#this is coming directly from my brain at early hours of the morning

[mmushroomwriter]

I've gotten quite a lot done recently, but my problem is that I'm exceedingly insecure in my writing to the point I can't even give it to someone to proofread hahaha I'm a mess.

[rahhhbananas]

✭ ✭ ✭ 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐍 ✭ ✭ ✭ ft. a lot of characters

summary. Y/n is very protective of his son (aka Spider Plush).

warning(s). He/Him pronouns, foul language, Hobie is a major bully

a/n. Y/n and Spider-Plush are the new Miguel and Lego Spider-Man

“He is a person! And you will treat him that way!”

The voice of Y/n welcomed the newly woken society. It was around 7 am, and a commotion had begun in Miguel’s office. As the sun lazily illuminated the sky, Miles groggily made his way towards Miguel's office, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't fathom why there was such a commotion at this early hour. "Why is there so much yelling? It's 7 in the morning...!" he groaned, his voice laced with exhaustion. Miles walked through the door, greeting Gwen and Peter B. who were watching the scene amused. Miles looked to see Y/n in a heated debate with both Miguel and Hobie, although it was mostly Hobie, Miguel was sitting down, trying to sooth an incoming migraine.

Pavitr stood at Y/n’s side, cradling a….Spider-Man…plushie? “What is going on here..” Miles who was now wide awake stared at the situation, looking at Gwen for answers. Gwen responded with a chuckle “Get this…their arguing because Hobie skipped Spider-Plush in line for breakfast.” Gwen managed to say between fits of laughter. Miles gave Gwen a look “So, he doesn’t believe in consistency and he doesn’t believe in manners?” Miles watched Y/n, who looked like he was on the brink of committing murder, due to Hobie’s nonchalant face. Peter chimed in, catching a swinging Mayday “I don’t think he did it to be rude. Maybe because he likes getting on Y/n’s nerves,”

Jess who just walked in looked at Peter, “This early morning air finally gave you a brain?” She walked towards Miguel, handing him water and probably a headache pill. Miguel thanked Jess, looking up at the continuing argument. “Yeah..and how did Pavitr get into all this?” Miles questioned, Gwen laughed, for what seemed to be the 4th time “That’s even funnier! He’s trying to take Hobie to court,” Miles smiled, seeing the obvious amusement in the situation “Yeah, somehow he’s got a diploma in that stuff.” Jess chimed in from the computer.

“That’s not the fucking point, Hobart! My son deserves respect! You’ve made him cry!” Y/n gestures to the “crying” plushie, and Pavitr who’s nodding in agreement. Hobie scoffed “Cryin? He’s got a tear sticker on ‘is face! You’ve got yourself fooled!”. This was Miguel’s last straw, he finally flipped the table, literally, sending everything flying— including the cup of water, that Spider-Plush was now drowned in. Gasp filled the small crowd, the laughter coming to a halt to stare at Y/n who was breathing heavily, trying to calm down.

Y/n slowly turned, looking at the soaked Spider-Plush. The plush squeaked, comical tears spewing from its large eyes. Y/n turned to Miguel and Hobie— the latter raised his hands, in a attempt to prove his innocence, he instead pointed to the leader who sported a small bead of sweat, his posture straightened “Umm, that was an accident- I was trying to de-escalate the situation. My anger over took…” Y/n pounced on Miguel, not letting him finish his sentence. Miguel tried to pull the other off his face, stumbling around while knocking things over.

“I-it was an accident!”

“YOU HORRIBLE PERSON!”

“GAAH! WHERE DID THESE CLAWS COME FROM?”

“DON’T….WORRY ABOUT IT!”

“JESSGETHIMOFFME!”

“Sorry, Miguel. I’m not getting into this fight.”

“APOLOGIZE OR SUFFER!”

“AHHHH!”

The crowd watched in silence as Miguel walked out with a bucket on his head, drenched in water. Y/n, on the other hand, walked out cradling his son, the plush wrapped in a towel, Y/n cooed trying to calm down the squeaks emitting from the plushie. Y/n walks up to the group, staring directly at Hobie “Hobart. My lawyer will contact you.” Y/n pointed to Pavitr, and somehow the teen was in a suit. Hobie chuckled, “Fair enough.” Hobie looked at Gwen “Gwendy. Ya down to be my lawyer?” Gwen shook her head “Nope, your not dragging me into this.” Hobie sighed in defeat “Alrigh’ Miles, see ya in a suit on Tuesday.” Hobie shook said boys shoulders, before running off, leaving the boy no time to complain.

Y/n looked at his boyfriend, tutting his head “Fine. Miles. You wanna play that game? Helping my enemy!” Y/n groaned, pulling shades from seemingly nowhere, while also putting them on “I want my child support by Friday,” Y/n said, striding away, Pavitr shuffling after him, the stuff suit preventing him from running.

Meanwhile, Miles stood shocked “Child support? Wha…what is he talking about!” Gwen shook her head disapprovingly “Come on Miles, don’t play dumb, take responsibility.” She advised before departing, leaving Peter who shook his head as well “Don’t worry kid, we’ve all been there..” Peter smiles, before joining the rest.

“Wha- what are you guys talking about!”

[steddiejudas]

STWG Daily Drabble 11/29/23

prompt: modern au

Eddie is harshly woken by his phone ringing at— JESUS christ, 4:30 AM.

The number isn’t saved in his contacts, and normally he would just let it ring or hang up the call so he could go back to sleep, but his brain is a little fried so early in the morning so he answers it like a reflex.

“Hello?” he asks. He can hear the sleep in his own voice and hopes to god this call isn’t something important that his slow, rough voice will make him look bad for.

“Robin!!”

A very loud, very drunk voice screams the name Eddie doesn’t recognize into the line. He lacks the wherewithal to really sus out what’s happening, so he summons every ounce of intelligence to the best of his ability to mutter: “huh?”

“Robbie I’m so drunk and my phone died. The bartender let me use his to call you. come pick me up.”

The guy is whining directly into Eddie’s ear. it should be annoying, should be grating to his sleep-addled brain, but he can’t help but think he sounds cute.

“Uh, hey man, this isn’t Robin. I think you got the wrong number,” Eddie says.

The guy on the other end of the line goes silent, and Eddie imagines he’s pouting over there, probably too drunk to remember he needs to speak into the phone.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay? Are you going to be able to call this Robin person?”

“I did,” the guy whines again. “You’re not Robin.”

“No, I definitely am not. I’m Eddie. And who are you?”

“I’m Steve. Will you please come pick me up?”

He considers this, chuckling lightly to himself. This Steve sure is trusting. Eddie could be a murderer just waiting for a cute boy like Steve to call him up, and he says as much, but apparently all Steve hears is:

“You think I'm cute? Wait, how can you tell? Are you in the walls or something?”

Is he in the walls? Jesus this guy really is ass blasted, huh. And Eddie can’t leave a fellow bad late night decision maker to fend for himself, can he?

“You sound cute enough sweetheart. sit tight, I'll be there in 15 minutes.”

“mmkay!” Steve sounds purely elated to have Eddie on the way, and hangs up before he has the chance to confirm where he is. It’s no matter really, there’s only one bar in the area that’s open this late, and it seems the bartender picked up on that lacking piece of information as his phone pings with a location pin a minute later.

It’s one of Eddie’s usual haunts so he gets there in 10, familiar with the route and aided by the complete lack of traffic at this hour.

He wonders if in the last 10 minutes Steve has forgotten all about him. He is just a stranger he drunk dialed after all, and Steve’s so far gone his short term memory must be nothing at this point.

But when he pulls up and enters the building, he sees the most beautiful face he’s ever seen alone at the bar. He hopes to any god that will listen that Steve at least remembers his enthusiasm about getting home so he can see the way that elation shows on his handsome features. The bartender who’s been babysitting, and appears to be forcing him to drink water, points to the door and Steve turns around, his face alighting with all the brilliance of precious gemstones.

“Eddie!” He shouts, throwing himself off the stool to stumble over to him. He nearly falls to the ground, but Eddie is there to hold him up.

Their faces are inches apart, and Eddie can’t help but notice the way his drunkenness flushes his cheeks, giving the scattering of moles across his cheeks a beautiful backdrop.

“Hey pretty boy. Let’s get you home, okay? Where do you live?”

“With Robin,” Steve says, his face betraying the fact that he really thinks that’s the answer Eddie needs.

“Mhm,” Eddie patiently hums. “And where does Robin live?”

“With me, silly.”

“Oh boy, you’re really out of it. Why don’t I take you back to my place, get some food in you, charge up your phone, and we’ll go from there.”

“Is food the only thing I'll get in me?” Steve asks, pressing in closer to Eddie’s grasp.

It startles a laugh out of him. One that starts deep in his chest and rolls through his body, throwing his head back and shaking his shoulders.

“Steve, you barely know me. You’re just lucky I happen to be a very nice, very respectful guy, who is going to

feed you and nothing. else.”

Steve pouts a little as Eddie puts an arm around his waist and pulls him out to the car, loading him in the passenger seat and buckling him in.

It seems Steve has zoned out on the ride, either lulled by the movements or, god forbid, incredibly carsick. Either way he sits in silence with his face pressed against the cool glass while Eddie lets him be alone with his thoughts for the short drive home.

Getting up the stairs to Eddie’s apartment is a challenge. It’s like Steve is doing his absolute best to go ass over tea kettle down them. Eddie braces himself behind him, hands on his waist to keep him steady, trying his absolute darndest to ignore the lines of hard muscle under his sweater.

Now is NOT the time.

They make it inside with little incident, Eddie plopping Steve down on the couch to disappear into the kitchen after fishing Steve’s phone out of his pocket and plugging it in next to him.

“So, I’m not much of a cook,” Eddie hollers. “But how do you feel about grilled cheese?”

No answer comes.

“Steve?”

Nothing.

Eddie peeks out of the kitchen to find a snoring Steve, sprawled out on the couch like a starfish. Somehow he’s even cuter like this. It brings a fond smile to Eddie’s face as he covers him in a blanket, tucks a pillow under his head and leaves a trash can by his side just in case.

It’s almost 5:30 now, and the exhaustion hits him all at once. Eddie gives the man sawing logs on his couch one last once over before going back to his own bed and crashing, hoping for at least another hour or two of sleep.

When he wakes, it’s with an unexpected sense of excitement, expecting Steve to be on his couch ready to have a coherent conversation and a real introduction, but when he makes his way out to the living room, Steve is gone, his pillow stacked on top of the neatly folded blanket.

He shouldn’t be sad about this. Steve is, after all, just a stranger who was drunk and couldn’t even remember his own address. He was probably embarrassed, confused, hell maybe even scared to be waking up in a stranger’s house with vague memories of how he got there. He tries to focus on that aspect of the situation, rather than his own disappointment. He does not succeed.

Eddie sits down on the couch, in the very same spot Steve laid his head the night before and wraps himself up in the blanket. He buries his face in it, inhaling the faint scent Steve left on it and wonders why he even cares. It wasn’t as if they had some big whirlwind romance in the span of the hour they were together; but Steve was so sweet, so cute, so excited to see him after speaking on the phone for just a couple minutes. It wasn’t anything more than a random act of kindness, but maybe Eddie wanted it to be.

It’s as Eddie is thinking it over that his phone pings with a message. Eddie groans, it’s probably just Gareth, or maybe the bartender from last night checking that everyone is safe. Though even that is wishful thinking. He checks anyway, trying his best to tamp down any wishful thinking until he sees the unknown number on his screen with one simple word.

[463-291-8275]: Thanks.

Eddie feels a lump in his throat, his chest filling up like a balloon. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, doesn’t even know if it is Steve, but shit he fucking hopes so.

[Eddie]: Steve? How did you get my number again?

[463-291-8275]: Uhhh… i definitely didn’t try like 10 variations of Robin’s phone number to find the one number i mistyped when i accidentally called you last night

Eddie frantically adds the number to his contacts before texting back, thanking whatever powers that be for giving him another shot.

[Eddie]: Wow I must have left quite the impression on you Stevie 😏

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: you could say that

Eddie smirks to himself, trying to ignore the blush that warms his face at Steve’s words. He tries to come up with what to say next, how to segue into asking him out on a date, but before he can, his phone buzzes with more messages from Steve.

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: so i know this might seem a little strange since we barely talked before i passed out in a drunk heap on your couch

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: thanks for not killing me btw

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: but um would you maybe want to hang out sometime?

Eddie jumps up from the couch, pumping his fist in the air like he just won the lottery. then, like he’s just remembering he lives alone, he yells at no one in particular: “FUCK! YES!” There’s an angry knock on the wall from his neighbor, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

[Eddie]: idk about that Stevie

He goes to reply in his typical teasing fashion, but Steve’s reply comes in immediately before he can finish the thought.

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: oh

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i totally get it

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: last night was probably weird for you

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: feel free to block my number i’m so sorry

[Eddie]: Woah, slow your roll there big boy!

[Eddie]: I said I'm not so sure about hanging out with you.

[Eddie]: But only because I’d rather take you out on a date

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: oh

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: Oh!

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: date! yes! date is good

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i’d love to go on a date!

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: better even

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i was fighting demons trying not to kiss you in the car last night

Eddie has to set his phone down so he doesn’t throw it to the ground and shatter it, opting instead to fist his hands in the pillow Steve used last night and shove it in his face to scream. He has to regain his composure before he texts back, doing his best to keep cool.

[Eddie]: A date it is then. Can’t wait sweetheart ❤️

[megalony]

What's My Name

This is a new Tommy Kinard imagine, I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @shauna-carsley @dottirose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1

Tommy Kinard Masterlist

Summary: While they're both on shift, (Y/n) starts to become disorientated and unwell. And Tommy and her dad don't know what to do when she starts having memory problems.

Enjoy.

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

A quiet grumble vibrated at the back of Tommy's throat and his eyes furrowed and winced in his sleeping state. The end of his nose crinkled and he frowned, confusion flooding his brain as he began to wake up.

Why was he waking up? Why did it feel like he had only just gone to sleep five seconds ago? Surely the alarm wasn't going off already?

When he blinked and tried to gain awareness of his surroundings, he groaned again. The bedroom was pitch black. It was still late into the night, or possibly early in the morning. It wasn't the alarm that had woken him. After another second, Tommy realised it was his phone quietly vibrating on the dressing table which he could hear.

Tommy's nose crinkled again when he took a deep breath and started to realise how he was laid.

His right arm had gone completely numb and he soon realised that was because his arm was beneath the pillow (Y/n) was laid on. Her neck was directly on his arm and her right hand was clutching his wrist like she thought he was suddenly going to disappear in the middle of the night.

Tommy was laid on his right side with his lips and nose pressed down against the top of (Y/n)'s head. With his height, he usually tried to stay as close to the headboard as he could or else his feet would dangle over the end of the bed.

And his left arm was secured around (Y/n)'s waist beneath the cover, his fingers subconsciously digging into her waist and hip.

With a quiet groan of discontent, Tommy lifted his head from the pillow and pulled his left arm free from the covers. His bare chest pressed into (Y/n)'s back and he took the opportunity to kiss the top of her head while he stretched across and grabbed his phone from her side table where he dumped it when he got in.

He didn't bother to check the caller ID before he answered and pressed the phone to his ear, letting his head flop back into the pillow.

"Hello?" His gruff voice was thick with sleep and two octaves deeper than usual but he didn't care. He could feel sleep ebbing away at his mind until a crisp, low voice crackled through the other end of the line and sharpened his mind awake.

"Kinard, it's Robson."

Oh God, why was his Captain calling him?

When he pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at the bright screen, Tommy all but huffed in distaste. It was four in the morning. The Captain was calling him at four in the morning. Why? What did he want?

Didn't he know that Tommy had gotten home at half eleven tonight- last night? Just over four hours ago? He had been in bed for all of four hours before being disturbed.

"Kinard?"

"Yeah… yeah, what's up?"

"I've had two people from the A shift call in sick, a chopper should have been sent downtown half an hour ago and I've got a broken train on the subway. I need a pilot and you're on call. Can you come back?"

That wasn't fair. Tommy let his annoyance be heard in the way he growled animalistically and huffed through his nose. He hadn't had nearly enough sleep to be going back on shift, especially if he was going to be there for a while. But did he actually have a choice in this? He was on call. Whether he went in right now or turned up in a few hours after some more sleep, Tommy was still going to have to go on shift.

The sooner he went in, the sooner he could come back home and come back to bed.

"You know I'm supposed to have eleven hours between full shifts, right?" The cocky tone to his voice gave away that he wasn't about to pull the law book out here.

He could, if he really wanted to. Tommy could be petty and state that in his contract, if he had just done a full twelve, or even a twenty four hour shift, he had to have eleven hours before his next shift. It could be classed as breaking the law if he didn't get enough rest between shifts and went back in how after only four hours of sleep and of being at home.

But this was the job. This was what they had to do when they were struggling for staff and it was an extra shift. Tommy could ask to have his next shift off as a swap for coming in today. Then he could recover and spend some time at home with his wife before going back to work.

"Are you gonna pull the book on me, or are you able to come in? I'll pay you double and you can head home early, I swear."

"Double, and I work today instead of my next shift."

"Deal."

When he hung up the phone, Tommy tossed it back on the side table and brought his hand up to rub at his eyes. He'd done a good negotiation there. Usually it was rather hard to make a deal with Captain Robson. He wasn't cruel or harsh by any means, but he wasn't always as easily understanding like Bobby.

He took a moment to run his hand up and down his face and try to wake himself up.

