#“It's dead and oh here are a dozen hammers my love”

[theealbatross]

kiss me (s.s.)

Plot | You fought, kissed, and made up. But it could never be that easy.

or, Sebastian took two steps forward and three steps back.

Tags | insecurities, social pressures, obsessive tendencies, slytherin!reader, dark!seb and reader if you squint, but not really, underage drinking (theyre all 16-18 in this), they're just crazy about each other and can't tell anyone, kissing (duh) nothing too PG, happy ending?, read 4k words and figure it out, if the end made you scream say 'aye'

[ 6th Year ]

“Spin that fucking bottle!”

If you had known what absolute monstrosity you would create when you introduced muggle sleepover games to your housemates you would’ve gone to bed early.

But now, you were surrounded by drunk, nosy, Slytherins that were dead-set on exposing each other’s most embarrassing secrets. No one was safe.

“Imelda!” Everyone cheered, Grace quickly hooked her arms around the other girl’s neck when she tried to escape.

The party had long since been over, most of the students from other houses had already retired to their own rooms but those who had friends in Slytherin (like Poppy and Natty) or were too drunk to journey back to the spiraling staircases of their houses safely (like Everett and Samantha) decided to sober up for a while in the Quidditch Grand Champion’s common room.

“Are you actually as mean as you pretend to be or do you just not know how to make friends,” Natty slurred, pointing and wagging a finger at her.

If she was in a better constitution, she would’ve been able to brush off that accusation easily and with confidence but a dozen of improved (thanks Garreth) Firewhiskey shots later and the ever-guarded Imelda flushed in embarrassment to the surprise of everyone. The small circle burst out laughing, Imelda pushed Grace away in annoyance.

“It’s okay, ‘melda. We love you as you are!” Poppy was definitely still hammered.

“Next, next, next!”

The bottle spun and spun but your eyes were at the boy who had just returned from tucking Ominis in their shared dorm. You smiled up at him as he sat in the reserved space available just for him right beside you. “Omi?” you mouthed.

He squeezed your hands, silently letting you know your lightweight friend was now safely tucked in his own bed and ready to welcome the worst hangover he had ever known tomorrow.

“Well, well, well! Our brilliant, beloved, beater!”

It was when you turned your eyes back down on the ground that you saw that the mouth of the bottle was now undoubtedly pointed at Sebastian.

“Mate, I just got here!”

The crowd booed, Sebastian receiving light punches and playful jeers. “It’s the rules, Sallow!”

Everyone looked at you expectantly, the false inventor of such guidelines. You smirked, shrugging, “Rules are rules.”

Sebastian gaped at the betrayal. He gave you a look that lets you know he’ll get you back for this, even secretly poking your waist sharply. You didn’t like the way your housemate’s eyes glinted at the small interaction. Oh no.

“Alright, Alright,” Garreth shushed the crowd with two outstretched hands. “I have the million galleon question! I’m sure everyone will praise my genius for it!”

“Get on with it already!”

The Gryffindor threw a drunken glare at the voice from the back of the common room. “Now, I’m sure our dear Sebastian, despite receiving many letters of admiration and flutters of pretty lashes –”

“Gross,” Imelda grumbled.

“—has yet to officially court someone!” Garreth announced, arms stretched wide like he was a ringmaster about to start his greatest show. Everyone oo-ed and ahh-ed and cheered.

You didn’t like where this was going.

Sebastian, for all the eyes that were on him, managed to maintain the small smile on his cocky face.

It was true. You were not blind to the … physical developments he had undergone the last two years nor to the attention it had garnered him. The boy you had sneaked around Hogwarts with in your fifth year had disappeared and was replaced by a man. An unfairly tall, tanned, attractive man. You damn near walked past him again if he had not pulled you to his side on your first day during your 6th year.

You weren’t ignorant of it, nor were you dumb enough to deny your attraction to your friend.

But you are a lady. And his friend.

His most trusted, beloved friend (his words not yours).

You’d rather not risk your lifelong connection if he won’t. You know how to read between the lines as blurry as it had become. He’s lost too much and you refuse to become another scar in his soul. The both of you have had enough of that to last you till the next lifetime.

“So, my question is,” your eyes widened when you felt two hands on each of your shoulders, in your deep reverie you have failed to notice Garreth sneaking behind your back or that all conniving eyes and raised eyebrows were now on you.

Sebastian smiled.

“Kiss, Marry, Kill.”

[ 7th Year ]

It was by incredible luck that your 7th year of Hogwarts called for the Triwizard tournaments to be held in Hogwarts.

You were prepared to enjoy the event in relative peace. Happy that for once you would be the spectator of all the action instead of being the one in the middle of it.

Life just can’t make it that easy for you.

You did not even realize that Sebastian of all people had thrown his name in as consideration until he had been called and your dreams of a quiet last year in Hogwarts were shot to the depths of hell. It was the first time in a while that you felt true fear, the type that froze all your blood solid.

The fight that followed in the Undercroft was explosive.

“How could you be so reckless, Sebastian?! People die in these games! Why would you do this?!”

Just the thought of it makes your stomach sink. Sebastian will be front and center of this bloody battle of pride that is broadcasted to the entire wizarding world. It was different when it was the two of you jumping through all types of danger – this time you won’t be able to help him. He will be alone.

Yet, when you had expected a valid explanation and a plan out of all this madness he instead looked at you with such anger and vitriol that you physically flinched.

“Because I am sick of being just your friend!” Even Ominis pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on. Foreseeing a tragedy about to uncontrollably unroll. “I’m constantly surrounded by you two! Ominis Gaunt, the scion of the purest bloodline in the wizarding world, the Heir of Slytherin who could do no wrong! How brilliant!”

