the dribbles of melted chocolate trickling down her chin. Kara winces, "I'm so sorry!"

"No," Lena shakes her head as she swallows, "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Well? How was it?"

"Y'know, I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty fucking delicious."

"Right? Marco really knows his stuff."

"Um," Lena holds her hand out, fingers spread apart to prevent more sticking, and shakes it like she doesn't know what to do.

Kara jumps to action and runs off. She's back in two seconds with a wet wipe and cleans Lena's hand. "Where'd you find that?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay?" Lena laughs breathily. "You're a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, Ms. Danvers."

"I aim to confuse," she jokes.

Lena shakes her head, and eventually says, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Kara smiles at her, their eyes locked onto each other. She's finished cleaning her hand, but rather than letting go, her hand stays curled around Lena's, not wanting to ruin the moment.

—

“Oh Rao, you didn’t,” Kara gasps.

Lena turns around and frowns at her. “What?” Kara gestures to Lena’s bag. Lena looks down and chuckles when she realizes what she’s talking about. “In my defense, I was drunk. You know how my shopping brain acts when I’m drunk; I buy things I don’t need.”

“Hmmm, well maybe your alcohol-addled brain just remembered how funny I thought it was and wanted to impress me,” Kara teases with a twitch of her eyebrow.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” Lena deadpans. She glanced at the words on her bag again and fondly shakes her head. It reads: Oh Kale Yeah, with a bunch of kale on both sides.

“I think so,” Kara steps closer and smiles.

“Oh, really?” Lena raises her eyebrows.

“Yep,” she ends with an extra pop of the ‘p’ and boops her on the nose.

Lena opens her mouth in surprise, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but a voice interrupts her from in front of them.

“You two are such a lovely couple,” the vendor gushes.

Lena and Kara startle, forgetting they’re standing right in front of a stand selling various vegetables and fruits and jars of honey. Behind the table is an older woman, most likely in her late 70s, with streaks of gray hair, crinkly eyes and facial lines as if she’s smiled her whole life.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Kara answers, smiling bashfully. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, “I’ll take one bunch of radishes and one spaghetti squash.”

“Coming right up,” the woman replies.

Kara glances over at Lena and gives her a shy smile, before handing the woman a $10 bill and thanking her. She grabs the veggies and carefully drops them in her bag.

“Thank you two, have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, you too!” Kara places her hand on the small of Lena’s back and guides her forward.

As they make their way to the next stand, Kara laughs, remembering their conversation, “I can’t believe you bought that bag. You’re such a giant dork.”

Lena whips around and eyes Kara curiously. Kara’s hand shifts from her back to loosely rest on her waist. Lena’s eyes are squinting from the bright sun, but Kara can see the speckles of gold in them and thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Are we on a date right now?”

Kara's heart quickens and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, until finally she clears her throat, "Did you want it to be?"

"I thought—”

"Because I do," Kara states. "Want it to be a date. But only if you do, of course. I don't want you to feel pressured or like I forced you to hang out with me," she retracts her hand. "That's the last thing I—”

Lena grabs her hand as she pulls it way, not wanting Kara to close herself off. "Hey, I want this just as much as you do."

"Really?"

Lena lightly presses her thumb into the grooves of Kara's knuckles, and absentmindedly plays with them. She smiles, fully dimpled, and says, "I do. Actually, I uh..." she lowers their connected hands and looks off into the distance, mind seemingly elsewhere.

"What is it?" Kara asks. She playfully shakes their arms back and forth to get her attention.

Lena looks at the ground before completely focusing on Kara and those baby blues she's come to know and love. She takes a deep breath and her voice shakes when she whispers, "I think I'm in love with you..." Lena stumbles and shakes her head, "No—I am in love with you."

Kara inhales sharply and Lena thinks she's made a giant mistake. She starts to turn and do something stupid, like run away, but Kara keeps her hold on her and pulls her forward.

Smiling, Kara slowly inches closer leaving the opportunity for Lena to stop her. When Kara's lips press into hers she welcomes it completely. Kara's hands come up to cup Lena's jaw until she moves one to tangle in her hair.

Kara disconnects from her lips, but stays wrapped up in her, their foreheads touching. "I'm in love with you, too," she whispers against soft lips.

"Good," Lena smiles and kisses her again.

[warmblanketwhump]

Hello, can we do ⬤ and ⌘?

⌘: being picked up

⬤: being called soft things like baby, sweetheart or honey

“Can we please turn up the heat? I'm frozen.”

“B. You just got done shoveling snow. Give your body a chance to do its thing. Or wrap up in a blanket. It’s cheaper that way. ”

B slumps, dejected, and shuffles over to the couch, throwing a thick knit blanket around their shoulders and rubbing their arms. A feels a twinge of guilt at how miserable B looks, but there just isn’t money to pay a sky-high utility bill this month – especially when they'd barely feel a difference. Hopefully misery would pay off with a better place for them this time next year.

“C’mon. I’ll make you tea.” B glares at A, but A can see the hope that leaps into their eyes. A few minutes later, A brings a steaming mug of honey ginger tea over to B, who’s curled up on the floor next to their toaster-sized space heater as it puffs out a few breaths of warm air. B sits up and gratefully wraps their cold fingers around the warm ceramic, pulling it close to their chest.

“It’s so warm,” B sighs, taking a sip. A shiver rattles through them, and A leans in to steady the mug.

“Drink up. It’ll heat you from the inside out.”

“Hope so,” B says softly. “I’ve been chilled since yesterday.”

Alarm bells flash in A’s mind. “Wait - you were cold before you went outside?”

B bites their lip, like they’ve said more than they meant to. “I mean….I've just been kinda shivery and can't keep warm. But it’s fine, really. I’ll just give it a minute, like you said.”

A places a tentative hand on B’s shoulder. “Honey, why didn't you say something?”

B shrugged. “I'm always cold during the winter. And it’s always me who’s whining about it, but it was my turn to clear the walk. Just figured I’d shiver through it and suck it up.” They give a halfhearted smile and hug themselves, hunching their shoulders. “Could you get me another blanket?”

A’s brow furrows in concern, but they go and snatch a soft throw off B’s neatly made bed and come back to the living room. They stop for a moment and look at the sparse bedroom - they had no idea B had been so miserable - and it killed them that they didn’t feel like they could be honest about it.

B’s back laying down, nearly on top of the heater. A drapes the blanket over B and sneaks their hand to the back of their neck. It’s warm, too warm for someone who’s complaining about the cold, the unnatural heat in stark contrast to A’s icy fingers. “Love, you’ve got a fever.”

B shivers and pulls their knees up. “Wish I felt like it. I’ve got chills all over. My throat hurts now, too.” A rubs B’s shoulders, feeling the small puffs of air from the heater evaporate into the cold room.

“Why don’t we get you into bed, under the covers? You'll be more comfortable there.” B nods and A pulls them to their feet, but B sways so far forward that A has to catch them. B grasps A's waist weakly, and A keeps a hand between B’s shoulders as they shuffle to the bedroom. B immediately collapses onto the bed, and A unwraps them and smooths the covers over their feverish body.

“Sheets are cold,” B whimpers.

“Just give it a minute - you’ll warm them up soon enough,” A reassures, calm voice betraying the rising panic in their gut as they rub B’s arms and legs through the covers. A wracks their brain - they know you aren’t supposed to overheat a fevered person, but B was already so cold - so which should they choose? Call C, their brain screams, but they push the thought over to the side. They weren't that desperate.

Eventually, they settle on warmth - bringing up the minuscule space heater and tucking a hot water bottle under the covers, which B promptly snatches and wraps their arms around. They pitch between waking and unconsciousness, finally settling into a thin sleep in the evening. A curls up beside them and wraps an arm around their shivering form, and finds sleep soon after.

Just before midnight, A wakes with a cold nose and the sound of sharp, short breathing next to them. It's B, weeping softly.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"I....I can't sleep. I'm so cold and....and my throat hurts really bad and....I just want to sleep, I’m so tired…but I can't warm up....I can't..." A can catch the delirious, panicked edge to their voice. When they press closer, A can feel the fevered heat rolling off in waves as B's shoulders shake with sobs. “A, please. Help me.”

It's then that A knows what they have to do. "We're going to C's." It's said as a statement, not a question. B's too out of it to take in the enormity of it. But it's decided. C can help. If C will have them.

The buses won't be running for hours yet, but C's house is only about a mile away. So they bundle a half-conscious B into every blanket and piece of warm clothing they own, pulling a hat down over their ears, and swaddling them in a blanket before scooping them up out of bed.

It's cold outside, with the faintest glitter of snowflakes in the dim streetlights. A has to stop halfway to catch their breath and hoist B back up in their arms, but B barely flutters an eyelid. All the while, they're praying to every deity they can think of, begging them to not let C turn them away.

When they get to C's, they have a moment of panic. What if they say no? I should've called. I should've found another way, should've –

"Okay, it's midnight. This better be–" C's on their stoop, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Their face freezes at sight of A and B – two people they haven't seen in over a year.

"Please. B's really, really sick." A's voice breaks, and C stares forward, mouth agape, eyes unblinking, but A can't stop.

"And I know you probably hate me, but you don't hate them. You can't hate them. And it's so damn cold in that stupid hole in the wall we live in, and they're just so tired, and so am I–" A's crying now "–and I just...I need help. We need help. Please."

C's face is soft, and their eyes are wet with tears. "A, all you had to do was ask. Come on in."

They stumble across the threshold into the gloriously warm house. C kneels down and gets a fire going in the hearth, and A deposits a bundled B on the couch and begins adjusting their blankets. B blinks awake once more, their fevered eyes reflecting the glint of the firelight.

"Warm now?" they ask, the fever giving them a wide-eyed innocence.

A pushes the hair back off their forehead, and their eyes meet C's. "Yes, sweetheart. We're gonna be warm now."

[dp-marvel94]

I am you (and you are me)

For Invisobang 2021. Art by @bibliophilea

On AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Summary: Set post Kindred Spirits. Something has been different since Danny came back from Vlad's and it started when the older half ghost had the tiny clone overshadow him. The half ghost remembers: His own screams. A pain in his inmost being, in his core. A tug back and forth. Being squeezed. A crash, a collision. And then... the blackness of death.

Danny comes back from the experience changed, with the memories of two lives stuffed in his head and new powers. The fire powers are pretty cool but shrinking, often involuntarily, makes him feel weak and vulnerable. All of it, the powers and memories, terrify him as he learns what they mean. And the thought of telling his loved ones...How can the half ghost hope that Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will understand and accept him now when he himself cannot?

Warnings and Tags: Self harm, Identity confusion, Self-Hatred, Ectoplasm and melting clones related gore, Clone Angst, Nightmares, Memory Issues, Involuntary Shrinking. Panic Attacks, Frostbite is Danny’s Icedad.  Evil Vlad Masters, Bad Parent Vlad Masters, Split Danny, Ghost Catcher, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual acceptance (by Danny and by his loved ones). Sibling Bonding, Friendship, Danny finally gets a hug.

Note: Welcome to my Invisobang fic! This is a semi-sequel to my story "Nothing and Everything." It's set directly after that story, though assuming an alternative ending. It is not necessary to read the older story to understand this one. All you need to know is, it deals with the aftermath of Danny being overshadowed by one of the clone's in Kindred Spirits and the emotional impact of the experience.

All that being said, big thanks to my amazing artist @bibliophilea for the amazing comic, and for beta reading! Thanks to @welcome-tothe-mystery-shack  for your comments and feedback on this story. And finally, a huge thanks to my dearest sister @nervousdragonrebelpie for looking over chapters and listening to me ramble about this story for the past few months. I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without you.

Preview Below:

Chapter 1:

“No! I’m a person. People have names! I have to have a name. I’m not….” A sob tried to break free from his throat.

A knock suddenly rattled the door. “Danny!” Mom called.

Both boy’s heads popped up, focusing on the door. They turned to face each other. “Don’t do this.” The real Danny begged.

“What?” The being asked.

“Every time you get close to the truth, you dream up a distraction.” His eyes widened in desperate panic. “Please don’t-”

Danny’s eyes popped open, a dream swirling in his mind. His heart raced, the sheets sticking to his sweaty body. His brow wrinkled, one shaking hand moving up to rub his aching head. Aching…. He still had that damn headache.

The boy closed his eyes, trying to push the pain away, to coax his heart rate down. He breathed. In and out. In and out. Slowly, so slowly, the throb in his head dimmed, his heart calming. But still, anxiety ate up his insides. 

Blearily, the boy opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Dissatisfied, he groaned and rolled onto his side. He clenched and unclenched his fists, balling up the fabric on his bed. His bed. Yes, this was his bed…. Sleeping in a bed was so nice and comfortable but at the same time... something about it felt…. off.

The boy pinched his eyes closed, trying to make sense of the feeling. His stomach flopped. Something was off. Something was different. After today, after he’d come back from Vlad’s, after the man kidnapped him, after the man clo-

Danny cut off the cursed word, his mind refusing. He buried his face in his pillow. Vlad’s. Something had happened, something had.. had changed at Vlad’s but he couldn’t... quite... remember.

It flashed in images. Being locked in a pod. Electrocution. His own screams. Pain. A pain in his inmost being, in his core…. On the bed, Danny’s core throbbed at the thought… A tug back and forth. Then being squeezed. A crash, a collision. And then... blackness.

He’d passed out. Danny knew that much. And he’d woken up at some point later but everything between that and when he had arrived home was a blur.

Confusion. His head swimming. Danielle.. sister… frowning in worry. The hiss of the pod being released. A sigh of relief. An ectoblast. Twisted metal and glass. Ectoplasm. Ectoplasm on his hands, on the floor. Oh god, oh god. He hadn’t meant to do that. He wasn’t... the others weren’t supposed to…. weren't supposed to...

Vlad... Master... Vlad... glaring in pure hatred. “Get behind me.” His ears ringing with a scream. The older halfa being knocked into his shelves. His knees wobbling. He fell and turned human. (Human... why did the fact that he could do that make him so happy?) But then horror. Vlad was still up and moving.

Then Sam and Tucker crashed through, hitting the older man. Locking Vlad (Master) in a pod. He needs... he needs to find Danielle. He needs to find his baby sister. But she’s gone. She’s gone.

His friends’ worried faces. “Danny, you’re not making any sense.” “Hey! Hey! Stay with us!” He wobbled…. where was Danielle?..... falling forward….. Sam and Tucker caught him.

At some point later, he’d woken up on his bed with worried friends and sister who he couldn’t adequately comfort. His head had been pounding and he couldn’t remember what happened to him… and what he did remember made little sense. Sam had checked his eyes; he didn’t have a concussion or any other injuries. With his head throbbing, he’d dismissed the confusion as being from the stress of the kidnapping and electrocution. His friends believed him, though anxiety was plain on their faces. But after a few minutes, his friends had said their goodbyes, leaving him to get some much needed sleep.

But now, the night after, Danny laid on his bed. His headache was gone, his mind clearer. He should feel better yet... his heart was sinking like a stone in his chest. That dream. That dream. That was familiar. So familiar. Like it had really happened. Like... it meant something. And yet…. Danny yawned, sudden tiredness overtaking him. He closed his eyes.

Maybe this was the ramblings of a sleep deprived brain. Yeah, maybe he was just tired. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and everything would be okay. The boy pulled his covers more tightly around himself and fell asleep.

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

The next morning, after quickly getting ready for school and rushing off, found Danny at his locker. The boy frowned, wracking his brain. What was his locker combination again? He spun the lock, landing on 25. That was the first number, right? Then….56. And finally….12? The lock clicked and he pulled the door open.

Danny sighed. Why was that so hard to remember? He’d had to open his locker just yesterday. He should remember… but why did that feel like a lifetime ago?

“Hey! Danny!” Tucker’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Danny gasped in surprise. In his chest, his core swelled and his body reflexively flickered invisible. A second later, he reappeared, rubbing his chest.

The next thing he knew, Sam was at his side. “What was that?”

“Yeah.” His technogeek friend took a step forward, voice quieting. “Your powers haven’t slipped up like that in months.”

Danny frowned, shaking his head. “I guess... I guess I’m still kinda shook up after….” He wrapped his arms around himself.

Sam’s face softened, seeming to understand. “Do you feel any better?” She asked kindly.

The halfa’s brow wrinkled. “Well, my headache’s gone.”

“You do look better.” The goth commented, her brow furrowing with worry. “You looked rough last night.”

“Yeah, you were really out of it too.” Tucker frowned. “You kept asking where someone called Danielle was? And for your sister?” Clear confusion rang out in his voice and just a hint of teasing…. “We kept telling you Jazz was at home, covering for us.” as if the idea that he was worried about his older sister, when she wasn’t even involved, was funny.

But something in the recollection made Danny shiver. He remembered worrying about Danielle. But…. sister... he hadn’t been talking about Jazz. He’d been asking about another girl, with blue eyes and-

“Then you passed out.” Sam continued. “And we took you home.”

For a too long moment, his friends looked at him questioningly. Finally, Danny bit his lip. “I think I remember that.”

The confirmation seemed to encourage his friends. “That’s good.” Said Tucker.

Danny wasn’t sure it was. But he had no more time to think on it before the bell rang and they were walking to their first class.

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

During lunch period, Danny sat down at their familiar table, the same one as yesterday and every day since the start of freshman year. He placed down his tray and looked over the tables, waiting for Sam and Tucker to join him.

The boy’s brow furrowed. The cafeteria looked the same as every day. The same as yesterday when…. Danielle phasing through the table, a tiny green speck racing passed him…. At the lunch table, Danny’s core pulsed anxiously. Yes, that had happened but at the same time…. Looking back at the two chasing him. Laughing without sound at their fun game.

Danny shivered, feeling cold. He rubbed his chest, nervously.

“Danny?” Someone was waving a hand in front of his face. “Danny? You with us man?”

The halfa blinked and turned, meeting Tucker’s eyes. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“What’s with the spaciness?” Sam said bluntly. She stabbed at her salad. “You were like that all during English too.”

“Was I?” The boy questioned. He shook his head. “Sorry. Just... thinking about stuff.”

His friends gave him worried looks but didn’t question him. Frankly, it was to Danny’s relief. He couldn’t seem to put his thoughts in order. He couldn’t explain this... weird feeling. 

The friends chatted for most of the lunch period, Sam and Tucker dominating the conversation with a debate about the newest Doomed update.

All the while Danny idly rubbed at his chest with one hand. He picked at his cheese fries. Normally they were pretty good, but he wasn’t feeling it today. He shivered again, flinching as his fork fell through his intangible hand.

“Again?” Tucker questioned with a raised brow.

Danny didn’t respond, instead picking up his fork only for his core to flare and the utensil to fall through his fingers again. With an annoyed grumble, the boy rubbed his chest again.

“Do you think something’s up with your powers?” Sam quietly asked.

The halfa looked up, frowning. “No... I mean…”

The goth pointed. “Danny, you keep rubbing your chest.”

Danny looked down, brow furrowing. Below his palm, his core pulsed. There was something… strange about the rhythm and…. he adjusted the position, pressing just the smallest bit harder. Normally, it fit comfortably under his palm but now... “It’s... bigger?” He muttered.

“What?” Tucker asked.

Danny lowered his hand. “My core?” He shook his head. “No... I’m imagining it.” His core pulsed unhappily, even as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Sam and Tucker again looked like they wanted to argue, but the bell rang and they split up, each hurrying to their next class.

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

The rest of the school day was surprisingly normal. Just his typical classes, without even a ghost fight to interrupt his day. Danny should have felt relieved for such a chill day after what happened last night but yet…. The boy tapped his pencil on his desk. He felt anxious. He must still be shook up, like he told his friends this morning. 

Danny bit his lip, shaking the writing instrument in his hand again. It went flying out of his grip and clattered onto the floor. The boy huffed as he bent down to grab it. His hand hadn’t even turned intangible this time.

With that, the boy straightened in his seat. He glanced at the clock. 20 more minutes left in class. Just 20 minutes. Then he could go home and take a nap. He rubbed his eyes. He was still tired after getting back so late. Maybe some sleep would help him feel better.

Soon enough, the bell rang. Danny stood and walked to his locker. This time, he remembered the combination without wracking his brain. He pulled out his books and turned to his friends, who were collecting their own belongings.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Danny said.