His body was crying out for sleep. He needed rest. But he had a feeling this shift might go quick. The morning shifts usually did pass by swiftly especially if they were busy. And Tommy would clearly be up in the air flying this morning and hopefully he could spend a bit of time back on the ground. Too much time up in the air with a foggy brain crying out for sleep wasn't an ideal situation.

If need be, Tommy would swap with someone on the team and take over on the truck so he could leave the chopper.

After a few seconds, he looped his arm back around (Y/n)'s waist and began to feather his fingers up and down her chest and abdomen. He pressed his chest into her back and tilted his head down until his nose and mouth were pressed into the crook of her neck.

It took him by surprise just how warm (Y/n)'s skin felt against his touch. He could feel a layer of sweat coating her skin and she was radiating heat like a house in winter.

He pressed a soft kiss against the base of her neck before slowly working his way up, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake up until his lips reached the tip of her jaw. He peppered his way down her jaw and leaned over so he could peck her cheek. The touch made (Y/n) shiver, but she stayed mostly burrowed down with her face burrowed into the pillow and her hand still gripping his right wrist.

"Honey," His voice was still laced with sleep, but it was much smoother now. He let his teeth graze against her jaw while his palm pressed down against her stomach to try and wake her. "I gotta go back into work now."

Moving his hand up, Tommy let go of her waist and gently curled his hand around (Y/n)'s wrist that was clinging to his hand. He uncurled her fingers from his wrist and pulled her arm up so he could kiss the back of her hand. His touch seemed to stirr her this time. He felt her shuffle back into him and her head tilted in his direction, lifting from the pillow. But she didn't bother to open her eyes.

"Home… going home,"

Her words made Tommy frown. He couldn't be sure what she muttered afterwards, but those words were enough to make him smile and wonder what kind of dream she was having. He pecked her cheek and entwined their fingers, holding her hand against his bare shoulder while (Y/n) nudged her head back until she pushed her temple against his shoulder.

"No, no baby we're home now. You with me?" He waited a few seconds until (Y/n) finally seemed to wake up and listen to what he was saying.

When she didn't answer, Tommy leaned over with his chest pressed back down against her shoulders and he stole a kiss. The touch shocked her awake a little more and he felt the surprise in the way she gasped before her lips began to move against his own and her tongue darted across his lips.

"Babe…" Her voice was nothing more than a quiet pant against his lips and it made Tommy hate himself for agreeing to this.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay right here with her, where he belonged. But if he went now, he would be gaining a full day off with her the day after tomorrow- which was technically today since it was now morning. He knew (Y/n) would be on shift today and then tomorrow she would be off and now they could spend the day together.

"I gotta go back to work honey, you gonna be okay if I go?" The thought of leaving didn't exactly sit well in Tommy's gut when he looked down at his wife.

(Y/n) had been off work three days ago with a cold and although she promised Tommy on the phone this afternoon that she had felt better today, he wasn't inclined to agree. And now he could feel her starting to sweat, despite the cold air circulating through their bedroom, he wondered if she was starting to feel unwell again.

If she didn't want him to go he would ring Robson back and try to bargain to go in later this morning if he could. He would go in the same time as (Y/n) went for her shift, if she was well enough. So he could make sure she was alright and actually going to make it through her shift.

"Hm." She nodded and pulled her hand free from his so she could run her fingers across his cheek and steal another tired, sloppy kiss from him.

He knew if she didn't feel well enough she would call in sick. When they first started dating, (Y/n) had a hard time admitting when she was unwell and tried to keep going on shift even if she felt rough or could barely keep her eyes open. Now though, she was more easy-going on herself and understood it was okay to take a break when needed.

And she would be on shift with her dad. Tommy knew his father in law would keep an eye on (Y/n). Bobby would make sure she was okay and send her home if he thought she was too unwell to carry on with her shift.

"Alright then, I'll call you when I'm coming off shift."

(Y/n) grumbled quietly when Tommy's warmth suddenly disappeared from behind her. She no longer felt like she had a full length hot water bottle pressed up against her. There wasn't a secure arm around her waist or a face tucked lovingly into the crook of her neck.

She felt cold and alone and suddenly unsafe without Tommy wrapped around her, engulfing her in his large frame.

She could hear him shuffling around the room, getting dressed in the dark so he didn't have to put the light on and disturb (Y/n). Once he was dressed, (Y/n) suddenly felt his fingers beneath her chin and he tilted her head back into the pillow so her face was aimed up towards his.

"See you soon honey. Love you." His lips glued to (Y/n)'s and stole the little air left in her lungs while his thumb caressed her chin like he was drawing patterns on her skin. When he pulled back, (Y/n) lifted her head, trying to follow his lips and move with him until he pecked her temple and nudged her back into the bed. She needed to get some more sleep.

"Love you." She murmured softly, feeling a dull ache in her chest when his chuckle subsided and his footsteps started to become distant as he left the room.

***

Tilting her head from left to right, (Y/n) tried to get her eyes into focus and take note of her surroundings.

Everything was blurred. She was seeing double.

Nothing seemed to make sense in her mind and everything was spinning.

Her body slumped back until her shoulders and the back of her head bashed into something cold. She let her weight drop back and allowed her body to slide down until she was crouched down on the floor.

She was leaning against a fire truck. Why was there a fire truck here? Where was she? What kind of emergency situation was she caught up in to be near a fire truck? Was she hurt?

(Y/n) moved her hands and held them out in front of her. Both hands were shaking and she could see the veins popping up on her hands beneath her skin. She was burning up. Sweat was glistening on every part of her exposed skin and she could feel it making her shirt stick to her frame. Her body was overheating. Her hair was sticking to her temple and beads of sweat rolled down the side of her neck.

Her lungs burned as she tried to take deep breaths and work out what she was doing and where she was, but nothing was making sense.

You're supposed to help people.

A small, nagging voice in the back of her head tried to make sense of this, but it wasn't working. How was she supposed to help people? What was she supposed to do?

Her trembling hands moved up to cup her ears, drowning out the noises she could hear while her eyes fell closed. Ignoring the flashing lights making her temple throb and the bright midday sun that was beaming down on her like a spotlight.

She wanted to go home. Where was home? Was home near here? Home was with her dad. Where was he? Where was Bobby?

Her hands left her ears and a shudder jolted through her entire body when something on the truck slammed shut. Whether it was a hatch or a door or just someone retrieving something, (Y/n) wasn't sure. But the shockwave that rattled through the metal truck made her head pound and had her body coiling forwards.

She moved to press her hands down on the floor and slowly push herself to her feet, whimpering at how uneasy she felt when she was on her feet and how unbalanced she was. Whichever way her head wanted to lean, the rest of her body slowly started to follow until she was swaying left and right as she tried to walk forwards.

But she didn't know where she was going.

"Hey Bobby, where'd you want me?"

The tiredest smile Bobby had ever seen flooded his son-in-law's face and he watched Tommy hold his arms out at his sides while he took a look around the scene. He walked away from the truck he had just been driving and headed over towards Bobby who was sending his team this way and that to try and make sure every car on this bridge was evacuated.

At least six cars had piled up in a crash and they needed to evacuate them all and assess who needed urgent medical attention, who could walk away from this and who needed transport to hospital.

For a moment, Bobby looked at the younger man in front of him and looked around. They hadn't asked dispatch for air support. They had asked for another team and at least three ambulances, but no one was in dire need of being air-lifted to hospital.

But it clicked when he finally realised that Tommy was in the matching uniform. Dark blue shirt, thick black overalls and a black and florescent yellow jacket. He was here on ground support today. He was here as a firefighter, not a pilot.

And since this was Bobby's callout since his team got here first, Tommy's team would be taking their lead from him.

"Hey… weren't you on shift last night?" Bobby reached over to clap one hand on Tommy's shoulder before he looked around the scene again.

"I'm on call this week."

"Ah. Well, in that case, there's three cars over there who haven't been evacuated yet. Find (Y/n) and take her with you, I need everyone off this bridge."

"Copy that."

Tommy could feel the tiredness washing over him like waves lapping at the sand. But his mind started to vibrate and liven up at the thought of finding his wife. He hadn't seen her at all yesterday from being on shift and they only exchanged small talk last night when he came home and climbed into bed.

He wanted to see her and talk to her and ask if she was feeling any better. And maybe steal a kiss or two if he could.

His eyes darted around the scene as he looked for that familiar style of hair or the matching jacket that had his last name stitched across the back.

It didn't take long for his eyes to land on that all too familiar frame he had memorised down to every last mark, scar and mole on her skin. But as his eyes drank in the sight of his wife, Tommy couldn't help but furrow his brows and tilt his head to one side.

She wasn't walking properly.

For a moment, he thought she might have sprained her ankle or done something to her knee with the way she was walking. But after a few steps, he realised she wasn't actually walking like she was in pain. She was walking like she couldn't seem to hold herself upright.

Her body was leaning forwards while she had one arm locked around her waist and her other hand deadlocked at the back of her neck, scratching into her skin.

He watched the way her eyes danced across him before she went back to scouring the scene like she was looking for something in particular.

Tommy took a deep breath and picked up the pace to meet (Y/n) halfway. He stopped in front of her and reached his hands out to gently hold onto her upper arms and stop her in her tracks. His thumbs brushed up and down her arms over her jacket and he leaned his chest back and tilted his head down until his pointed chin was pressing down into his chest so he could look down at her.

"Honey, you okay?" He tried to smile but (Y/n) wasn't looking at him properly. She was constantly darting her eyes from left to right, briefly looking up at Tommy before she went back to scanning their surroundings like she didn't know or understand what was happening.

He watched curiously as (Y/n) reached her arms out and held onto Tommy's arms just below his elbows and her grip was so tight he could feel her nails digging into his jacket.

She was sweating. And shaking. And she was swaying back and forth like she didn't know how to hold her own balance.

Tommy let his hands glide up her arms to her shoulders and he carefully pushed her jacket off her shoulders. He slid the thick material down her arms and let it fall into a puddle on the floor, curving around the back of (Y/n)'s boots. He could see from how badly she was sweating and her shallow breathing that she was running a temperature and in this heat, she didn't need an extra layer to make it worse.

He pressed the back of his hand against her temple which seemed to bring her back to reality while his right hand curved around the back of her arm. Keeping her stood as close to him as possible and holding her up so she didn't wobble or take a tumble.

"(Y/n), are you with me?" His hand left her temple and moved to cup her chin so he could tilt her head up to interlock their gazes.

"You… you know my name?"

"What?"

Was she trying to joke with him? Was this another way of teasing him because he rarely ever said her name anymore. Tommy had so many pet names for her that he couldn't remember the last time he'd called (Y/n) by her name.

And both their teams knew this too. It was something Evan liked to tease him about while Bobby thought it was endearing since he himself wasn't used to calling Athena anything but her name or the occasional 'honey'.

Tommy let out a small chuckle and rolled his eyes while his head dropped down at an angle. And his thumb began to glide up and down (Y/n)'s chin, moving dangerously close to her lips every now and then.

"I think I know my own wife's name by now, don't you?"

The way (Y/n) latched her hands around Tommy's arms again made him stand up straighter and tense his arms beneath her touch. She was beginning to shake worse and when he realised she had tears trickling down her face, panic surged through his heart that started to hammer away against his ribs.

Tightening his hands around her arms, he tried to force himself to smile to try and keep her calm because he could see she was starting to panic.

He nudged her back until she was taking a few steps backwards, letting him guide her towards the concrete wall separating the two sides of the dual carriageway on the bridge. He nudged (Y/n) back until she took the hint and slumped down onto the concrete wall with a thud. Her knees trembled and her body leaned forward while Tommy crouched down in front of her legs.

"You don't look well, honey what's the matter? Talk to me." His hands left her arms to begin smoothing up and down her thighs instead.

He noticed how she didn't pull away or push his touch away, but the way she was looking at him made him feel uneasy.

Whenever (Y/n) was ill, she could cling to Tommy. Whether that be to get him to wrap her up in a hug or to cling to him for comfort or just rest her head on his shoulder for some form of touch. She would always wrap herself around Tommy and it was something he loved about her.

But she wasn't clinging to him right now. She was barely responding to him at all and it was frightening.

"Talk to me," He coaxed again, his tone gentler and quieter this time, letting her know his focus was solely fixed upon her.

"I… I don't… where am I? I don't wanna b-be here…"

"You're on shift honey, see?" Tommy reached out and feathered his fingers across the LAFD logo on the left side of her shirt before he pointed at the fire truck behind him.

What was going on right now? Why was (Y/n) confused about where she was or what she was supposed to be doing? Where on Earth did she think she was? What did she think was going on to make her this frightened and reverting back into her shell?

"You're important… someone important… I-" The shaking started to increase throughout (Y/n)'s body until she was trembling back and forth on the wall as f she was about to fall down onto Tommy's lap.

Tears jumped free from her lashes and fell down the bridge of her nose, making glistening tracks in their wake as she started to sniff and gasp for each breath.

The way Tommy pushed up on his heels and brushed the tears away made (Y/n)'s heart stutter. She reached out to cup his wrist and kept hold of him, but the fear in her eyes made Tommy want to burst into tears too.

"What's my name?" Utter panic dwelled in Tommy's voice that dropped down an octave as he stared at his wife. "Honey, what's my name?"

She shook her head.

She couldn't answer him because she didn't know the answer.

But despite not knowing his name and not placing who he was, her grip stayed paramount around Tommy's wrist, refraining him from pulling away from her. She was clinging to him even though she didn't know who he was. She was staring at him with such fear and confusion in her eyes that it made Tommy want to be sick.

There was nothing he could do. What was he supposed to do? How could be rectify this and make her remember him and understand what was going on?

"Bobby, I need some help over here."

Tommy moved one hand and waved out until he finally caught the Captain's attention and waved him over. All while his other hand stayed cradling the side of (Y/n)'s face since she was clinging to him.

There was something familiar about him. Although (Y/n) couldn't think of his name or place why she knew the person knelt down in front of her, she knew there was just something about him that was recognisable.

He was important. He was special, but she didn't know why. It was like there was a dream lingering in the back of her mind, telling her that she knew him from somewhere. His face, chiselled and handsome, was memorable and familiar but all the answers were locked up in a safe, hidden away in the depths of her mind that she couldn't delve into.

The more (Y/n) tried to think, the worse she began to feel. The more she tried to think why she was here, why she was dressed so similar to the man in front of her, why she was at some sort of crash sight. Why she was so groggy and burning and on fire and feeling sick. The more her head started to ache.

A sharp pain was igniting in the base of her skull and firing down her neck like bullets travelling the expanse of her spine.

She wanted to be sick. She wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep. She wanted to go home. Where was home? Why wasn't she back in Minnesota? This wasn't her home town, she knew that for certain.

Wherever she was, this was unfamiliar.

"Dad!" As soon as her eyes found her dad rushing towards her, relief sparked so hard in her blood that (Y/n) couldn't feel her hands anymore.

Her body bolted up from the wall so fast she stumbled into the man kneeling in front of her legs.

She felt his hands grapple to hold onto her hips, preventing her from falling onto his chest and keeping her up on her own two feet. Once she was steady again, (Y/n) pushed forward and reached her trembling arms out for her dad.

It was such a relief to have Bobby pull her into his chest that her vision suddenly went white and her mind started to blank and turn to mush. Static fizzled and popped in her ears and her body swayed forward into her dad's arms until he braced his hands on her hips and held her upright.

"Sweetheart what's the matter?" Bobby moved his hand to run up and down her back while he glanced over at Tommy for some sort of explanation.

"I wanna go home."

"She's delirious and feverish… Bobby, she doesn't recognise me or where she is." Tommy's hand reached out as if to rest on (Y/n)'s shoulder but he pulled back, thinking better of touching her if she had no idea who he was. "We need to get her down to the hospital, now."

Tommy swallowed dryly and felt his throat threatening to close up as he looked from Bobby, down to his wife, and back again.

She didn't remember him. She didn't know who he was or where she was or what was going on. The only person she was sure about was her dad. They needed to get her checked out. This had to be more than a simple cold or a fever for (Y/n) to be this confused and frightened and experiencing memory problems.

(Y/n) tucked her face into Bobby's chest and bound her arms tighter around his torso until she was almost cutting off his breathing.

He kept his left arm bound around her middle, holding her weight up for her against his chest while his right hand moved to cradle her face. He tilted her head back so she was looking up at him, and he realised how flushed her skin was and how she was burning up against him.

"Sweetheart… do you know where you are?"

"Home, wanna go home." She muttered breathlessly into his shirt, smothering her face into his chest again so she didn't have to squint in the bright sunlight or focus on anything in particular.

"Okay, let's go get you to a doctor first, hm?" Bobby leaned down to kiss the top of her head while his hand continued to smooth up and down her back.

He didn't want to pester her with questions, not when he could feel her crying quietly into his shirt. Asking questions she couldn't find the answers to was only going to distress her even more and she didn't need that right now.

He leaned his cheek on top of her head, locking eyes with Tommy while he held his radio.

"Hen, I need the ambulance prepped and ready to go… (Y/n) needs an assessment and a trip to the hospital."

They heard a bundle of responses, Hen agreeing with them, Chimney asking if he needed to call Tommy. Evan and Eddie asking what was going on and if she had got trapped or hurt out on the call.

But Bobby didn't answer any of them. He looped his arm around (Y/n)'s waist rather than her back and started to guide her away from the wall and towards the ambulance parked just behind the truck on the hard shoulder. His other arm looped around her chest and his hand began to glide up and down her back to try and keep her calm.

He could feel Tommy close on his left side, keeping (Y/n) held between them while Tommy dared to rest a hand on her shoulder. Relieved when she didn't pull away or flinch or scream at him to let go.