He cackled a laugh, he looked like a man at the brink of insanity. How long had he been holding on to these thoughts?

“And you!”

“Sebastian enough –” Ominis tried to cut through his mania but he wasn’t having any of it. Once the words were out, there was no taking them back in. He was cursed – he will have to see it through.

“Famed Hero of Hogwarts,” each word was dripped in poison, the insecurities bubbling inside him caused him to lash out at anyone and everyone who dared question his decision. How could they understand? How would they understand a nobody? “Do you know how tired I am of being in your shadow?”

He felt the sting before he heard it, the slap drowned the Undercroft in silence. Then, the weight of his grave words sunk in. The green haze in his head cleared just to see the boiling tears falling down your distraught face.

What has he –

“Then let me free you of such shadow, Sebastian,” your face crumpled, physically pained by such cruelty from your dearest companion. “You’re on your own this time.”

That had been months ago, aside from the few classes you had together he had not even seen you anywhere else. Not even in the first game when he had sent you an owl begging you for a chance to apologize and dedicating his win to you. The victory over the other contestants tasted bitter when he couldn’t find your face in the celebrating crowd.

And the pit in his chest turned into a black hole when he caught Ominis at the edge of the celebration shaking his head. She didn’t come. He’s lost her.

Ominis refused to help him – not that he deserved any. In retrospect, it was ... silly – the insecurities he had been shamefully hiding. He knew his friends had never seen him short of an equal but it’s difficult to see the good when the entire world is looking down at you with cruel, disapproving eyes when your back is turned. Cruel whispers they made sure only he could hear.

“I thought he’d live somewhere more posh.” “Sallow? Dating her? That’s preposterous he’s an orphan with barely a galleon to his name.” “Why do you think they keep him around?”

It was stupid and irrational and he handled it in the worst possible way. Lashed out at the one person who least deserved it, who went through hell to drag him back out, then benevolently tended to all the wounds and scars in his humanity till he was himself again.

“Let me free you of such shadow, Sebastian.”

He slammed his head on the wall he was leaning on, the heartbreaking image of her distressed face was a nightmare that had chased him awake or asleep.  Sebastian may deserve this but you most definitely didn’t. He never deserved you.

Yet, here he was, sitting on the floor of the Ravenclaw Tower with a wilted bouquet of wildflowers he had picked before breakfast, hoping he could catch her somehow. He ignored the giggles, snickers, and confused questions thrown his way no matter how embarrassed he felt. He wasn’t moving from this spot until he can apologize – the silent treatment was torture worse than Crucio. And he had been hit with one.

At the first sound of the walls transforming, he was already up on his feet, his hands instinctively brushing his hair as if looking presentable would even out his chances of repairing his most treasured friendship.

The door opened and finally, your eyes met his. The tension was something that would choke even the greediest puffskein. Your eyes were wide, unblinking and your lips were pursed in a fine line that communicated how much you loathed being in his presence. He hopes you know that you could never hate him as much as he hated himself at this very moment.

“For you!” It was only when it was being offered to you did he realize how abysmal the dying bouquet he had been carrying in his hands since this morning looked. But it was too late now, she was already here, looking at the flower then back to him and all the lines he had practiced flew out of his head.

Instead, he just fell to his knees, prostrating, tears already threatening to fall down his face. He had never been an honorable man. “Sebastian! Get up!”

“I will do anything you ask me to,” The feel of her touch made his skin tingle. After months of not even catching your eyes or hearing your voice and it was more than worth it to suffer through all this humiliation just for this moment. Even if you may never forgive him at least he could apologize. He’ll have a better last moment with you than your fight. “I’ll win the games. I’ll quit. I’ll drop out of Hogwarts if that’s what you want just, please … forgive me.”

He felt your arms wrap around him but he was too distraught, barely comprehending that you had somehow pulled him back into the room until the two of you fell on the ground and the door of the room slammed shut. Still, he continued sobbing in your arms, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he drenched your neck with his anguished tears. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Sebastian wasn’t playing fair but your forgiveness was a prize he was willing to cheat to earn. There would be no point of honor if he lost you – anyone else but you.

“It wasn’t anything you did. It was me,” he sobbed. “I just – you and Ominis became such incredible people that I realized it was me who had not become anyone. I am a nobody!”

“Sebastian that is just not true –”

“It’s moronic I know! But I just thought … if I could win these games … if I could stop being just myself and be a champion then I can finally earn the spot beside you.”

It was embarrassing to admit all that, the deep insecurities that had festered inside of him the moment he was finally faced with the reality of the world. That he was surround by great people who has and will achieve great things and he was … him. A failure, a murderer, a burden.

“Don’t make me slap you again,” your cold voice woke him up from his self-lashings.

He sniffed, nodding, finally finding the strength and shame to sit up on his knees in front of you. “I … I really am so sorry.”

He pinched his eyes shut, preparing himself for the worst. His nails digging in his palm in an effort to stop it from shaking. However, it took one touch of your palms to break through all his pretenses. “I forgive you.”

He crumbled in relief, jumping into your open arms in a mess of tears, snot, and even more apologies.

“I know, I know,” you shushed him, hands tight even as he soaked your shirt through. “Ominis talked to me and … Sebastian you really are so silly. What do you mean you're a nobody? You're the top student in our year! So much so that all those Ravenclaws have declared you their enemy. You're the greatest beater in our generation that even I have been receiving owls begging me to somehow convince you to play for their team when you graduate! I can't even imagine how many times I would have gotten in trouble or straight-up died if it wasn't for you! I swear you're so fucking daft sometimes!”

He nodded eagerly, taking any jabs you may have if it meant you were talking to him. Even if it was still difficult for him to accept that any of those achievements you dictated could ever surmount to what you had achieved he knew it wasn't smart to try and correct it now when you had just forgiven his transgressions. “Stupid, stupid, boy.”