“Yeah, see you later.” Tucker replied.

“Call us if something comes up with the ghosts.” Sam frowned. “I’m grounded but…. I’ll sneak out if you need me.”

The technogeek groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m grounded too.”

The halfa looked down guiltily. “Sorry.” He bit his lip. “You guys shouldn’t be grounded because you had to save my sorry butt.”

“It’s fine.” Sam comforted. “We weren’t not going to save you. We’re your friends.”

“Yeah.” Tucker agreed. “It’s just the price to pay for being superheroes.”

Danny half-smiled, though he didn’t much feel like it. He wasn’t much of a hero. Guilt still choked his heart. He hated getting his friends in trouble. But still…. “Thanks for having my back.”

“No problem.” Tucker confirmed.

Then down the hall, someone called his name. “Danny?”

The boy turned. It was his sister, Jazz. He frowned. Oh right, he hadn’t talked to her since he’d been half out of it last night.

The girl quickly approached. “There you are. Come on. I’m driving you home.”

Jazz didn’t give him a choice as she started leading him towards the entrance. Danny waved at his friends, watching their worried faces until he turned the corner. 

Less than two minutes later, the pair were seated in Jazz’s car. The girl didn’t start the vehicle, instead turning to face her brother. “Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?”

“I... Uh…” Danny stuttered, trying to collect his thoughts.

“You disappeared during the middle of school. Sam and Tucker said some weird ghost girl showed up. You went off to fight some ghost and the next thing they knew, Vlad was carrying you away.”

The boy crossed his arms. “It sounds like you already know what happened.” He muttered.

Jazz pinned a serious look. “I know Vlad kidnapped you but…. what did he do to you?”

Danny paled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Something happened. You were unconscious when Sam and Tucker got back. And you were super out of it when you woke up. But you weren’t physically hurt. What did Vlad do to you?” His sister pushed.

Danny swallowed, his stomach flopping. “I... I don’t…. It’s fuzzy….” 

Jazz rose a brow, her tone suggesting she knew there was more to it. “Danny.”

The boy flinched. “I... he... Vlad electrocuted me?” He remembered. Being locked in a pod, electricity running through him. The creepy hologram of his mom. But... but... there was more.

His sister paled. “Oh... I’m so sorry.” Her voice softened and she didn’t say anything for a while, then… “Do you know why he did that?”

Danny stiffened, looking up. The reason sparked in his mind, with the image. Vlad hissing in front of him, boasting his plan. The man had explained but…. the words stayed just out of reach. Danny's face set in a pointed frown. He shook his head.

Jazz’s own frown deepened. “That little girl…. Sam and Tucker said she looked just like you in ghost form. What does she have to do with all this?”

The boy avoided her eyes, heart fluttering nervously. The little girl.... her face snapped into focus in his mind. Danielle, that was her name. But... there was another word. Started with an S or…. a C. She was like him; she was a clo-

Danny shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Well…. part of it was right. Danielle had been there. She’d been helping Vlad. She helped the man hurt him; painful betrayal stabbed at him from the thought. But at the same time…

“She helped me. She helped me fight Vlad.” The half ghost said quietly, awed realization sparking as he remembered.

“But… who was she?” Jazz asked, equally quietly.

Just like that, the boy paled again. The word, the cursed word, formed in his mind without his permission. Clone. She was a clone of…. him?... No... that didn’t sound right... he was the same as her but... it had to be true. His frown deepened.

“Who was she?” His older sister asked again.

The boy shivered. “I... I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Danny.” Her voice softened. “You can tell me. It’s-”

“I... I can’t... I don’t wanna talk about it.” He focused on his hands in his lap, trying to keep them from shaking.

“Clearly, whatever happened is bothering you. You can tell me.”

“No. I-” Danny bit his lip, reaching for the door. He couldn’t stay in here with her, couldn’t deal with the questions he had no answers for or rather... questions he couldn’t bear to answer. The… the c word... he couldn’t say it, could barely think it. How could he explain how everything felt wrong, like he wasn’t actually-

“Wait.” Jazz cut off his thoughts. “You don’t have to talk until you’re ready. Just... let me drive you home.”

The boy lowered his hand and slumped back in his seat. “You... you promise? You won’t press?”

His sister’s brow furrowed. Her face was tight, like she didn’t want to agree; but after a long moment, she sighed. “Alright. I promise.”

Danny nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Jazz turned the car on, put it into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove home in silence. Once they arrived, the boy went straight up to his room. He rubbed his head, flopping down onto his bed. He needed... he needed a nap. Yeah…. That was it. He was still tired.

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

Sister smiled down at him. “Look at this!” The black haired girl held up her crayon drawing. “This is me.” She pointed. “And Muscles. And Bones. And Daniel.” Her smile widened as she tapped at the last figure. “And this is you.”

The being tilted his head. He floated up, placing small hands on the green figure on the paper. He blinked owlishly up at the girl.

The corner of the girl's mouth turned down. She placed down the paper and offered him a crayon. “Come on. You try.”

The tiny being hovered forward, reaching out to touch the crayon. It was so big, almost half as tall as he was. He frowned, trying to understand.

“Make yourself a little bigger and you’ll be able to hold it.” She encouraged. “Come on. You can do it.”

The being scrunched his brow and he stretched. He was about the size of a toddler, maybe two and a half feet tall. He reached out, grabbing the crayon with his slightly larger hands.

“Great.” Sister said. She pushed a fresh piece of paper in front of him. “Now you draw. Like this.” She demonstrated, rubbing the crayon against the paper so color transferred onto it.

The being flopped down, sitting on the floor. Slowly, so slowly, he copied the girl. He traced his drawing instrument over the paper. He scribbled, creating a mess of lines and shapes without meaning or purpose.

Sister smiled proudly anyway. “You’re doing it. Good job, Tiny.”

He beamed, something in him sparking at the praise. He continued scribbling but the image changed into something more purposeful. A house took shape, stick figures. A large man and slimmer woman. A little girl and a little boy.

The little boy giggled at his drawing. His hands were chubbier than before. A toddler’s, instead of the miniaturized version of a teen’s. 

“Jazzy!” He looked up, showing off his drawing to the little redhead girl.

His older sister looked up. “That looks great, Danny!” She put her own crayons down, rubbing her sweaty forehead. “It’s so hot.”

The boy suddenly dropped his crayons and drawing. “Outside! Let’s go outside!”

“But it’s hot.” The girl repeated.

The boy was already running off. “Mommy! Mommy! Can we play in the sprinklers?! Please! Please!”

Mommy turned around from where she was making lunch. “After we eat, okay?”

“Okay!” The four year old beamed, already running up the stairs to get his swim trunks.

The next thing he knew, he was outside. Mommy set up the sprinkler. He and Jazzy ran around it, giggling. Daddy came outside with water balloons and Danny let out a happy scream. “Water balloons!”

The little boy grabbed one and threw it at his sister.

Danny blinked awake to bright light on his face. His nose wrinkled. It was still light out? Oh wait, he had been taking a nap. He sat up, yawning and rubbing his forehead. He’d been dreaming again, this time about…. He shivered, remembering. He’d been playing in the back yard with Jazz when he was four. And... he’d been with Danielle. She’d been showing him how to draw. 

The boy’s stomach flopped. That didn’t make sense. That hadn’t happened. Maybe... maybe he was thinking about her because Jazz had asked, earlier, when they’d been in the car but... that had felt like a memory.

Dread balled in his gut. He’d been small, smaller than her hand. And then he’d stretched and he was bigger, about the size of a toddler. Danny looked down at his hands, his human, properly sized hands. That, changing his size, wasn’t something he could do but…. In the dream, Danielle had called him Tiny. It didn’t make sense and yet….

He remembered. One of the other clones. The small green one. Danny shivered. That one, that one could shrink. That clone had overshadowed him.

The knowledge hit Danny like a ton of bricks. The tiny clone had overshadowed him. How... how didn’t he remember that until just now? How hadn’t he realized? Danny grimaced, a sickening feeling squeezing his insides. He’d been possessed. Someone else had been in his body, controlling his actions, messing with his mind. The boy wrapped his arms around himself. He felt violated at the thought. That was so wrong. Vlad had ordered one of his clones to overshadow him. And…. more memories of the experience pressed into his mind.

Danny had been semi-aware of the other presence. There had been a fight for control, another core so close to his and…. Memories, thoughts that weren’t his. Flashes of the tiny clone’s memories. And the feeling of tiny hands rifling through his own mind.

Danny pulled his knees to his chest. That must be why he’s felt so off. It was the aftereffects of being possessed. And that dream, the flashes of memory…. he must be remembering what he’d seen and felt from the tiny clone while it had been possessing him.

The boy sighed. But... the feeling would go away eventually, right? It would. He’d felt off after Sidney had overshadowed him as well. It had taken a bit to get used to being in his own body again. And Sidney was more experienced with overshadowing than his clone had been. The ghostly nerd knew how to push Danny’s spirit out of his body, instead of forcing both ghosts to cohabitate. That was why there were strange memories now, unlike last time.

But it didn’t matter. He’d get back to normal soon enough and his friends and sister would have nothing to worry about. Everything would be okay, right?

Danny stood up, rolling his shoulders to stretch. He had homework to do. He sat down at his desk, trying to ignore the way his stomach still flopped.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

do you think the companions have a closet of like. flea and tick preventing stuff/medicine somewhere

Imagine someone opens that closet and they don’t know about the werewolf thing and they ask someone “hey why do we have all this dog stuff??? Where are the dogs???”

Hey, not only do I think that, I think it's entirely possible that they have their own mini veterinary closet, including the dog treats. The dog treats are the most important.

I'd like to thank you, though, because as soon as I read this ask, my mind start buzzing, or yipping, as the little dogs, might, and, well. . .

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

Lucia's sure taking a long time . . .

Lars fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table, casting his eyes once again to the stairwell that led down to the Companions' living quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd sat around their hearth to wait on his best friend and it definitely wouldn't be the last, he was sure, but he always felt a little nervous sitting by himself as large warriors with huge blades went about their business around him. Eating, drinking, laughing . . . wrestling. The first time he'd seen Lucia's papa and uncle get into an all out brawl there on the hearth stones, he'd had the shakes until long after his grandma tucked him into bed.

A thud on the table startled the boy from his thoughts. "Here, kid, watch this for me, will you?" Lars stared wide-eyed as Ria, who was generally the nicest out of all the Companions — aside from Lucia, who insisted she was one despite only being ten — darted back up the steps and out the double doors to the Winds District. Not a moment later, the doors from the training yard banged open as Njada Stonearm — who was definitely the meanest Companion — barged in, eyes aflame like the hearth. Lars shrank back in his seat.

"Ria!" her voice echoed above the crack of the fire and the murmur of a few others talking across the room.

"Not here," called Athis, snickering.

"Jus' missed 'er," slurred Torvar.

A growl left the Nord woman's throat as her eyes swivelled round and landed on Lars, who was peaking out from behind the large satchel Ria'd left on the table. The boy's eyes bulged in horror as she took three long strides and arrived beside him, arms crossed under a face painted with a harsh scowl.

(Sometimes, a lot of times, Lars wished he was brave enough to ask Njada Stonearm to beat up Braith, but he had the feeling she'd either laugh him off — or worse, encourage the Redguard girl to redouble her efforts to kick his—)

"—dumped this here, huh?"

"W-wha—"

A hand, large and strong enough to crush his skull, shook the bag in front of him. "Ria left this here, didn't she?"

"Ye-yeah—"

"Quit mumbling!"

"Y-yes sir, I, I mean ma'am!"

If anyone ever looked absolutely done with the world, it was Njada Stonearm in that moment. Lars squirmed under her glare, but said no more, and the Nord woman grumbled under her breath. "I've gotta hunt down that rabbit brained . . ." she trailed off, eyeing Lars with a cold interest. "You. Take this downstairs and put it in the Circles' supply closet."

Lars tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he let out a strangled cough instead. He choked a gasp when Njada Stonearm thumped him on the back. "Get going, kid," she said as she turned on her heel and marched out the same doors Ria fled through earlier.

With shaking legs, Lars got to his feet and hefted the satchel into his arms. There was a faint clink! clink! of glass, and he wondered if it was some kind of fancy reserve just for the Circle. He knew Lucia's mama was fond of Imperial brandies, so maybe that was it?

He crossed the hall, an easy task as Athis and Torvar promptly went back into their cups once Njada Stonearm had redirected her ire to Lars and so they didn't bother him. It was when he got to the stairs that the wobble in his knees became a full shake. Braith often told him he was infected with the Rattles and no one bothered telling him because it was more fun to watch him convulse like a half dead draugr. Sometimes, like right now for instance, he almost believed her.

One of the men barked a laugh, Lars wasn't sure which, but it jarred his limbs into motion; he eased his way down the wooden stairs, scared every moment that he'd trip, fall, and anger not only Njada Stonearm, but the whole Circle as well. His heart lodged in his throat. If he broke the bottles and made a mess of their contents, would he ever be allowed back in Jorrvaskr? Would he ever get to play with Lucia again?

The heavy door into the basement quarters was an almost reassuring barrier to the boy as he aligned his back with it, arms full of the satchel's awkward bulk. With a grunt, he thrust back, and the door creaked slowly open. When it was wide enough, he slipped around the dense oak, and once again hesitated. Now where? He didn't actually know where the Circles' supply closet was. Though, he thought, shifting from foot to foot with the wide hall empty before him, it might be down near the Circles' private quarters.

The supply closet wasn't really the difficult to find, being one of the few closed doors at the end. The other was the door to the Harbinger's room, but that'd been shut for months since . . . Lars swallowed, coughed again, and with the bag balanced precariously in one arm under his chin, he opened the door.

"What're you doing?"

"Gah!" Lars teetered forward, and if it weren't for Lucia's hand clenching the back of his shirt, he'd have fallen face first into—

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?" Lars asked, once he was steady on his feet and able to take in the concents of the supply closet.

Beside him, Lucia's face scrunched in clear confusion. Shelves on shelves of bottles, bright yellow and each marked with a label depicting some kind of nasty insect underneath a vivid red X, filled the majority of their vision. Lars' arms almost went slack under the weight of the bag. Was he carrying more of that stuff? Flea and tick repellent? Below the shelves was a stack of huge sacks that smelled a little too strongly of dried meat. Was that—?

"What's all this for?"

Lars gaped at Lucia. "You mean, you don't know?"

She shook her head, teeth gnawing her lip.

"Lucia? Lass, what are you doing in the closet?"

The two kids whirled around to find Lucia's uncle striding down the hall toward them. In a blur, Lucia sprinted to him, and, grabbing at his gauntlet clad arm, hung on for dear life. "Uncle Vilkas! Uncle Vilkas! Did you know about the pet medicine? Are those bags full of doggy treats? Oh! Is Mama getting me a puppy? Is that why she left for Markarth yesterday? Is she getting me a war dog so I can take him with me when I'm doing contracts? I've always wanted a puppy! The Circle always goes and visits the Jarl's kennels and I never get to go!"

"What—"

"I mean, why else do Mama and Papa always smell like they've been rolling around in a dog bed whenever they come back in before breakfast? Or when they're sneaking in during the middle of the night? Or when—"

"Lucia! What are you talking about, lass?" Vilkas, at last, cut in.

"Oh! Well, I was consalt— consulk—"

"Consulting," her uncle supplied.

"Yeah, consulting my beasty, beast, uh, animal guide before I came looking for Lars 'cause we're gonna go hunt goblins in his mom's vegetable garden when I found him in the Circles' closet, which I thought was weird because I thought this was where Papa was hiding Mama's New Life present — so maybe Papa is getting Mama the puppy? — but I didn't get to ask Lars why 'cause he was about to crash into the shelves, and then I'd have had to help him clean up the mess, and I'd rather go hunt the goblins than do chores, so . . ." Lucia rambled on, fast as a dartwing. All the while Vilkas nodded along to what she said, before at length raising a hand to hush her, his pale eyes resting on Lars. The young boy felt his knees start to wobble again.

"What's this, then?" Vilkas gestured to the bag.

"Uh, Njada Stonearm sent me down with it, sir. She um, she said to bring it to the Circles' supply closet . . ." By the end, Lars could barely hear his own voice, but whatever he heard seemed to placate Vilkas. The man took the satchel from Lars', the boy's thin arms falling limp with relief.

"I'll take care of this, Battle-Born. Lucia, you two run along," he said, holding the bag as easy in one hand as one might hold an apple. Lars couldn't help but feel a little envy at the dark warrior's ease and strength.

"Wait," Lucia's fingers twisted together around the hilt of her wooden sword. Lars hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. "I don't understand though! Is it a puppy? Is it Mama's? Will she share him? Uncle—"

Vilkas laughed. Lars never really heard the man laugh before. It was different from his brother's: deeper, richer, almost wolfish, whereas Farkas' laughter was a booming bark. The boy's brow creased at the comparisons, his eyes traveling to the inside of the closet again. There was more in there beside pet medicine and dog food, but before he could read anymore labels, Lucia's uncle shut the door and was ushering them down the hall a moment later.

"You'll know soon enough, lass. One day, when you're in the Circle yourself," he was saying.

"In the Circle? Myself?" Lucia's eyes glittered.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He pulled the basement door open and waved them up the stairs. "Then, and not a moment before. And lass?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"While you're out hunting goblins, keep the little Battle-Born out of too much trouble, will you? Lad needs someone looking out for him." Lucia was already halfway up the stairs, but Vilkas could still reach to ruffle her dark ashy hair, and the girl preened under the attention.

Lars shifted about in embarrassment, but the Companion ignored him.

The two were halfway to his mother's garden, Lucia delivering a flash lecture on the nature of goblins, when a thought struck Lars, hitting him right between the eyes like Braith often did.

If the Companions didn't have any dogs, then why did he hear howling echo from Jorrvaskr at night?

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @wincest-endgame donated $25, and requested Sam & the amulet through the years. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

Dean pushes Sam into the bathroom, after what feels like a day of questioning and caution and Dean being withholding—he's so bad at it, Sam doesn't know why he even tries—and Bobby avoiding Sam's eyes—and Sam'll figure that out, eventually—but it's really only four in the afternoon, and he's got food in his belly for the first time in what feels like a week but he's assured is a year, and he's had a beer and a cup of coffee and Dean's squeezed his arm, on his bicep just above the bend of his elbow, and looked into his eyes for a full heart-rich moment when Bobby was on the phone in the kitchen and couldn't see—and they didn't do anything, of course they didn't, not in Bobby's house, but Sam closed the door behind himself with that look thick in his head, the knowing that Dean was safe and okay and that Lucifer didn't hurt him—that everyone was okay, that what he'd done by jumping into the cage had worked when he hadn't been sure, not at all, that it would—and he still doesn't really know how he got out but he'll get that out of Dean eventually—and he turns on the shower and smiles at the rickety jump of the hot water because, holy shit, he's alive to suffer Bobby's godawful shower—and he pulls the shirt off over his head, and unbuttons his jeans, and fishes in his pocket for his phone and his wallet like he always does—and finds a new phone that he doesn't recognize, which makes him frown, a wallet that he does, and—the amulet.

The air goes out of him. The shower's guttering down, getting warm at last. He hears Dean's voice through the door, saying something to Bobby although Sam doesn't know what. Sam twines the leather cord around his fingers and crushes the little metal head in his palm, standing there in his socks and boxers. He didn't lose it. Somehow he—hadn't thought about it, until now, but now that he has he just—assumed it'd be gone. He's not in the same clothes he was wearing before he fell, so—did Dean—? He doesn't know and in this second doesn't care. He brings his closed fist up to his mouth, the cord thin and worn against his lips. He breathes in, slow.

The last time he held it in his hand was—Detroit. Milkjugs of blood sitting in the trunk. Dean—somewhere, talking to Cas maybe, and Sam alone, and Sam was alone a lot then. It feels like yesterday. He'd felt distant somehow. Even if Dean had forgiven him, or at least had been willing to try to forgive him. Ever since the second he'd made the decision to say yes, and decided to make Dean agree, it was like he'd been one step outside his life, looking in. Watching Dean try to accept it and knowing Dean never would. Watching Dean, with his hands in his pockets, and his hand curled so hard around the amulet that the horned edge had actually cut into his palm and he'd bled, inside his jeans. Not minding that and squeezing it tighter. Reminding himself why what he was doing mattered so he wouldn't falter. He wasn't going to falter.