But as the three of them made a slow walk towards the ambulance, Tommy suddenly stopped and jerked his arms out in front of him when (Y/n) started to fall.

Her feet bent awkwardly beneath her and her body tilted to the left, bumping into Tommy's shoulder before she flagged in Bobby's arms and her mind shut down.

Both of them grabbed hold of her, stopping her from hitting the floor with a bang as she went completely limp.

Bending his knees, Tommy curved round so he was in front of (Y/n) and let her head flop onto his shoulder. He curved an arm behind her legs and one around her waist and as quickly as he could, he shifted her round and lifted her up bridal style. Her face stayed pressed against his shoulder while Bobby held her hand and placed her arm across her chest so it didn't hang down at her side.

"We need to go." Tommy watched his father in law break off into a sprint towards Hen to get the gurney from her. His panic a silent agreement that they had to go now and they had to move quickly.

Tommy's eyes darted ahead and then back down to his wife, limp, sweating and trembling in his arms like they were in the arctic instead of under the burning LA sun.

What was happening to her? And why didn't she remember him?

***

"Hey sweetheart, how you feeling?" Bobby let his gaze linger on (Y/n)'s hand that he had been holding for the last hour or so.

He slowly moved her hand so he could kiss the back of her knuckles and run his other hand up and down her arm. He smiled softly across at her, watching the way (Y/n) dragged her free hand to shakily brush across her eyes and nose and wake herself up a little more.

She pushed herself up and took a look around.

She was in a bed. She was in a hospital room, wearing a hospital gown. There was an IV taped into the back of her left hand and monitoring stickers that she realised now felt itchy and uncomfortable over her chest. And she could feel the wires rubbing against the gown and tickling over her arm.

"Cold," (Y/n) murmured as goosebumps started to prickle on her skin when she realised she was actually cold.

She watched the way her dad hung his head down and smiled while he moved their entwined hands to rest down on the bed next to her thigh.

"You were burning up so they turned the A/C on full and put a fan on, you're almost back to normal temperature now though."

It made (Y/n) feel like one of the desserts her dad made for the parties they were always throwing. Like she was starting to melt or become overcooked and needed to go in the fridge before she turned to mush.

But she felt like she was at a normal temperature now because she could register that the room was freezing cold and she was at the point of shivering.

"Alright sweetheart, can you tell me what day it is, or the last thing that you remember?" Bobby let go of her hand to smooth his palms up and down his jeans. He could feel the worry ebbing away in his chest and eating out his heart that was hammering three times as fast against his ribs.

He wasn't sure he was prepared for what answers she might give him. They didn't know if she had been suffering memory loss or if she had just been extremely confused. And they didn't know what time zone (Y/n) thought she was in since she couldn't remember who Tommy was, and she had been with him for the last five years.

It was almost frightening for Bobby to wonder what time (Y/n) thought she was in and what she might or might not remember.

When her dad let go of her hand, (Y/n) suddenly felt even colder and lonesome. She ran her fingers up and down the creases in the thin sheet that was draped across her legs and pulled up to her waist. But when she lifted her gaze, her head tilted to one side and her lips parted.

Something soft swirled in her deep eyes and her lips quirked into a smile as she reached a hand out across the room.

"Tommy…"

She hadn't realised he was in the room with them until now. Her gaze locked on her husband, stood as close to the door as he could get like he thought he might need to make a quick exit anytime soon.

He was stood with one leg crossed over the other and his body slanted at an angle while his left shoulder was pressed against the wall. He was facing the door with his head tilted down so his cleft chin was tucked against his chest. And he had his arms folded over his chest, showing off the way his muscles in his biceps tensed and how his work shirt looked a size too small for him.

But when his name passed through her lips, Tommy's head snapped to the right.

His blue eyes went wide until his pupils almost took over the whole expanse of his eyes and his lips parted, but he couldn't find anything to say.

She recognised him. She'd said his name. She knew who he was.

He pushed his frame off the wall and bolted across the room until he could collapse down on the side of the bed next to her thigh. His hands reached out for hers but her hand was already out, cupping the side of his face before he could grab her.

His fingers glided up and down her arm, ghosting over her pulse point as if to make sure she was actually speaking to him and this wasn't just some kind of wishful dream.

"You know my name." He muttered in disbelief before he turned his head to the right and pressed his lips against her wrist, kissing over her pulse. He leaned his cheek into her touch, wanting to melt on the spot when her fingers cupped his cheek and the underside of his jaw and he felt her thumb going across his cheekbone.

"It'd be a bit embarrassing if I didn't… I married you, didn't I?" Her voice was quiet and crackling from how dry her throat felt, but her words were like the softest string quartet Tommy had ever heard.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He could of just sat there in awe of his wife and beg her to say his name over and over and over until it was the only thing he could understand and be sure of. But Tommy wanted to make sure she didn't have any gaps in her memory and that she hadn't time-skipped but still forgotten some of her memories.

"I… I was home, getting ready for work… you'd gone really early, but I- I don't remember going to work, or coming here." She could picture herself getting dressed at home. She could see herself looking at the bed with disappointment that she had woken up alone because Tommy had been called away so early.

She had barely gotten to hug and snuggle with him before he was gone again like a vague dream she could barely recall.

The relief in Tommy's eyes told (Y/n) that what she remembered was recent and she could tell he was overjoyed.

Had she really forgotten who he was? What had she said or done to him to make him worry she wouldn't remember him when she woke up? Oh God, what had she done to him?

Tears welled up in her eyes and she could barely register her dad kissing her temple, muttering that he was going to go and get Athena and bring her up before he left the room.

As soon as the door closed, (Y/n) brushed her thumb across Tommy's cheek and bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying. She felt her spine clicking into place as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his temple. The touch almost made him jump, but the way he leaned his head back and stared up at her with those big doe eyes made (Y/n)'s stomach flutter with adrenaline.

"Baby did I, did I really forget your name… forget you?"

"Only for a moment. You knew I was someone important." The soft, intoxicating smile on his lips made (Y/n) want to smile, but all she could do was take short, puffed breaths.

"Why?"

"You got a viral infection, encephalitis. But we caught it in time, you're gonna be just fine now. And you remember us all and who you are, so no more tears, okay?"

Tommy kissed over her pulse point again before he leaned forward and moved his hands to cradle her face.

He pulled her in for a kiss, tasting the salt tears over her lips and feeling them trace onto his face when she couldn't seem to stop them. He stole the little air left in her lungs and grazed his teeth along her lip while their noses brushed together and he couldn't help but smile against her lips.

"As long as you remember me, honey, it's all good."

[ghostlywhiskey]

john price x reader - two of us

word count: 1,594

╰▸ slight angst - price x reader the night before he leaves for another mission

find my masterlist here

The night before he was set to leave for another mission was always the hardest. After two years of being together, the routine was like clockwork. The two of you waking up in the morning, pretending as if it was any other day he was home.

And when you did wake up in the morning, both of you genuinely would forget that it was the day before he was supposed to leave. There was nothing around the house to remind you. No bag half-packed in the corner of the bedroom for your view, no date circled on the calendar in the kitchen, and no phone alert twenty-four hours before he was set to leave popping up.

The only time a reminder popped up would be right after you two get home from dinner, making your way up the stairs to the bedroom. Price’s phone screen lights up with a text message, one of the guys texting him to tell them what time they would be there tomorrow morning. But, it’s a reminder for him, he normally spares another hour or two before he gives yours. 

His arms wrapped around you in the bed, face nuzzling your neck as he holds you close. “I’m ‘gon miss you.” he mumbles against your skin, his hold on you tightening. The reminder you’ve been dreading to hear, even though you remembered hours early what today was. But, hearing it made it real and that he wouldn’t be here this time tomorrow. 

And normally you respond back with the same words, except adding the word ‘too’. However, this time you broke routine. 

“John, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” 

The words leading to an hour fight, the two of you going back and forth about what you saw wrong with all of this. Price argued you knew what you were getting into when it came to him when you both started dating, not understanding why you were struggling now. A string of curses towards him leaving your lips, you telling him he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be on your end. Telling him how you never expected it to be this hard, even if you knew what you were getting into.

And when your tears start to roll down your cheeks, that’s when you tell him to leave you alone. Your body leading you out of the room, feet guiding you down the stairs of the dark house. Price’s living room becomes your shelter for the remainder of the night, the throw blanket wrapped around you as you sit on the couch and zone out to your thoughts.

And another hour passes, your thoughts interrupted when you hear the soft sound of music coming from the speaker.

I see the crystal raindrops fall And the beauty of it all Is when the sun comes shining through To make those rainbows in my mind When I think of you sometime And I want to spend some time with you

Price’s figure walking down the stairs was unknown to you, only when he walked into the living room did your vision catch him. Heading directly for you on the couch, he squatted down in front of you, a hand resting on your knee to give it a gentle squeeze. 

You wanted to bring your knee closer to your body, but you stayed still. Eyes focused on him and his movements. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, standing up again as he grabs your hand and urges you to move off the couch. Too tired to fight him, your fingers tighten around his hand and rise from the couch. The throw blanket slides off your shoulders and pools onto the couch.

Price lets his arms snake around your body, head hanging low as he kisses the top of your head. Briefly, you make no movements of your own, arms stilled at your sides as your brain tries to process what it wants to do.

There was no point to argue right now, the more you sat and thought about it you felt like shit for causing a scene on his last night home for awhile. Two hours wasted between the fighting and sitting in silence with your thoughts. So, your arms do the same as his, wrapping around his body as you pull yourself in closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest. 

Even in the middle of the night, the smell of his woody scented cologne mixed with the lingering hint of tobacco from his cigars filled your nose. He didn’t smoke one today, it was like it was a part of him. The smell of the cigar used to drive you insane, making him shower or change every time he smoked one. Until you bought him a cologne to try and drown out the scent, it helped a bit, but what really helped was the fact the scent grew on you. The way your body would roll over in your sleep to his side of the bed when he was gone, sprawled on your stomach as your face rested on his pillow - the scent of him present even if he wasn’t.

Just the two of us We can make it if we try Just the two of us (x3) Building castles in the sky Just the two of us You and I

The music continued to play as you two stood in the living room, one of Price’s hands grabbing the back of your neck while the other palm pressed against your back to keep you as close as you were keeping him. As he directed your head to tilt up and look at him, your eyes met his blue ones. Even in the dark they were noticeable with the faint moonlight breaking through the living room windows.

“Feelin’ better?” he asks, his thumb rubbing the skin on the back of your neck as he holds you in place. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice is a contrast to the constant gruffness of his, not even answering his question. “It’s the night before you leave and I’ve made it a shit one. I could’ve just kept it in and not ruin the night.” The disappointment in yourself is obvious as your voice seemingly gets quieter as you continue to talk, not even wanting to rehash any problems brought up.

“And if you didn’t, how was I gonna know how you were feelin’?” Price bringing his voice to a softness that you knew probably put a strain on his vocal cords, as if his regular tone didn’t already do that as well. “You need to tell me these things before they become something we can’t fix.” The hand on your neck sliding to the front, thumb now placed on your cheek while the others are in a comfortable position to cup your face. 

Nodding in agreement, you can’t help the burning sensations your eyes start to feel. The tears built up as he spoke, the way he was rational in every situation building guilt inside you more. Even after you had cursed at him, told him he didn’t understand your feelings, all of it - he wasn’t reciprocating the same energy. Again, rational and relaxed. 

“I’m sorry.” you say again, the tears spilling down your cheeks. 

We look for love, no time for tears Wasted water's all that is And it don't make no flowers grow

Both hands now cupped your face, thumbs brushing the tears as they made their way down your cheeks. But, not getting far as he would stop them halfway. The way he shushed you to stop crying wasn’t harsh or mean, it was the softest sound you have ever heard him make. You weren’t even sure it was possible for him to produce a sound like that from his body. 

“No point cryin’, yeah?” He mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, the taste of it salty from your tears. But, the tears still falling down your cheeks. Though, they weren’t a product of your frustration at yourself for acting how you did. The switch for the reasoning belonged to the fact he was going to be gone in a few short hours when the sun came up and no routine would be followed. Just uncertainty of if and when you would see him again.

“Stop cryin’, please.” it was a beg the way it sounded as his lips moved against yours to let the words out. 

Good things might come to those who wait Not for those who wait too late We gotta go for all we know

And when the weeks passed, you didn’t have a definite time frame of when he would be back. Phone calls here and there where he would tell you they still needed him, but he’d be back as soon as he could.

So, when you heard what sounded like a car door slam outside, you thought it was nothing - probably just the neighbors. The door of the home clicking unlocked confirmed it wasn’t the neighbors, eyes looking towards the entryway from your spot on the couch. Price’s body walking into the living room and a smile forming on his face at the sight of you. 

“John.” The name accompanied with a small gasp, your body scrambling off the couch to run towards him.  

“Nice to see you can still do this.” he pokes fun at the words you told him the night before he left, arms wrapping around you as you came within reach. “Thank fuckin’ god.” He murmurs, face burying in the crook of your neck as he hugs you.

[courtingchaos]

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

I didn’t edit this, barely read it over, and it has no title. Just trying something new with spitting some stuff out to get the ideas moving again. These cogs are frozen.

Professor Munson Masterlist

“You’re home early!” You shout from upstairs.

Ed shrugs out of his coat and throws his bag on the bench by the door. “Yeah. I was trying to beat the traffic before it started snowing.” He’d gotten out of the parking garage and directly into said traffic, cursing and yelling the whole time. Two hours later he’s finally home albeit in a sour mood.

“It’s snowing?” You’re moving between rooms, he can hear your voice shifting and he has to stop himself from telling you to look out a window. Instead he just nods into the empty foyer while he empties his pockets onto the table there and he wonders when he got so much furniture that he has dedicated entryway pieces.

“Are you in a good mood or should I leave you alone for a bit?” Your head pops over the railing with a smile.

“Why?”

“I have a surprise but I don’t want a bad mood to ruin it.”

“I’m not gonna-”

“I didn’t say you I said your mood.”

Ed sighs and rubs his eyes till his vision color bursts. “Give me a minute.”

“Okay.” Gracious as always to his old man moods you move into his office and he can hear you futzing with his set up in there. The static of speakers coming to life and the shuffling of his records follows him into the kitchen where he stares into an open fridge with no purpose.

It’s November and that means it’s time for his brain to betray him and remind him of his mother. He always does better on the anniversary of her death but something about her birthday gets him. 51 missed celebrations and if he lets his thoughts linger he’ll have another breakdown in the kitchen. This morning had been an accident, his shuffle throwing on ‘Stand By Me’ and Ed had the pleasure of crying into his English muffin before he realized he was running late. He’d deftly avoided music for the rest of the day and driven the whole two hours in silence out of fear of getting stuck in gridlock and getting sucked into another crying jag.

You’ve given him space the past few days with his distant behavior. Noncommittal grunts answering your questions and quiet stares that follow you around the house. He knows he’s being difficult but he can’t seem to pull himself out of it. However you seem to be his saving grace, taking his silence and doing what you can with it. Gentle touches to let him know you’re there, fingers combing through his hair in the middle of the night when he should be asleep. Instead of him bringing you coffee on Sunday you’d gotten up a full hour before him to complete the ritual. Crouched beside the bed to wake him up quietly, a light finger along the shell of his ear.

“Good morning.”

“Mm.”

“It’s cold out today.”

“Then get back in bed.” He grapples at your hand lazily to try and pull you over him and you let him. Flopped over his chest awkwardly he wraps warm arms around you and for a moment you think he’s already drifting off again.

“Ed?”

A beat before he takes a deep breath and you feel the catch under you. “I miss my mom.”

“Oh hun.” It’s the last thing you say for a while. Fingers card through soft curls and hold his head to your chest and he gets to be vulnerable for a while. Head buried in you, he lets his coffee go cold.

He thumps up the stairs slowly and you come out to greet him on the top step.

“You feeling better?” You’re hiding something behind you, hands tucked tight behind your back to keep his prying eyes away.

“Moderately. What’s the surprise?”

“I’m not telling you out here, come on.” You hold an empty hand out to him to guide him into his office and into his chair.

“So. I spent some money today.”

“Is that the surprise?”

“Kind of. There was an estate sale down the block, you remember Mr. Donaghue?”

“Yeah, the old man who yelled at me for having pumpkins on my stoop after Halloween?”

“Exactly.” You giggle at his outburst. “Well as you know, he passed away.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t be like that.” You circle around the desk to his record player and point a finger at him. “He wasn’t all bad, he just didn’t like pumpkins.”

Ed hums again but you continue, grabbing a square package wrapped in newspaper to drop in his lap. It’s heavy when it hits and he gives you a confused look.

“It turns out he was quite the music collector. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many 8-tracks in my life.”

“Did you buy me a stack of 8-tracks?”

You swat at his knee and lean on the corner of his desk. “Just open it.”

The top record sleeve in the stack is red and blue and worn around the edges. Otis Redding smiles up at him and he can feel his throat get tight.

“I heard you listening to it this morning. Sorry.” Your smile is a little sad. “I know these aren’t her’s, but these are all original pressings.”

Under Otis is a sleeve in plastic, Muddy Waters’ face turned to the ceiling. He can hear the the mournful picking of ‘Louisiana Blues’ coming from a distant memory that he’s been pushing back for a few days.

“They cut me a nice deal, his kids. I told them about you loosing your collection and his son was moved.” You laugh and run your foot up his leg, a soothing motion without smothering him in a hug. Eddie is speechless. A stack of records that rivaled his moms collection. Etta and Eartha, John Lee and T-Bone. There’s a few early Bill Withers and Marvin Gaye.