It was there in that room that your fractured friendship was mended with a bunch of dead flowers and Sebastian’s tears.

To celebrate, you had produced a couple of leftover Hogshead Brew for the two of you to enjoy till you were tipsy enough to forget the past horrible months without each other and were now giggling to each other’s face as if to make up for all the laughs you were owed in the months of silence.

“Lay back down, your eyes are going to be swollen shut.”

He’s been crying so hard for so long that he was too tired to do anything but follow your words, laying at the center of the bed you’ve conjured and sighing at the warm cloth you pressed on his eyes that miraculously stopped the world from spinning.

If he thinks too hard about the shameful faces he had shown you, he fears he’s going to combust, instead he focused on the rake of your nails on his hair, the familiar scent of your perfume he had given to you as a gift for your birthday last year, and the weight of your head as you laid on his stomach while the alcohol coursed through his body.

“You shouldn’t quit.”

He folded the cloth in one eye to take a peek at you. You giggled sweetly, clearly taking the drink harder than him, and gods above did he miss it. His happiness was cut short however when you crawled over the length of his body and instead plopped next to him, your head resting on his outstretched arm.

Physical affection wasn’t new to the two of you – after what you had been through hugs and holding hands were something the two of you found comfort in, a reminder that despite everything, the two of you made it out together – but after a few months without it he was faced with the realization of how unconventionally intimate your friendship truly was.

“Like I said, Ominis explained to me how you’ve been feeling – only another man would ever understand a bruised man’s ego. And if this is what’s going to make you feel better then I will support you till the end.” He turned his head so he can look at your eyes. When you cupped his face he felt his gut curl on itself from adoration. “But make no mistake Sebastian, the two of us have always been equals. We’re kindred spirits, remember?”

Kindred spirits, he thought. He remembers the first time he called the two of you that -- something a little cheeky for the first witch who didn't sneer in disgust at the prospects of his less than favorable past time. The curiosity in your eyes then was one he had seen in his own, even then he had this funny feeling that you were going to get along very well.

If he only knew how right he was, he would've thought he was a prodigy in divination.

A tear once again pebbled at the memory but just as he closed his eyes ready to wipe it away you were already sitting up, throwing the wet cloth and pressing a kiss on the edge of it. Sebastian sucked in a breath, blinking to see you hovering over him now. He’s never seen you this zealous. The passion in your eyes is almost mirroring his own.

It would seem whatever was in that brew had smashed through your inhibitions and his pride as he let you continue peppering kisses all over his face.

“You are very precious to me,” she whispered fondly, her gaze soft, drunk and adoring then it turned dark, an emotion crossed your face that he’d only seen when you had been fighting the meanest of foes. “I’d blow this entire school up before I let any of them think they could take your place in my life.”

Sebastian shuddered, his entire body burning under your gaze.

Leaning over again, you pressed another kiss on his other eyelid. “I won’t allow anyone to take you away from me.”

On his forehead. “And you are not allowed to leave me. I forbid it, Sebastian.”

As pathetic as it was, the words were everything he needed to hear. The possession healing over all his insecurities like a balm.

He has always been a selfish lad. His parents and everything he had ever known were ripped away from him at too early of an age that it made him realize that he needed to protect Anne because she was all he had but even that exploded spectacularly into a tragedy.

And then he met you and finally, finally, he met his person. Someone who was seemingly made just for him. Someone who understood him for all his secrets and flaws and still called him a friend.

However, it would seem that he was cursed of a cruel fate. Because the one person who was supposed to be just his turned out to be the most sought-after witch of their generation with the type of magic that had not been seen in centuries. At first, it didn’t matter, he was confident of his place in your life. But as the two of you grew up, the reality that your position in society were skies apart was when his insecurities began to painfully blossom.

But this … it was nice to be claimed like this. To be able to hear and see the crazed obsession he had only seen in his own reflection be mirrored by the one person he needed it from the most. The whole world can laugh behind his back, it didn’t matter anymore. The most brilliant witch in history is in this bed with him, kissing all his insecurities away and branding him as hers.

He chuckled but was cut short when you pressed a softer kiss just by the edge of his smile. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest, his ears failing to hear anything else but the next words out of your mouth. “Do you understand me, Sebastian?”

It has never been clearer: she is his.

“You are mine.”

With her final words, Sebastian’s brain seems to finally function again. A surge of alcohol and courage caused him to raise his limbs to cup your face, pulling you closer and closer so he could finally do what he had been dreaming about since your first duel.

A kiss. A promise. The final bind that would lock your souls together forevermore.

You gasped, smiling through the kiss before you plopped your entire body on top of his, your body finally getting overwhelmed by the alcohol and all that has happened in the past hours – knocking you straight into a dreamless sleep.

For the first time in a long, long while, he was at peace.

The two of you may never remember this moment but he’ll know it in his soul. In this dim room, surrounded by her scent, and her skin, and her kisses – he has finally found where he belongs and who belonged to him.

He pulled you into him – tighter, closer. It didn’t matter, you were his.

Only his.

“Guess we made up?”

When you woke up Sebastian was already lounging in the ottoman by the end of the bed, casually reading a book while you were crawling towards him with your blanket over your head and suffering through a hangover.

If not for the redness in his eyes you would’ve thought you hallucinated his teary apologies.

He was quick to open up his form, grabbing a decorative pillow for you as you laid down on his lap dramatically. You don’t remember much but you knew enough that the big fight was forgotten and forgiven.

“Guess so, darling,” he chuckled nonchalantly, back to his cool, charming self as if he hadn’t been a crybaby in your arms just yesterday.

‘Darling’? That’s new.