Lucifer had healed that little wound without even acknowledging it. Sam remembers that if nothing else. He opens his hand and he's made sore white marks where the edges of the demon-head have cut into his palm. The shower hisses, next to him, and there's a thump of the side of a fist against the door—"Hey, princess, don't take forever on the primping," Dean says, muffled, the idiot—christ, Sam loves him.

He looks up at the door, startled. Creak of floorboards outside, like Dean's just standing there. Sam blinks at the peeled paint, and calls back, "Dude, it's my first shower in a year, hold your horses," and Dean says, "Yeah, yeah," and Sam closes his hand around the amulet again, his chest—thick. He can't take a full breath. He stoops, and loops the amulet cord around itself three times, four, and tucks it back down into the deepest corner of the pocket of his jeans. He crouches there for a second, feeling—feeling. The steam in the air curls against his skin. He has to stand up. Take the shower, get into fresh clothes, get back out into the house, figure things out. Figure where the world is, after a year without him in it. He crouches there, instead, taking in air. There's a little spot on his jeans, he realizes. Worn, nearly white, where something's made a space for itself. You wouldn't notice the difference, if you saw it every day, but with a jump of time between the last time he wore these jeans and now—it's obvious.

*

Of course it was longer than a year. Of course there were things Dean didn't tell him. Soulless, Sam thinks, trying the word out by himself, when Castiel's left and Sam's waiting for Dean to get back with the sword. Soulless. Not—a good thing to be. He's pretty sure.

Things that are described as soulless: corporations, governments. His comparative philosophy professor in junior year. Soulless due to lack of consideration, due to lacking character, due to—what? Indifference. Cruelty.

When they got to Portland, Dean picked the motel by turning into a random parking lot off the highway, and Sam hauled most of their bags in because he could tell Dean was tired after all the driving, and he'd barely made it through blinking at the one king bed before the door slammed behind Dean and Dean hauled him around by the jacket and gripped his shirt and said low and fervent, Sammy, if you don't want to you're gonna have to knock me out, and Sam dropped the bags right there in the entrance and got his hand on Dean's face and dragged his thumb soft over Dean's pretty lower lip and felt how Dean tensed, and then how the tension spilled out of him like water.

He doesn't get it. He walked around, he was told, without a soul, for a year. More than a year. Castiel was very precise about it. He'd left Dean with Lisa and found his grandfather, instead—his grandfather!—and he'd hunted. When they came to Dean it was by accident, Castiel said, and then when Dean had started hunting with Sam it had seemed to be for convenience, rather than something that meant—anything. Shifters, alphas. Vampires. Castiel knew all of it and told Sam earnestly, not judging. Sam had tried to kill Bobby but it was all right, Castiel said, because Dean had gotten so fearful and sick that he'd let himself die, to speak to Death, to make Sam right. He would have died, if Sam hadn't gotten right. It had been worth that. It had been that bad.

There's a text, from Dean. Sorta got the sword. Back in 8 hrs. Want any sourdough?

Sorta? Sam chews his lip. Just the dragon-killing magic weapon, thanks, he texts back, and Dean texts him a :) and Sam puts down his phone and stands up from the table and wants to vomit. Jesus christ. Soulless, he thinks, again, and pulls the amulet out of his pocket, winding the cord around his knuckles, staring at it.

He kept it. Somehow, some way. A year and more. From however he got spit out of the cage, from looking at Dean and choosing to turn away from him, to having Dean back and treating him like—he shudders. His indifferent callous body, carving an efficient line through the world. Sam wants to remember and doesn't. He does want to know what the exact moment was like, when he stuck his hand in his pocket standing on a street under a flickering lamp, watching Dean through a window like a damn pervert, and felt the amulet skin-warmed and heavy against his skin, and thought—what?

He puts it back in his pocket. Eight hours, until Dean gets back. Sam drags his hand over his mouth. When he shifts he can feel it—a little, nagging weight, pressed against his thigh. A year and a half of that with no reason to keep it. With all the reason in the fucking world to keep it. He blows out air until his chest is empty. Eight hours. He'd better have something to show for it. He gets to work.

*

He remembers, of course, later. Fractured, incomplete. Three selves' memories colliding and sleepless nights with a monster whispering in his ear. He curls on his side in a too-warm bed and watches Dean, curled beside him, sleeping. Frowning in his sleep. Lucifer says, though Sam ignores him, "Imagine how much easier he'd have had it at Lisa's, right? Bet she wore sweet little nightgowns, too. Where's yours, Sammy?"

In the cage he hadn't worn the amulet around his neck, not like he had in the year of Dean's absence. Lucifer didn't allow that. Sometimes he would crouch alone in the dark while Lucifer and Michael fought and he'd get space to breathe although breathing there always felt like the coldest depth of a North Dakota January. Shards of ice in his throat. The air thin. The air, of course, not real, but no matter how much Sam's conscious brain tries to rationalize when he has a moment to think, the cage isn't a place for rationality. Lucifer throttles him and Sam knows distantly that his lungs aren't real but he chokes anyway. He chokes. The air whittled thin in his throat and the edges of his vision vignetting to black, to sparkle-shot oxygenless, uncertain—

He turns his head, gasps deep. "Aw, thought I had you there," he hears, and turns fully onto his back, and they didn't bother undressing tonight before Dean crashed miserably into the mattress so he's still got his jeans on, and he shoves his hand into his pocket and wraps his hand around the amulet and squeezes so hard the horned heavy edges tear into his thin unhealed skin and the pain—god, the pain, piercing, cleansing.

It hurts. The room's quiet, except for the rattle of the heater under the window. Dean's breath, at his side. Not quite a snore. Sam's bleeding. He can feel the bandage getting wet. He curls his hand tighter and fumbles in the dark. A hitch—Dean's baby snore, interrupted—and Sam goes shh, as soft as he physically can, and Dean huffs and turns over and puts his face on Sam's shoulder, and Sam squeezes his hip through his jeans very gently, settling down. Lucifer will be back, he knows. When it's worst. When he thinks he's nearly fallen asleep. When Dean wakes up, in the pre-dawn because he has to piss, and he leans in first and kisses Sam's jaw, rough and sleepy with his breath rank, when Sam loves him just—the absolute most—Lucifer will ruin it. Even if Sam knows it isn't real it's as predictable as it is gutting.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket, amulet included. Dean won't wake for—what time is it?—hours. He turns his head toward Dean's, presses his lips against the warmth of his hair. He settles his fist on his chest. If the blood spills—well, it won't be the first time Sam's lost a shirt to blood.

*

Taking the amulet out of the trash wasn't a decision, when he did it. When animals are cornered their lashing out is survival, nothing else. He kept it because—he had to keep it. It wasn't possible that it be left where it was. An indifferent housekeeper dumping it into the mixed refuse of a half-dozen rooms; a trip to a dumpster, and then a dump, to be lost. No.

They had—

Sam knew it didn't matter in the face of what came later but he still felt it. That day. Vermont, autumn. The leaves dark red in the setting sun, or red just because they were. Immaterial, with Dean's back against the tree and his face tipped up to Sam's. Shocked. Sam's fingers on his jaw and then trailing down his throat, hooking into the cord of the amulet and pulling, down, to the demon-head, and Dean letting that tiny insignificant weight tip him forward so he met Sam's mouth when Sam offered it. The bodywarm of it against Sam's thumb when Dean's lips touched his, and how his hand closed into a fist on instinct, shocked too.

Whatever betrayals had come later. Whatever misunderstandings and miseries. There was still that day, and all the days before. This solid thing that had marked Dean as Sam's brother, for all the months and years marching all the way back to that stupid, shitty Christmas morning, five a.m. cold and disappointing, and Sam making the first decision that was really his own that he'd ever made. Handing over the shitty little packet of a gift he hadn't picked, and Dean looking at him with this—rare, uncertain happiness. Not willing to take it, in case it'd be snatched away like everything else had been.

Maybe that hadn't been a decision either, in retrospect. It was Sam's first day, in a hunted life that wasn't one he'd chosen, and maybe that was just instinct. Looping something around Dean's throat and saying, please. Dean had taken it. Said yes. Tossing it in the trash, later—well, Sam didn't blame him, but and he understood if the yes was retracted, but—Sam couldn't let it go. Even if he was the only one who remembered. Even if, ever after, even if they hurt each other and found each other again and circled each other like twin stars in an uncertain orbit—even if they met, in a dark room, and Dean said to him soft and sorry, Sammy, I swear, and Sam dragged Dean's body over the top of his and took the weight and feel of him like a payment, due—even then. He kept the damn thing, quiet, and his.

It didn't even register, after a while. It transferred from jeans to duffle to backpack to jacket. Part of the morning pat-check, unthinking unless something was missing: phone wallet amulet keys. Amelia never asked about it. Gadreel never interfered with it. When Dean was a demon Sam got up every morning in an empty bed and took a shower and carefully lifted his sling over his head and being ready for the day meant sling wallet keys amulet phone list of contacts he hadn't burned through yet and it just—felt like part of him. He thought about it as much as he thought about his lung.

On the day that Dean almost killed him Sam got dressed without thinking because there were more important things than thinking, and he put on jeans and he put on his boots and he put on shirt, shirt, jacket, and he dragged his hand through his hair instead of combing it, and he put in his pockets keys phone amulet wallet and he stood there, then, in the total quiet of the bunker, and took the amulet back out of his pocket. He looked at it in his palm. Small, heavy. The cord looping back over his knuckles. Dean had had to get new ones, he remembered. The leather ones kept wearing through, because Dean wore it every second: sleeping, waking, in the shower. When they were in bed, and Sam folded Dean in close against his chest, and Dean's lips brushed his jaw, and Sam slipped careful fingers under the cord, worrying at it. If only he'd known, then, the things he had to worry about.

He put the amulet back in his pocket. He went to Dean's room, in the bunker, and found the pictures Dean didn't keep very well hidden, and flicked past the ones of them together until he found the one of their mother. That, maybe. That would work. It wasn't fair, that day, to try to pretend anything else would, and as far as what mattered more to Sam—that was his problem, he thought, and nothing that needed to bother Dean. It was important, he thought, to be realistic.

*

"Give us a minute," Dean says.

"Dean," Sam says, appalled.

Chuck—Chuck? Jesus christ—jesus christ! Sam thinks. Chuck looks entertained, standing there in his sneakers—his Chucks! Jesus christ!—and his jeans and his simple short body and how he's—he's—

"Dude, seriously," Dean says, impatient, and Chuck raises his hands like surrender and says, "Hey, no, I get it! You've got stuff to talk about! Just say my name when you're ready, we've got all the time in the world, I'm sure my sister isn't planning the imminent destruction of all creation," and he winks, and then—disappears, jesus christ because Chuck is GOD—

"Sammy," Dean says, firm.

"Dean," Sam says back, immediately, "what are you doing—holy shit, do you realize—"

"Sam," Dean says, in a different tone, and Sam's gut jolts, hooked. Diverted.

The bunker, quiet around them. They're in the map room and the lights are all on full, bright and warm. Dean's looking at him and Sam—they've been good, it's been good, for months and months—the best it's ever been, even better than those first heady days when they were learning each other, young and reckless—and even with all that, Sam's nervous, somehow.

"How you doing, Sammy," Dean says, eyes narrow.

Sam lets out a sharp breath.

Dean seems surprised at the lack of answer and his chin tips up. He looks at Sam steadily. Sam doesn't know what he's supposed to say and so stays silent, and Dean keeps looking at him and then slides his hand into his pocket, and pulls out—of course.

He holds it low, in front of himself, dangling from two fingers. The heavy pendulum sway. Dean's eyes are low, fixed on it, but Sam's watching Dean's face.

There are obvious things to say that Dean doesn't say and Sam's grateful for it. "You took the other one," is what Dean says, and he doesn't look up to see Sam frown confusion but he must sense it, somehow, because he continues: "From that—jesus, Sam. From that play, that the girls put on. When I came out to the car the next morning it was gone. Doesn't seem fair. You got the prop and the real thing, both."

"Sorry," Sam says, and Dean says, "Christ," and takes the three long steps across the room to where Sam's got his back to a pillar and kisses him. Sam takes it, breathing in. Not soft, not that giving sweet that Dean can be, but it's Dean's mouth and therefore it's a miracle, every time.

Dean pulls back. His brow rolls against Sam's, brief, and then he sets down from where he lifted up on his toes, and he looks at Sam from six inches, their hips pressed together. The amulet swings against Sam's stomach, from where Dean's hands are fisted on his sternum.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam takes a deep breath and says, "I didn't mean to keep it—secret."

It's a lie and a bad one. He doesn't know why he said it that way but he doesn't know a truer one. He didn't—make a decision about it. It was just that…

Dean doesn't call him on it. "You said," he starts, and then his cheek sucks in on one side. Sam notices for the first time how tired his eyes are. It was a long day. The fog and the people they couldn't save. He folds one hand over one of Dean's, pressed against his chest, and Dean's eyes dip, and maybe that makes it easy enough because Dean says, "Sam, I wouldn't choose her."

Sam takes a deep breath. Their hands rise, all knotted together. Dean says, "It kills me, Sammy. That you think I'd—but I wouldn't. If it were any choice, if I could—make it how I wanted it to be. I wouldn't, not fuckin' once," and Sam says, "I know," just to stop Dean from talking, with his voice thickening up that way.

God's somewhere, waiting in the wings. Sam doesn't give a shit, anymore. Dean's mouth turns up at one corner but it's not happy, and Sam slides his free hand up Dean's side, gripping through his jacket, trying. However he knows how to try. "I know," he says, again, because—christ, he does. That nasty awful fog doesn't get to take this from him. "Dean, I told you before. Whatever she makes you—think, or do. I got it. I can handle it."

Dean bites his lips between his teeth and he looks down. His thumb catches the swinging cord of the amulet. "You know," Dean says, echoing. A question, buried down in it.

He hasn’t said it, specifically, out loud or internally or even when he prayed, back when he thought that praying was something that mattered, but: Sam hates Amara. Hates every aspect of her, baby to adult to imagined vision to physical manifestation to the haunted look, in Dean's eye, when he thinks Sam isn't looking. Hates how she makes Dean doubt. Hates how she makes Dean afraid. Hates every fragment of her that draws Dean's attention away, makes him look into the shadows of the room, makes him weak and afraid of his own weakness. In their bed at night Dean lays awake and Sam is awake with him and he thinks—how can he prove it? How can he show Dean how much he wants to take this burden away—to make it so the darkness is nothing that could come between them?

"Sam," Dean says. "You're…"

Nothing goes there. What could? Sam slides his hand from Dean's side up to the back of Dean's neck, cupping his skull, holding. He ducks his head. His temple against Dean's temple, Dean's breath against his throat. He closes his eyes and reaches and finds the amulet, dangling, on his first try. Luck. He gathers it into his palm and knocks Dean's fist open and closes their hands together, fisted around the sharp little weight of it. Any other day Dean would make a crack about holding hands.

Sam says, "I kept it because I wanted you. It wasn't your fault that things went bad. Or, I don't know. Half yours and half mine. Or maybe it was destiny's fault—fate, or something. It doesn't matter. What mattered was—how you stuck with me. How we—figured it out, every time. No matter how crappy it got, or how much we didn't trust each other, or… Because it's us, right? Every time. It's us, no matter what. I knew that on days I didn't know anything else. Nothing's going to take that away. Not the Darkness. Not God."

True. Dean's temple tips, against his. Their stubble drags together. "Not even the big guy, huh?" he says. Frail. "Seem pretty sure of yourself, there."

"I am," Sam says, not joking, and hears the breath Dean takes in. He squeezes their hands together, squeezes the back of Dean's neck.

"Shit," Dean says, and lets out a fraction of a laugh. "I wish I..."

He shakes his head, tipping away from Sam. Sam looks at his profile. The sweep of his eyelashes. His nose, with the little broken tilt. His jaw, squared. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and then lets go of Dean's neck, and folds their hands together all in a square—Dean's hand over Sam's over Dean's over Sam's—and when he unfolds them the amulet's caught in Dean's palm, and Sam folds his fingers over Dean's fist and pushes it, down, tucking it neat into Dean's jacket pocket. Dean blinks at him.

"I don't need a reminder," Sam says. Echo of something that feels like forever ago, surprisingly—now—true. "I'll be right here. No matter what. I swear."

He lets go of Dean's fist and slides up his arm, holding his shoulder instead. Dean looks back and forth between his eyes. "Thank you, Sam," he says, serious.

Sam nods. Dean looks up into his eyes, and then at his mouth, and when he leans for the kiss Sam responds simply, holding him and trying to say—everything there is to say. There could never be enough time, to say all there is to say.

Dean pulls back, after a few seconds. Not nearly enough. Their noses brush together and Dean's hands are on his chest, heavy. The amulet in his pocket. Where it belongs, Sam thinks, but it doesn't—matter, the same way it did before. It's not tying Dean to him; it's not a relic of a promise, broken and then kept. He touches Dean's jaw, with his thumb, and Dean sighs against him.

"Guess we should call him back," Dean says. "You think he knows we totally made out just now?"

Sam groans, and pushes Dean away, and catches him smiling. "You're totally going to hell," he says, and Dean winks at him, and turns away, and calls out, "Yo, Chuck!" like he's calling the literal creator for a dinner of hot wings, and Sam would despair but Dean's hand is in his pocket, and—well, they're okay, so. It's okay.

[wheresfury]

Lights up

~Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/fem!reader

~Warnings: Mommy!kink, fingering, fluff, angst, blood, violence, knives.

~Word count: 3,495

~Summary: Nothing seems to be going right at work and your feelings for Natalia aren’t helping. The truth is bound to come out. Question is who will it hurt most?

~Authors note: hey 😅 I know it’s been a long time and I’m sorry for that. I’m starting to slowly get back into writing and I noticed I was basically almost done with this part of the series. There is a lot in this part and I’m excited to see what y’all have to say about it and where it could possibly go. That’s all I’m going to say for now. I tried my best with the tag list but some were not there anymore but if you’d like to be tagged let me know. 😊

~Previous parts to this series are on my Masterlist

———- ⧗———-

It was another cold winter night as you wrap your scarf around your neck tighter, further burrowing into the warmth of your coat. Your arms were heavy with bags of presents you had bought for all of your family and friends. You tried to think of something to get Natalia but nothing came to mind. You sigh in relief as you get closer to your car. The bags were weighing heavily on your arms. With slight difficulty you grab your keys out of the small purse that you carry. Once unlocked you pop the trunk and practically dump the bags into it. You close the trunk and plop into the driver's seat, lazily starting the car. The heater on full blast, you take a moment to relax. You nearly have a heart attack as your phone blasts Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” You take a moment to catch your breath and notice it's Tony who is calling you. You roll your eyes as you answer.

“What is it, Stark?” You hear him grumble before he speaks.

“Have you heard from her?” Her being Natalia.

“No I haven’t. I told you yesterday and the day before that. I haven’t heard from her since your Halloween party.” Tony groans at the lack of information he desires.

“You better not be covering for her, Y/N. When I gave you this assignment you were never meant to fall in love with her. That’s the number one rule, no feelings involved.” You sigh as he reminds you once again of your mission. A mission only for the best of HYDRA. Someone who can take out a high profile target like a black widow. He has been yelling at you for five minutes saying how you had ‘lost sight of the mission’ and that you were ‘blinded by love.’ You roll your eyes at that. You were one of HYDRA’s top agents. You never got distracted. Falling in love wasn’t the plan- that’s true. You can’t deny you’re glad it did though. It’s just going to hurt worse when you have to finish the mission. Knowing how hard this will be on Nat. You get tired of hearing Tony yelling and hang up before silencing your phone. You sigh and cradle your face into the palms of your hands. You hold back tears as you overthink, as you tend to do, about the mission and your feelings. You text Carol telling her you’ll be stopping by before putting your car in drive. As you make your way to Carol’s you frequently check your mirrors and watch out for cars tailing you for more than a few minutes. You circle Carol’s block a few times to conclude you were not being followed. You park in her driveway and see her waiting for you at the door.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” You lock your car and step into her waiting arms. You sigh into her neck as she rubs your back in soothing circles. You take a moment to enjoy some peace before pulling away.