“This is, uh.” His voice catches and he can’t look up from his new stack of treasures.

“I know you’ve got a lot of these already. Records and digital, but I saw the dates on them and couldn’t help myself.”

“No I’m…this is very-” Eddie clears his throat. He brings a record up to his face to sniff inside the sleeve and a tear escapes finally. “Oh fuck me, they smell the same.”

You’re behind his chair to wrap your arms around his shoulders, cheek resting on his head while he quietly disintegrates. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset.” He pats your hands resting on his chest before he stands to put the Muddy Waters record on. It skips and statics for a moment before catching on piano keys. He stares down at the record spinning and listens to a pressing just a few years older than him.

“This might be the most old man thing I’ve ever done.” He tries to crack a joke and thankfully it lands with you. A soft giggle behind him before you slide your arms around again to hook in front of him. You’re warm against his back, grounding. Solid and present while he gets lost in his memories.

“Did I ever tell you about the blues bar my mom worked at?”

“No, that sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” He wraps his arms around his middle to hold over your own arms. “That’s where my dad met her.”

You make a sound of approval between his shoulder blades and nuzzle into him. “So he had good taste in music at least.”

Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Eh, sometimes.”

“So what was she doing?”

He knows you’re goading him into a better mood, something you’re very good at. You have a remarkable gift to plant new memories next to the old. Roots not full of rot, uncrowded by the same trauma, grow around the old and bring green sprouts back into old hurt. He’s sure you’d say something similar about him but right now he’s misty eyed and finding old memories new again. Rose tinted for sure, but with new color in the margins.

“Well, bartending. She knew the night manager, family friend or something, but she wanted to get into shows free so…”

[amhrosina]

Honey Come Home (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: I think I wrote this super self indulgent piece because I was definitely wishing I had someone to come defend/save me when I was in a similar situation with a family member of mine. For all of my friends who are survivors of abuse, I love you, I'm proud of you, and Frank Castle would defend you with his life if he could!!!! (Also a huge thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for beta reading :))) )

Summary: It's been years since Frank's heard from you, but the second you call and ask him for help, he hurries to defend you from your abusive and toxic boyfriend.

(Warnings: SUPER TRIGGER WARNING FOR DESCRIPTIONS OF ABUSE!!!!!, it's not directly spelled out but its alluded to and the aftermath is heavily discussed, canon typical frank stuff, descriptions of violence, frank goes all punisher on your shitty boyfriend, some PTSD, ex-best friends to lovers, references to frank and reader's past, angsty as hell, short lovey-dovey smut at the end, happy ending)

Frank woke with a start at the sound of his ringtone chiming from the front pocket of his backpack, tucked away and mostly forgotten about between the rare phone calls from Matt and Madani. It was so late in the evening that most people would consider it early in the morning. Whether it was late or early, it was certainly not a great time to be calling someone. Frank thought about pointing this out to whoever was waiting for him to pick up his phone, but his annoyance quickly faded as he read the name flashing across the screen.  

A crack, deep down in his soul, ached as he read your name. It had been years since he’d spoken to you, and even longer since he’d seen you. The last time he’d spoken to you, he’d said some things he regretted, things that haunted him to this day, things that he’d never forgive himself for saying to you of all people.  

There was a deep well of history between the two of you, and though Frank had been decent enough at pretending it didn’t exist, the memories pushed to the forefront of his mind, playing like a montage in an old movie. Stolen glances between chemistry equations in high school, the subtle press of Frank’s hand against your back when he’d walk you home from campus in college, the touches that lasted just a little too long to be considered friendly when he was on leave. You were his, and he was yours, though that wasn’t entirely true, either. The history he shared with you was a compilation of ‘almosts’ that were usually too painful to think about for longer than five seconds. 

And now you were calling him. After three years of silence, you were calling him at this ungodly hour, and he was struggling to gain function in his brain, lungs, chest, fingers, entire being. If he didn’t answer soon, it would likely go to the voicemail that Frank had yet to set up even though it had been literal years since he bought the phone. The idea of potentially missing the sound of your voice after so long without it knocked a semblance of sense into him.  

He clicked the screen and raised it to his ear, praying that this wasn’t someone’s idea of a cruel joke. The sound of your subdued, ragged breaths carried through the speaker and hit him directly in the chest. For a moment, Frank said nothing, afraid he would break whatever spell had convinced you to call him after so long. Then, because the thought of not hearing your voice was so unbearable, he murmured your name into the phone. 

“Frank?”  

You had whispered it, but it echoed loudly in Frank’s head. It wasn’t the voice of the confident, radiant person he’d known so many years before. His chest tightened, and he gripped the phone a little tighter as he murmured your name again. 

“I didn’t think you’d answer.” You revealed, still whispering, but a little relieved.  

“I’ll always answer if it’s you.” He blurted out, immediately cringing at his inability to filter his thoughts before they exited his mouth. “Are you okay?” 

“Frank, I need your hel-.” 

You were cut off by a crashing sound that made you yelp into the phone. Frank listened intently to the sound of your cries as someone pounded against a door nearby. Fear, anger, and unabashed love filled his chest until he couldn’t stand still any longer. He pressed the phone inbetween his cheek and shoulder, pulling on whatever articles of clothing were within reach. 

“Frankie.” You pleaded, your voice so broken and cracked that Frank could barely breathe at the sound of it.  

“I’m coming.” He murmured, pulling his boots on with fervor. “I’m coming, baby. Can you send me your location, sweetheart? Where are you?” 

A buzz rattled against his cheek, and he swore when he read the address you’d sent. This whole time, for the years that he’d spent alone, miserable, and missing you, you were living less than twenty minutes away. A male shout in the background of your muffled cries fueled his anger even further. 

“Who’s trying to hurt you, baby?” He was already exiting out the back of his building, running toward the storage facility that doubled as his garage.  

“He’s my,” you paused, sniffling, “He was my boyfriend. He’s not anymore.” 

“Do you have a weapon? Anything to protect yourself until I get there?” He clenched his jaw at the thought of you being hurt. 

“I locked myself in the bathroom.” You whimpered as another sound crashed through the bathroom. “Please hurry.” You begged. 

Frank’s jaw was so tightly clenched that he was surprised he hadn’t broken his teeth. 

“I’m on my way, baby. I’ll be there soon. I promise.”  

“He’s dangerous, Frank.” You warned, and Frank’s chest ached with the realization that you were worried about him when you were the one in danger.  

“He’s not as dangerous as me.” Frank replied, clenching his fists. 

Frank clambered into his truck and backed into the abandoned street. The navigation said he’d arrive in twenty-one minutes. Frank made it in ten. 

- 

“I’m around the corner, sweetheart. I’m almost there.” Frank was pushing ninety in his truck. “What’s he doing now?” 

“He’s-” You started, and abruptly stopped.  

“He’s what, baby?” Frank pushed the gas pedal all the way down. 

A sudden crash sounded, and Frank held his breath. Then, you began screaming, and Frank saw red. He was out of the truck and hauling ass up the sidewalk to the old, ramshackle house faster than anyone should be physically able to move. The sound of your screams echoed through the phone, but the closer he got to the front door, the more he could hear it bellowing outside of the house. 

He didn’t hesitate to kick the door down, instantly spying your hunched form as your dickhead ex-boyfriend tried to tug you out of the bathroom. Both turned to look at Frank as he took in his surroundings. 

Your face, your beautiful and radiant and glowing face, was littered with cuts and bruises. The right side of your jaw was swollen and tinged in dark blue and black. A cut that swept across your top and bottom lip bled profusely onto the tile beneath you.  

“What the fuck, man?” 

Frank would kill him. Frank would tear him apart. He would– 

“Frankie.” Your sigh of relief was melded with a guttural sob.  

The very-soon-to-be-dead man swung around, eyeing you.  

“This is who you called, you stupid bitch?” He rolled his eyes and squeezed the hand that was wrapped around your arm. A whimper left your lips, and it took everything in Frank not to murder the man right then and there. But he would not let you see that – the violence that he was capable of – the violence that tainted the blood on his hands, dooming him to a life without remorse. 

“Take your fucking hands off her.” Frank demanded, stepping forward until he was towering over the man. The man eyed him warily but didn’t let go. Frank almost laughed at his idiocy. “You’re not gonna want to know what’s gonna happen if you don’t listen to me.” 

The man dropped your arm, and you sagged to the ground, inching across the floor until you were behind Frank’s broad frame. Frank didn’t let his eyes stray from his target as he knelt, pressing the keys to his truck into your palm. 

“Go.” He whispered. “I’ll be done in a sec.” 

“But Frank, I-” 

“Go.” 

You crawled to your feet, limping toward the front door. Frank stayed perfectly still, imagining every awful thing he was going to do to the man that hurt you, until the sound of the truck door shutting indicated that you were safely away from the violence that haunted this house. 

Frank was on the guy in half a breath, pushing him so hard into the wall that the drywall cracked under the pressure. He pressed his palm up against the guy’s jaw, slamming his head into the wall again.  

“What? Now that you’re up against a real man, you don’t want to fight?” Frank sneered, tightening his hold on the man’s jaws. “Only a coward hits women.” 

Frank’s fist connected with his face, spraying blood across the tile beneath them. The guy crumpled to the floor, and Frank followed, hitting him again and again and again, until the man was unrecognizable. The man wheezed, barely breathing, but Frank wasn’t done.  

He slid the knife from his back pocket and plunged it into the man’s stomach, knowing immediately that he would never regret this blood being on his hands. He leaned in and whispered a promise that he would keep until the day he died. 

“If by some miracle you survive this, you better hope to God I don’t find you. You think this is bad? It could be so much worse. You never deserved her.”  

Frank pulled the blade from the guy’s stomach and wiped the blood on the man’s sleeve. Finally satisfied with his work, he made his way back toward the truck that held the most important thing he’d ever loved inside. 

- 

The drive back to Frank’s place was calmer, now that the immediate threat had been eradicated. You hadn’t said much of anything, instead curling into yourself, pressing your face into your palms and quietly crying. Frank didn’t know what to do, unsure of how to act around you after so long. It’d been so easy to be around you before – like breathing, he sometimes thought – but now, after everything you’d both been through, he struggled to find solid footing. 

“Are you taking me home?” you asked, lifting your puffy eyes to meet his across the truck cabin. 

“Yeah.” Frank nodded once. “To my place. Is that okay?” He added after a moment. 

“Yeah.” You looked at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry if I-” 

“Don’t apologize for a damn thing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”  

You met Frank’s gaze. He was resolute in his statement, daring you to defy him. For a moment, the soft look in your eyes as you looked at him was enough to strip him to his roots. He felt nothing but an insurmountable love to have you back in his life again, even if it was under horrifying circumstances, even if it was only for tonight. He would accept any crumbs you offered of yourself and he’d cherish them forever. 

“What do I do now?” The question was barely audible, almost as if you were asking yourself more than you were asking him. The softness of your tone sent an ache through Frank’s tight chest. 

“Stay tonight. Shower, eat, rest. We’ll figure out what happens next tomorrow, okay?” 

You nodded but didn’t vocalize a response. When Frank looked over at you, he realized it was because you had begun crying again. The man hadn’t suffered enough, Frank thought. No amount of suffering would make up for the beautiful, broken girl crying in his truck right now. 

- 

Frank rested his head in his hands and listened. He listened to the sound of you moving around the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting, and the sound of you hissing as the water pelted the cuts and bruises littering your body. His jaw ached from clenching it so much tonight. He stood, looked around for something to keep his hands busy, adjusted the curtains by the window, and sat again.  

The unfamiliar territory between the two of you was unnerving. He didn’t know what to say or how to act around you anymore. When you’d climbed down from the passenger seat earlier, he’d been so afraid to startle you that all he could do was hover his hands around you just in case you slipped or needed his help. He hadn’t felt your touch since he’d pressed the truck keys into your palm back at the house. It felt like reaching for something that was just out of range, and he felt hollow when he thought about it for too long. Hence, the nervous pacing. 

When the shower water shut off, Frank’s stomach jolted. He couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. It was you for Christ's sake. At one point, you’d been his best friend, and at every other point, you’d been the woman he had been in love with since the dawn of time. But still, the nerves were an unsettling wave of butterflies in his stomach. 

You cracked the door open and heat from the shower washed over Frank like a tidal wave. Or maybe it was the fact that you were dressed from head to toe in his clothes. It didn’t make you his, but Frank loved the sight of it, all the same. 

“Did you find everything?” Frank asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, except that he loved you, and that would not be vocalized right now. 

“Yeah, Frankie.” A small smile crossed your face when you met his gaze. He saw through your mask. You could not hide from him. “Thank you for...everything. You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

Frank scoffed. “Of course, I did. I would do anything for you. You know that.” 

“I didn’t.” you started, tugging at your sleeves, “Know that, I mean. When I called earlier tonight, I didn’t know what would happen. If you would come or not. After...everything that went down, you know?” 

Frank knew what you meant, though he hadn’t wanted to revisit that memory tonight.  

“Listen,” he started, shaking his head, “I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said to you. I was jealous and hurt, but that’s not an excuse.” 

“It’s fine, Frank.” You waved it away, like it was nothing. 

“No, really. I’m sor-” 

“I forgave you as soon as-” 

“Would you just let me apologize? Please?” 

You smiled, a real genuine smile, and it sent those butterflies in Frank’s stomach into a flurry. It was the first time he’d seen you smile in so long. He couldn’t help himself from grinning along with you. 

“Sorry.” You murmured, grin widening. 

“That’s my line.” Frank retorted. 

“Sorry, again.” You snorted, and the laughter that bubbled out of you sounded like a thirty-piece orchestra in Frank’s ears. He could get drunk off your laughter, relishing in the warmth it brought him. 

When he looked at you again, a pained expression played on your face. 

“What is it?” he asked, softening his voice into a gentle murmur. 

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed.” You shrugged. 

Frank clenched his jaw at the thought of your ex-boyfriend. He eyed the black and blue bruises that marked your skin. 

“Was tonight the first time he hit you?”  

Your gaze locked with his, and he couldn’t stop himself from inching closer to you. He lightly wrapped his hands around yours, and the brush of your skin against his lit a spark so deep within him that his knees nearly buckled. You hadn’t responded to his question, and he couldn’t figure out if that was for your sake or his. 

“No one,” he hardened his features for a moment, a gentle reminder of who he was and what he would do to the people that hurt you, “will ever hurt you again. You hear me? I don’t care who it is. They touch you, they die.” 

An unbending will burned in his gaze, and you slowly nodded your head. Finally, your gaze lowered to where your hands were intertwined, noticing the broken skin over his knuckles. 

“Did you kill him?” You asked, voice so soft Frank had to strain his neck to hear you. 

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He replied, tugging his hands away from yours. Your delicate, intrinsic softness would not be subjected to his violent exploits. You tugged his hands back toward you, eyeing him with a harsh glare. 

“Don’t pull away.” You pleaded. “Just this once.”  

Frank warily placed his hands back into yours. The stark difference between his calloused, bruised, and ugly hands and your soft, innocent ones could’ve been a baroque painting. The thought jolted through him before he could stop it from forming. He did not want to taint your innocence with his blood-soaked hands. 

“Stop that.” You chastised, eyeing him knowingly. You had always been so great at reading what he was thinking. “You are capable of more than just violence, Frank Castle. And you saved my life tonight. You deserve everything you’ve ever wished for.” 

Frank lifted his gaze at your last sentence, unable to stop his eyes from wandering toward the person he’d always wished for but was too chicken to do anything about. 

“What’s that look mean?” You asked, knowingly. 

This was dangerous territory. You were towing a line that you and Frank had circled around since you’d met each other. Would tonight be another ‘almost’ to add to his endless cycle of memories with you? This was dangerous territory, but Frank didn't care anymore. 

“You know what it means.” He murmured, swallowing thickly. “What it’s always meant.” 

You didn’t reply for a moment, watching his expression morph from despair to something different, something heavier.  

“Yeah.” You finally said, inching your body closer to his. You were so close now that your chests were touching, and your lips were mere inches apart. “I know.” 

“Yeah?” He asked. He was so close now that he could smell the faint scent of his body wash on your skin. 

“Yeah.” Your chin dipped in a nod, and Frank was there to meet it. 

His lips captured yours in a kiss that melted away every bad thing that had ever happened between the two of you. You moaned into the kiss, allowing his tongue to brush over yours and into your mouth. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you fully against him.  

It might’ve been ten minutes or two hours – you didn’t know or care – but the kiss deepened, and suddenly you were pulling Frank’s shirt up his torso and over his head. He gently led you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed and you flopped down, pulling him down with you. 

Your lips remained connected as he undressed you, pulling every article of clothing from your body at an agonizing pace. When he finally pulled away to unbutton his jeans, the sight of yellowing bruises across your stomach paused his movements.  

“Not the first time, then?” He lightly brushed his fingers over the old bruises. The sight of them made him sick. 

“No.” You replied, voice soft. “Not the first time.” 

Frank sighed deeply, reminding himself that you were no longer in danger. He had saved you, and no one would ever touch you again. 

“Why’d you call me tonight?” He asked. It was a nagging question that had been bouncing around in his head since his phone had first rung so many hours before. There was probably a better time to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. If he’d been hitting you for this long, why’d it take you so long to call him for help? 

You looked up at him with such immense sadness that his chest reflectively tightened in response.  

“Because I missed you.” Your voice cracked when you said it. “And because I love you. And because I knew you’d keep me safe, even if you were still mad at me.” 

Frank looked down at you, unflinching in his gaze, and nodded. He was afraid if he spoke, he might let out the guttural sob that had formed deep in his stomach. He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours again. 