You grinned, letting him pet you. You weren’t complaining, not being friends with Sebastian felt wrong and it was a miracle you stood your ground as hard as you did.

“Aren’t I so gracious, dear?” you teased, poking his stomach to make him flinch. The two of you laughed. “What happened after I popped out that blasted poison from Hogshead?”

When you try to comb through your memories your headache fights back with a vengeance so you had hoped he would supply the blank pages in your mind.

He stared at you for a beat before sighing, looking truly as miffed as you. “I wish I remembered, I’m in the dark as much as you.”

And as much as he knows it was wrong to not try to remember, he also knew he wouldn’t be able to live through the embarrassment of what he might’ve been telling you while he was drunk and emotional again. It was a mistake but he was more than happy to let those blank memories remain blank. What’s important is that you are friends again.

“Let’s focus on the future now, hm? No sense digging through what would definitely be an embarrassing moment for me,” he groaned, pinching your cheeks when you gave him a teasing smile.

You hesitated, biting your lip but then nodded. “If you say so.” It was in the past after all.

Sebastian was glad you let it go. (He will regret this in years to come.)

“Speaking of futures, I had wanted to ask you,” he played with the short strands of your hair, heart full of adoration as he looked down at your face. “Go to the Yule Ball with me? Gotta have a pretty date for this year.”

You dramatically gasped, “The Future Triwizard Champion asking little old me? Also, I was your date last year, scoundrel!”

He burst out laughing, you jumped into his arms, pressing a kiss on his cheeks.

His lips tingled, his head ached as it begged him to remember. But then you flashed him that bright smile and nothing else mattered.

“I would love to.”

The two of you were back to what you had once been. It would just be greedy to ask for more.

Right?

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Game of Thrones - 52 JON VII (pages 533-548)

Sam shows his senior how to CSI properly, then Jon attacks Alliser after being provoked following news from King's Landing, and has to break out of his unlocked prison cell to fight a (small) zombie invasion.

The Reader, having just done mortal combat with an unkillable cockroach the size of a small mouse, knows that feels.

-

My uncle's men, Jon thought numbly. He remembered how he'd pleaded to ride with them. Gods, I was such a green boy. If he had taken me, it might be me lying here...

No might about it. It's good that you understand, but Jon? 'Was,' maybe get a winter on the Wall under your belt before you start calling yourself a seasoned man?

Last night, he had dreamt the Winterfelldream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch dark, his heart hammering.

"force vision or inner turmoil" = 🥛

... wait... Is that really how you spell dreamt? I thought it was spelled 'dreampt'? hang on a tic. ... 'dreamed or dreamt-' blah blah blah... oh here we go: 'dreampt is an example of a phonetic intrusion that has fallen out of use but can be found in Shakespeare' Huh, cool beans. So the correct spelling is dreamt, but because of how mouths work, the p just kind of invites itself along sometimes in audio.

"I can't look," he whispered miserably. "You have to look," Jon told him, keeping his voice low so the others would not hear. "Maester Aemon sent you to be his eyes, didn't he? What good are eyes if they're shut?" "Yes, but... I'm a coward, Jon." Jon put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We have a dozen rangers with us, and the dogs, even Ghost. No one will hurt you, Sam. Go ahead and look. The first look is the hardest."

I love how gentle and compassionate Jon is being with Sam. It's one thing to say "I know my friend's flaws, and I accommodate them," but it's another to actually care to do that. He could have tried to subtly bully Sam into it, but he's taking the time and effort to give Sam support, and making sure to keep it private to limit an external embarrassment. I especially appreciate it after his last chapter. Growth is not always linear in one direction.

Squatting by the dead man he had named Jafer Flowers, Ser Jaremy grasped his head by the scalp. The hair came out bewteen his fingers, brittle as straw. (...) A great gash in the side of the corpse's neck opened like a mouth, crusted with dried blood. (...) "This was done with an axe."

CSI: The Wall I like that they're actually taking the time to try and figure out what happened, instead of assuming it was wildings (though they do suspect that.) No offense Waymar Royce, it's just cooler when Ser Jaremy does it.

Yet his eyes were still open. They stared up at the sky, blue as sapphires.

And what colour were they before he left for the ranging? Cause buddy, I've heard somethings about corpses with blue eyes north of the Wall.

"-The corpses are still fresh, they can't have been dead more than a day..." "No," Samwell Tarly squeaked.

Ser Jaremy: I know how to do my job, what would you know? Jon: Hey, shut up Mormont: Yeah, shut up. Not You Sam you're a delight, tell us everything. Sam: *explains why these corpses are old and weird* Jon: Oh snap, he's right, these are super cursed.

"-They haven't been chewed or eaten by animals... only Ghost... otherwise they're... they're..." "Untouched," Jon said softly. "And Ghost is different. the dogs and the horses won't go near them."

So proud of Sam for speaking up because he knew he was right, even though he was so scared. So proud of Mormont for giving him the chance to speak.

"And might be I'm a fool, but I don't know that Othor never had no blue eyes afore." Ser Jaremy, looked startled. "Neither did Flowers, he blurted, turning to stare at the dead man.

OOOOooooohhhHHHH!!!!!!

"Burn them," someone whispered. On of the rangers; Jon could not have said who. "Yes, burn them," a second voice urged. The Old Bear gave a stubborn shake of his head. "Not yet. I want Maester Aemon to have a look at them. We'll bring them back to the Wall."

Poor Mormont, it's gotta be tough being the guy who would make a sensible decision that gets your whole team killed in a zombie apocalypse.

Obviously he doesn't actually get his whole team killed, and this isn't really a zombie apocalypse (except that it is), but this is a sensible decision that could prove very useful scientifically, if it doesn't all go terribly wrong. Which it will, because of zombie apocalypse rules, sorry buddy.