“Can we go inside, Carol?” She nods her head and opens the door for you. You step inside and immediately feel the warmth from her fireplace. You take off your scarf and coat hanging them by the door. You can feel Carol’s stare as you move to stand a few feet away from the fire. You hear Carol move over to the couch before she appears next to you. She drops two pillows onto the ground before sitting herself down. You follow suit and stare into the fire losing yourself to your thoughts. Carol stays quiet knowing you need time to process your thoughts. You’re not sure how long you get lost in the fire. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess. You flinch as Carol touches your cheek, pulling you out of your trance. You look at her confused as her fingers pull back wet with your tears. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Is this about her?” She goes to wipe your tears when you look back to the fire.

“I don’t think I can do it anymore.” You hear Carol sigh and reposition herself. She hugs her knees to her chin as she tilts her head to look at you.

“I don’t think you have a choice, babe. It’s either you or someone else. At least you would be merciful.” You can feel the pain in your heart heighten at her words.

“It’d be you, Carol. You’re next in line of command.”

“Are you asking me to take over?” You hesitate and decide not to speak. Carol repositions once more to face you. Her legs are crossed as she picks at the pillow beneath her. You know she’s waiting for you to talk, to give her the go ahead. Anything to get this mission over with.

“No. It’d be hard on you too, Carol. As much as you hated her from the beginning you’ve grown to like her.” You hear Carol scoff making you crack a smile.

“She’s different from every other target we’ve ever had. Granted we’ve never slept with any of them. However it’s our job, Y/N. She’s a danger to society, she’s a killer who needs to be dealt with. Tony is already mad because it’s nearly been a year and you have yet to seal the deal. He could reassign her to anyone before you know it. You’re running out of time.” You begin to hiccup as your tears fall faster. You knew you were almost out of time, yet you’ve done nothing to speed up the mission. Your heart has outweighed every decision your brain tries to make.

“I know. It’s just… have you ever thought about if what we are doing is wrong?” You see Carol furrow her brows at your question.

“No, I haven't. I trust in HYDRA, don’t you?” You remain silent as Carol’s eyes burn into the side of your face. Her stare hotter than the fire in front of you. It wasn’t until recently that you’ve had second thoughts about your line of work. Maybe it was that you fell in love with a target or maybe deep down you always knew something wasn’t right.

“I can’t say for sure, Carol. I just- I’ve always felt that what we do isn’t entirely okay. I mean we aren’t even allowed to talk about it to anyone outside of HYDRA.” You look at Carol and find her biting her lower lip. You stare at her lips as she forms words.

“This isn’t something you should be talking about, Y/N. You could get into serious trouble for even confiding in me.” Your eyes meet hers.

“I can trust you, Carol. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course you can, baby girl. I’ll always have your back. I trust you over them any day.” You study her face looking for any signs of a lie. You kick yourself mentally for thinking Carol could be anything but truthful with you.

“I can’t do it. I don’t think I can kill her.” The crackling of the fire is the only thing making sound. You start to sweat at Carol’s silence. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here. You’re about to get up when Carol places a hand on your thigh.

“Then what's your plan?” You place your hand atop hers on your thigh and sob.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

  —⧗— six months later —⧗—

“I’ve reassigned your case.” You look up from your desk as Tony stands before it.

“What?”

“You heard me, Agent. It’s been well over a year and you haven’t heard from her in six months. It’s unacceptable.” You scoff.

“It’s not like I can call her up! She’s elusive and I’m the best chance you have at her!” Tony shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’ve gone soft. This mission is over for you. It’s Carol’s now.” You sit back in your chair and look up at the ceiling.

“What makes you think she can do it?” He glares at you.

“She’s not blinded by her feelings for a cold blooded assassin!” You quickly stand up and slam your palms on your desk, rattling the objects you have.

“Then what does that make us?! Are we not assassins too! Just because our targets are criminals does it really make us better than her?” Tony leans back in surprise at your outburst.

“What makes us different is our orders come from the law. We are the government and what we do is what’s best for the people.” You begin to shake in anger.

“If what we did was right we wouldn’t kill them we would arrest them! Give them a trial by jury not a trial by bullet!”

“That’s enough! Go home and take a few days before you do something you’ll regret.” Tony walks out leaving you to growl in frustration. You quickly grab your things and storm out of the office. You stop at McDonald’s on your way home and order an alarming amount of food for one person. You tend to eat a lot when frustrated and honestly you didn’t care at the moment how you’d feel the next day. You slam your car door and pause, you stand terribly still with one arm full of McDonald’s. You sniff the air and immediately you are comforted by the smell of warm vanilla with a hint of spicy cinnamon. She’s here. You relax your shoulders and lock your car before walking inside like you knew nothing at all. You can feel her stare as you walk in - to her you were still unaware of her presence. You always knew though. You dump your meal on the end table and head to your room to change. After you change into your pj’s you head back into the living room. Once there you see a glass of red wine ready for you. You see her sitting on the couch, her back to you. You look to your left and see your bat, you go to reach for it when her voice stops you cold.

“Kitten, I think you know it’s me. No need to try and be heroic here.” You internally sigh in relief that you had fooled her once more. You weren’t ready for the truth to be out just yet. You honestly hope it never has to come out. You take a moment to gather yourself before making your way over to the couch. Natalia has a glass of wine herself as she sits with her legs crossed, signature smirk on her face.

“Mommy?” She pats the spot next to her and you immediately move to cuddle into her side. She chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long, kitten. I had to take care of some things.” Your face turns warm as you inhale her intoxicating scent. You missed her terribly. You nuzzle your face into her neck as her arm pulls you closer.

“Anything interesting, Nat?” You feel the vibrations of her humming against your cheek.

“Nothing you need to know about, kitten. How about we forget about our work lives and focus on us right now.”

“That sounds lovely, Nat. How would you like to do that?” You reach out and grab the other glass of wine as Natalia slouches back into the couch. Your fingers clasps around the base of the glass when she speaks in a tone of voice you’ve never heard her use.

“I love you, Y/N.” Your body freezes at her confession. Your fingers tremble over the stem of the glass. You feel her hand make its way slowly up your back, sending chills down your spine. You hear her chuckle as your mind continues to fog up with shock. You slowly take in a deep breath and release the glass.

“Do you mean it?” A million thoughts race through your head. Could she be lying? Could this be some sort of elaborate plan? Why are you questioning this? Is this not what you wanted? You see Natalia lean forward and place her glass on the coffee table.

“Of course I mean it, Y/N. I have never felt this way before. You have a way about you that keeps me coming back for more. There is no other way to describe how I feel for you,” Your eyes quickly start to water as she continues to rub your back up and down in a soothing manner. A sob breaks out of you before Natalia is pulling you into her arms “shh sweetie, its okay. I know this may come as a surprise. I'll try to be better at seeing you. I have a plan, baby.” Your cries hiccup at her words. What does she mean she has a plan? Also she called you baby so you swooned a little. You wipe your tears away and sniffle a bit as you look into her beautiful, honest eyes.

“I love you, too, Natalia.” She smiles the sweetest smile you have ever seen. She cups your cheeks into her hands as she brings you in for a passionate kiss. You shiver once more at the absolute love you were feeling at the moment. As your tongues dance, she pulls you in closer. You shiver again and she pulls away, leaving you to pout. She hums and gets up off the couch.

“Let’s go to bed, kitten.” You whine and fall back further into the couch.

“I’m not tired, Nat!” She looks at you and you immediately stop your whining. Her eyebrow raises at your behavior.

“If you want to act up, fine, I’ll just go fuck myself then.” Your jaw drops as she walks away, down the hall, to your bedroom. You see a shirt fly past your peripheral and you immediately get up from the couch, your food long forgotten. You sprint down the hall almost tripping over her pants as you strip from your top. Thankfully you already took off your bra. You stumble into your room trying to take your pants off. You hear her laugh as you try not to face plant on the floor. You roll your eyes as you kick off your pants. You look up and see her ready for you on the bed. Her legs spread showing off her glimmering pussy. Your mouth begins to salivate at the sight. She beckoned you closer and you immediately obeyed. You strip out of your underwear before crawling towards her on the bed. You stop at her legs, bent up and splayed wide open. Your hands cup her thighs as you lean down to kiss them. Her hand comes down to tangle through your hair. She scratches lightly at your scalp.

“Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you eat mommy out, kitten? Show me how much you love me, baby.” Your heart aches at her words. You never thought this day would come. Before your brain could interfere you lay down on your stomach. You breathe in the scent you have missed so much. You can never really describe how she smells to you. I guess home would be a great start. You lean in and lick her clit, you both moan at the welcomed feeling. You start suckling on her clit, savoring the taste you’ve missed. Her thighs quiver as you nibble softly. You give a tender kiss to the bud before moving down, trailing your tongue through her folds. Her grip on your hair tightens as your tongue enters her. You slowly pump in and out, lazily. You slurp up her essence as her moans fill the room. You curl your tongue and she lets out a squeal at the move. You chuckle causing her to pull your hair. You moan into her pussy at the tingling sensation. You increase your speed and alternate between pumping her pussy full of your tongue and nibbling on her lips.

“I love it when you do that, kitten.” You hum from the praise and make your way back up to her clit. You move one of your hands to her silky folds, pinching lightly. You suck her clit into your mouth as you slip two fingers into her pussy. Natalia throws her head back with a scream, back arching beautifully.

“Oh that’s it, kitten. It’s been so long, I’m close already.” You increase the speed of your fingers and curl them every other thrust. Her thighs begin to shake as you suckle at her clit. You break away from her just long enough to speak before she gets upset.

“Cum for me, Nat.” With one more curl of your fingers, Nat releases a cry of pleasure as her fingers pull your hair. You flinch at the pain and kiss her mound, slowly pumping your fingers as she rides out her high. She comes down with a smirk on her face.

“Good girl, Y/N.” Her fingers curl around your locks and slowly scratch the back of your head. You moan and pull out your fingers as you nuzzle into her belly. The rhythmic sensation of Nat’s massage makes you realize how tired you were from the events of the day. You wipe your fingers on the bed sheet and sigh onto her stomach. You hear her chuckle at your lack of energy. Nat starts to wiggle underneath you and you groan in annoyance.

“Stooooop, I can’t go another round.” She releases her hold on your hair and stretches causing you to lift your head and glare at her. She raises one of her perfect eyebrows at you. You immediately get sheepish and mumble an apology. She sits up and pats the bed next to her.

“Come on, baby. You can be the big spoon tonight.” You blush and scramble to the other side of the bed. She giggles at you and leans in to kiss you. You get lost in the kiss before a yawn threatens the moment. You pull away and clear your throat.

“I didn’t realize I was so tired.” You notice Natalia looking at you and you feel as if she is looking right through you. She leans in and gives you a peck on the lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” You give her a lopsided smile as she lays down, her back facing you. You lay down and pull her closer to you, kissing the back of her neck.

“Goodnight, Natalia.”

———- ⧗———-

Your phone vibrates softly on the nightstand, waking you from your slumber. You turn around slowly so as to not wake Natalia. You pick up your phone to see a text from Carol.

“I know she’s there, Y/N. Take her out or I will. You have 5 minutes. I’m sorry.”

Your palms begin to sweat. You just can’t have one perfect night. Fuck. Your heart begins to ache at what you have to do. This was years in the making and it can all be over soon. Yet you were hesitant. You take a deep breath and open the drawer of the nightstand. Inside you take out the blade you’ve used way too many times. You never once thought twice about using it, until now. Your phone buzzes once more.

“She’s gotten inside your head. Don’t let her act fool you. She is dangerous.”

You sigh and type out a quick reply, confirming your play. You silence your phone for good and shut the drawer, grasping the knife firmly. You turn towards Natalia with a steel gaze. You couldn’t let her get to you anymore. She loves you though and that’s all you’ve been wanting for the last year. You shake your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts. It’s fake, Y/N. It’s what she does, the black widow, infiltrates and lies to get her way. She’s been fooling you this whole time, just like you had been doing. Yet at some point you stopped pretending and fell head over heels for the spy. You clench your teeth and tighten your grip on the knife. You were trained better than to fall for the enemy. She’s a murderer and you’re HYDRA’'s best agent. You lift your arm and before you could finish your mission, Natalia quickly turns around with a knife of her own. It was in a matter of seconds that she plunged the blade deep into your chest. Your body immediately goes into shock as you cough up blood. The iron taste is lost on your senses. Your vision begins to blur as she releases the handle. You see her get up and dress with an ease you would expect after she kills someone. You fall backwards onto the bed as you feel your limbs go numb. She walks over to you and leans down to kiss your trembling lips.

“Nice try, kitten.” You see her smirk before turning around and walking away. Your eyes flutter closed before she even reaches the door.

———- ⧗———-

Natasha series tag list: @theunknowinglys , @natashalance , @andrea25434 , @iwillpokeyouwithmyknife , @scarlettnatasha , @gaylorrds​ , @widowbitessting​

Forever tag list: @cheethos , @kello-unknown , @domromanoff , @stuckys-whore , @marilynroselleprentiss , @captainwonderwidow , @wndamaximov , @awrykai , @tribblemakingalicorn

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 50: Jon

“Do you have anything to declare?” the rather bored-looking man behind the counter asks without looking up from the paperwork.

For a brief second, Jon oscillates between how would you react if I told you what was in my pocket and yes, I declare this to be a complete waste of time, but he’s anxious to get this over with, so he simply says, “No, nothing.”

The man rattles off a few more standard questions, which Jon answers with only about half his attention. His eyes keep wandering over to the gates, just a dozen or so yards away. It’s so close, he’s almost there…

“Right, that’s everything,” the man says at last. He stamps Jon’s passport and pushes it, along with the requisite forms, over the counter. “Welcome to London. Next!”

Jon moves towards the down escalators, awkwardly attempting to stuff the papers back into his bag as he walks. Well, technically walks. He’s moving at a fast clip that doesn’t quite count as a run but could probably keep up with one. Part of his brain wanders off down the path of linguistics and semantics, trying to figure out what distinguishes a run from a fast walk, but most of it is preoccupied with what’s on the other side of those gates. Through the portal, down the stairs, outside and to the Tube station; he’s not thrilled about it, actually, but under the circumstances, it’s the best he’s going to be able to do.

Damn Julia for destroying his phone. Again. Nowhere has pay phones anymore, either. God, they’re going to be so worried, he promised to check in and he didn’t and now he’s a whole day overdue from what he originally said would be the latest he’d be back. The trains should be running, even this early, he should be able to get home before they have to leave for the Institute, and if he doesn’t he can just go the rest of the way to the Institute and meet them there…

He’s tired, he’s jet-lagged, he’s stressed. He’s used up too much of himself, given in to the Eye more than he should, and it’s overwhelming. He’s learned virtually nothing useful on this trip and he just wants to be home. He feels like he could sleep for a week. Or at least like he wants to.

When this is all over, he promises himself. When it’s all over, after the Unknowing, if Elias is still around, Jon will insist on vacation time for himself and his team members. They need the downtime, and Jon won’t lie, the idea of getting to spend a few weeks with just Martin and Tim is appealing. For the moment, though, he’ll have to settle for a few hours.

He would dearly love to take the day off. But Elias has made it clear that he wants them to think time is of the essence, so he can’t tip his hand and stay out too long. Maybe they can come in late. On second thought, though—he glances quickly at the outsize clock on the wall—he’s not going to make it home in time for much more than a quick nap, if that, before they have to leave. Maybe he should just go straight to the Institute, use the phone in the Archives to call and say he’s back, and curl up on the cot he still keeps in the storage room. He can at least get some rest, maybe—

“Jon! Jon!”

Jon’s head jerks up and whips around. He doesn’t have any checked luggage, so he just kept going and he’s crossed the line from the passengers-only area to the public area, but he hasn’t been paying attention to much around him. There’s a bit of a crowd, but not so much of one he can’t see Tim and Martin watching him from a few yards away.

Jon breaks into a run, never taking his eyes off of the two people he’s wanted most to see as they do the same towards him. He somehow manages to avoid tripping on a small child dragging a rolling suitcase and flings himself into their arms.

For the first time in almost two weeks, he feels some of the tension leave his body. Martin is soft, Tim is solid, both of them are warm, and he’s safe here. The song the Primes danced to, the night the three of them moved into their house, floats through his head, and he clings to Tim and Martin and inhales the scent he’s come to associate with home. For a long time, they just stand there clutching one another.

“Melanie’s right,” he says at last. “Jet lag sucks.”

Tim and Martin both laugh, a little desperately. Jon laughs, too, and looks up. Martin has at least a day’s worth of stubble growing on his chin and Tim’s shirt is inside out. It looks like they just rolled out of bed and came straight for the airport, or…oh, God. “Tell me you two haven’t been sitting here waiting for me since yesterday.”

“We thought about it, but no,” Tim assures him. “The Primes called and said you’d be coming in this morning.”

“We got them one of those throwaway phones,” Martin adds. “Honestly, we should’ve done that a long time ago, but…it’s a long story. We’ll tell you about it when you’ve had a chance to get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“So do you.” Jon looks from Martin to Tim and back again. “I’m sure we can take a half-day without anyone getting too upset. Do you think Sasha and Melanie will handle things for us?”

“Sasha owes us,” Tim says. He eases back but keeps one arm around Jon; Martin does the same. Jon shifts his arms so they’re behind Tim and Martin’s waists. “She’s taken a fair bit of time off these last couple weeks—and it’s for good reason, so don’t think I’m saying otherwise. But she owes us. I’m sure she’ll hold down the fort for a couple hours.”

“I’ll text Melanie when we get to the car and see what she says,” Martin offers.

They walk out of the terminal together and to where Tim has parked his car. Jon half-expects they’ll talk on the way home, but they don’t; he really is exhausted and he can tell they’re tired, too, so the ride is made in silence. None of them speak when they get to the house, either. They just head inside, where Tim and Martin pull Jon into the bedroom and none of them really bother to change into their sleep clothes, just shuck their outer layers and collapse into bed together.

Jon is plagued by his usual nightmares, plus a couple new ones, but honestly, at this point he’s used to them. He wakes up abruptly, but not screaming, and is momentarily disorientated by the brightness of the room and the awareness of another presence in the bed before he registers that he’s back where he belongs, safe and secure between Martin and Tim. Well, between is stretching it a bit; among might be a better word to use. They’ve somehow managed to end up in a tangled pile of limbs and extremities. Jon’s cheek is pillowed on the soft, warm fleshiness of Martin’s upper arm, his neck fitting easily into Martin’s elbow, and one of Tim’s legs is hooked over Jon’s hip. He normally doesn’t like the sensation of skin against skin, or at least he hasn’t with anyone he’s ever been with, but this feels…right.

Something clicks into place, all at once, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. When he called to talk to Tim and Martin because he needed to hear their voices, he didn’t expect to get so relaxed and comfortable that he stopped thinking before he spoke, and as soon as he heard the words love you both slide out of his mouth he panicked and ended the call before giving them a chance to reply. He’s spent as much of the last three or so days as he can—when he can spare the brainpower for it—turning his feelings over and over and trying to analyze them. He doesn’t doubt he meant those words, but he’s been trying to parse out what he meant by them and what it means for them all. Everything he’s been through between then and now has meant he’s been a bit stressed, a bit on edge, and hasn’t really had a lot of time to think about it clearly.

Now, though, he thinks about the safe and secure feeling he gets when he’s in their arms like this, about the desperate way he’s mentally cried out for both of them every time he’s been in danger, but also about the moments of deep and utter happiness they’ve shared over the last year, the nights they’ve laughed so hard they start crying, the afternoons they’ve spent with Charlie in their kitchen. He thinks about falling out of Helen’s tunnels into their arms and the perfect moment of joy when he saw their faces in the airport. Most poignantly, he thinks of the yawning chasm that seemed to open up the minute he crossed beyond the security barrier when he left London two weeks ago—the empty blackness that separated him from Martin and Tim—and for the first time, everything coalesces into pure certainty.