It was a hurried flurry of movement – the kiss had quickly developed into something more – and soon, Frank was pushing himself in, and in, and in to your core. You were warm and wet, and Frank was fighting for his life as you stretched around his hard cock. When he finally began thrusting deep inside of you, the only coherent thought that he could muster were the three words he had been so terrified to say to you all these years. 

“I love you.” He said as he thrusted into you. “I’ll always protect you. I love you so much.”  

You widened your legs, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you. He chanted your name like a mantra under his breath as he continued to drive himself into you. The look on your face was so incredibly intense that he had to shut his eyes for a moment and block out the feeling of your wet cunt clenching around his cock. A soft hand pressed against his cheek startled his eyes open. 

“You’re mine. And I’m yours.” You murmured, and it undid you both. Frank could barely hold himself above you, arms wobbling as he came so deep inside you that he was sure no one had ever coated your walls so thoroughly. You clenched around him, and it was dizzying. He’d never felt so full after giving all of himself away to someone. 

He collapsed next to you, cradling your head in his hands as you both returned to Earth. The sun crept across the room as the rest of New York woke for the day, unaware that Frank Castle’s entire world had just shifted in his tiny apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. He gazed at your fluttering eyelids, close to sleep now that the events of the night had caught up to you. He didn’t mind. You were here, and he was holding you in his arms, and you were his, and he was yours, and he didn’t mind it one bit. 

Tag List:

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[xjustakay]

(8/14) prompt: hockey — 868 words (figure skater Reg/hockey player James) @jegulus-microfic

Regulus wasn’t a fan of early mornings until he realized that’s the only way he gets a proper moment of peace at the rink. No cousins there to compete with for perfection, no mother barking insults disguised as coaching. Just him and the ice; the smooth familiarity of his skates, the cold biting against his cheeks, and some time to focus on something that’s not the whirlwind in his mind.

He’s a little bit sore today, in ways not entirely regular for him, but he’s pointedly ignoring the why. Honestly, he’s grateful he asked for early access to the rink prior to his official practice. Saves him from wincing through his stretches in front of an audience when the gently throbbing ache in his hips and lower back hit him. He’s doing a great job at focusing on anything but these reminders while out on the ice.

That is, until there’s the loud clang of a door banging open and then shut, just as he’s landing his triple lutz.

Regulus huffs irritably and lowers his outstretched leg to join the other foot so he can whip around toward the source of the noise. At first it’s just the vague silhouette of someone; could be one of the opening staff members (he knows in his heart that it isn’t). As the person nears the outside of the rink at the opposite end, his inner suspicions are confirmed.

With a scoff, he skates familiarly in another half-lap around the rink. Regulus made sure that he would have plenty of time before the official opening, before any scheduled private practices for the day.

Which means James Potter absolutely should not be here. The hockey practices are in the afternoons and evenings anyway, so it doesn’t make sense for him to be around this early.

Except…

Regulus purposely takes his time to make his way over to him (and if he makes it a point to land another triple along the way just to show off, that’s no one’s business). When Regulus finally lets the glide of his dwindling speed carry him a short distance from the edge of the rink where James is leaning on his forearms, there’s a lazy grin on James’ face.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Regulus says by way of greeting.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” James’ eyes drag down in an all too obvious once-over before returning to Regulus’ face.

He purses his lips tightly, arms folding over his chest. “It’s not open hours yet.”

“Good thing I own the rink, huh?” James toys.

“Your parents own the rink.” Regulus rolls his eyes.

“Semantics.” James waves a hand and stands up so only his hands rest on the wall. “Funny thing happened this morning, you know.”

Grey eyes shift to the side as Regulus sniffs shortly. “I don’t care.”

James is unfazed, laughing lightly at his dismissal. “Didn’t expect to find myself alone in bed when I woke up after what happened last night.”

It’s a good thing Regulus’ cheeks are already tinted pink from his skate, it makes the way that he unfortunately blushes less apparent.

“Or that my hockey jersey is missing, for that matter,” James adds. Regulus’ focus snaps back toward him, finding dark brows lifted and a smug smirk curling at James’ lips. “I know you slept in it and all, but I’m gonna need that back from you, love.”

“I can’t stand you,” Regulus huffs; deflecting.

“Oh, is that why you let me lay you out like that?” James’ grin widens, turns dangerous and dazzling with the flash of his teeth and mirth in his hazel eyes, when Regulus’ mouth falls open with a soft exhale.

Lifting a hand, James beckons him nearer. Regulus doesn’t think his brain and his legs are connected currently, because he moves, closing the couple feet gap to stand directly at the boards in front of him. Without easing back at all, James stays encroached in his space in a way that shouldn’t feel as welcome as it does. There’s warmth coming off of him that Regulus could sink into, if he let himself, and it’s tempting. Just like last night, it’s so fucking tempting.

He hadn’t been good at self-restraint then, either.

James circles a hand around Regulus’ wrist where he holds onto the wall, his thumb sliding beneath the cuff of Regulus’ long sleeve to rub in circles over the knob of bone. Regulus toys his lower lip between his teeth, blinking slowly as his gaze flickers over James’ face so close.

“I’ve got a game tonight,” James says, quieter now.

“I don’t care,” Regulus repeats, but the vague breathlessness of his tone suggests otherwise.

“Mm, I bet.” James squeezes at his wrist once, his lips twitching. “Bring me my jersey then stay to watch me play.”

Regulus leans carefully into the wall between them, his own dark curls brushing James’ forehead briefly. “Not interested in hockey.”

“Maybe not,” James muses. He slides both hands up Regulus’ forearms to his elbows then down again, settling over the back of his cold hands and warming them. “You are interested in me, though.”

And, well. Regulus doesn’t have a solid enough denial for that.

[rocketturtle4]

Be My Favorite - When is the present actually the future?

I’m pretty sure writing this is about to consume my entire Saturday but by the time I wake up tomorrow La Pluie will have been out for 6 hours and my Sunday brain will have other things to think about! (it actually only took about half of it so I'm considering that a win)

I have read through my Tumblr feed for people’s thoughts on the latest Be My Favorite episode and I absolutely have to share because I found that while ideas and themes explored mirrored my own thoughts, the conclusions people were putting forth about where the show might be going were completely different.

(Posts I don't specifically reference in this but that which I definitely read and you should too include @syrena-del-mar and @shouldiusemyname here and @chickenstrangers here )

Also shoutout to @bengiyo because I used your sarge watches to reduce how much I had to go back and watch things.

LETS CLOWN

(am I, am I using it right? I have so many questions about the LINGO and I don’t know who to ask)

My Hypothesis: Kawi is going to be faced with the ultimate choice of remaining in the past or the present when the crystal ball runs out of charge and he will choose to remain in the past where he must face his uncertain future.

Okay, stay with me please

Question 1: When is Kawi actually in the present?

Last week I made a throw away post about the time travel being a metaphor for being unable to skip ahead in life without consequences. In particular this scene (a flashback at the very end of episode 4):

Got my brain thinking about how Kawi and the people around him freeze in their character development whenever he jumps forward, so maybe his present is actually in the past.

EVIDENCE

Timeline 1: OG Future

In this timeline Kawi essentially froze the moment the crystal ball was broken. In the OG Future he is distantly acquainted with classmates, sad for the death of his father (from whom he was distant), distant from Max and has never drunk any alcohol. This is all directly reflective of where he was at the time he broke the crystal ball.

Timeline 2: Future 2 – He’s Pisaengs best man

In this timeline he’s been back in the past, and acted very unlike himself because he assumes he's dreaming. At the end of this timeline he ends up in the very early stages of becoming Piseang’s bestie. We have not yet had serious (feelings) tension between Piseang and Kawi, only a single night of bonding and I would argue that in this particular future timeline, Piseang is not in love with Kawi. He has become a platonic bestie (something that could never happen without the time skip) because these were the emotions Kawi and Piseang had for each other in the past even if these were pretty fledgling emotions when Kawi left. (Also, Kawi now drinks heavily, something he did for the first time in this immediate past when he thought it was a dream).

Timeline 3: Future 3: Piseang is in love with him and abandons his own wedding.

In the past Kawi is more intentional with his actions to change things. We also see his confusion around how he became Piseangs best man because as Kawi continues to grow and learn this option doesn’t make sense (But as a frozen version of the previous past's future…) (I'm losing track of the tense I can feel it)

In this timeline we have only progressed slightly further through the past but all the development was around Kawi and Piseang and Piseang’s growing feelings  (Piseang getting Kawi the plushie happens in this Future’s linked Past). And we come forward to Piseang finally giving into his feelings and kissing Kawi. This scene is very similar to Piseang almost kissing Kawi in the past in the following episode (episode 3) when they fall over because in Piseang’s arc these things happened at a pretty similar point in time, its just that in this future he was frozen at his point of realization until Kawi’s consciousness returned to his body on the morning of Piseang’s wedding. He could only act after Kawi was back to being old!Kawi, because of things being frozen.

Timeline 4: He’s Famous and it’s a mess

In the linked past here, Kawi has JUST debuted as a lead singer, has turned down Piseang kindly but Piseang has made his devotion clear, has decided to date Pear ‘because he’s in love with her’ BUT Pear is feeling uncertain about her place in Kawi’s life (evidence: both the bar scene with Not, and the hospital scene) and is friends with Max again. (Also I'm not sure if I already linked @lurkingshans post with Kawi 'interupting his own growth arc midstream.' it definitely kicked my brain into gear)

In the future he is a famous singer, distant but close to Piseang, and friends with Max (why has Max stuck with him huh?) also Not and Pear and Kwan provide, in my opinion, strong evidence for their frozenness because we’ve just seen in the past that Not has feelings for Pear and Kwan has feelings for Not, and this is the exact feelings scenario we get in the future. There has been no change. They're frozen in their feelings from 12 years ago.

We also have had posts about the idea that Kawi has gotten drunk and kissed Piseang multiple times through this jump. (Which makes perfect sense if you freeze his character at this exact point of uncertain feelings that are being ignored) (@piningintrovert here) (also this post where for some reason my @ won't let me tag dropthedemiurge IM SORRY) (also here) @becomingabeing

Also his alcoholism is spiralling because he has not learnt anything about drinking responsibly in the (mere days/weeks) it’s been since episode 1 started (and alcoholism is definitely more complicated, but in this specific context you have an individual that’s just started drinking heavily because they’ve discovered alcohol and their life is super confusing and these habits aren't checked or changed because his growth is frozen, there are simply the consequences) (not saying this is the case just the case in the context of this theory)

Counterpoint

Kawi’s dad has survived surgery in the past but is still dead in the future.

I don’t necessarily think this is strong evidence against my point but it’s worth mentioning.

Question 2:

How does Kawi’s Memory Work in these Futures?

This is a separate thread but it’s related to my theory because in Timeline’s 2 & 3, Kawi appeared to have no memory of the intervening years. (Inference: He hasn't really lived them)

Timeline 4 was a little different but the memories seemed to need specific triggers (speaking aloud, seeing a person) to come back. We saw in his arguments with Pear and Piseang that he DID seem to gain and settle into his memories more as he thought about the intervening past (intervening past = the time between when he left the past and arrived in Future 4).

We see 2 different flashbacks of the ‘Pear leave’s Kawi’ moments. 1 seemed to be Kawi remembering (trigger is when he sees Pear for the first time). 2 seems to be Piseangs own memories (flashbacks are always so frustrating because who is remembering? Is Kawi remembering this too?.

Kawi also just slips into being less jaded and work focused than his (frozen) future self apparently is. (Sudden carfree metaphorical ocean romp definitely relevant here)

ALSO Kawi freaks out about his own memory in episode 7 3/4 10.30 (re Piseang’s new number) (this almost felt like young!Kawi was overlayed with old!Kawi and so we were getting conflicting reasons for the memory lapse (is he sick? did he call Piseangs old number as young!Kawi without thinking?)

Counterpoint

The scene at the very end of episode 7 threw a small but solid spanner in the works of my brain because when does this scene take place? Piseang says eight years, original jump forward was 12 (I think) so therefor this is in the intervening years. Which I kind of thought of as frozen/fairly nonexistent (Except specifically when a character thinks about them) so I am not sure how this scene fits in.

This could be something Kawi will specifically think about before going back in time

(see this post for more clowning @sparklyeyedhimbo)

(side note, his jacket looks super similar to the flashback jacket in this counterpoint scene - it's not the same one though)

How old is Kawi’s brain?

I also made a throw away post about this last week, I have no clearer thoughts on this except that it’s intriguing to ask how old the Kawi traversing between the past and the future actually is? This post is so long I’m just going to link it. It’s not very fleshed out.

Side Point

One thing that floated into my brain while thinking about all this was the recent Step By Step episode and the dissatisfaction everyone felt about the time skips. So often used as a means of progressing a characters life while rarely showing meaningful character growth.

Could this whole show be a commentary on time skips and their conceptual flaws as a means of fast-tracking character growth?

I think it’s a bit of a reach, but I also don’t tend to read into directors/creators intentions as much so I thought I’d put it out there for people to chew over.

Additional hypotheses/questions I’m chewing on:

Q: Will his dad survive if he chooses to stay in the past to take care of him?

Q: How many sets of memories does he have, does he remember any of the intervening past between main past timeline and future 2 and main past timeline and future 3? Are the memories getting overlayed?

Conclusion

 As @lurkingshan pointed out, Kawi interrupts his character growth when he jumps forward in time. We have to go back in time to keep growing. Yet we’ve gone back and forward and back and forward 4 times now and the future is always messy because the characters can’t live on without change for 12 years and still grow together. I could absolutely see the show choosing to go in the direction put forth by @wen-kexing-apologist and @stuffnonsenseandotherthings here also @lurkingshan and @ginnymoonbeam have interesting thoughts about Kawi having to stop trying to change the future and live with his choices to move forward.

It's just that I think he is going to do that in the past giving up his chance to jump forward without growth. Because he has to choose not to know where he is going, to truly live in the present.

Savy?

(please point out all the holes in my theory, I am so invested I need some PERSPECTIVE)

[gloomysoup]

another edition to the nickelback chronicles, brought to you by my missing chad kroeger hours (i promise i'm bringing you other content soon). this is also set in the secrets universe, so i think that's just what these are gonna be from now on. oh, and the song today is far away from all the right reasons (2005). enjoy !

when eddie left, he knew he was going to write a song. well, he knew he was going to write a lot of songs, but he had one in particular brewing in his brain. It would be a slow ballad; something dedicated to steve just like everything else he wrote in those days after leaving. this song was a little different though. this one took him months to finish, which wasn't like any of the other songs he'd written to that point. he wanted to apologize. he wanted steve to know how sorry he was, how much he loved him. it took him a long time to find the right words. the melody came easily, strumming chords on the beat-up old acoustic in the back of the van while one of the others drove for a while.

when the song was finally released, eddie took a chance. he didn't send it to steve directly. he didn't think he deserved to do that, since he's the one that walked away. he sent it to wayne, hoping maybe he could get it to steve, or anyone. he sent it to dustin too, with slightly less hope in him. he knew he didn't deserve anything from them. he wouldn't have blamed anyone if they ignored him.

he never knows if anything came of it. he just goes about his career like it was nothing, like he wasn't putting his entire heart out there for everyone to hear. part of him could never let it go. he needed steve to hear the words, even if he wasn't actually there. they put it on the setlist of almost every tour. eddie fights tears every time, wanting nothing more than to go back to steve. maybe that's why he wrote the second verse of that song, promising to give it all up just to hold steve one last time.

he didn't know that steve listened to that song all the time. every day. later in his pregnancy with their pups, he would sit on the living room floor while robin was out and play the song over and over. the tears always roll down his face as he listens to eddie singing through the speakers, singing to him about their love and how much he misses him. and every time, without fail, the twins follow the sound. they move and kick and push to get closer. after their born, steve stills plays it. it always calmed them down when nothing else worked. as toddlers, he'd sing it or play it when they had nightmares, or weren't feeling well. it was a comfort for them, and for steve. he always told them their dad wrote it for them, even though eddie didn't even know they existed.

when eddie comes back, when he learns that he has pups, when he and steve finally work things out, steve still doesn't tell him about the song. he tries to stop playing it. he doesn't want eddie to know, but he doesn't really know why. it shouldn't be a secret, but for some reason, he keeps it that way. but that all changes early one morning, when gracie crawls into their bed with a stomach ache and a fever. it's around 3am, and she creeps into their room on quiet feet. she climbs in on steve's side, and then crawls over him to get to the middle. she burrows into his chest, her little face pressed into his neck. it wakes steve up. he asks what's wrong, and then he notices the tear tracks on her pale cheeks.

"gracie, baby, what's wrong?" he asks softly, thumbing away her tears and brushing back her sweat-soaked curls. her face was burning up.

"don't feel good," she murmured, pressing herself deeper into steve's chest.

"i'm sorry, honey." he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head.

eddie groaned softly beside them, his eyes fluttering open. "wh's goin' on?" he muttered hoarsely. "everything okay?"

"gracie doesn't feel good. i think she has a fever."

eddie sat up quickly, suddenly much more awake. it was his first experience with sick kids, but steves done this song and dance several times before. the pups are like disease magnets, and when one of them gets sick, the other is never far behind.

"what? a fever?"

"ed, she should be fine. it's probably just a stomach bug."

"but she's sick, steve."

"i promise it will be fine. it should hopefully break in a few hours, and even if it doesn't, she'll be back to normal in just a few days. they're kids, eddie, they've been sick before."

eddie sighed and looked down at gracie, who was still crying and shaking softly in steve's arms. "what can i do to help?"