His guard was sprawled bonelessly across the narrow steps, looking up at him. Looking up at him, even though he was lying on his stomach. His head had been twisted completely around.

Oh Snap!

One thing I love about sprawling stories like this, is when one plot line is experiencing a completely different genre than the others. South of the Wall, and South Proper, it's all court dramas and political intrigue strung through with a few murder mysteries and (civil?) war, over East we've got a magical horse girl who's about to start a revolution, but with the Night's Watch we have Tower Defense Zombie Apocalypse!!!

When Jon opened his mouth to scream, the wight jammed its back corpse fingers into Jon's mouth. Gagging, he tried to shove it off, but the dead man was too heavy. Its hand forced itself farther down his throat, icy cold, choking him.

Oh, now that's interesting. And terrifying. But it makes it seem like the wight is trying to 'infect' Jon from the inside out. Realistically (I say of a magical zombie attack) it's probably just trying to kill him quietly by freezing shut his throat and gagging him at the same time, but the imagery is interesting. And disturbing in its phrasing of the assault in a very specific way.

I would also like to point out that "its back corpse fingers" is not my typo, that's how it appears in my copy of the book. Page 547. I am assuming it was meant to be "It's black corpse fingers" because earlier the narrative made a point of us knowing the corpses' hands were black. (I've likely made plenty of other typos during this daily live blog, but that was not one of them.)

The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

Excuse me a minute.

AAAAAAAAAA. YAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSS KILL IT WITH FIRE!!!!!!!!!1

Ahem, where was I?

Good, quick thingking from Jon, excellent tag team from Ghost, amazing adaptability from them both. Poor Mormont has no clue what the hell just happened, though.

[viking-raider]

Southern Generation - Part III *Mature*

Summary: Sy and Lily had a harmonious bubble around them, but ripples are sent through it, with an action of Lily’s and the past haunting Austin.

Pairing: Captain Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 6,211

Warning: M - Language, Fluff, Domestic Kink, PTSD, Attempted Overdose, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Teeny White Lie, Stalking and Harassment

Inspiration: It’s Sy, need I say more?

Author’s Note: Loving this story! Much love to @wondersofdreaming​!

Lily laughed as she played tug-a-war with Aika in the living room, the sound of Sy putting up the last of the siding vibrated throughout the house, with her laughs and Aika's playful growling. The hammering stopped and Sy appeared through the front door, smiling at the two partners in crime.

“I need to go into town.” Sy told Lily, when her attention settled onto him. “The saw blade has dulled and I need to replace it.” He explained to her.

“All right.” She nodded, letting Aika take her rope. “I need to get lunch going.”

“I shouldn't be too long.” He promised, then left.

Sy wasn't gone a minute, when the phone rang in the kitchen and Lily moved to pick it up, before she missed it. “Hello?” She answered, pressing the receiver to her ear with her shoulder and turned towards the refrigerator. “Hello?” She frowned, pulling out food items for her and Sy's lunch.

“How's the business going?” A voice finally answered her.

Lily froze, hand resting on the loaf of bread she was reaching for. “How did you get this number?” She gulped, her heart racing and pounding in her ears.

“I bet once that caveman finishes fixing up the place, it'll look brand new.”

“Ho-” She gasped, a dizzying wave of nausea punched her in the gut, as reality set in.

“Soon, Lily. Soon.” The voice chuckled, then the line went dead.

The phone slipped off of Lily's shoulder and clattered to the floor, alerting Aika, who was chewing on her rope in the living room, and came running in, barking in inquiry and suspicion, standing close to Lily's feet and looked up at her, head cocked to the side. Lily gripped the edge of the counter in front of her, trying to take deep breaths in and out, but her vision swam with an overflow of tears and her chest felt like an elephant was standing on it. She turned and stumbled up the staircase in the kitchen that led upstairs, and went into the hall bathroom, locking herself inside, Aika bounding after her and barking at the bathroom door.

“How? How is this possible?” She trembled, pacing the small space. “I was so careful, so careful. It’s not possible. It’s just a sick joke, from some disgruntled customer. But, what if it isn’t? What if it’s really. Where did I go wrong? I put so many miles between us.”

Her hands shook and she struggled to breath, furious tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Flashback after flashback rippling through her horrified and panicked mind, her stomach lurched and she dropped to her knees, wrenching violently into the bowl and losing her breakfast into it. She sat there for a long time, before making up her mind, standing up and opening the medicine cabinet, removing a prescription bottle from inside and popped the top off of it. She knew this was a drastic and dark turn to things as she dumped the bottle into her hand, but it wasn’t as dark and ominous, if the voice on the other end of the phone kept their word about finding her, and Lily wasn’t going to take that chance.

She gulped down dozens of the teeny pills, swallowing them down with sink water, then slowly sank down to the floor.

Sy returned twenty minutes later, with a new saw blade and rumbling stomach. He expected, as always, to find Lily had set his lunch down on the table in the breakfast nook, and was either eating hers as well, or she was patiently waiting for him, so they could eat together.

Instead, he entered the house and heard Aika barking incessantly upstairs, which was unusual.

“Lily!” He called out, rounding into the kitchen, finding lunch foods on the counter, some half opened, and the phone on the floor. “Lily!” He yelled out again, a pit forming in his stomach as he mounted the stairs to the second floor.

He had never been upstairs before, everything he needed in the house was downstairs, the kitchen and half bath, so he was unfamiliar with the layout. But, as he reached the second floor landing, he found Aika standing in front of a closed door, barking, whining and scratching at the wood. He crossed the hall and lifted his hand, knocking softly on the door, and listening inside.

“Lily?” He called, knocking again. “Lily, are you all right in there?” He asked, growing even more concerned, when he didn't receive an answer.