Love you both. Of course he does. He loves both of them with a depth he’s never felt before, and it scares the hell out of him because he runs the risk of losing them both to what’s coming. At the same time, it fills him with a sense of utter peace, because he has them now.

He wishes they could just stay like this a little longer, but an alarm he hasn’t realized someone set goes off and both Martin and Tim stir with varying noises of dismay. They’ve got to get up, got to get to the Institute. Still, Jon clings to them both for a moment more before, reluctantly, he climbs out of bed to go take a shower.

Tim drives them to work, and none of them argue.

Sasha meets Jon with a huge hug when he walks in. Surprisingly, Melanie offers him one, too. It’s a bit stiff, but it feels genuine, and Jon takes it willingly.

“I’m sorry you’re trapped here,” he tells her. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

Melanie shrugs. “My choice. Maybe one I shouldn’t have made, but still…my choice. Glad I can help. Now tell me what I need to do.”

Jon’s more grateful to her than he can express. Looking around at the Archives, at the assistants, at his family, he can see now what he wouldn’t let himself see before: Sasha’s hunger, Tim’s exhaustion, Martin’s strain. They’re all on edge and they’re all walking a fine line. Melanie hasn’t fallen as hard as they have; she’s still just a regular assistant. Still a bit of an outsider looking in. She’s far enough away from all of this that she can…well, she can’t walk away, but she’s at least not having her soul sucked out of her body with every step she takes. And she’s choosing to be here, choosing to help. She’s someone he can trust to protect his people without reservation or hesitation.

And if what the Primes have said is even half true, which it seems to be, she can probably handle herself almost better than the rest of them.

“For starters, I’d like to hear what you’ve been up to while I’ve been gone,” Jon says. “Then, perhaps, I can tell you what I’ve been up to. We—we need to make plans.”

“War room or downstairs?” Sasha asks. “Either one should be fine. Elias left sick about twenty minutes ago, so we can all convene without him knowing.”

Jon is startled. “How do you know?”

Melanie looks gleeful. “Sasha went up to tell him you were back and that you’d be in later today and all that, and while she had him distracted, I distracted Rosie and mixed laxatives in with the creamer she was putting in his coffee. A lot of laxatives.”

“The whole building heard him, practically.” Sasha smirks. “Rosie wanted to call him an ambulance, but he insisted he’d be fine to get home on his own and that he just needed rest or something like that. I didn’t read his mind,” she adds, evidently catching something in Jon’s expression. “Or hers. Manal told me.”

“See, this is why I drink tea,” Martin says with a straight face.

Jon is torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to scold them both for recklessness. Instead, he says, “If you’re sure…let’s go ahead and do this up here. The seating’s a bit more comfortable.”

Melanie turns on her heel. “I’ll go get them.”

Jon ducks into his office only long enough to grab a couple of things, then joins the others in the War Room. There are a couple of additional pins on the board and a new color of string; considering it stretches from London to Beijing to start bouncing around the States, Jon guesses it’s tracing his journey. The whiteboard has a list of the most common names and places they’ve seen in the statements, with tally marks indicating how many statements they’ve come up with for each, but Sasha begins erasing it with the explanation that they’ve already made a more permanent copy of those notes. They’ve also set up a secondary tea station in the room itself, which Jon appreciates, since it means Martin doesn’t have to be out of his sight for the length of time it would take him to brew tea for them all.

God, the separation anxiety is terrible.

Melanie arrives with the Primes just as Martin finishes up the tea; Jon Prime crosses over to where Jon stands, smiling wanly, and pulls him into a hug. “I hope your trip went better than mine,” he murmurs in Jon’s ear.

“I doubt it,” Jon mutters back. Jon Prime sighs regretfully and lets him go.

He gets a hug from Martin Prime, too, and then they all settle into seats in a rough semicircle around the boards and single desk. Jon brings the mug of tea to his lips and inhales for a moment. Jon Prime is right, it doesn’t taste as good when Martin doesn’t make it. “Right,” he says at last. “Fill me in. What have I missed?”

“Not much, honestly,” Tim says. “A few live statements, Elias being a dick, and…whatever that mess was on Tuesday. But we haven’t been able to find much about the Unknowing.”

Jon is instantly on edge. “Tuesday? What happened on Tuesday?”

“Pick something,” Melanie mutters, with just a bit of an edge to it.

Martin sighs. “Peter Lukas was here.”

“What?” Jon barely manages to stop from dropping his mug. “I-I thought—I thought the deal was that he had to stay away from you.”

“The Institute doesn’t show up in those pictures in the Light, apparently, so there’s no way for the Keeper to actually know he violated the contract,” Martin says. “Unless someone tells him, which, well, if I can figure out how to find him, I’m going to. I got it on tape, at least, so there’s evidence. But yeah, apparently he had a meeting with Elias and made a trip down here first.”

Upset, Jon reaches over to touch Martin’s arm lightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll admit it was a bit rough, but that’s just because I was already kind of…not at my best. I took a live statement two days in a row,” Martin admits, wincing under Jon’s look. “But anything he did to me, I got over pretty quickly.”

Jon doesn’t like the emphasis Martin places on the word me, but when he turns to scan the others, he realizes the one who looks the worst off is Martin Prime. Jon Prime meets his eyes, and his lips flatten. “Peter Lukas trails the Lonely after him. I wasn’t here,” he says softly. “Martin woke up alone and…”

“It was a bit touch and go,” Martin Prime says. “But we’re all right.”

“Where were you?” Jon asks his counterpart. It’s not like him to go haring off around London, especially during the day.

“Hill Top Road. Your team found a statement I remembered…when Martin brought it to me the first time, I remember being tempted to investigate but feeling very strongly that I shouldn’t. I had the same feeling this time, so I went,” Jon Prime answers. “I thought I might get some…useful information.”

“Did you?”

“Not about the Unknowing.”

Jon waits a second, but it’s obvious Jon Prime isn’t going to say further, and he decides not to push him. Sasha evidently comes to the same conclusion. “I feel bad that I missed all of this, but I was out for the afternoon. My uncle called and wanted to talk to me, so everyone told me to just go.”

“Is everything all right?” Jon asks.

“Depends on your definition of ‘all right’,” Sasha replies. “He’s being released next week. Which is great, and I’m actually quite excited about it. But he also—he had a statement.” She points at the shelves. “Tape’s in there if you want to listen to it later, but short version, the Corruption killed my parents and grandparents. Uncle Wade and I probably had a lucky escape ourselves.”

“Sasha, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Anyway, that was basically all that happened with us while you were gone. What about you?” Sasha pushes her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. “Did you learn anything useful while you were gone?”

“Maybe? Not by actually following Gertrude’s path, though.” Jon takes a sip of tea to brace himself, then sets it on the desk and takes a deep breath. “Did Martin and Tim tell you about what I found in Chicago and Pittsburgh?”

“Fat lot of nothing,” Melanie says. “Except for the fact that Gertrude Robinson managed to not actually get charged with anything after being arrested.”

“Essentially, yes.” Jon glances from Martin to Tim and back, knowing they’re going to be upset. “As you know, then, I planned to take the bus from Pittsburgh to D.C., then fly home. I should have been home yesterday. But…well, the bus I was on made a stop to allow us to stretch, and I was…accosted.”

“Jon,” Tim says, “did you get kidnapped again?”

“Only a little,” Jon protests. He knows how feeble it sounds, but it does at least get a surprised laugh out of Martin. “I’d—I’d had a feeling I was being followed since I landed in Chicago, but by the time I got to Pittsburgh…I’m sorry I didn’t say anything while we were on the phone on Monday, but I-I didn’t want to worry you two unnecessarily. But by then I was sure. I had hoped the cop that was stalking me would be left behind, but no, he was still after me when the bus stopped.”

“You got kidnapped by a cop?” Martin’s voice rose a bit in pitch.

Jon shook his head. “No, by someone chasing that cop. Alleged cop, anyway. You recall that statement last year, the—the anatomy professor with the students with the strange names?”

“Wh—oh, yeah, the Stranger statement. First live one after…” Martin waves a hand around the room, indicating the Primes, the timeline on the whiteboard, and his own scars.

“Well, apparently one of them was hiding out as a Chicago beat cop. Must have recognized me, or at least spotted the Eye’s influence on me. But he didn’t actually manage to get to me. I got kidnapped—or escorted, as she would have it—by Julia Montauk.”

Sasha’s eyes widen. “Robert Montauk’s daughter?”

Jon nods. “She’s working with Trevor Herbert. The vampire hunter. He’s still alive…somehow. They’re over in America hunting…monsters. Mostly.” He shivers slightly, remembering the smug sneer on the man’s face: The line gets blurrier every day. Could he…no. No, he won’t think about that.

Martin and Tim both reach for Jon’s hands at the same instant. He clasps them both, grateful for the connection. Melanie frowns. “Fill me in. Who are these people?”

“Robert Montauk was a serial killer, but he was also working with the Dark,” Sasha tells her. “Julia Montauk was, well, his daughter. She gave a statement a few years back. Trevor Herbert was a man who spent basically his whole life hunting vampires. Or at least that’s what he calls them. There’s this whole…thing. We thought at first he died of lung cancer, like, literally in the middle of making his statement, but apparently he survived.”

Melanie taps her finger on her mug. Her eyes go vacant for a moment. Before Jon can continue, though, she turns to Jon Prime. “So is he part of the End or the Hunt?”

“The Hunt,” Jon Prime says, looking surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought so, but the whole cheating-death thing made me wonder, that’s all.”

“A lot of—of avatars have cheated death, in one way or another,” Jon Prime says slowly. “But it’s their patrons, I suppose, keeping them alive. One more favor.”

Melanie hums. “’S irrelevant, I guess. Anyway, I’m up to speed now. Go on. You got kidnapped by a Hunter and—the daughter of the Dark?”

“She’s with the Hunt now, too. I got their statement while we waited for Max Mustermann to—well, regrow a body.” Jon shudders a bit again. It was all a bit grisly. “They obviously didn’t know anything about the Unknowing, but I was hoping Mustermann would.”

“Did he?” Martin asks softly.

Jon sighs. “Mostly what we already knew. He didn’t even know when it was set to happen, just ‘when things are ready.’ I’d have tried more questions, but Trevor and Julia decided they weren’t going to get anything else useful out of him and dispatched him.”

Tim sighs, too. “So you got a net total of…nothing.”

“Not quite. Julia and Trevor offered me a—a thank-you of sorts, for helping them catch Mustermann. Apparently they’d been after him for some time.” Jon lets go of Tim and Martin’s hands and reaches into his pocket. “I made a deal at the time. Bring this back to England, promise to dispose of it after, and I’d get all the information I needed.”

Jon Prime chuckles slightly. “That sounds familiar.”

Jon pulls out the folded page he’s been carrying for two days. Martin eyes it apprehensively. “Jon…what did you do?”

Melanie leans forward. “Is that—leather?”

“Technically, I think leather has to be tanned first. It’s just skin.” Jon studies it. “There’s a book—Mary Keay had it. It’s got pages on it with—it’s hard to explain, but the pages are sort of…possessed by the spirits of people who’ve died. Technically, mostly people she murdered. Gertrude Robinson knew how to do it too, and…she bound Gerry into it. Uh, Gerard Keay.”

Sasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “Gertrude Robinson murdered Gerard Keay?”

“No.” Jon reconsiders. “Not technically, but I’m inclined to hold her responsible. She had to have known how little time he had left—his cancer was incredibly advanced when he was admitted to the hospital. But I-I don’t think violent death is necessarily a prerequisite for being bound into the book, just…fresh death. I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re right.” Jon Prime massages his temple with one hand, eyes closed. “I would rather not know those details, but unfortunately I do.”

Martin Prime slides a hand between Jon Prime’s shoulder blades and rubs gently; Jon Prime leans into him and sighs, almost inaudibly. Martin studies the page in Jon’s hand. “So what did he tell you? I—I’m guessing you…summoned him.”

“Nothing yet,” Jon answers. “Like I said…he promised to tell me everything he could if I would just bring him back here, and then burn the page after we’re done.”

He unfolds the page, takes a deep breath, and begins to read aloud. As the last time, the air grows thick and heavy, and the words taste bitter on his tongue. He aches with sympathy for the dying—technically the dead, but reading it, he feels there, the same way he does when he reads the statements.

“‘And so Gerard Keay ended,’” he concludes, lowering the page. And just like last time, there the figure is in front of him, with no clear idea of when he appeared or how he got there. Martin makes a strangled noise of surprise. Jon can’t help but smile a bit as he makes eye contact with the specter. “Welcome home, Gerry.”

Gerry grins and makes an ironic little half-bow. “Archivist.”

“My friends call me Jon.” Jon waves a hand around him. “And speaking of…this is my team.”

He introduces each one of them in turn, including the Primes. Gerry is particularly startled to see them. “Time travel? I didn’t know that was possible. How’d you do it?”

“Spiral,” Martin Prime says succinctly. “Not the best option in the world.”

Gerry studies Martin Prime for a minute, then gives Jon Prime a meaningful glance with a raised eyebrow. Jon Prime rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his face as he kisses Martin Prime’s temple. Martin Prime relaxes a little, and it occurs to Jon, all of a sudden, that he’s jealous, at least a little bit.

Turning back to Jon, Gerry folds his arms across his chest. “All right. I suppose you’ve got questions.”

“Just one,” Jon answers. “How did Gertrude plan to stop the Unknowing?”

He knows what the Primes did, but he’s hoping against hope Gertrude might have had a different plan. Blowing up a factory will work, but he’s afraid to let Tim get that close to an explosion in the name of revenge. Unless there’s a way to do it long-range…

“Don’t know,” Gerry says casually.

Melanie throws up her hands dramatically. “Great! Just great. Big help.”

“Hey, now,” Gerry protests. “Okay, I don’t know exactly, but…Gertrude reckoned it couldn’t be stopped ahead of time. It could be delayed, but nothing we could do would actually stop it properly. Even the Dancer could be replaced. But once it starts, it might be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable to what?” Melanie presses.

“I dunno.”

Melanie lets out a string of profanity that would have had Jon’s grandmother washing his mouth out with soap and salt water. Sasha hides a laugh behind a cough. “Seriously, she never said?”

Gerry’s eyes twinkle. Jon’s pretty sure he’s enjoying teasing them. “She did say she had something that might disrupt it.”

Sasha rolls her hand in a go on gesture. “What?”

“Not long before I went into the hospital, she told me that if something got her first, I was…” Gerry pauses, and there’s a flash of pain in his eyes. Jon realizes he really, truly did care about Gertrude, in his own way. “There’s a storage unit on an industrial estate up near Hainault. She said she rented it under the name Jan Kelly, and hid the key somewhere in the Archives.”

Jon remembers the key he found under the floorboards with Gertrude’s laptop. “Oh. Uh, I think I found that, actually.”

“Well, it’s in that storage unit,” Gerry says. “Whatever she thought might disrupt the ritual, stop the Unknowing, that’s where it is.”

“But you don’t know what it is.” With a sinking feeling, Jon realizes it has to be some kind of explosive.

“No,” Gerry answers. “When I asked her, she said she’d show me when we got back to London. Mind you, she had this weird look in her eyes, like it was some kind of joke.”

Melanie sighs. “So we’ve got a net gain of…a storage unit.”

“Hey, at least I know where to go now,” Jon points out. “It’s something, at least.”

Gerry looks around at them, then turns to the Primes. “Did it work when you did it?”

“It did,” Jon Prime says quietly. “But we lost a lot in the process. We were hoping there might be another method.”

“I reckon if there was, Gertrude would’ve had more than one plan set up,” Gerry says. “She was like that. Never put all your eggs in one basket unless you only have one basket, or you’re damned sure of it.”

“Or you don’t have that many hens,” Sasha says.

Jon sighs and nods. “Thank you, Gerry.”

“Sure. Glad to help what I could.” Gerry studies Jon thoughtfully. “Don’t forget what you promised.”

“As soon as we’re done here.”

Gerry nods. “I think I’m ready to go now. Thank you. For bringing me home.”

“Of course. Uh…I dismiss you,” Jon says, a bit awkwardly.

Gerry sighs in relief and smiles. He gives a wink and a thumbs-up to Martin and Tim, and then he’s gone.

Jon sighs, too. He folds the page back up, then goes over to the metal trash can in the corner, drops it in, and fishes out the spiderweb lighter he keeps finding in his pocket even though he has definitely quit smoking. “Right,” he says, mostly to himself, then lights the page on fire.

None of them speak while the page crumbles away to ashes. Once it’s done, Tim exhales heavily and slumps in his chair, rubbing at his temples with his eyes closed. “Christ, that hurt.”

“Hang on.” Martin grabs Tim’s mug and brushes a hand gently against his cheek before hurrying over to the tea station.

Jon barely stops himself from dropping the trash can and hurries back to Tim’s side. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be okay. Just—lot of power, you know? It’s getting harder and harder to stop from seeing the marks without trying, and the—the page itself was bad enough, but watching it burn—I don’t know why, but it was painful.” Tim takes a few deep, slow breaths. “I’m okay, Jon, honest.”

Jon doesn’t move from Tim’s side until Martin comes back with the tea and slides it into his hands. After a few moments of inhaling the tea, with Jon on one side of him and Martin on the other, Tim finally looks up and manages a smile. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tim.” Jon takes a chance and brushes the hair on the back of Tim’s neck lightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Bit drained,” Tim admits. “Should be okay tomorrow.”

Jon Prime sighs. “Tim, if you’re using your abilities…whether you mean to or not, you’re going to need a statement to really recover well.”

Melanie half-rises from her seat. “I can go try and grab you one. Then you can, I don’t know, read it while we go look at this storage unit?”

“We can do that later,” Jon says, waving her to sit down. “Look at the storage unit, I mean. As for the statement…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tape Tim locked in his desk drawer weeks ago, the one labeled in Gertrude’s distinctive handwriting with nothing more than a date and location. He holds it up to show everyone. “This is the statement we’re pretty sure is my father’s. Anyone who wants to can leave…but I think it’s time we listen to it.”

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (2/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack in Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 3061. Square filled: “Car Accident”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Blood, wounds, car accident, angst, dead body, assassination, nightmares. Please don’t hate me.

A/N: I’m so happy with this one, so I hope you like it, too! Thank you to everyone who reads and comments - it means a lot to me. Updates on Sundays, and you can follow and turn on notifications for @ayeshaupdates​ to be notified when I post.

Something’s wrong. A late June morning has blossomed with a sun that seeks to burn, and he can smell the smoke already, walking down the stairs to run his weekly errands. Something’s wrong, and if he was superstitious, he’d laugh at himself, but another reminder of his time under Hydra is the instinct to follow his gut, and right now, his gut is blaring a fire alarm. He knows why the moment he steps out of his apartment, and is greeted by the woman he buys plums from at the farmer’s market. No smile in sight.

“Get back inside,” she says in Romanian, hisses, rather, pushing off the car she was leaning on, a newspaper in one hand and an urgent gesture for him to follow with the other. He’s just blindsided enough to obey this person he doesn’t know, and she starts climbing the stairs he just came down with a peek above the banister at every single one of the four landings to his apartment, with the air of someone suspecting guns blazing at each of them. A familiar gesture, to him.

“Look,” she says, opening the newspaper with a rustle of paper, huddled next to the door of his apartment. His stomach sinks. Winter Soldier kills 12 in Vienna. There’s a picture he definitely shouldn’t be in, a grainy still from CCTV footage, somehow still identifiable as him. Throat dry and blood rushing, he stumbles back until she reaches out and steadies him. A fierce grip on his right sleeve, a stronger hold on his eyes.

“I know it wasn’t you. I saw you in town yesterday. Listen, this isn’t going to make much sense, and you have no reason to believe me,” - damn right he doesn’t - “but I can help.” A pause. A dip in her voice, a nervous swallow around nothing, and he watches her eyes flit back and forth between his. Searching and desperate, and entirely untrustworthy, but something in them beckons nonetheless.

“I’m not going with you,” he says, unlocking his door and moving to the plank his emergency backpack is secure under. Pries it up and pulls the bag out, trying to tell her with his eyes what his words cannot convey. The lack of cheer on her face is almost as disconcerting as her smile was, but he has no time to dwell on that now. The frown lines on her forehead mirror his.