"uh, can you get a bottle of water, the kids tylenol, and a, um, damp washcloth? oh, and check on oliver while you're up? if she's sick, i doubt he'll be far behind."

eddie nodded and started pushing the covers back to retrieve what steve asked for. he was only gone for a few minutes, and neither steve nor gracie had moved. steve was brushing his fingers through her hair, shushing her softly. when eddie came back, he sat up against the headboard and pulled gracie into his lap. she refused to take the medicine. steve was trying his best to convince her.

"come on, gracie, please? i promise you'll feel better if you take it."

"i want the song."

"which song, honey?" eddie asked, leaning over and rubbing her back. "maybe i know it? i can sing it for you."

steve sighed, knowing he had to tell him. it was probably the only way gracie would take the medicine. it would be the only way they'd get her back to sleep.

"it's one of your songs, eddie," steve whispered. "i used to play it for them all the time."

eddie frowned. "you did? which one?"

steve looked down at gracie, playing with her hair to avoid looking at eddie. "far away. i've been playing it for them their whole lives. i wanted them to know you loved them, even if you didn't really know."

"i never knew you even got that song."

steve glanced at him with a smile. "you gave it to wayne. of course i got it."

"well, that's easy, then." eddie grinned at gracie, brushing back her hair. "why don't i just sing it for you, honey? will that help you feel better?"

gracie nodded, so of course eddie did just that. he sang softly, the whole song, while steve fed her the medicine. then he let her curl up into his chest, rocking back forth as he kept singing. he didn't stop until she was fast asleep again, snoring softly against his bare chest. steve leaned over to kiss eddie's cheek with a smile.

"i love you," he whispered.

eddie smiled back. "i love you too."

"i'm gonna go check on ollie again. you okay here?"

he nodded, reassuring steve they'd be fine. steve came back in several minutes later, carrying oliver in his arms.

from then on, eddie took every chance he could to sing that song for his family. if the band was on tour, eddie would sing it to them on the phone every night before they went on stage. it was one of his favorite parts about being their dad. he loved to sing to them. he loved singing his songs to them. he thanked the universe every day that he got this chance. he wouldn't give it up for anything.

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 18

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 2,618

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

January 7th, 2022 

‘Can you call me when you have time? I need to talk to you.’ 

Chris’ brows furrowed as he saw Nat’s notification pop up on his laptop, leaving him with little to go off of as the simple message disappeared just as quickly as it’d appeared. He frowned as he thought over the message, hands itching to at least text her back, but before he could, Mark joined the Zoom call, his smiling face doing little to distract Chris as they prepped for the quick call with the others involved with the project. 

Nat’s text lingered in his mind throughout the whole call, never leaving the forefront of his focus even as they planned out the next several months’ worth of interviews for the website.  He’d only been back in Boston for a few days, having gone back to Los Angeles for a few days with their whole group after skiing in Washington over the last chunk of the holiday. Chris had planned on staying in Los Angeles a bit longer, but he had quickly found out that Nat’s suggestion had proved to be a good one when he realized just how busy she was with two projects overlapping at once. 

What had been a manageable schedule for her in the summer and fall, allowing them to spend nearly every evening and weekend together interruption-free, had been spun on its head. Nat was in her office from early in the morning to late at night, barely pulling her attention off of work long enough to text Chris that she was too swamped to come over for dinner or make game night, and what little time they got with each other during the week was then reduced to only a quick kiss before bed, if he was lucky. Her point was true, that him being there would only stress her out more and force her to sacrifice something to make his presence worthwhile, and so with that in mind, he packed himself and Dodger back up and took a flight home the previous day. 

But now with that ominous text looming in his mind, he couldn’t help but let his anxiety spiral, wondering what it could possibly mean. He hoped that it was just Nat feeling stressed and needing to process it or her asking when he was coming back to Los Angeles, but he knew deep down that it was something else otherwise she wouldn’t have asked to have this conversation over the phone versus just texting him about it as it popped in her brain…. Especially in the middle of her hectic work day. The minute his meeting was over and his laptop closed, he sat there for a long moment, debating on whether it was better to put off whatever bad news this would be until later or if he should just get it over with. 

After a nervous few minutes, he grabbed his phone and clicked on her name, his leg anxiously bouncing as he sat at the table waiting for her to pick up before he directly asked, “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Is this a good time? Like do you have a few minutes?” She asked Chris, her voice a bit distracted as she moved around on the other end of the call. 

“Yeah I just finished my meeting,” he assured her, his brows furrowed as he listened and heard a door shut on her end. “What’s going on, Nat?” 

She hesitated, quiet for a moment before she began, “I just um, I wanted to talk about Palm Springs…” 

Chris stared up at the ceiling above him, eyes moving over the smooth white paint on it. He had a sinking feeling inside of him, one that had settled in his stomach nearly an hour and a half ago when she’d texted him. “...You can’t go, can you?” He asked her, voice low and soft. 

“I technically can but I just don’t see how I’m going to be able to,” Nat confessed, apologetic as Chris’ lips downturned and he listened to her explanation. “That week is the official last week of Lightyear and then I also have meetings with the higher ups for Inside Out so it’s going to be really busy already let alone with me taking off on Wednesday afternoon to go to Palm Springs.” 

Although Chris knew where this was headed from the first moment she mentioned Palm Springs, it didn’t take away the sting of disappointment. He had been looking forward to the little getaway with Nat, just the two of them, before he was launched into thousands of miles separating them as he went from filming to press and then more filming for the rest of the year. It'd been planned from the moment he'd gotten his filming schedule for the early part of the year and had seen that the first week started on Valentine's Day. He and Nat were looking forward to hiding away from the world to celebrate the holiday early together, just before work pulled them apart. That was going to be their last bit of quality time together, not a thing in the world distracting them before he had to leave and now it was taken away. 

The line was quiet for a moment before Nat’s tentative voice asked, “Chris? Are you upset?” 

“No, of course not,” he rushed to reassure her. He was dismayed of course by the change in plans, and upset that they wouldn’t get that time just to themselves, but he knew Nat was needed in Los Angeles… maybe a little too much. “I mean, sure I’m disappointed but I understand.” 

“This is just crazy right now with both projects overlapping,” she admitted to him, and he could hear her on the other end of the line as she began typing at her computer, a chiming notification sounding to alert her to a new email. 

“Nat, if I’m bein’ honest, I’m a little worried about you,” Chris began delicately. He knew she’d been working almost non-stop since Monday, only leaving to eat whatever cold leftovers Chris had packaged away for her from what was supposed to be a shared dinner, then to fall into bed and repeat the cycle the following day. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure she’d done any of that the previous night while he and Dodger flew home. He had no way to know if she’d eaten, or gotten a solid night’s sleep, or if she’d drank enough water and wasn’t surviving off of over-caffeinated cups of cold brew. It wasn’t sustainable, and his concern was evident as he asked, “Are you doing alright with all of this?” 

“I’m fine,” she brushed off the concern, her voice sounding distant as she continued typing. Chris pushed Dodger’s wet nose off of his lap as he listened to Nat dismissively explain, “It’s just until mid February, and then things will be better.” 

But his frown grew deeper as he listened to her, not seeing an end to this workload. She was moving from one project to the next, one with a lot more moving parts than this, including the initial stages. “Are you going to be able to make it until then, though? That’s a long time,” he tried to tell her. 

“I can handle it, I know how to do my job,” she defensively shut him down, her words sending alarm signals to Chris’ brain. He knew that. He knew she was amazing at what she did, but she was to a fault. And all of this career-driven stress and running on empty was the exact opposite of what she’d shared as her goal the previous month, wanting to give herself more time outside of the Disney Campus to dedicate to self-care, to fill her bucket by creating more outside of work. But now she was barely even stepping foot outside of her own office, let alone having time to develop her own creative passions and delve more into her own personal wants. 

“I know you do… that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to,” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes watched Dodger as the dog looked out the window at the large yard and the sunset before he made his way over to his bed and laid down. Chris’ voice was quiet as he admitted to her, “I’m just concerned about these long hours.” 

“It sucks, but it’s temporary so I can do it,” Nat stubbornly insisted. She sighed deeply before he heard her computer chime with another email’s arrival. “It’s been a big deal for me to be the lead character designer for Buzz and now for Inside Out so I don’t want to throw that away in this final stretch.” 

“I get that, I just love you and I get worried about you, ya know,” Chris shrugged, feeling helpless all the way out in Massachusetts as she ran herself ragged back in California. 

“I know you do and it means a lot to me,” she assured him, her voice sounding much more honest than it had only moments ago. She sighed, hesitating before she murmured, “I’m just sorry about Palm Springs.” 

“It’s okay Nattie, don’t stress about it,” Chris reassured her. He knew she felt awful, canceling the trip that’d been her birthday present from him, but he knew she had to look out for herself. Having that pressure of the trip looming over her and not wanting to have anything to do for work that weekend likely would’ve hurt her more had she not canceled, and he had to be a little proud of her for recognizing that much. But he was disappointed, and he could admit that much. “Maybe we could do something, a little weekend trip or something like that one weekend coming up when you aren’t as busy.” 

He could almost see the sad smile on her face as she quietly admitted, “I’d love to but I’m just not sure when that would be.” 

“Okay… well just let me know,” he whispered, struggling to know just what to think at all of this. He missed her, he missed her more than anything each time they were separated, but right now… he was confused. He was worried. And he wasn’t sure how to help her, especially when she had all-but bitten his head off for a small sign of concern. “I really want to spend some time with you.” 

“I know, I want to be with you too. Maybe you could come out in the middle of the month, I might not have to work as late in the evenings then,” she suggested, just as her typing resumed. 

He nodded to himself, making a mental note to look at what he had scheduled then. “I’ll plan on that then,” he assured her. 

“Okay, hey I’m sorry but I really need to go. I have so much work I need to get done,” she whispered, her voice back to sounding distant as she kept working. 

“Alright,” he whispered, biting his lower lip as he listened to her. 

“Chris?” She asked, almost at the very last moment. “...I really love you.” 

He smiled at those words, feeling some confidence and hope again. “I love you too Nattie. So fuckin’ much,” he promised her. 

And Chris knew how painfully true that was. He loved her more than anything which is why moments apart made this so much harder. His brain kept jumping back and forth between feeling the frustration at Nattie prioritizing her work over having time for their relationship and then feeling hypocritical with his own job taking him away for sometimes months on end. Chris really had been looking forward to that long weekend away and at first thought maybe his frustration was more at that than anything, but once he had gotten up move over to the couch where he could scratch Dodger more easily, he started sorting through his thoughts a bit more and realized that wasn’t it at all. At the heart of his frustration was concern for his Nattie. 

All that was happening just felt… off. 

After her art show she had talked about wanting to pursue more of her own creative passions, not having her whole creative career being created for Pixar. But now here she was nearly giving up her whole life for her job and although he knew that it was true what she said, that it was temporary, part of him wondered if it really was. He had come to see how conflicted Nat could feel when it came to her career. She was so different from her family, not being the cerebral career women her sisters were working in healthcare and tech. Nat was creative and sensitive, with so much passion and emotion in everything she did. He knew how much her single father had given up to send her to art school and how hard Nat had worked at Pixar to move her way up and when he even thought about it, he was so fucking proud of her. But there was something about this that just didn’t feel sustainable or even quite right for Nat. 

He remembered being in those meetings last year and just falling in love with the way Nat spoke about things being visually communicated in Lightyear and how good she was at figuring out how to convey emotion and stories through art. She was practically gushing with passion every time she spoke about an aspect of her job and although he knew that she still loved it, most things recently had been more about what she felt she needed to do for her job or about the path she felt pressured for her career to go. 

Chris felt like there was a piece of his exuberant and uninhibited artist that was falling into the corporate part of her job and although he knew from being in a creative industry himself that some of those things went hand in hand, he didn’t want to see her throw all of it away. She’d shared with him before how for so long she felt like there were so many things wrong with her personality from wearing every emotion on her sleeve to not wanting success in the normal sense that society viewed it, but here she was devoting herself completely to her job and taking on more than he thought any one person would be able to handle. He knew Nat felt like she had something to prove, in his observation more to herself than anyone, that she could make art a worthwhile endeavor and wanted to prove she could handle all of this, not realizing that it didn’t make a difference to anyone if she couldn’t. 

He knew Nat was determined to a fault, that she’d never put anything before her commitments and promises to others, but he was hopeful he could open her eyes a bit more. She’d seemed to have a realization in December, and despite slipping back into the grind of her career, he knew that deep down, they’d get through this. He’d already been a bit worried about how much of a toll this year could take on them, between his schedules with three projects and two press tours and Nat’s busy calendar at Disney, and that this trip was supposed to give them both some time to connect and be together before that all started. But despite losing that weekend together, he himself was determined, not to solve all of Nat’s problems overnight, but to brainstorm on how to help her and most of all, support her through every step of the way. 

A/N: We'll be back next week with a new chapter!

[pinkiepiebones]

Prompt: Rain has something he wants to show Copia! Copia is. Less thrilled than Rain is.

Sometimes, the band ghouls forget themselves. They forget that, despite the internet's insistence to the contrary, they are not human. They are strange, inorgangic things, dredged up from and formed in the noxious lakes of Hell itself, spat onto plutonian shores, and birthed into servitude through a summoning circle in a storage basement. They are unnerving mouthless gargoyles with cloven hooves and curved talons and eyes as black and pitiless as a distant mother's heart. They speak inside the mind in a tone which sets aflame a human's deepest, bowel-clenching dread.

So when the bassist ghoul jumped in front of Copia and shouted- actually, it was more like "aimed and projected it's telepathy directly into the sixty-something year old's brain"- as Copia was walking to the Papal kitchen for some coffee, Copia was understandably taken aback.

//PAPA//

Copia reeled and grabbed his head with his gloved hands. "Ghoul!" he shouted- actually, it was more like "very loud and stern speech, no I am not yelling at you, will you please listen to me for once"- and the ghoul immediately bowed it's head.

//MY BAD// it said more gently.

Copia nodded, still a bit dizzy. Not everyone in the clergy could withstand the oppressive weight of a ghoul's speech, and even he got wary of it sometimes. But hhe gestured for the ghoul to continue.

//COME AND SEE//

"Wh-" Before Copia could finish his attempt at a question, a dark grey talon was wrapped around his wrist, and the nameless ghoul called Rain was dragging the church leader outside into the drizzly morning. Copia quietly lamented getting his clerical slippers wet on the damp grass of the grounds. Rain was unaware; it was too busy chanting //COME AND SEE// to notice Copia was not as eager to walk through mud in the early hours.

Finally, Rain stopped and let go of the Papa's wrist. It stood beside him, one scaly arm snaked behind him, talons threatening to dig into the satin shoulder of his clerical pajamas. The other arm was outstretched, a single talon pointing to a completely unimpressive puddle that had formed as a result of the previous night's storms.

Copia's eyes screwed shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, very nice, now-"

The ghoul squeezed the Papa tighter and shook him slightly.

//SEE, SEE//

Copia opened his eyes.

A small frog had poked it's head up from the puddle.

Rain's wings fluttered against it's back and it gestured with both hands at the tiny amphibian.

//SEE//

Copia closed his eyes again.

"Yes, a very nice find, indeed. I'm-" he yawned. "I am going back inside now." He made sure to give the ghoul an approving pat on it's feathery head. "Good find, ghoul. Good job. Don't, eh, don't try to catch it, okay? You can be friends with it here, outside."

//KERMIT//

Copia blinked. "Excuse me?"

//I NAMED IT.//

Copia nodded, tired beyond measure. "You sure did, buddy." He navigated back through the mud and grass as the ghoul settled down to commune with it's incredible find.

~end~

ETA: since this is doing such numbers and people seem to enjoy my weird ghouls, please consider checking out FRAGMENTS- it's where I'm collecting all of the minifics I've written over the past five years!

[dira333]

The Road Not Taken - part 5

Shibi x  female reader with a name - arranged marriage

Summary: Airi Nara seems a hopeless case, until her grandmother sets her up for an arranged marriage. But was marrying Shibi Aburame the right choice after all?

Character Sheet - Masterlist

Exhaustion has settled heavy in your legs as you walk through the door. Shibi’s gourd is leaning against the wall next to his shoes, telling you that he’s home.

You want to do nothing but fall into bed right now but your stomach is painfully reminding you that you haven’t eaten in hours.

If you sit down you’ll not get up again so you locate some leftovers from dinner and a bag of gummy bears and scarf it down standing, leaning against the wall for support.

A few Kikaichu fly past your face as you open the door to your room. You take two steps and drop down on your comforter, too tired to bother with closing the door or slipping out of your clothes. 

Sleep is pulling you in fast, the only thing keeping you awake is the feeling of your belt buckle digging into your stomach. 

You’re fighting yourself, trying to gain enough strength to turn on your side or back, when a a low noise comes from behind you.

“Airi?” Shino’s not wearing his glasses or his usual overcoat and you can see the growing redness on his milky white arms as he stops in front of you. “My skin is itchy. Can you bathe me?”

“Shino?” You raise your head slightly to glance at your alarm clock. “It’s half past five. Why are you awake already?”

“My skin is itchy.” He repeats, his annoyance made visible when bugs start crawling over his skin. “You’ve got to bathe me.”

“Can’t your father do it? He’s going to wake up in half an hour anyway.”

Something dark moves over Shino’s features and the truth cuts through your exhaustion like a hot knife through butter.

Shino might be an Aburame, quiet and polite to a fault, but he might also be the first to show you his real self, accepting you as part of this family the only way he can. 

He’s four years old. He wants your attention and, more importantly, your help. 