Not waiting a moment longer, Sy pushed Aika away from the door and forced it open with his shoulder. As the door flung open and banged against the wall behind it, Sy rushed into the room and felt his heart plummet out of his body, finding Lily laying on the worn and discolored tile floor. He dropped to his knees as he scrambled over to her, cupping her cold, but sweaty, face in his hands, her eyes were rolled back and half lidded, her breathing was shallow and the scent of vomit permeated in the small space. Sy, despite his heart rocketing in his chest, was reasonably calm, his combat cool kicking in, as he quickly pressed his fingers to the spot under the corner of her jaw, feeling how faint her heartbeat was.

“Shit.” He snapped, under his breath, scanning the room, he found a prescription bottle that had rolled under the lip of the vanity, swiped it up and pocketed it. “Lily.” He called, patting her pale cheeks, trying to get any response out of her. “Come on, Lily. Answer me.” He begged her, patting her cheeks a little harder. “What were you thinking.” He growled, then rubbed his knuckles against her sternum in firm circles.

“Oh, thank god.” He sighed, when she whimpered at the painful rub. “Lily, open your eyes and look at me. Come on, darling, look at me.” He coaxed her, rubbing her chest again, but not with his knuckles, just trying to keep her responsive.

“Sy.” She whimpered, eyes fluttering.

“Yeah, love.” He nodded, shifting to pick her up into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and down the stairs. “Don't worry, honey, I've got you. I'll take care of you and get you to the hospital.” He told her, carrying her out to his truck and got her strapped into the passenger seat, before hopping in and gunning it down the driveway, relieved at his slight laziness, that he left the gate wide open.

“Come on, Lily. Talk to me.” He told her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder as she whined and pressed her forehead against the window. “Tell me something, anything.”

“I wanna sleep.” She whimpered, brows creased.

“No, no, you can't do that.” Sy shook his head at her, pulling her away from the window. “What color do you want me to paint the house?” He asked, trying to think of anything to keep her engaged long enough to get her to the emergency room.

“What about purple, with hot pink polka dots?” He grinned, blue eyes light up, but still scared for her.

“I hate pink.” Lily whined, her head moving to rest on Sy's broad and stiff shoulder.

“So, pink polka dots.” He said in a voice that said he agreed with the choice.

“No.” She groaned, shaking her head with a whimper, then fell quiet again.

“No, no! Come on, Lily, don't fall asleep.” He begged her, feeling her body relax against him.

The tires of Sy's truck squealed as he parked outside the hospital, pulling Lily out, he quickly carried her into the emergency room, his usual 'cool under pressure' attitude was starting to slip with the desperate situation. The nurse at the station instantly noticed Sy carrying Lily in and read how bad the situation was, jumping out of her seat and barking orders, while guiding Sy to a place he could lay her down and they could start working on her.

“What happened?” She asked Sy.

“I'm pretty sure she overdosed on these.” Sy replied, taking the prescription bottle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I don't know why she decided to do it, I just found her unresponsive on the bathroom floor. She was responsive for a few minutes, but then stopped just before we got here.”

“How do you know her?” The nurse asked, reading the name off the bottle.

Sy bit his lip, he knew if he admitted that he only worked for Lily as a handyman, then they wouldn't let him see her until after they had done everything they could for her. So, he fibbed. “She's my fiancée.” He told her, his voice steady and his face gave away nothing, but his concern for her.

“So, her name is Lily Ana Moore?” The nurse asked, reading the name off the prescription label.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, though he wasn't aware of her middle name.

“And, you are?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Austin Syverson.” He replied, glancing over to Lily's bed as she whimpered.

“We'll take the best care for her, Mr. Syverson.” the Nurse promised him, resting a gentle hand on his forearm and gave it a tender squeeze.

They tended to Lily, while Sy stepped out into the waiting room, he was too high strung and agitated to sit down, so he paced from the humming vending machine and the automatic doors. His mind roiled over reasons and scenarios as to why Lily would try to overdose. She had been fine, before he left to the hardware store for a new saw blade, playing tug-a-war with Aika and about to make them lunch. What could have happened in the, maybe, fifteen minutes he was away, that was so frightening that she would rather take her life, than to either face it or tell him about it. If she had said something to him, told him that she was afraid of something, or someone, then he would have promised to protect her.

In a heartbeat.

“I’ll protect her from now on.” He muttered to himself, still pacing the room.

Once they were satisfied with how stable she was, then sent her up to a private room for an overnight observation, Sy stayed with her the whole time, never leaving her side, even once she was stable and in her room. He sat in a chair beside her bed, chin resting on his chest as he snored softly, the room was dark and quiet, minus the heart monitor she was hooked up too. It was late, when Lily did finally come back around on her own, sighing and whimpering, her body feeling spent and sluggish. She opened her eyes and instantly recognized she wasn't in her own bed, but a strange room, and panic started to set it, causing her to wake Sy.

“Hey.” He sighed, rubbing his tired face and leaning forward to take her hand in his. “You're all right, Lily.” He told her, his voice rough from sleep.

“Where am I?” She asked, squeezing his hand, like it was a lifeline, calm now that she realized Sy was there, watching over her.

“The hospital.” He replied, thumb rubbing the top of her hand. “I barely managed to get you here, after that stunt you pulled.”

She let out a heavy breath and rested back against her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. “I'm sorry, Sy.” She whispered, not opening her eyes again. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“And what did you mean to do?” He asked, lifting a brow at her. “Why would you try killing yourself?”

“It's complicated.” She replied, sighing again and opening her eyes.

“Then, uncomplicate it.” Sy begged her, wanting to understand what she was thinking.

“I can't.” Lily shook her head, the fear that had gripped her before her attempt started to return.