“Where are you going to go? And how?” She asks stepping into his apartment, her eyes frantically following his movements as he packs up the journal on the fridge, and the knives secured to the side of the sofa, under the kitchen table, and beneath his pillow. One goes in his ankle, another in his waistband, and the last in his bag. “Please, Jame-”

“Don’t.” He finishes securing his bag around his chest, and turns back towards the door just as she’s uttering his name. Just as her eyes widen at the sight of the shy person she must have gotten used to turning into this. 

“James,” she says again, and he’s frozen to the spot. Doesn’t know how much more time he has, only that seconds are passing like hours in the fear in her eyes. He’s seen good actresses, and he’s seen liars, too, and she isn’t one. Not now, at least, not in her genuine pleas to aid his escape. The idea that she might be a ruse to get him out without collateral damage is swatted away quickly to the back of his mind, where it niggles unpleasantly at his brain, but he doesn’t trust her. He can’t.

Shouldering past her with a stabbing in his chest, he storms down the stairs, hears her shut the door before her footsteps are behind him again. Down the stairs, clutching desperately at the rails so as to not fall forward in her momentum, she struggles to keep up with him.

“James, you have to listen to me,” she says, as he exits the building and they arrive on the street, everything moving grey and fast and loud around them. It’s all so much, and his heart is pumping straight adrenaline around his body, and he needs to get moving. “Bucky!”

There, the world stops. Blood running red hot and mind icy cold, he turns around to look at her where she stands, chest heaving and desperate, urgent, her hand stretched out, with something shiny in them. Car keys.

“You’ll never make it out on foot and stealing a car’s going to get you caught. If you won’t let me help you out of the city, go by yourself, but take my car,” she says, coming closer. Voice low and quiet, imparting assistance in a way that, to anyone watching from across the street or a window above, would look like a lover’s quarrel. A small disagreement, about who gets to drive, in the way he hesitates to lift a shaking right hand that takes the keys from her, grazing a palm that is smooth, soft, held out to him with the patience of someone feeding a bird out of one’s hand. Right now, she could be feeding him poison and he’d take it. Maybe she’s hoping he gets in the car and she’ll follow him on another. Take him away from the city, no witnesses, no civilians. Maybe she’s working for someone else that wants him, too. Maybe she wants him for her own means. 

So, he does the only thing he can think of. Picks a poison.

“I can’t leave you here,” he says, unlocking the car and opening the front passenger door. “They’ll have seen you now. They’ll catch you.” Clenching his hands into fists at his side, he waits. Watches her give a second thought to how she came to his rescue at a moment’s notice. Wonders if she’ll call in the squad that might be waiting in the shadows already. And, if she’s innocent, he allows her to contemplate the consequences of her decisions, a wheel she has already set into motion by parking her car here, by entering his building, by being seen with him. Meanwhile, he listens to the echo of his childhood nickname bounce in his head, and he wants to address it, he wants to say something or ask something because “James” is fine, but how the Hell does she know about Bucky?

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go,” she says, getting in the car, and he goes to get in the driver’s seat. He ignites the engine, and then:

“Wait, where are you planning to go? Because I was going to drive us to Popesti-Leordeni and lay low for a while, until-” he cuts her off, before she can elaborate on her intentions to stay in a small town a short distance from Bucharest, somewhere to hide in plain sight.

“I have a cabin near the Bulgarian border,” he says, adjusting his hands at ten and two, and sets the car into motion. Turning onto a road leading southeast, he hopes that they’ll make it half as far.

---

She’s fallen asleep. He doesn’t know how, given the circumstances, but he’s grateful for it. It somewhat alleviates his concerns about her having a plot to kidnap him for herself, or an employer; criminal masterminds don’t fall asleep next to their victims, and neither do spies-for-hire.

Not to mention that asleep, she can’t question him about the cabin any longer, and he honestly doesn’t know if he has it in him to tell her more than he has. The cabin is, of course, not his. Despicably so, it’s Hydra property. Or was, anyhow, till it went out of commission a few decades ago. 

He didn’t even know it existed until a nightmare last month. Thunderstorms had rattled his windows, and the turbulence had made its way into his subconscious, where a mission in the Bulgarian city of Plovdiv replayed in his mind like a horror movie. October of 1989. It had rained then, too, and he had been soaked, leather tac vest sticking to his body as he lay on a rooftop across from a ballroom where socialites had been mingling, alcohol in hand and orchestral music crossing the street to reach the Soldier’s unyielding ears. One shot, shattered glass, splattered blood, and chaos. Escape, for the Soldier, to a cabin north of the town, concealed by dense forests, where he had awaited extraction.

Bucky had awoken in as distraught a state as those standing next to his assassination victim, sweat beading on his forehead, lightning illuminating the room he walked across to get water. It had taken two cold glasses for his hands to stop shaking enough to open a journal in order to document the dream and the location of the safehouse.

He checks the map splayed across his unwanted passenger’s lap and verifies that he’s going the right way, towards the Danube river that separates Romania from Bulgaria. Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, he forces his shoulders to relax, let the ache subside so he doesn’t have more to worry about. He has enough of that, a whole seatful of concern, in fact, dozing next to him like she hasn’t just made herself an international fugitive.

Questioning her motives is a given, and he’s been doing it since she held out her keys for him that morning, but speculation has yet to produce any fruitful results. Her use of his nickname - a word he hasn’t heard since Washington D.C. two years ago - has shaken him more than he cares to admit. Clearly, she knows more than she’s telling him, and that, along with her continued assistance of him after knowing that he’s the Winter Soldier, is worrisome. He doesn’t trust her.

Perhaps it’s because of the way she used his name against him, a weapon to stop him in his tracks that has him utterly perplexed. Perhaps it’s the confusing, paradoxical mix of her soldier-like discipline and intensity coupled with the emotion, the soft, rounded corners of her words permeating his mind like fog, dulling his senses like the alcohol he can no longer drown in, and lulling him into a fallacious semblance of comfort. Whatever it is, he needs to be wary of it, and her.

Circumstances have forced him into a position where he can’t leave her behind, otherwise, he’d have dropped her off at the small town of her choice, but it isn’t safe. And whoever she is, she offered him aid, escape, and he isn’t the Soldier anymore. Can’t leave someone for dead like that, not Captain America in the river, and not this woman to fend for herself in front of law enforcement that lays special emphasis on the word force. 

They wouldn’t be kind to her, and even if they didn’t hurt her, he doubts she’d see more than prison cells the rest of her life. No, he isn’t the Soldier - he can’t leave her at someone else’s mercy, or lack thereof. 

“They’ll know which way we went,” she says, still in Romanian, although he is convinced that she is not, and Bucky turns his head sharply to look at her upon the first two words she has spoken in as many hours. She rubs her eyes, wiping remnants of a solid catnap away from her face, and he turns back towards the road. 

“How much further?” She asks in English now, yawning, stretching, feline movement lazy and lithe. He clears his throat, and prays that his cheeks are clear of red. At least she’s stopped the Romanian pretense.

“Not long,” he answers gruffly, his peripherals observing her connect the dots between the road sign at the ramp they travel off of, and their location on the map. They’ve branched off into a smaller road, which they’ll depart from on foot close to an illegal pedestrian bridge, with no border control to worry about. He checked this route after that dream, planning an emergency exit in case of an event just like this one, and it’s paying off, but there is no pride in this preparation. The closest thing he had to a home has been snatched mercilessly from him again.

The day seems to be mocking him for his dull misery with the stark contrast of its bright sunshine, and the beautiful scenery that the Romanian countryside offers. The road is framed by lush, green flora, and the change from the greys and blues of the city is appreciable, but for the situation in which they find themselves in. Traffic is scarce, with nothing behind them in his rear-view mirror, and vehicles only occasionally passing them on the other side, in the opposite direction. This can’t last for long, he is aware. He doesn’t know how right he is, until she shouts, having been focused on the horizon far ahead than the road he was watching.

“That car is swerving, James, watch-” 

It’s true, what they say about car crashes. Every millisecond before is vivid, in screaming color and molasses-thick slow motion; the sound of fear from the passenger seat to his right, the smell of burnt rubber and scorched asphalt as his car tries to decelerate rapidly, he sees it all, but the impact itself is hard to grasp, sand between his fingers. Impact is blurry, every moment after metal meets metal like he’s seeing the world through a thick layer of syrup. The airbags inflate and his neck is on fire, whiplash burning down his spine. 

His ears are ringing, as he blindly fumbles for his seatbelt and then the door, stumbling out of the car and to the other side. Everything is spinning, the blue of the sky and the green of the land, and the grey of the asphalt a carousel around him, while he moves to the other side of the car. She’s conscious, bleeding profusely from a cut in her temple, but conscious and making weak efforts to get out of her seat. He helps her out, gets their bags from the back seat, and leads her to the side of the road, before going to check on whoever was in the other car. 

A fair distance from the driver’s side window, he can smell alcohol. Whiskey and scotch, the burning stink of which grows stronger the closer he gets. Pushing the airbag aside, he sees that the driver is alone. Was alone, because now, all he is, is dead. A shard of glass from the windshield penetrated his carotid, and the blood is everywhere. Red, branding the inside of the car and the outside of the door, where Bucky lurches back with nausea.

Backing off quickly, he turns tail and hauls his injured partner up. Puts her arm around himself, makes himself her crutch, to guide her into the forest, away from the scene, somewhere he can stop and heal her wounds. Thinks about how he spoke too soon, how he distanced himself from the Soldier too soon. Clearly, Bucky Barnes is as capable of leaving a man for dead as the Winter Soldier was. Only difference is, this time, he didn’t kill the corpse he’s abandoning.

The road is frequented enough that the accident will be discovered within half an hour, and reports will travel to higher authorities that will swarm this area with heat-sensing cameras on helicopters and hordes of sniffer dogs. They have to hurry, but they can’t like this. She might be concussed, she’s definitely bewildered and off-balance, figuratively and literally, and he has a cut in his face that he’s starting to feel, now that the buzz of adrenaline is wearing off. 

After ten more aching, gasping minutes, she lets out a plaintive sound of pain that he has to stop at. 

“Just five minutes, James, please, I can’t,” she says, sitting down on a nearby boulder. They’ve been moving at as fast a pace as he could make himself go with her on his shoulder, and now he kneels beside her. First, he gives her a bottle of water, and then takes out the first aid kit and starts cleaning her wound. The sting of antiseptic has her hissing, and then gritting her teeth. 

“You didn’t ask about the driver,” he says, raising his other hand to push back the hair that’s getting in the way of the wound. It’s a thin cut, along her hairline, but head wounds bleed like no tomorrow, and this one is deep, too. Surely a glass shard, too.

“Hmm?” Her eyes are closed and he repeats the question. “I thought you’d take care of it,” she says, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. That she trusts him? He really needs to check for that concussion.

“Open your eyes.” She does as she’s told, and looks at him with a startlingly clear gaze. Doesn’t look confused. However, she’s unnervingly calm for having just gone through a car crash, so he tries to test her memory. 

“What’s my name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Her voice is calm, a quiet, soft tone that soothes the ringing in his ears, accompanied by birdsong from the forest canopy above. She’s likely in shock.

“How do you know that?” He can’t help but ask, gently putting pressure on several points around her head, before deciding that she doesn’t have a concussion. In the time that it takes for her to formulate her answer, he’s dressed the wound, which begins staining red quicker than he’d like. Head wounds. They bleed so goddamn much.

“Read it in a history book. I had a crush on you in 8th grade, you know,” she says, taking the first aid kit and getting off the rock to sit next to him. He doesn’t answer, and she lifts a clean cotton pad to his cheek, just as surprised as he is that he doesn’t flinch. This, the casual tone of voice, the calm, fairy-like lilt to her previously intense tone, is probably the shock talking. Him not being repulsed by her touch must be shock as well, and so is the way he watches the shadows of the leaves above slide and shift across her face. 

“It’s Murphy’s Law, by the way,” she murmurs, breath fanning out across his face. “And just our luck, too. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (2/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is posted, I can do that! I’ve seen others do that, and wanted to throw it out there.

~~*~~

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again? 

Outside the train,  a sign was lit up by electric lights: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

Oh, that’s right, he thought to himself, I’m going to medical school. At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne. 

That woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He kissed Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly Anne . The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. 

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script. 

Gilbert, 

Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment. 

Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll exceed beyond our expectations. 

Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator, 

Miss Muriel Stacy

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other. 

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge. 

Gilbert peaked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked. 

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time. 

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open. 

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?” 

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw. 

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne. 

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.” 

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space. 

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.” 

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four years’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts. 

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate. 

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. 

“You snore?” 

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?” 

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs. 

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath. 

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone. 

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep. 

~~*~~

“You a novelist or something?” 

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in  front of him: My Anne...

“Where is home, anyway?” 

“Avonlea, PEI.” 

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.” 

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. 

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“What made you want to come here, anyway?” 

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.” 

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.” 

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively. 

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room. 

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

My Anne, 

I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds. 

Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in.

Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine.  

I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real, genuine feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne. 

With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown. 

As for follow up questions: 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared.

Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do.

I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you. 

As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home.

I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did. 

Know that I remain always 

Yours, 

Gilbert 

(PS:  My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)

(PSS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately. 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked. 

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy. 

“Were you going through my things?” 

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.” 

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices. 

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded. 

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes. 

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.” 

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising. 

“Family and love, huh? Wish I could relate.”  Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Oh, uh, bye?” 

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did.

My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too. 

I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve.

I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well.

Your brother, 

Gilbert.

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town. 

[sienna-writes]

Butterfly Blood || novel update

chapter three

I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect. 

The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision  because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.

Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before. 

The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)

excerpt:

[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]

    “I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

    Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.

    “Miss Phelps called.”

    She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”

    He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.

    Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.

    He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”

    Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this.  “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.

   He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.

Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”

    He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”

Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.

“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”

    Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now.  Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.

    “Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.

    “I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”

    Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...

soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls. 

I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)

I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)

Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953

[idnek83]

Aid - Chapter 5/13

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Soda Kazuichi/Tanaka Gundham

Tags: Alternate Universe - Island Mode, No Game Spoilers, Masturbation,  Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Grinding, Wet Dreams, Anal Fingering,  Friends With Benefits,  Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, Anal Sex

Summary: Everyone is hot and half naked because of their beach vacation. Soda is horny and tries to do something about it. Gundham tries to help and does. It all gets a little out of hand.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Read on Ao3

This Chapter: Soda tries incredibly hard to ignore everything his heart is telling him by listening to his dick instead. Soda has a dream and goes shopping, Gundham makes him eat breakfast.

_____________________

Soda felt like his chest was going to burst. He felt like he was going to throw-up.

He unclasped his hand from Gundham’s.

“H-hey, we should probably clean up and head back.” He couldn’t look at him. He pulled up his shorts and stood.

He picked up the bowl. His heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

He stood frozen there, holding the bowl and taking deep unsteady breaths.

A hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

“Kazuichi?” Gundham sounded concerned. Genuinely concerned.

About him.

“I’m good dude. Let’s just… go back.” Shit, he was being rude. He looked up at Gundham and forced a smile “I mean, you’ve been up since yesterday right? Don’t wanna push you…”

Gundham smiled softly. Soda felt happy. Soda felt disgusted.

“I slumbered while you were at the beach with our companions.” Gundham took a step towards him. “I have more than enough energy for the rest of the night.” A hand on his hip. Soda looked away. “You, however, seem somewhat… drained. Let us retire then.”

Soda watched as Gundham retrieved his towel. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to be held.

They returned to the hotel grounds.

Soda wanted to be alone.

When he turned to goodbye to Gundham, he found him, once again, standing so, so close.

Gundham raised a hand to his face and stroked his cheek. “Sleep well, my paramour.” He lifted Soda’s hand and kissed his knuckles once more.

Gundham smiled softly and left.

Soda didn’t want to be alone.

He closed the door behind him as he walked into his cabin and slid to the ground.

He lifted his hand to his mouth as he thought of Gundham’s. His lips so soft and gentle on his knuckles, warm and tender on his neck, sly and teasing on his chest, and wet and hot on his cock.

He was getting turned on again.

Soda sighed and dragged himself to bed.

He fell into a fitful sleep wondering what those lips would feel like on his own.

–

He felt like he was floating. His body was hot, and he was so god damned turned on.

Gundham’s hands were hot on his hips, pulling him close and holding him still. Soda thought he was whispering something into his ear, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t hear over his own cries of Gundham’s name.

Soda could feel Gundham’s body sliding against his own as he thrust into him.

He didn’t know what it felt like. It felt amazing. He checked the window of the beach house to make sure no one was watching.

Gundham was kissing his neck the way he had been on the beach, biting now and then and making Soda gasp. His thrusts were slow and shallow, hardly pulling his hips away from Sodas ass before pressing them flush again.

Soda might have been crying, he didn’t really know. His chest felt tight. He wanted to kiss Gundham.

Gundham’s lips were soft, gentle. Loving.

Soda wasn’t sure if he wanted that.

The lips on his were hot, and soon they were joined by an equally hot tongue.

The sand was cold.

Gundham fucked into him faster and bit his lip. Soda felt amazing. Soda felt guilty. He let the guilt be washed away by Gundham relentlessly pounding into him.

He knew he was crying. He felt so good. He felt awful.

“Don’t stop! Don’t leave!”

Gundham kissed his knuckles.

Soda woke up.

–

He was in his bed in his cabin, not in the beach house and not on the beach. And he was alone.

His heart was racing, and his dick was hard.

Jesus.

He sat up, put his head in his hands and tried to stop thinking about his dream. He’d had all kinds of sexy dreams before, he’d woken up hard nearly as many times as he had woken up with a sticky mess in his pants. Hell, this wasn’t even the first time he had dreamt of a guy.

But he’d never woken up feeling so rattled.

His heart was still hammering away in his chest as he tried to make sense of that.

It couldn’t have been the kissing, he usually kissed the people he fucked in his dreams so…

His thoughts filled with the fading images of Gundham fucking him, his dick took interested, he remembered the feeling of Gundham’s lips, and his heart beat impossibly faster.

Oh.

It must have been the whole getting fucked thing. Had he dreamt of that before? Probably not right?

Soda exhaled shakily. Yeah, it was definitely the thought of getting fucked that was affecting him so much. His brain was getting caught up on it because he had no frame of reference for it, he had never had a dick or anything in his ass, duh, so he was just shaken up cus like, uh-

What would it feel like to have something in his ass? It was really good in his dream, but there was no way if would feel that way for real.

Right?

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it really did feel amazing, there were lots of people who were, like, super into anal, so at the very least it couldn’t be bad. Plus, that was where the G-spot was supposed to be on dudes, right? So…

He was going to need lube if he actually wanted to try this. He glanced over to a toolbox that he knew had a bottle of oil inside it. That would probably work.

But what if it didn’t? What if he got, like, oil-poisoning and had to explain to some doctor why exactly he had been putting it up his ass.

“Well ya see doc, I had a dream about this really hot dude and-“

Nope. That was not fucking happening.

The supermarket here had condoms; he had been checking the place out on the first day they had arrived, and had totally not felt flustered at all when he saw them just casually sitting in one of the aisles. He didn’t need condoms (shit, did he need condoms?) but if they had lube, that’s probably where it’d be, right?

He glanced at the clock. Everyone would be eating breakfast right now. If he wanted to do this without getting caught, he had to do it now.

He got dressed and hid his boner as best he could, promising his dick if it could just chill for now, he’d be sure to give it plenty of attention later. The thought did not help his dick chill. Whatever.

He stepped out of his cabin and looked around in a totally unsuspicious way to make sure none of his classmates were around before heading for the supermarket.

–

How had he even made it this far? He knew his face was bright red as he stared at the little shelf where he had seen the condoms on the first day. Yup, still lots of condoms. He couldn’t help but gawk at a box labeled ‘XXXL’, and remember that Gundham was, in fact, quite well hung.

But XXXL? That had to be a joke, right? No one had a XXXL dick, right? Right?

Focus dumbass.

He shifted his gaze to the selection of lube. There were more options than he thought. Really, he had kinda just pictured there being one generic looking bottle labeled ‘lube’ that he could just grab and leave, but no, apparently there were options.