You wanted to be a mother for so long and today is just another day where you have to prove that you can do it.

“Alright.” You move to get up. “I’m coming. Does your skin get itchy often?”

“Sometimes.” He pulls you forward by the hem of your skirt and points at the array of tubs and bottles in the tiny bathroom that he uses. 

“Normally the blue bottle is enough but when it gets really itchy, I have to scrub down with the red one and lather the skin with the green one.”

You grab the two tubs, the height of the shelves telling you that he’d not been wrong in calling you.

Well, he could have called his father, but you suppose this was Shino’s thing. Finding ways to have skin-on-skin contact without ever asking for it directly.

Grateful for the little stool you sit down and wait until he’s stripped out of his sleep wear before lathering your hands in a body scrub that smells faintly of lavender and honey. 

“Can you do me a favor?” You ask softly as you start scrubbing his back, noticing the texture of his skin, soft yet covered in tiny holes barely big enough to see, holes the Kikaichu use to move through.

“Can you talk to me? I’m really tired and you need to keep me awake.”

“Okita was really loud last night,” Shino tells you, too awake for this early hour. Your brain needs half a second to register what he said and even longer to connect the dots. 

The kitten. You’d forgotten the kitten. You’d put it in your room with food and a makeshift toilet before you left, hoping against all odds that you’d be able to tell Shibi in the morning instead of him hearing it from the other two.

“Yeah?”

“I was already in bed but Okita was so loud that I got up and went to see if it was hurt. But it just wanted to escape the room. Father was downstairs.”

“What did he say?” 

“He was surprised. Annoyed when Okita did not want to stay in your room. He sent me back to my room. Why? It was late and I needed to sleep.”

“Did you have a nice evening with Chiasa?”

“What were you doing at work?” 

He avoids the question two more times until you give in and let him direct the conversation.

Eventually, you’d massaged the last drop of lotion into his skin and sit back.

“Now… Do you want to go back to bed for a little bit longer?”

He nods and walks out of the bathroom only to walk into your room instead of his, climbing onto your bed.

“Shino?” You’re too tired to argue, too exhausted to question his need to be closer each day.

“Okita doesn’t like being alone,” Is his reasoning and you suppose it’s good enough, climbing into bed next to him, offering him your arm to slip under.

His hair tickling your chin is the last thing you feel before you finally succumb to your exhaustion.

-.-.-.-.- Shibi -.-.-.-.-

He wakes to a weight on his chest that’s vibrating in harmony with his hive.

When he opens one eye, he can see the faint outline of black fur in the dim morning light. The kitten has curled into a ball on top of him, purring loudly as if to make up for the noise it had been making the better part of last night.

Shibi never had a pet. Why would he? He had his Kikaichu to take care of.

He couldn’t name one member of the Aburame Clan ever having a pet and even his mother could only name one distant cousin who once tried to tame ravens but failed to do so.

Everything in him wants to put a stop to this notion as quickly as he can.

Mother had been surprisingly reluctant to voice her opinions, only offering vague answers until she had decided that she did not want to be disturbed anymore, forcing his Kikaichu from her house and thereby ending their conversation, leaving him to his own devices.

He tried putting the kitten out onto the patio but the tiny feline had been yowling so loudly only seconds after he closed the door that he had been forced to let him in again.

It does not feel good to be so helpless against the whims of an animal, especially one that wasn’t even fully matured. 

It feels even worse knowing that he’d have to let you handle it in the future, no matter what they would decide.

He heaves a sigh. 

What they would decide. He, the Clan Head, is too weak to make his own decisions.

But is it really a weakness? 

No one has ever called him weak for listening to Zoka when she was alive, instead praising his empathy and understanding.

He loved Zoka before she loved him and he knows without a doubt that he is already falling in love with you, not knowing if you’d ever love him.

When he gets up eventually, the kitten curled up on his arm, tiny claws attaching themselves to him whenever he dares move it, Shino’s bedroom door is wide open but the boy is not inside. 

He finds him in your room instead, squinting at him over the top of your arm that’s curled around his chest, your face pressed into his hair.

Wordlessly he orders his son to get up. You need your sleep.

Shino refuses, the furrow of his eyebrows and the emotion in his eyes clearly visible without his glasses on. Shibi’s eyebrows rise. This is unusual.

With a tiny mewl, the feline rises from its place on his arm and jumps onto the bed, settling in the tiny space where your body doesn’t touch Shino’s, eyeing Shibi as if to ask him what he’s still doing there, standing up.

He’s questioning it himself, not sure if this isn’t just a weird dream.

After all, in the reality he knows, he does not have a kitten or a son that does not listen to what he was told. 

One of Shino’s Kikaichu crosses him, telling him to please close the blinds and the door and Shibi gives up, following his son's orders instead of enforcing it to be the other way around.

He does, however, inform him that he’s making breakfast and wants him down to eat with him.

But he’s no fool. He can only hope his son will grow hungry instead.  Why? He will not risk waking you up in favor of dragging Shino down.

-

By the time you come down for lunch, Shino’s been acting as well-behaved as ever for hours. 

Shibi had not enjoyed the lecture he had to give, probably even less than Shino enjoyed listening to it.

But he seemed to understand as much as a four-year-old could understand that there was a difference between sleeping at night and sleeping during the day. That a nap was different than catching up on the sleep you’d missed because you worked through the night.

All self-restraint seems to fly out the window, however, when your feet hit the last step of the staircase.

Shino’s by your side in a second, his eyes roving over your face as his Kikaichu already claim your arm.

“You look tired.” His observation is spot on, but you stop to smile.

“I am tired.” You tell him honestly, “But that’s something I have to deal with during night shift week. It would be unfair if I’d be the one who never had to work night shifts, you know?”

“Did you sleep less because I was there?” 

Shibi flinches at the question and avoids your eyes when you look at him.

“You were not a distraction if that’s what you ask. But I never sleep well after a night shift. That’s just how it is.”

“Can I help?” Shino’s face is open, his attention completely on you. 

Shibi can’t look away either, not when a warm smile lights up your face.

“I feel like I missed out on taking you to bed last night. Can we hug a bit while the coffee brews?”

She opens her arms for him and he steps forward cautiously, letting out a surprised gasp and a cloud of Kikaichu when you lift him up easily, your arms crossed under his legs to hoist him up.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You smile, his face close to yours. “Now, tell me what you did all morning without me, would you?”

Shibi’s mind is split in two. One half is happy, can’t stop watching the way Shino relaxes against you. It reminds him of different times when Shino was clinging to him instead. 

You’re good with the boy, allowing him to be a child with all that entails.

But he can never stop worrying. 

Isn’t Shino too heavy to be carried around this much? Should he get used to it again now that he’s four? He’s going to start advanced training soon and falling back into old habits won’t do him any good there. If he won’t stop clinging to you, it will affect all of them negatively when you have to leave for work.

Right after lunch, Toshiko knocks on the door, asking politely if Shino wants to come with her and Muta for the day. There’s work to do at the pumpkin patches and Muta promises to play with him as well.

Shino seems hesitant, torn between the idea of playing with Muta and staying with you.

“You should go.” Shibi tries to encourage him. “We need to have a grown-up talk anyway.”

As if on cue, Shino’s rebellious streak from this morning returns, his lower lip jutting forward in a pout. Before he can speak, however, you lower yourself to his height and whisper something into his ear. 

Shino considers it for a long moment before he nods and turns to Toshiko.

“I’ll get my shoes. Did you know that we have a cat? His name is Okita.”

Toshiko looks surprised, even more so when Shino does not only bring his shoes but Okita as well, the feline mewing loudly in protest at being woken up.

“We found her yesterday.” You explain, taking the kitten from Shino’s hands. “We’re not sure if we can really keep her or if she already belongs to someone. But she seems to like Shino.”

The truth, Shibi has already understood, is far simpler. Okita, like everyone else in the Aburame household, likes you. All the other people are just there to be used as pillows or food dispensers.

--.-.-.-.- Airi -.-.-.-.-

When Shino has left and Okita has settled in one of the arm chairs, the house falls silent.

It would be so easy to let yourself fall into that silence, to let it carry you away.

But this is something you have to talk about, even if you’re used to keeping your head low and your questions to yourself.

“Chiasa,” you ask because it’s been on the tip of your tongue for some while, “Is she your mother?”

Shibi looks up from the tea he’s been pouring, surprise evident on his features even without his eyes being visible.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“No one ever introduced us that way.” You explain, trying to keep your voice light. “And I can’t go on assuming things, can I? You- Do you communicate through the bugs? The Kikaichu, I mean?”

Shibi nods again. “Yes. We can hold complete conversations through them. It’s difficult for Shino. Why? He has not many people around that need him to use words. He is not used to explaining himself.”

“I’ve noticed. Do the…” You stop for a second, the incident from yesterday still fresh in your mind. “Do the Kikaichu only respond to commands or would they respond to something less formulated as well?”

“What do you mean?”

You explain quickly what happened, both at Yori’s house and with Shikamaru. Shibi’s shoulders are squared when you end, his hands tight around the tea cup he’d been offering you.

“You should not have gone outside the complex without help. I’ve noticed today how he used his Kikaichu to keep you close but this was highly dangerous. You have no expertise in stopping him should he lose control.”

“Then show me.” You interrupt his agitated speech calmly even though your own heart races. Thinking how it could have turned out instead is not good for you nerves.

“I don’t think you-” You interrupt him again, this time with a quick movement of your hands.

“Please hand me my tea.” You instruct him but he does not move.

“What?” His voice is strained now as he tries to fight the shadow bindings.

“I am not helpless. I just need instructions.” You explain. A cloud of black Kikaichu erupts from his sleeve instead, carrying the teacup towards you.

“And you misunderstand the danger of the Kikaichu.”

“If Shino’d really be this dangerous, you would not have let me be alone with him at all.” You remind him softly and accept the tea, cutting the shadow bindings as you do so.

“Let’s sit down.” You feel tired again but this discussion isn’t something you can escape from. “You wanted to tell me your opinion on the matter.”

-

Shibi is quiet for a long moment and you let him gather his thoughts.

“There are four things we need to discuss today.” He begins, his hands resting on his knees, palms down. He looks calm and collected but you’re starting to realize that there might be hiding more under the surface.

“First, I have thought of unwritten rules you need to know to keep up a united front. I did not think Shino would ever rebel against a rule until today. He was instructed to let you sleep and yet he must have woken you at some point.”

“I wasn’t asleep yet when he came by. He told me that he was itchy and needed my help to bathe.”

Shibi looks surprised. “He did not complain about it at all the night before. But I have noticed that he’s looking for reasons to spend time with you. As much as it pleases me that he likes you, you cannot give in too easily and spoil him. He used to be like that with me when he was about two years old. He was clinging to me every minute I was home and when I had to leave for work or missions, he’d cry and be inconsolable.”

“Shibi.” He looks up from his hands that are now gripping the fabric of his trousers. 

“He’s four.” You remind him softly, “If he wants to cuddle, he should be able to do so. I know we have a lot of work to do but suppose…” You hesitate and let the thought form itself properly, thankful that Shibi gives you the time and space for it.

“Suppose we arrange half an hour a day where he gets to cuddle us. Individually. Just like we told him that nap time was important if he wanted to be able to stay up longer. I did agree to cuddle with him before I had to leave for work so maybe that would help?”

“Half an hour?” Shibi’s voice sounds contemplative. “Just cuddling? What would that entail?”

It’s the way he asks, suddenly so unsure of himself, that makes you reach out and close one of your hands around his, your eyes fixed on his glasses. 

“It’s about skin-to-skin contact. Hugging, holding hands, just sitting next to each other and touching as you work. Whatever you both feel comfortable with.”

You move to release his hand but he tenses for the tiniest fraction of a second and you stop, unsure how to proceed.

Shibi is your husband. As far as you can tell, he’s a nice man. One that’s probably even more touch starved than his son. Maybe, just maybe, the Aburame Clan isn’t just as touch starved as any other Shinobi. Maybe it’s even worse.

Softly you lifted your joined hands from his knee and place them on the couch cushions between you, smiling encouragely at Shibi.

“So, cuddling hour… what else?”

Your hands are still entwined when he agrees to the cat.

He pulls back, however, when he addresses the third thing on his list. His wife.

“I have thought about it.” He admits, his voice low. “And I do understand your reasoning. But I have no idea how to introduce her into Shino’s life like nothing happened.”

“It will come up,” you promise him, “And when it does, you can try and answer as truthfully as you possibly can. If you want it to come up when you’re ready for it, bring out something that used to be hers. Shino’s a curious kid. He will ask.”

“Did you have something like that?” Shibi asks. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“My mother died first.” You tell him softly. “And she left me this quilted blanket made from all my old baby clothes. It grew with me, you could say. There’s a story attached to every square of this blanket and in the short time between my mother’s and my father’s death, it soothed both of us to sit there and look at every square and talk about it. I still have it and like to look at it when times get rough.”

“I do not want to undermine your position in this household.” Shibi’s voice is scratchy now, tick with feeling too.

You freeze for a second, realizing what he’s talking about.

“Wouldn’t she want you to be happy?” You ask, your voice mirroring his now. “Because if the roles were reversed, I’d want Jurou to be happy. I might have to remind myself sometimes that I’m allowed to be happy without him, but I know he’d want me to be happy. And I think it’s important that children know that their parents ultimately want them to be happy.”

After that conversation, the two of you fall quiet again.

It’s a heavy, but comfortable quiet, like a thick wollen blanket in winter.

Even though the topic feels fit for a late night or a rainy afternoon, the sun outside is shining bright and you can hear birds singing outside, Okita perched at the window to watch them fly.

Your eyes always come back to Shibi.

You think that even without the high collar and the sunglasses it would be hard to read him, his face not giving much of his thoughts away. 

Maybe it’s the time spent with Shino that makes you more attuned to him, though, seeing features and behaviors repeated in this smaller version of him.

Their eyebrows are the same and even though their angle suggests that they’re always annoyed, you’ve come to notice how they look when they truly are annoyed.

You wonder how much longer it will take you to read Shibi like a book and if that’s ever going to be possible.

He pulls you out of your reverie when he leans forward and puts one large hand on your right, entwining his fingers with yours.

“The last point,” he starts and you can hear it, the little quiver in his voice, that tells you that he’s nervous. 

“This has been a quiet house. Why? Partly because we have been communicating in a different way, but we also do not speak if we feel we have nothing important to say. It has changed since you arrived. Shino talks a lot more. But you might still need a lot of patience with Shino and me. Why? Shino wants to talk to you but he is not used to verbal communication. He will tell you what he’s learned again and again and again. And I…”

He stops, his mouth a tense line. 

You can’t help but assume that like in most things, he’s like his son too. He wants to talk, but he doesn’t know how or what about.

“I like talking to you.” You realize just how true these words are when they slip from your mouth. Shibi is always calm and patient, never one to judge your words before you’ve got a chance to explain yourself. The past years and experiences might leave you tense in most conversations, afraid to ask questions, but Shibi’s calm presence is like the ease you never knew you could have.

“How about that…” You offer softly, “I will ask any question that comes to my mind and you will do the same? That way we’ll obviously have to talk more.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. Only a heartbeat later he opens his mouth again.

“What is your favorite snack?”

You can’t help but laugh at that question. “I… Gosh, I have no idea. But I usually go shopping like this…”

[karaonasi]

BaxScar FanFic

Scarlett belongs to @minthe-drawings

And I wanted to write a little fanfic for them ❤️🤍🖤

Baxter’s POV

—-

The light was much too bright.

Still, it was too early.

Too early to deal with being awake.

Where…

I reached around, searching. Dammit. Did I just dream it was one of her too-rare visits?

I swear, these separations from her get harder and harder to take each time. I sighed and fell back into the sheets, feeling cold without her there. And lonely. Maybe…maybe she would be available to talk between clients--once I was awake enough to form complete sentences at least.

I had almost dozed again when I sat up in bed--way too fast, making my head spin. Was that? I layed back down. I could have sworn I heard someone in the kitchen. Then I heard it again. Clanking sounds definitely coming from the kitchen. This time I eased myself up more slowly, despite my excitement, making my way to the edge of the bed. I stood and felt my pajama top pull oddly. Oh…huh… somehow it was half undone. My fingers were usually quite dextrous. But in the morning hours they felt thick and clumsy. I realized I had to straighten my pants too, having twisted in my sleep. Memories of the night before brought a soft smile to my lips--my Scarlett’s softness, pressed against me, her legs tangled with mine, her long hair sometimes tickling my cheek… I’m not quite sure how long I stood there, only the coldness of the floor against my bare feet made me aware my mind had zoned out. Where were my slippers?

Zebra slippers finally found and on my feet, I shuffled into the common area of the apartment. I stopped, having just emerged from the hall when I saw her. Scarlett. MY Scarlett. There. In my home. What I desperately wanted to be OUR home. I think my original intent upon coming out of the bedroom had been to go directly to her but… I somehow found myself sitting sideways in my favorite blue chair, resting my head on my hands on the back of the chair…because I had to sit down. Maybe I had stopped breathing when I saw her. I don’t quite know. I just knew I had to sit down.

Her red head popped up from whatever she had been doing. And then she was coming my direction, her long bare legs striding slowly toward me, my fogged brain hearing music in my head and seeing a dance in her step. She was so graceful. Especially when she danced. As if she was made to be in my arms. My one true partner. On the dancefloor and off.

“Morning, Baby,” her lovely voice purred as I felt the press of her lips on the top of my head. I smiled up at her, wanting to bask in her brightness as if she were the sun. Then got distracted, looking down at my hands that suddenly had a warm coffee mug in them, blinking at the apparition perplexed. “You’re a bit more confused than usual, Sweetie,” and I heard her laughter, like windchimes to my ear.