Sy could feel the tremble in her hand as it gripped his, he knew there was something she was afraid of, that she was trying to run and hide from, and wanted to help her so much, to protect her, so badly. He got up out of his chair and sat on her bedside, holding her hand in his lap and gently brushed his fingers against her cheek.

“You don't have to be afraid.” He whispered, gently. “I promise, I will protect you.”

“Don't make a promise, you can't keep, Austin.” Lily replied, meeting his eye.

“I can, and I will.” Sy replied, his stomach twitched, hearing her use his first name. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, lifting a brow at her.

Lily paused a moment, regarding him, then bit her lip. “Lay with me?” She whispered, gulping at the strangeness of her own request.

Sy blinked at her for a moment, it was a bit of an odd request, but, if that's what she wanted of him, then Sy would gladly do it. He nodded, feeling slightly awkward, then toed out of his boots, while she shifted and turned onto her side, so Sy had room to lay down with her. He let her shift, her back pressing against his chest, and tucked his arm under her head, gently pulling the blankets over them and resting his other arm over her side.

“This must be awkward for you.” She mumbled, a few minutes later.

“Actually, it's not.” He chuckled back, his breath lightly caressing the back of her hair. “The most awkward thing that I've ever done, happened on my very first deployment to Iraq.”

Lily turned her head to look back over at him. “Tell me about it?”

Sy smiled at her, biting his lip. “So, it was my first deployment, back in 2004, I had been in the country a week, but hadn't left base yet in that time.” He started to explain to her. “So, my first outing off the base was a decent distance, and at some point, I ended up needing to go to the restroom.”

She laughed, starting to get the picture, making Sy smile.

“Now, I wasn't naive. I knew there wasn't a bathroom for several klicks, and I doubted any of the locals were going to let my ass in to use their bathroom.” He laughed, making them both shake from its mirth. “So, I asked my commander, cause then, I was just some lowly runt, where I could go. He walked away for a moment and came back, carrying a short handled shovel, handed it to me and said, 'pick a spot.' motioning to the wide open field we were in.”

“Oh lord, no.” She grinned, blushing at the thought of digging a random hole and going in it. “Tell me you didn't!”

“Of course, I did!” He grinned back. “I really had to go, and I wasn't holding it for another hour on patrol and three hours back. So, I dug a hole, dropped my cameos and did my business, with six guys, more or less, watching me.”

“Watching you?”

“Well, they had to make sure no one snuck up on me, and tried to kill me.” He chuckled, fully amused.

“You're braver than I am.” Lily said, after they stopped laughing. “I would have held it.” She giggled, shaking her head at the thought, relaxing in his arms.

“I think that makes you much braver.” Sy whispered, feeling the change in her breathing against the skin of his bicep as she drifted back off to sleep. “So much braver.”

“Sy, you can't sleep on the couch like this.” Lily sighed, finding him on the couch in the living room.

Ever since she returned home from the hospital, Sy insisted on sleeping on the couch, not wanting to leave her alone in the house. She had tried convincing him that she was all right, that he didn't need to sleep there and keep an eye on her.

“You should go home to Austin, sleep in your own bed.” She told him, handing him a cup of fresh coffee.

“I haven't slept in my own bed, in nearly a month.” Sy replied, taking several deep gulps of the hot brew.

“What?” Lily snapped, sitting down beside him, with a cup of tea. “Still!”

“I told you, I've been sleeping at the motel in Celina.” He confessed to her. “I've been too tired most nights to safely drive back to Austin, and it's only a couple minutes from here, instead of three hours.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And I told you, you didn't need too, Sy?” Lily sighed, annoyed with him.

“Because, you would have wanted to pay for it.” He countered.

“No, I would have given you the guest room upstairs, like I said.” She countered back, lifting a brow at him. “And, if you insist on staying here, then I suggest you take the room, instead of the couch, so at least then, you can stretch out and not wake up all stiff and uncomfortable.” She told him, firmly.

“Especially, since Aika seems to enjoy sleeping with you.”

Lily had come downstairs at night, several times, to find Sy's long body stretched out on the couch, his head resting on one armrest, while his feet hung over the other one, and Aika's large body laid on top of him, like some sort of furry blanket.

“I've already made it up for you.” She added, getting back up and going into the kitchen.

Sy got up and followed her, setting his coffee down on the breakfast nook table. “Lily-”

“We both know, you're not going to leave me alone in the house, Austin.” Lily huffed, yanking open the refrigerator door. “So, there's no use for your additional discomfort, by sleeping on a couch that has zero support or comfort, especially after you've spent all day breaking your back to fix up my property.” She explained to him, pulling out a carton of eggs and milk, before letting the door of the original Big Chill refrigerator slam shut behind her.

“There's a comfortable bed in the guestroom, that's situated against the window, with a small walk-in closet and dresser, as well as being across from the hallway bathroom. As I said, I made the bed up for you, clean sheets and pillowcases. I opened the window as well, to air it out, since it's usually closed up and unused.” She explained to him, pulling out a pan and setting it on the stove, clicking on the gas burner.

“I do need to warn you, that the hot water tap in the upstairs bathroom, doesn't work.”

“Is there something wrong with the hot water heater?” Sy asked, lifting a brow at her.

“Not that I'm aware of, but I also don’t know crap about them, so I wouldn't know where to look or how to fix it, without replacing the thing completely. But, I don't think there is a problem with it.”

“Why's that?”

“Because, the hot water in all the sinks work, and the hot water in my master bathroom works as well.” She explained to him, whipping up a pancake batter, while the pan heated up. “I just don't understand why the hot water in that particular bathroom doesn't work.”

“Has it worked at any point, while you lived here?” Sy asked, watching her.

Lily paused and sighed, her brow creasing as she stared off in the middle distance for a moment, trying to recall. “I don't think so.” She finally replied, going back to the batter.