He fucking choked when he saw that one was banana flavored.

Well, at least that gets rid of one option. He quickly scanned them and ruled out anything with a flavor or an obnoxious color and settled on one that seemed pretty inconspicuous.

Like, it still said ‘Personal Lubricant’ in big ass letters across the bottle, but whatever.

He grabbed a pack on non-XXXL condoms for good measure and exited the aisle.

“Hm? Soda?”

This creepy fucking guy again.

Soda shoved the condoms in his pocket and moved to hide the lube behind his back in a totally subtle way.

“Oh what’s this?” Nagito reached out and plucked the lube from Soda’s hand. “Oh my. Could this have anything to do with what I overheard last night?” Nagito’s face was neutral and friendly, but there was definitely something weird in his eyes.

Shit. Right, Nagito had overheard him offering to ‘aid’ Gundham. Had he really figured out what that meant so easily? No way. It was probably just a lucky guess, which meant Soda could still get out of this situation by lying his ass off.

“W-what? No idea what you’re talkin’ bout dude.” Totally believable. He was a pro at lying. “Just needed some lubricant for the, uh, thing I’m working on. Like, obviously this isn’t the type I’d usually use, but they don’t have a, like, automotive section here or anything so I figured this would probably work well enough.” That should be convincing enough, Nagito probably didn’t know shit about what Soda did so there’s no way he could know for sure if he was lying. He forced a laugh and took the lube from Nagito’s hands. “Anyways, gotta get back to it.” He shot Nagito some finger guns and pushed past him to leave.

He was sure he was just being paranoid and imagining things when he heard Nagito mumble something that sounded like ‘Gundham’ before laughing creepily behind him.

Fuuuck.

He ran back to his cabin. If anyone saw he’d just make up an excuse later. There was literally no way Nagito could actually know what him and Gundham had been doing, right? He must have just been fucking with him, that’s what that guy was all about. He was just looking to get a rise out of Soda by saying weird shit.

Right?

Soda set the lube on his side table and laid facedown on his bed. Shit. Why had Nagito even been at the supermarket? Everyone should have been at breakfast still. Had Nagito been looking for him? No way. There were only like two people who might have cared that much that he missed breakfast: Hajime and…

He turned his head to stare at the lube.

This was all Gundham’s fault. Stupid, sexy Gundham, making him have stupid, sexy dreams, and giving him stupid, sexy thoughts.

He thought about Gundham’s cock in his ass. He thought about Gundham’s lips on his.

He reached for the lube.

There was a knock on the door.

His heart jumped and he stood up.

“Y-yeah, one second.” He adjusted his dick, which was thankfully only at half-mast, and answered the door.

Speak of the stupid, sexy devil.

“Is everything well, my companion? You were absent from this mornings meal, and I feared you had caught ill.” Gundham gently placed the back of his hand on Soda’s, admittedly heated, forehead.

“O-oh, nah, I’m good. I just needed- uh, I went to the supermarket to get- like, I just needed… stuff. Mechanic stuff. Cus I’m a mechanic. Ha.” Smooth. “Anyway, I guess I just, uh, forgot about breakfast?”

Gundham squinted at Soda and examined his face for a moment.

“Was your slumber troubled? You have the markings of one who’s rest was interrupted.”

Great, he must be rocking some pretty serious eyebags if Gundham was so concerned.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Just one of those nights, y’know?” One of those nights where you dream about your bro kissing you and fucking you senseless, y’know? One of those nights where you wake up so damn affected by the thought of your friend plowing your ass that you need to immediately go buy some lube and test out the real thing ASAP, y’know?

Yup, just one of those totally normal nights.

Speaking of, Soda remembered that the lube was still sitting on his side table, entirely visible from the door. Better get Gundham out of here before he notices…

Or?

“If you were not suffering from some affliction then you should have joined us to break your fast. It is important for mortals-”

Gundham was lecturing him about the importance of breakfast. But Soda was too busy watching his lips to listen. Or at least he was, until Gundham began accentuating his speech with flourishes of his hands and Soda found a new place to focus his attention.

Gundham’s fingers were slender and long, and, from what Soda could remember, they were strong. Maybe he could just… ask Gundham to help him figure out the whole ‘does it actually feel good to have stuff in your ass’ thing. He’d probably do it right? He’d probably be more than happy to help Soda out with those wonderful fingers of his, and he’d probably enjoy it just as much as Soda would…

But what if Soda didn’t like it? Like what if he created this whole sexy mood and then once things started getting hot and heavy he just, like, wasn’t into it? Would Gundham get mad? If Soda asked him to stick his fingers in his ass, then Gundham would probably… god, he’d probably assume that meant they were gonna fuck after, so if Soda changed his mind, he wouldn’t even blame Gundham for getting pissed. You can’t just blue-ball a guy like that and expect him to be okay with it…

Ok, so he should probably just keep the lube for a solo session.

He forced himself to focus on what Gundham was saying again. Still talking about breakfast, good.

“Okay, okay. I get it Gundham.” He raised his hands in defeat. “Let’s go get me some breakfast before I die of no-breakfast-itis or whatever.”

Gundham looked like he was debating calling Soda out for obviously not listening to whatever he had been saying about the importance of breakfast. He simply followed Soda to the hotel restaurant instead.

It felt a little weird to find the restaurant empty. Soda never really came here outside of the group’s regular meal times, so he was used to it being full of activity and noise. Now it was so quiet he could hear the ocean waves in the distance, and he thought to himself that it actually wouldn’t be a bad place to take a girl on a date.

Soda found some cereal and a bagel to eat, then took his spot at the big table they all normally ate at. Gundham took his seat beside him as usual. Wait, was it as usual? Did they usually sit this close? Gundham’s knee was touching his. Nope, pretty sure that was new.

Gundham began talking about the Deva’s. Soda thought he caught something about how Jum-P was doing well, and he was pretty sure he managed to say he was glad, but mostly he was just certain that he really liked the hand Gundham had rested on his lower back.

He was smiling while eating, and he had to actively remind himself to close his mouth all the way while he chewed. He watched Gundham between bites of his breakfast. He looked happy as well.

Soda let himself enjoy his surprisingly good mood, he felt like he had been stressing so much lately. What had he even been so worked up about? Sitting like this, chatting about nothing with Gundham’s arm around him, just felt nice. He felt calm. He felt happy.

He laughed at something Gundham said and bumped his head against his shoulder, letting himself just stay there for a moment. He wrapped an arm around Gundham’s back and gave a little squeeze, sighing and just taking a moment, before laughing again as he returned to his previous position to finish eating.

That had felt so nice. Why didn’t he hug his friends more? He looked to Gundham to make sure it hadn’t weirded him out or anything. He was rewarded with one of those soft little smiles he loved so much, proving his friend had enjoyed it just as much.

Gundham… was his friend, right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone coming up the stairs.

It felt like a bubble popped. Suddenly his stomach dropped, and he moved his knee away from Gundham’s. He shifted his shoulders and Gundham seemed to get the hint, removing that warm hand from his back.

Soda told himself he was glad.

“Ah, so this is where you were Gundham!”

That was… Sonia. Soda heart did about six different things at once and he couldn’t tell if he was more excited, scared, or disappointed to see her.

“Hi Sonia.”

“Greetings, dark queen.”

He sounded so pathetic next to Gundham, no wonder Sonia ignored him.

“Gundham, I wanted to ask you about a creature I saw earlier.” Sonia sat across from them and began to describe some animal. Soda’s head just filled with static.

He stared at her, still so lovely, still so perfect, and yet, looking at her didn’t make him feel the way it used to. He watched her ignore him and he could feel his heart breaking. Of course she had never like him, what did he have to offer someone like her?

What did he have to offer anyone?

He was just some stupid mechanic. His grades were below average, and his family was poor. He wasn’t even attractive or funny or anything. He was just a waste of space, he really couldn’t blame Sonia for ignoring him. Everyone should probably just ignore him. No one actually cared about him. He should just-

There was a warm hand on his shoulder. Gundham was looking at him questioningly.

“W-what?”

“I was asking your opinion, dear friend, the dark queen and I were discussing how enjoyable our trip has been thus far. Do you feel the same?”

Gundham smiled at him, but there was a bit of concern in his eyes.

Right.

Some people did care about him.

Sonia not caring didn’t mean no one did.

Sonia wasn’t everything.

He opened his mouth to tell Gundham that, yeah, despite how confused and anxious he had been recently, he did feel the same.

“Soda, it is impolite not to answer someone when they ask you a question. You even made Gundham repeat himself, yet you are still ignoring him. You should apologize for being so rude.”

Something snapped in Soda and he could feel his face turn red.

Sonia wanted him to apologize for ignoring someone?

He stood abruptly and didn’t look at either of them. He was shaking with how hard he was trying not to shout. He just swallowed and turned from the table.

“My companion?” Gundham sounded worried now. Soda felt kinda guilty about it, but he just needed to get away before he said something stupid.

“Sorry.” He muttered as he moved towards the stairs.

He knew he heard Sonia say something about him having no manners as he left.

He just walked a little faster. He kept his eyes focused on the ground and his fists clenched all the way back to his cabin.

He though he would yell when he got there. Yell and maybe break something he’d regret ruining later. But once he closed the door, he just felt tired and sad. He crouched down and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop himself from crying.

Yeah, it didn’t work.

He was sobbing. Crying alone in his room like a pussy, but he could hardly bring himself to care. Why did he even like Sonia? And why did she have to treat him like such shit? It wasn’t like he was actually rude to her, right? Like, sure, sometimes he stared more than he probably should, but was that really so bad? Wasn’t that actually like a compliment? Girls loved guys obsessing over how hot they-

Oh.

Soda was an asshole. Of course Sonia hated him. He was just constantly, like, leering at her, wasn’t he? And he was always following her around when she obviously didn’t want him there, and trying to insert himself into her conversations. He just never took the hint that she didn’t like him, huh? No wonder she had just started ignoring him completely.

Shit. He needed to apologize to her. And then he needed to just… leave her alone. She probably wouldn’t ever like him, but maybe if he left her alone long enough?

No. If he kept thinking like that then he’d probably just piss her off even more.

Still, it wasn’t like she had to treat Soda so badly. Like, she could have just told him off instead, it would have hurt less.

Ok, well, in her defense, confronting someone like that was pretty hard, so really, it was probably entirely Soda’s fault for not realizing what a jackass he was being earlier.

He let out a deep, shaky breath, and was surprised to find he actually felt a little better.

Huh. He didn’t think admitting he had been wrong would have felt so… relieving?

He got up and sat on hid bed so he could stop crouching in the middle of his room like a crazy person. He rubbed the dried tears from his cheeks and let himself just breathe for a while. It wasn’t like he was over Sonia, but he was ready to accept that it probably wouldn’t have been the best relationship for either of them…

It was probably thanks to Gundham that he was finally able to realize that. Now that he wasn’t so damn sexually frustrated, he was finally able to see things a little more clearly. Well, maybe it wasn’t just the sex that had helped. He thought back to the way he had felt before Sonia had shown up to crash his breakfast with Gundham. Gundham just made him feel like… like maybe he wasn’t the failure everyone thought he was.

But the sex was pretty damn good too, even if it wasn’t, like, sex sex…

Soda glanced at the bottle that was still sitting on his side table.

Yet.

Next Chapter

[killervibe]

I’m 17 (I Don’t Know Anything) 

hournite fic!

~.~ 

Rick was leaning against Beth’s locker when she came out of her class at the bell.

“How was it?”

Beth zipped her bag, tossing in her pencil case. The day was over and she was eager to get to the garage for some JSA training. They had to put things on hold, there were a lot of assignments and a lot of studying this year, and Pat wanted them to do well in school. It’s been too long since they’ve suited up to have a fun time challenging each other rather than because there was an emergency mission. “The test? Yeah, it went well. Chuck quizzed me all night.”

“I know,” he murmured, crowding her against the metal rows to steal a kiss. Oh. Beth wore a pleased smile for the few moments she had before her mouth was too busy kissing her boyfriend. She loved it when Rick got needy with the PDA—Not that they did it often— Rick used to be so distanced with his emotions before they really became friends. Maybe it was Beth’s old loser table insecurities creeping in, but it still marvelled her that someone could want her so bad. Beth grabbed onto his shirt collar eagerly for another kiss. “You postponed our date.”

She raised an eyebrow and poked at one of his ribs. “You’re not jealous of my time with Chuck, are you?”

Rick scoffed. “No!”

Beth continued her poking. “Because I can divide my time equally.”

“I believe you,” he said in a teasing way that implied he really didn’t, but there wasn’t much he could do. He knew once he started dating her that Beth and Chuck came as a package deal.

She packed everything she needed then looked at him. Her locker was in terrible condition and she often felt like Artemis bodyslamming against it in order to get the door to stick. Rick closed her jammed locker with a push and his knee.

“I can,” she insisted. “Thank you.”  Beth stretched up on her tippy-toes, pulling his head down until she could kiss him at her level. He softened like putty under her spell.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she promised. She played with the front of his hair, pulling a few strands out to fall over his eyes. “And certainly want to make up for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. C’mere.”

She went for another kiss, but it ended shortly because Yolanda threw herself against Beth’s locker just as Beth got a noise out of him. Yolanda put an arm over her eyes and let out a very overdramatic groan. “Oh to be young and in love and in high school!” she mocked, talking as if she were the lead in a Shakespearean play. “What misery, the date of Olive Garden vanquished by the practice examinations for SATs.”

Courtney appeared out of nowhere too, propping her elbow against Rick’s arm.

“Justin is rubbing off on you, Yolanda.”

Yolanda smirked. “What was it that he called you guys last week, again? The Earl and Duchess of Righteous Unity? That’s Camelot talk for soulmates.”

Rick shared an awkward look with Beth.

“Nooooo, you’re embarrassing them!” Courtney smacked her, but she was also giggling into her palm. Yolanda shoved Courtney’s hand aside.

“That’s the point, yeah.”

She didn’t know if he was feeling what she was, but something went wrong in her heart the moment he pulled away from her and she slipped her hands back into the sleeves of her yellow sweater. Beth felt a freezing sensation in her veins. Like Icicle got to her bloodstream or something. Her eyes widened, desperate to search something in his gaze and panicked when he went blank instead. That freezing heart of hers sank. Rick. Beth mentally willed him to react. Laugh it off. Smile. Make a joke, anything.

But he didn’t. He stood there like a block of handsome tall teenager confused for a wall.

Beth didn’t know what to do.

Courtney and Yolanda’s laughter died off when neither Rick or Beth said anything in reply. Courtney nudged Rick. “She’s just teasing you guys.”

More silence and it was getting weird. Beth tried to speak, but her voice felt incredibly small for the first time ever, like if she tried to use it the only thing she might do is cry. 

Yolanda frowned.

“Guys?”

“I gotta go,” Rick said with a start. “See you, uh—later.” Every word was stiff, almost as if he had to force them out of his mouth then regretted them once they were out there, hanging between them.  

He bent down on autopilot to kiss Beth’s cheek, but jerked away at the last second and fumbled again. “Right. Bye.”

Beth folded her arms to herself, staring at her shoes with a worried lip as Rick disappeared into the sea of students.

“Beth—?” Yolanda said to fill up the silence.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“I—” She picked up her bag and put it on, following the crowd that Rick slipped into. Courtney and Yolanda hurried up, taking each spot beside her as they walked out of school. “It’s not your fault.”

“What do you mean it’s not her fault?” Courtney said, narrowly dodging getting elbowed in the eye by Isaac’s tuba. The marching band was single filing onto the bus for a state championship this weekend.

“You said we were young and in love,” Beth explained, already feeling fragile to say it out loud. “Rick and I.”

Courtney glanced at Yolanda who shrugged. “But…. you are.”

Are we? A voice in her head shrilled at her between her ears. The thought bounced around her brain like a basketball. Beth was going to go crazy at the stream of thoughts that would follow if she let herself fall down that rabbit hole. She just wanted to run home and cry to Chuck or call Rick to ask him or—No. Not to do that. First plan. Cry with Chuck.

Beth started to walk on without the girls, a hand fiddling with her rainbow pendant. “I guess,” she said.

“What do you mean, you guess?”

Beth turned on her heel in front of the Blue Valley Tires mural. “I think we’re in love. I  hope we are. It’s what I want, of course. I just...don’t know yet. We never talked about it.”

Courtney looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. “You two never talked about your feelings????”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that!”

Yolanda picked her own jaw up from the floor. “Because it is! You’re kidding, right? Rick loves you. And you love Rick!”

Beth looked increasingly troubled.

Courtney grabbed Beth’s arm. “You do love him, right?”

Beth shook off Courtney’s hand. “Of course I do,” she replied softly. The three girls took up the entire width of the sidewalk as they walked to the Garage. “I just never told him. I wasn’t sure how he’d react.”

“But—”

“And he never told me! He practically ran away, Court! I don’t think I’m overthinking this.”

“What?”

“What??”

Beth froze in front of the Pit Stop when she realized that’s exactly where Rick was waiting for them. “I can’t go in there.”

“Oh my god!” Yolanda pulled at her braids in exasperation. “Beth, this is crazy! If you love Rick then you have to tell him! He probably thought it was awkward for the same reason you did because you didn’t say anything either!”

“Yeah,” said Court. “This is our first training session in weeks. We can’t afford to have in-fighting. Pat will get so frustrated!”

Beth peeked in through the door. Rick wasn’t talking to Pat in the entrance or by the cars, which meant he was probably up at the loft. Their spot. Her heart flipped the way it always did when she thought of their first kiss there.

Yolanda looped her arm around Courtney’s, pulling her inside. “We’re gonna get changed and get snacks,” she told Beth. “You two better get your acts together before we come back.”

~.~

Beth found Rick on the couch in the loft. His arm was slung over his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Beth,” he said the moment the stairs stopped creaking when she got to the top. She stared at him laying down like that. If this were yesterday she would’ve settled herself in by letting his head fall into her lap. She’d have lowered his hood and stroked his hair as he rested there in his suit like a superhero on call, waiting for the alarm to sound. She’d have filled the quiet with chatter that he’d listen to, drifting off to sleep. She’d have played with his keys, rattling the chain so that they’d chime in a way only Rick Tyler would call a lullaby.

Beth didn’t know why she was acting like she’d have only done that yesterday. She’d have done it an hour ago. She wanted to do it right now. Beth loved him.

“Yeah?” Her voice came out higher pitched than she wanted it to.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“It was like, one minute everything was fine and the next I wasn’t even sure if—”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Rick.” She took a deep breath. “I do.”

Rick sat up. His boots squelched against the floor. “You what?”

Beth took a step forward, glad that she got rid of her bag downstairs. Rick stood up too. Beth found herself straining her fingers up to get Rick to duck his head. She removed the hood and cupped his face. “I think you know.”

Rick’s eyes were on hers like she held his world in place. And everything suddenly became so silly. How could either of them doubt this for what it was?

“We’ve been dating for nearly a year.” Rick’s soft smile was still a treasure Beth found she’d covet for.

“Has it really been that long?”

“You know it has.”

Beth grinned because she had never lost track of any time before. Not hers. Not his.

“And I’ve been in love with you for all of it.”

There was no stretch of silence this time. No unsure glance or worried paranoia, spreading from one to the other. This wasn’t mislabeled.

“Oh,” said the airy breath that got knocked out from her lungs. Her fingers wandered over Rick’s face, marvelling the way his eyelids fell when her fingers lightly traced over them.  “Yes. Okay.”

He laughed. 

“Okay?” he repeated.

This was the big moment. The thing they should’ve talked about ages ago. It could’ve been downright crazy to Courtney and Yolanda for them to not understand. Beth was a talker. Rick barely bottled his emotions. They were obviously in love. But they didn’t see these moments between them. When Rick bent down so Beth could kiss him. When Beth learned to drive with his Mustang. The hours at night she’d spend with Chuck, daydreaming about the way his hand only reached for hers to hold in the sewers when she was supposed to be studying. There were things Beth knew. Deep down, without asking. She didn’t need to push. Rick never needed anyone to push him. He did all the fighting himself.

But for Beth to use every word but those three? She didn't even need to.

“Yolanda was right about us.”