I blinked again, trying to scrape together some semblance of coherence for her. “...well…yes…” I met her gaze, though my vision went double. No matter. I couldn’t complain about seeing twice the beautiful woman before me. “...two weddings this weekend…” I explained. She nodded then sat on the couch, holding her own mug. I hungrily memorized the sight of her. It had been too long, too many weeks. And neither pictures nor memories could quite hold a candle to the real sight of her. Her creamy skin adorned with a constellation of freckles, the softness of her--generous curves of chest and hips that felt even better than they looked, long shapely legs, and her beautiful face and piercing green eyes that seemed to light up for some unfathomable reason when she looked at me. Not that I would ever try to dissuade her from choosing me again. No, I would take my undeserved good fortune and treasure it until the end of time. Because…quite honestly, she was a goddess. A goddess that brought light, acceptance, happiness, healing and…love into my life for the first time in my life.

I suddenly realized that she was looking at me with an amused expression. “Goddess, huh?” her voice teased. I blinked at her. Did I say that aloud? I wracked my brain to come up with something witty to volley back at her. But my mind was simply too slow… I heard her laugh again and I felt my face heat just slightly. “If that is the case, then… Come. Here.” She pointed to the spot just before her. And though I wasn’t sure what game we were playing (or if I could keep up in my current state), I simply nodded and set down my mug before complying. “You’re a mess in the mornings, Pretty Boy,” she teased with obvious affection, and I watched as she undid and refastened my buttons that had somehow been mismatched.

“I know…” I was glad she was in a happy mood, even if it was at my expense. But the last thing I could do was complain as Scarlett’s slender hands led me onto the couch beside her. She guided my head to rest upon her, her arms circling around me. “...you are my entire world, Scarlett My Love…” I murmured before drifting off, feeling warm and loved and…safe… as only she had ever been able to do in my life.

[prosebyday]

Glacier National Park

Grazia Curcuru

7/8/23

Grinnell Glacier, Many Glacier, Glacier National Park

I felt unstoppable today hiking the iconic Grinnell Glacier hike, my watch recorded 40k steps and Gaia recorded 13.6 miles, it was supposed to be 10.6 miles but I chose to hike down to Lake Grinnell at the bottom after hiking up to Upper Grinnell , because the lake looked so beautiful. I didn’t get any blisters but my toes were sore and as soon as we got to the lake I dipped my toes in the water. I felt amazing for hours after. A few hours later I felt the stiffness set in, I had to get ice out of the cooler for my knees because I couldn’t really move. 

7/9/23

Lake MacDonald, West Glacier, Glacier National Park 

We rested our legs and rented kayaks on Lake MacDonald in West Glacier after an early morning drive along Going to the Sun Road. It felt amazing to still explore while resting my sore muscles. I got to exercise my muscles that don’t get used on a hike. We walked the tourist trap shops, lined with Huckleberry jams, syrups, flavored coffees, all claiming to be “fought from the claws of grizzly bears.” They even sold scented tshirts, which did not seem very bear safe in an environment where we needed scent-proof bear bags for our food, lipbalm, sunscreen, a bear lock on our bear proof cooler, and bear spray on us at all times. I bought a Glacier National Park patch, like I do at every national park I’ve done a “deserving” hike at, because it makes me feel like a Girl Scout. I plan to sew them on a denim jacket. I picked the prettiest patch, with mountain goats, lakes, meadows, wildflowers – even though it had mountain goats – one of the few animals I hadn’t seen here yet. The lady at the register told me I can’t wear the patch until I see a mountain goat. I had one day left and knew I had to find one. 

It was brutally hot and sunny, so we went back to Lake MacDonald. There were children paddleboarding, insisting they’d “found a barrel” and they “think it’s full of oil.” The beach wasn’t sandy, it was formed with smooth small rocks. The water was crystal clear and warmed by the afternoon sun. The view of the mountains we kayaked towards hours earlier was directly in front of us as we swam and enjoyed the water, sharing giggles, a child laid face down on the hot rocky beach to “work on his tan.” 

7/10/23

Pitamaken Pass, Two Medicine, Glacier National Park

Pitamaken Pass was the most intensely grueling, gorgeous, and insane hike I’ve ever been on. There was so much exposure on the edge of the mountains, with a narrow trail and talus (loose rock), that tumbles under your feet down the side of the mountain. But it was a TRAIL, so it was still one of the least dangerous mountain hikes I’ve been on, because it’s maintained. There were gorgeous wildflower meadows and these funny white “bear paws” everywhere, they look like giant q-tips and only bloom every 5 years.

The trail changed so much over the 18 miles we hiked, from dense forest, muggy, humid and lush with brush; to trickling rivers with meadows, juniper, bushes, butterflies and red rocks; to walking along the rich blue of Old Man Lake. Then the slog of climbing up 1,000ft over a mile and 3,200 ft of elevation gain total (with a lot of up and down, which makes it feel like you’re never making progress). My brain was throbbing in my skull, rapid pulse, and swaying balance. I thought it must be dehydration or electrolytes, I told Adam I thought I was going to be sick, it was over an hour before I realized we had maxed out our altitude for this trip so far ~8,000ft, after only sleeping at ~5,000ft. So I carried on, tossed some Propel electrolyte mix in my Nalgene and took my shirt off to cool down, all in measures not to pass out, but also kept moving because the sun was beating down. There was no breeze or shade, but I hoped there would be both on the other side of the Pass. It didn’t come as quickly as I needed it, but as a breeze picked up once we got to the top – so did my dizzying headache. Once we got to the Pitamaken overlook on the continental divide, I sat on a slab of marble and ate some trail mix in the shade.

The next 3 miles of the trail looked like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Our footsteps clashed like we were breaking tiles on the shrapnel of sedimentary rock. The rocks above and around us were flaky and layered like good pastry, but horrifying to walk on as they crumble around you. Beneath us was a steep drop down to the vibrant greens of pine forests, cool alpine lakes and trickling rivers, juxtaposing the crumbling gray and brown rocks we balanced and wobbled on. As I rounded the corner, I saw a scruffy white goat in the distance on top of the pass with mountains behind it. It didn’t look anything like the long-haired, fluffy rocky mountain goat you see in all the Glacier National Park merch, but July is shedding season. I took a picture and 4 more goats appeared and started grazing… on what, I don’t know, since I can’t recall anything growing at that altitude. I finally saw my mountain goat, 5 mountain goats. 

Storm clouds rolled in and it’s dangerous to be above the treeline in a storm. I picked up the pace, but the descent proved to be steeper and looser – it’s tricky to get traction on loose sand. The next few miles were a blur, a race against a storm. Eventually, I saw juniper next to my boots and looked up - I made it to a meadow, where things can grow! And I saw trees nearby. As I entered dense brush again, it was hot and humid, I was overheating and stripping layers. The dark clouds brought us some cooling shade and a light sprinkle, but it didn’t last long before the sun, heat and humidity were back and worse than ever. I was so hungry and sore and tired but I just wanted to get out so I kept my pace. 

Once we started bumping into older adults with trekking poles and no water or backpacks, I knew we were close because we parked near a campground. I took off my boots and socks, stood in a cold river to ice my swollen toes and watched a wedding party take pictures with the mountains while I ate trailmix, dirty and sweaty.

[kydrogendragon]

Ohoho happy upcoming birthday!! I offer ye Ever After (1998)'s first meeting scene between Danielle and Prince Henry for a sandman au! I'm Dreamling trash so that's where my thoughts went first but whatever pairing tickles your fancy is good~

The Scene:

Henry is running away from the palace and the arranged marriage to the princess of Spain that his father has arranged to ally France with the other country. Henry hates the notion of becoming king let alone wedding a stranger so he flees in the night. By morning he's fleeing from his father's guards who are pursuing him and steals a horse from an estate he happens upon.

Danielle (aka Cinderella) is treated like a servant by her widowed stepmother and is out harvesting apples in the early morning hours before attending to her breakfast chores when one of her father's horses comes tearing through the field with a strange rider upon its back. Danielle, having always been a rough-and-tumble sort, takes aim and nails the rider in the head with one of the apples she was carrying, knocking the would-be thief off the horse.

Henry climbs back to his feet, flailing to free himself from where he's now entangled by his cape as he continues to be pelted by apples and berated for his theft. He finally frees himself from his cloak and upon his face being revealed the peasant (Danielle) drops to the ground begging his forgiveness for the assault citing a lack of recognition. Henry's still dumbstruck at the peasant's aim and strong arm when he hears his father's guard approaching in the distance and quickly dismisses the apologies and begged for mercy. He tells the peasant that so long as no mention of his passing is made, he will forget the transgression while also tossing the peasant some gold 'for the cost of the horse'

The fun bit about this I realized is that this movie and I are the same age xD Very fitting for today!

Anyways, here's our second prompt for the day!! This one was fun to write. I know you'd messaged me with other possible pairing and the idea of Dream and Johanna really stuck out to me for this one, so without further ado, here's our Ever After AU:

Relationship: Dream/Johanna Words: 1953 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

The fierce sound of hooves on the ground echo through the woods behind Dream. He sits atop a horse he’s claimed from the nearby stable. He planned to flee by foot or take is own steed, Jessamy, but there wasn’t time. His father’s guards were gaining on him and he refused to go back. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

The borrowed horse whinnies, shaking it’s neck and fighting against Dream’s commands. Dream can hear the distant shouts. They’re getting closer. He rides over the hills of the estate he’s passing through when something hard crashes against his head. He lets go of the reigns and watches as the treeline shifts in his vision. The sky tilts until it is directly above him. His back aches.

He’s fallen off the horse. Dream groans and tries to push himself up when another object, small and round, smacks him square in the nose. His hands shoot up, covering the aching point as he shouts in pain. More and more, he’s attacked, points of pain popping across his body as he’s pelted down by an unseen force. He struggles, trying to stand, but his damn cloak is twisted around him, pinning him into the dirt with his own weight. He shifts, trying to pry the fabric off of him.

“Filthy thief!” A woman’s voice cries out somewhere to his right. The cloak finally slips free and he lunges to his feet only to be met with an… an apple? His brain processes the shape just seconds before it decks him in the cheek. His head ducks down from the impact and it’s then that he realizes how many apples are scattered around him.

When he looks back up, the woman stands directly in front of him, a finger pushed firm into his chest. She is angry, judging by the pinch of her brows, the snarl in her lips. Not to mention the apple assault he just received from her. Her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled half up, though appears just moments from falling out completely. Her dress is simple - a maid, perhaps? Or a servant to the estate?

“Who do you think you are running off with another man’s horse? You’re lucky he knows his way home or else you’d be much worse off from me!” She cries, jabbing her finger right into his breast bone. Dream frowns and opens his mouth to reply when the sound of hooves rings through the small orchard they’ve found themselves in. He blanches.

Quickly, he grabs her hand and falls to his knees in front of her. “Please,” he begs, staring up at the woman with desperation in his eyes. “Hide me, please. I beg of you.”

“Why the hell should I-” She stops mid-sentence. Her face falls and fear creeps into the edges of her eyes. “Shit. You’re the prince.” The young maiden’s head whips towards the sounds of the oncoming cavalry and back to him, to the noise, and back again.

“I will pay you well, but please, we must hurry. I cannot go back.” Dream pleads. The woman stares down at him with a calculating gaze, as if mentally tallying if hiding him was worth the effort. Perhaps word has already spread of his escape, but surely a reward for his return has yet to be officially declared?

The sounds of hooves grows louder with each passing second and Dream is mentally preparing to flee when the young maiden tugs him forward with the hand in his own grasp. He nearly face-plants into the earth from the sudden movement, but she hauls him up to his feet with a practiced ease. When he looks up, her face has morphed into one of mischief.

“Well come on then, Crown Prince. You’re luxurious hiding spot awaits,” She says with a smirk. He barely has time to process her words before he’s being dragged off further into the orchard. They run, down the gradual rolling hill, weaving between the trees and past the chicken coop. The sound of the guards has faded. Dream smiles. Perhaps he’ll make it a few days more.

The young maiden guides him towards a barn further into the fields. It is run down, the paint worn away by the heat of the summer sun and the door at the front appears off-kilter. It is a stark contrast to the other amenities they’ve seen so far on the Estate. They slow their pace to a walk as they approach the weary looking building.

“Home Sweet Home, your highness,” she says, creaking open the barn door. It makes a terrible wobbling screech as it sways open. The inside is nearly empty, save some bundles of hay, rope, and pitchforks. Clearly this barn wasn’t a high priority. Perhaps it served as an overflow of sorts?

Dream steps through the doors into the cool shade of the building. It smells like fresh hay with a musky undertone. It is not unpleasant, but far from the best he’s smelled before. Though his prior night was spent tucked in the corner of an empty horse stall, so he supposes this is quite the improvement. He turns to her. She is standing under the doorway, hand on a cocked hip as she stares him down.

“Thank you, milady. I owe you a great debt.” Dream nods his head. Not a full bow, but more than most royalty would have offered someone of her status. Although, perhaps she is owed a bow now if he truly plans to rescind his royal status. He would be no different in standing to her, after all. Perhaps even lower for he does not even have a job. The thought strikes him that he is no different than those he used to look down upon. He is penniless, or close to it. The small supply of coin he has will only get him so far. The clothes upon his back, perhaps a bit farther if sold for coin. But what would he do now? He has escaped, for the meantime, though he doubts his father would ever truly let him leave. Would he always be on the run? Would he ever be able to settle down, find a life for himself as he dreamed of? The realization of his life, the known and unknowns of his future, it is much. And it’s hitting him all at once.

“Hey,” the maiden’s gentle voice calls out. There is a hand on his chest and another holding his own hand. “Hey, easy there, Christ. I know this barn’s about as far as you get from all your silks and furs, but it’s not that bad, is it?” She is attempting to joke. He knows this yet he cannot stop the panicked breaths in order to laugh.

“Shit,” he hears her say. His hand is moved up and rests just above her heart. She is warm. The fabric underneath is softer than he had expected. “Just breathe, yeah? Follow my breath. In.” She breathes in and he follows. It is a shuddering thing, but it is deeper than he had managed before. “Out.” She releases her breath, her chest falling. He follows, out the air goes.

They repeat this. In. Out. In. Out. And with each breath, he feels calmer. He can breathe again. His hand still rests upon her as hers does him. Her face is close, he notes, as he looks up. They are but inches from each other. Her deep brown eyes stare into his with a care he has not seen aimed his way in… Dream is unsure how long.

“Better?” She asks, brows pinched with concern. Dream nods, slowly. He feels drained.

“Yes, I…” He takes a deep breath and releases it, the final bits of tension flowing out along side it. “I apologize, I do not know what came over me.”

The young maiden looks at him with that critical gaze once more before letting her hand drop from his chest. Dream follows in suit. “S’alright. Not like anyone ever chooses to have a panic attack.”

Dream’s brows furrow. “I did not-”

“Yeah mate, you definitely did.” She cuts him off with a knowing look. Dream does not fight her on it. They stay silent for a moment before she speaks again. “Wanna tell me why I’m hiding the Crown Prince in the old barn?”

The young maiden moves, walking further into the barn. Dream watches, following behind, as she makes her way over to an old table. It is short, a coffee table perhaps, but still sturdy despite it’s dusty appearances. She sits down at the edge of it and tilts her head, gesturing to the other end. Dream sits.

“I was told I was to marry. My father wished to use me for strengthening our relations with Spain. And while I have no ill-will towards the Princess Calliope, I… I did not love her. I barely knew her. One should wish to marry for love. If my father had allowed us time to become acquainted with one another, perhaps I could have found love for her, but he did not allow me even that, even after I had asked.

“I was set to be married in a week’s time. It was not the sole reason, but perhaps the final straw. I never wished to be King as it is. And given my father’s declining health, I knew it would only be a matter of time until the crown was passed to me. And I couldn’t…” Dream sighs. He lets his head fall, his gaze staring down into his mud covered boots. “I just want to be free.”

The young maiden doesn’t reply. Perhaps she’d call him foolish, selfish. It was what he was. He had responsibilities, ones given to him upon his birth. In exchange, he lived in luxury, yet he still wished more more, for something other. Maybe she’d echo the words his father repeated many times. That Dream was pathetic, that he needed to grow up and learn that the real world doesn’t play by the rules of fantasy.

“Good. Everyone should get that choice. You should too.” Dream’s head whips up to hers. She’s staring out at the slightly open barn door with a distant look upon her face. “There’s enough shit in the world to deal with as is. No one should have to deal with being something they don’t want to be. Besides,” she turns to him, that same mischievous look on her face once more. “Sounds like you’d have made a shit King.”

Dream huffs, the closest thing to a laugh he’s had in years. “You are not wrong.” He mumbles, a smile finding home upon his face. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” She sighs as she hauls herself to her feet. The maiden’s hands dust off the back of her dress as she looks at him. “Feel free to stay here as long as you want. No one save me comes out here.”

A weight he did not realize was on him lifted at her words. He has shelter now, at least for a while. “That is exceedingly kind of you.”

She shrugs. “So, if you’re officially ditching the monarchy, what do I call you? Morpheus?”

Dream shakes his head. “No. That was the name given to me by my father. Call me Dream.”

“Dream, can do.”

“And what might I call you, fair maiden?”

The woman laughs. “Oh Gods, fair maiden. Yeah, no. You can keep that term to yourself. Name’s Johanna. Or Jo. Mainly Jo.”

Dream smiles. “Jo. Thank you.”