[dayas]

1,3,20 and 25 for the writing ask, I wanna know it all!

First off, I wanna say thank you for giving me this ask because now I have something to think about instead of just being in a sad cloud ❤️ it’s nice to have a little break 💞

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it.

Not to expose myself but I have like 5 WIPS 😂

War Of Hearts (jiara reincarnation au), a not so secret combination Dimya fic (flower shop + mob au), an angsty gotham/the batman (fc wise djdjsjsn) BatCat one shot (selina meeting bruce after he left in a slightly unexpected way), and I’m trying to draft/spin ideas for a POTC Klonnie au (calypso and davy jones’ story). With WOH, I’m filling in the second chapter which is taking FOREVER (sorry y’all), but I’m actually super excited for it to drop! With the work entirely, I definitely love all the little hints and breadcrumbs. It’s gonna start coming together more in the second chapter and I’m super pumped to see what y’all think! I’m on Chapter 1 of the Dimya Fic and searching for my inspiration but I know how it’s gonna go and that makes me happy. I love the combo aspect of the fic and how it’s a mashup, plus there’s some not so subtle underlying themes that I think are cool to explore! With BatCat, I wrote some yesterday! It’s a songfic and I love that about it, but also just the angst and flashbacks included, I think it’ll be really cool! And for the Klonnie fic, I haven’t even started 😭 Someone was basically like ‘write this!’ so I was like ‘okay!’ but I don’t know them that well yet writing wise so I need to explore 😂 tbh it’s just a concept that I really, really love and I have some ideas for the melody that goes along with it. Unsure if it’ll be a multi chap or a realllyyy long one shot once it drops but I’m thrilled either way! The technical “fifth” wip is for everybody who asked me when Kie would find out JJ is Sarah’s bf’s friend so watch out for that 👀 y’all ask, I answer 😂

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

GOD! THIS! Okay okay okay I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a Jiara break up scene but there’s SO MUCH WORK THAT GOES INTO THAT LIKE THE SET UP AND THEN BUILDING INTO AN EXPLOSION SO here’s a no context, cliche, dramatic af breakup scene for jiara thank you for giving me the freedom to write this 😂

“We need to talk.”

That alone stops what she’s doing. JJ and Kiara don’t usually ‘talk’. They can have serious conversations, but they tend to reserve getting deep for when they’re either really really high, or the issue around them has to be resolved. They’re not in high school anymore, but old habits die hard. Still, she shakes off the pause, drying another dish as she says,

“About?”

“... stuff.”

“Stuff. Real eloquent there, JJ.”

His eyes are practically heating the soapy water up themselves. The kitchen at the Chateau isn’t exactly prime real estate as far as cleanliness goes, but since they’re around here more often than not, Kie decided to make an effort to spruce it up a little bit and dragged JJ into it.

Something’s wrong. He’s fiddling with his rings underneath the water at a faster pace than normal, leaning heavily against the lip of the sink.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Her voice is soft as she dries her hands off, coming up to him and slipping her arms around his chest, cheek pressed into his back. He tenses underneath her, shrugging her off and backing away.

“JJ,” Kiara’s voice is concerned now, “What’s going on?”

“Weneedtobreakup.”

His sentence is a blur that knocks into her, rattling around her brain as it spins like a top. As all tops do, the spinning eventually stops, leaving her with the capacity to space out the miniature word flood that left his mouth a few seconds ago.

We need to break up.

“What?” Kie says, panic creeping into her system, “Why?” She begins to think of what could have gone wrong, what could have prompted this.

“It’s not you, it’s — ”

“If you try to feed me one of your bullshit lines that worked on the ghosts of hookups past, don’t.”

He has the decency to shut up then and there, turning instead to lean back against the cabinets, hands gripping the edge of another counter.

“Is this about what my cousin said?”

A few weeks ago, they’d been invited to a formal family gathering on her mother’s side. Some crazy expensive week in Hawaii. Well, Kiara had been invited, and she brought JJ for two reasons. One, he’s her best friend which legally obligated him to help her out in a spot. Two, they were getting pretty serious (or so she thought), and she couldn’t hide in the OBX forever, so why not kill two birds with one stone? At an extremely over the top event, one of Kie’s drunk cousins approached JJ and started spewing some nonsense. Kiara intervened, of course, but later, she remembers, another one approached. Completely sober. She hadn’t been paying attention to that conversation, occasionally glancing over to make sure JJ wasn’t floundering. He’d been restless the entire night and a few days afterwards. But when they’d come back home, all was well. Or, again, so she’d thought.

She should’ve just chucked the damn stone at herself.

He grimaces, and it’s to her horror that she realizes it’s true.

“What the fuck did she say?”

Her voice is low and dangerous, a tiny sliver of a hint as to what’s hiding behind her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” JJ shrugs, eyes everywhere but her.

“Of course it fucking matters, JJ! What did she say?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s a lie.”

“I already told you it doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter then just tell me!”

“Fine!”

They are two powder kegs on the verge of an explosion. Kiara lit the spark, jumping the gun to shouting. He followed, and and now they’re at a precipice.

“You really wanna know what she said? Fine. She said that I’ll never be good enough for you, and you know what? She’s right.”

They tilt on the edge, still caught in the middle, unsure of where to fall.

“No. She’s not.” How can he even say that, let alone believe it? Kie isn’t always a fan of the cheesy, but it’s a cold hard fact that the man standing before her is one of the best things in her life.

“She is, Kie. You know she is. You’re not a Kook, but your family... they can give you so much more than I can. Opportunities and shit, the chance to get out of here. What do I have going for me?”

“Everything! You know I don’t want any of that bullshit or the baggage that comes with it — I want you.”

“I’m not gonna be enough. One day you’re gonna look up and realize that you want out of this place. Or I’m gonna look up and realize I turned into my dad.”

A bitter laugh leaves him, slicing them both to ribbons in the process.

“You’re not him, J. You’re not your dad and you never will be your dad.”

“You don’t know that! I don’t know that!”

They step closer at the same time, spark relit on the fuse to destroy them.

“JJ — ”

“No, Kiara. We can’t keep doing this. I’m stuck, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

“You’re not dragging me down if I want to be here!”

Four more feet and they are two steps away from each other. They’re both tired, oh so tired, yet neither one is willing to give up the fight for their cause. The frustration builds, coiling tightly around them as JJ steps forward and shouts,

“I’m gonna ruin your life!”

“Then ruin it!”

Kie’s scream is passionate, every emotion inside of her escaping in those three words as she steps up to meet him.

“Ruin my life, JJ Maybank. Because I’d rather be in ashes with you than anywhere with anyone else.”

He takes one look at her and the pause between them could stop a train. Then, his head ducks down and his lips crash against hers. She reciprocates, sinking both hands into his hair. He picks her up and she wraps her arms around his waist as he sets her against the counter. Dishes crash onto the floor but neither of them are even remotely half assed to care. His lips attach to her neck and she exhales sharply.

“Stay,” Kiara whispers. And she wishes he did. If she would have been controlling their story, they would have taken this to Big John’s room and the breakup talks would cease. But she put everything in his hands, as he’s making the decision here. So when she tells him to ruin her life, she watches him grapple with himself. For a second, she sees his head tilt ever so slightly forward. He reels himself back in a second later, and the fire in his eyes burns out.

“I’m sorry,” JJ whispers, shaking his head and backing away from her.

“JJ,” Kiara calls after him, “JJ!” She’s immobilized, feet stuck to the floor.

This isn’t happening. This is not happening.

Something inside her breaks and she runs, tearing through the house. He’s already on his bike as she gets to the front porch, and curse him, he looks back. He puts the helmet in his hands on (she bought him that for his birthday — “You’re not getting fucked up on my watch. Put the damn helmet on.”) and drives away.

Kiara doesn’t know what happens next. When her faculties return her knees are scraped up, blood trickling down. She’s still on the porch and her face is wet, cheeks marred by liquid pooling in her eyes. Someone is crying, loudly, like their heart was ripped from their chest. No, she thinks, like someone else’s heart was ripped from their chest, someone the person crying loved. Because if her own heart was ripped out, she would not be able to feel. What Kiara wouldn’t give to not feel a goddamn thing right now.

She calls Sarah. Her friend comes and picks her up, and they go to her place. Kie can’t bear to be in the Chateau or her own room. Sarah’s is devoid of memories, for the most part. She explains what happened through her tears as her friend holds her, gently carding her fingers through her hair comfortingly. They light up, and then get a little tipsy and Kiara doesn’t know if it’s better or for worse. But it’s something. She’s reminded of after the Phantom went down, that night on the beach when she discovered the freedom to be. In this moment, Kiara’s free to be something. Anything. Whatever she wants. But the one thing she wants removed himself from her life, so she settles for being a mess instead. Sarah settles in with her when they’re all worn out, falling asleep quickly. Kiara’s vaguely aware that the person next to her is not who she wants it to be, that this is wrong in the sense that someone else should be here. She’s too cold, unraveled.

“Stay,” she whispers, but this time to herself. If she can stay for tonight, she can stay for tomorrow, and the day after that until she eventually finds her way back to who she is without him in her life. She’s not the same Kiara as she was this morning. She’ll be a different Kiara when she wakes up tomorrow. The Kiara she is wraps her arms around herself to keep whatever’s left from pouring out. She will do what he refused to. When the morning comes, she will face the world. While the moon is out, she is free to dream.

She dreams one last dream of him.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Okay LOOK 😂 there’s so much I wanna say on this but it would be so spoiler-y BUT for War Of Hearts, do some scanning! There’s a lot to unpack there, some obvious, some not! It becomes more evident in the chapters to come. I wish I could say more and I totally would if all of it was published 😭😭😭 OOO but I do enjoy referencing my works in other works (literally did that in the mini scene above lmao) so there’s a good chance that I riff off of previous concepts or something else across the stories/one shots that I write! There’s so many references I throw in too. For example, the ‘I hope you care to be recalled to life’ part in It Wasn’t Special Til I Met you is from A Tale Of Two Cities. I definitely love exploring concepts in my work, which I guess is why it kind of reads as flowery when I dig into it 😂

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

To me, I really love when I’m able to come up with good dialogue or a good scene and I’m like ‘OOO YES THIS IS IT!” It’s super fun to explore the underlying themes and symbolism in pieces; I totally love and live for weaving stuff together like Blues Clues 😂 I also adore dropping references to various works or songs because people will catch them and be like ‘wait is that xyz?’ and I’m like ‘yeah! yes it is! you get it!’ And that’s just a wonderful feeling 😊🥰

That’s all for me! Thanks for asking!

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues.  But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d  been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time.  And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”.   He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him  A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.  

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her.  That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man.  A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago.  And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before.  Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home.  She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The  dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.  

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place,  amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her.  All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning  it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning.  I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department.  I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy?  No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…”   she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach.  “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now.  Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just  going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven;  his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of  butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.”  She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time.  Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?”  Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?”  Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all.  Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that.  I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t.  It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you.   And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does,  I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore.  And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw  you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.”   Koen reaches into the side pocket  of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…”  she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body.  Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten.  He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any.   This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit.  Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with.  I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby.  I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps.  It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d  love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears.  “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and   wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity.  It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma  like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s  exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is.   Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler?  You know him; you know how strong he is.  You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now.  I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly.  “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense;  chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is  just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps.  “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital.  Where people are really bad.  EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know.  He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again.  That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore.  You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth.   Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear.  You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…”  her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it.   “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something.  I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think  I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool   metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

[camomills]

Title: Old Souls Relationships: Sinon/Lisbeth; Sinon & Agil Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 1767 Summary: Sinon realizes she is allowing others to become closer to her, and that scares her. A conversation with an older friend might help assuage her fears. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 1: Small Steps. This is a reworked draft from last year's SAO Pride Week that I turned into some Sinon/Lisbeth, mostly Sinon-centric. I also just really wanted to do something with Agil because I think he's a fun character, and I personally think his wise demeanor makes him a nice character to bounce off the younger cast.Thanks to redbluezero for beta reading!

AO3 Link

-

The smell of coffee has always been one of Shino’s favorites. It reminds her of rainy days spent in the company of a book in her favorite bookshop, staring mindlessly at the steam as she waited until her drink cooled. It’s no wonder Dicey Café became one of her dearest places.

“Here’s your order!”

The company might have something to do with it, too.

“This one’s on the house,” Rika declares as she sets the cup on the counter, then winks.

From behind her, she hears someone clear their throat.

She slowly turns to meet Agil’s gaze, and sure enough, he’s scowling at her. The grip on the glass he’s drying has turned vice-like.

“That one’s on your salary.”

“Agil, c’mon! Let me be cool!”

They bicker for a short minute, Rika being cheeky whereas Agil is composed. The tone of the discussion is more akin to foolish banter between friends than a squabble between a boss and his employee, so Shino allows herself to laugh at it. 

Rika’s shift soon ends and she heads to the ladies’ room to change. As per usual these days, Shino waits for her so they can keep company to one another on the train ride back home. 

*

Yesterday’s commute was much like any other.

The train car shook and rattled against the steel and gravel tracks as the whirls of metal and the passengers’ chatter filled the compartment. The two girls partook in idle chatter, holding onto the same metal pole to keep their balance inside the box car. Shino’s proximity to Rika allowed the girl to filter the blacksmith’s words through the fog of sound.

Shino’s hands scraped against Rika’s on each stop. 

“So, so,” Rika continued telling excitedly, “he destroyed the best sword in my shop! My masterpiece, turned to smithereens.”

Shino let out a horrified gasp in jest.

“Oh, my. I lost my dear Hecate’s scope trying to help him out in BoB. I wonder if we’re liable for some sort of compensation?”

The two nodded in tandem over their two-person class-action lawsuit plans. They broke the comical act when the train stopped at the next station a bit too roughly, bumping them into each other. They couldn’t contain their chuckles at their own silliness.

“Ah, next one’s my stop,” Rika announced.

Shino knew. They’d been sharing this commute for a while. 

“I’ll be seeing you then. Until next time, Rika.”

Shino expected Rika to leave as the train doors opened, but she approached Shino instead. Rika’s arms bundled around Shino’s frame.

It’s a moment that allowed Shino to take note of a small list of Rika Things. Rika is only taller than her by a few inches, but it’s enough that it allowed her chin to rest on Rika’s shoulder slightly. The fake fur on Rika’s coat bristled against Shino’s nose, gentle and irritating— much like Rika herself, she thought. The pressure at the shorter girl’s back where Rika’s slender fingers intertwined was rough, yet fond.

A wave of warmth radiated through Shino’s body. She weakly squeezed Rika back.

“Until next time!” Rika said as she uncoiled her arms from around the other girl. 

She beamed at Shino before hopping through the train doors, waving as she exited at the station. 

That was the first time Rika had ever hugged her. 

Shino’s body wanted to feel elated, but her brain didn’t allow it; the affection in Rika’s gesture got muddled in her spiral of guilty thoughts. Since when did she allow people to get so close? 

Since when did I let myself want that?

The rest of her commute was spent staring out the cart’s window, hoping that the train’s AC would manage to cool down her emotions before long.

**

As the bathroom door slams shut, Agil rests his arms on the counter and leans against it, a hand sitting upon his bald head.

“Can you believe her? I offered her this part-time job because I knew it’d help her with college, but...” He throws his hands out, his fondness for Lis peeking through a smile fighting his scowl. “You know?”

Mm-hmm, Shino nods empathically, as she’s wont to do with Agil. The company that lures her in here, of course, includes both of the bartenders.

She had grown to care for all of her new friends, but she was caught by surprise at how much she related to Agil, of all people. He is the oldest in their merry band of players, by far, and despite that– no, because of that, they got along.

People her age, throughout most of her experience, were uncaring at best and cruel at worst. The adults around her, dry as they could be, served as the closest to good company she had growing up. There’s a bitter taste in her mouth as Shino realizes she’s grown more proficient in talking to adults due to the past cruelty of all the people her age in her life up until very recently. Thankfully, it’s easy enough to wash it down with the sweetness of the cappuccino Rika had mischievously handed her.

Agil, on the other hand, appreciates having a regular other than Asuna with whom he could default to intellectual conversation and wouldn’t call his establishment, ‘a dump’. How did Kirito manage to rope even Silica into it?

As their conversation strays away from Lisbeth’s demeanor, they fall to their more usual topics: Shino asks about how he manages to do latte art so perfectly every time and he asks if she finally reached the fourth chapter of the book he lent to her a couple of days ago. One “final” plea for him to try out Gun Gale, and his unacceptable excuse that he doesn’t have the time.

Mundane topics like that are their speed, but for once,  Shino has something less mundane in her mind. There’s something in that space, with the gentle ambiance music and the calming presence of a wiser friend, that brings her to feel that Agil is the right person, at that time, for those thoughts.

“I think I like Lis,” she professes like a secret she wished wasn’t true. It doesn’t seem to be the meat of what she has to say, judging from the way her jaw clenches.

Agil simply hums. He’d rather talk about latte art.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, you really started coming here more often once she started working here.” 

He laughs, a wry, good-natured sound, hard to define between his fondness for the girls and his apathy for the topic.

“I mean… yes. But that’s not the point. How do I…”

 Shino gulps. Her gaze turns to the counter in front of her, where her hands lie. She fiddles with her fingers, watching as her thumbs graze each other through their rotations; staring at them without thinking about the words she’s about to say, are the only way she manages to go through it.

“I guess…  I don’t know if I remember how to be around people. Or if it’s... right, for me to be around people?”

She remembers what those hands did; the cold of steel and the heat of gunfire, the maroon of splattered blood and the gray of post office tiles.

Is it okay for a broken person like me…?

Agil would be lying if he said he’s particularly interested in involving himself in the romantic squabbles of teenagers. The other aspect of her plea, though, is something he’s unfortunately familiar with. He ponders, his face a mix of sagely and worried, as the soft thudding of her trembling hands are barely drowned out by the bar’s blues music.

“I was worried, too, back when I had to come back to my life after SAO.”

Shino raises her gaze to Agil’s eyes. 

“I mean, it's not the same thing, but… it’s hard being around people who judge you for what you went through, and trying to make connections when everyone thinks you’re screwed in the head is a pain in the ass. ‘The game where those freaks killed each other.’ ‘The murderer girl’.”

Agil knows what Shino did. Shino told all of them, eventually. 

“But everyone who spent those two years in the flying castle went through a lot of things they shouldn't have had to, and probably did some things they regret. To others. To themselves. I did, Kirito and Asuna did, and so did Rika. We talk about it…” 

His eyes turn to the ladies’ room’s door, where Rika is changing. He decides her past is not his to divulge.

“Uh. I guess all I’m trying to say is that you’re friends with people who get it, because none of us are sure it’ll ever be okay with people. So, we just stick together. I doubt Rika minds… whatever it is you're worried about? I think people like us have little besides each other.”

The last bit sticks with Shino. As she chews on the words once more, she stares at her hands. The weight they carry is impossibly heavy, but if what Agil says is true, then that means others, too, carry the same burden. 

Her trembling ceases.

He pauses. “Or something?” 

He’s not sure how much sense he is making. 

“I’m not sure how much sense I’m making.”

That gets a chuckle out of her, and that’s good enough for him.

*

Rika exits the bathroom, her former bartender-y, formal-ish ponytail from a few minutes ago undone into a mess of brown hair. Her lack of an apron reveals the cute hammer patterns on her graphic shirt.

"Are you two nerds done talking about nerd stuff?" She says, as if not just as much of one.

Agil and Shino roll their eyes.

"Yeah, we’re done with our nerd stuff."

Rika starts sliding her arm into her jacket, then turns to Shino. “Sweet. Are you ready to go then?”

Shino looks at Agil, who simply offers her a friendly wave and a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

*

The two girls walk off together to the train station. The empty night streets give them quiet, with little to focus on other than the sound of boots hitting pavement, the cold breeze, and each other. It’s then when, bashful yet confident, Shino tries to interlock her fingers with Rika’s.

Rika squeezes her hand in return, rough yet fond. 

As Rika wordlessly taps her fingers on Shino’s knuckles, Shino realizes that Agil was right. There’s no way that those hands, fitting so perfectly together, were meant to be apart. Perhaps such heavy hands have no other pairs but each other, and that is fine.