“Hm.” Sy frowned, his own brow deeply creased as he mauled over the numerous reasons the hot water wouldn't work. “I'll check it after breakfast.” He answered, pressing his lips together. “Do you need any help?” He asked, watching her fuss over the rest of breakfast.

“Yeah, can you flip the pancakes for me.” She nodded, side stepping the stove, so he could flip them.

Sy nodded, taking up the rubber spatula she was using and gripped the handle of the pan, carefully working the edge of the spatula around the sides of the bubbling pancake, before slipping it under and flipped it, quite unsuccessfully, splattering half cooked batter all over the pan. Lily saw it from the corner of her eye and laughed, shaking her head at him.

“Have you never flipped a pancake before, Captain?” She teased, turning to face him.

“I have, I'm just shit at it.” He replied, grinning at her, but Lily could see the warmth seeping into his hairy cheeks.

“Here.”

Lily stepped between Sy and the stove, gripping his hand, that still held the utensil, and guided him to the other pancake in the pan, gently slipping the edge of the spatula under it, and with a quick flick of their wrists, she helped him flip over the pancake, perfectly.

“See?” She smiled up at him, her blue eyes filled with pride. “You just have to do it quick and steady, like ripping off a plaster.” She picked up the batter and poured some of it into the sizzling pan. “Give it a minute, then try flipping it again.”

With that, she turned back to what she was doing, dicing up some potatoes. “Look at you!” She exclaimed, watching Sy's smooth pancake flip.

“You're a good teacher.” He smiled at her, setting the finished pancakes on a plate beside the stove.

“Would you like bacon or sausage?” She asked, opening the refrigerator again, turning her head to look at him, a brow lifted in curiosity.

Sy licked his lips and got a funny feeling in his stomach, something he had never felt before, not even as a young boy. He felt like he—belonged, here and now, with Lily. It was a natural feeling of domestic belonging, like there was a oneness between them and he had found his rightful place in the world.

“Sy?” Lily frowned at him, concerned.

She saw that far off look in his eye and worried he was having a flashback. She had seen him have them before, and after the first one, where he nearly took her head off, Lily learned not to touch Sy, calling his name, usually, did the trick of bringing him back around. But, this time was different, there was a sparkle in his cerulean eyes, and a soft smile on his lips.

“Austin?” She said, carefully, licking her lips and feeling butterflies in her stomach.

Sy blinked several times and focused on her, smiling completely, warm and happy. “Sausage, please.” He finally replied, cocking his head at her.

“Okay.” Lily nodded back, eyes wide like a doe's. “Why don't you sit down and relax, I can finish up.” She suggested, motioning to the table. “Your coffee is getting cold.”

“Sure.”

He kept smiling at her, even as he sat down at the table and sipped his cooling coffee; watching her drop the finely diced potatoes into the pan, stirring them around as they cooked and browned, before cracking three eggs on the edge of the pan and dumped the contents in with the potatoes, then tossed the shells into the empty bowl the pancake batter was in. She kept stirring the browned potatoes and fluffy eggs together, then added sliced up sausage. Finishing it up, she brought the food to the table and Sy served himself, heaping the potato, egg and sausage scramble onto his plate with four large pancakes, drizzling maple syrup everywhere. Lily picked Sy's now empty coffee cup up and filled it with fresh coffee, putting in two sugars and set it back down in front of his plate.

“You know how I take my coffee.” He asked, digging his fork into his mountain of food.

“I've known you for several months at this point, so, it's only natural that I've noticed things about you.” She chuckled, sitting down and making her own plate for breakfast.

“Fair enough.” He laughed, and got down to eating.

After breakfast, and helping Lily wash and dry the dishes, Sy went upstairs to the hallway bathroom to try and figure out why the hot water wasn't coming out of the tap. He tested it, spinning the hot tap all the way over, water jetting out of the shower head. He left it running for several long minutes, touching it periodically, and only found it to be even colder than when it first came out. Pressing his lips together and sighing through his nose, Sy turned the tap off and went downstairs to his truck, taking out the tool box from the back and carried it back inside, removing the faucet cover and checked the valve. He removed the tap handle, unscrewed the plate and reached inside for the valve, finding it was broken.

“There you are, you pesky little shit.” He said, setting it on the sink counter. “I need a new one.” He sighed. “Lily.” He called out, going down the hall to her office.

“Sy?” She called back, her eyes still on the work on her computer screen.

“I found the problem with the shower in the hall bath.” He told her, standing in the office doorway. “I'm going to go down to the hardware store to get a replacement part for it.” He explained, looking her over as she sat cross legged in her office chair.

“Will you be okay, while I'm gone?” He asked, his tone careful.

Lily's shoulders slumped and she looked over at him. “I'll be fine, Austin.” She told him, slightly annoyed with him being so overprotective, though she appreciated it and felt incredibly safe with him around. “Go, and if you remember, can you bring me back some Reese cups?” She asked, as he turned to leave.

“I've got a mad chocolate craving going on.”

“A hot shower and chocolate coming up.” He grinned at her, and left for the store. “Keep an eye on her, Aika.” He whispered to the pup as she laid spread out on the front porch, enjoying the warm rays of the sun; patting her on the head.

Aika huffed at him, before getting up and strolling inside, climbing the stairs and wandering into Lily's office, then laid down at her feet, dropping back off to sleep. Lily smiled down at her, bending in her chair to pat her between her proudly standing ears, then returned to her work. Sy returned an hour later, with four packages of king sized Reese Cups and the replacement hot water valve.

“Christ.” Lily laughed, when he set the candy down in front of her. “Did you buy the store out?” She teased, looking up at him.

“Actually,” Sy grinned brazenly at her. “I did. It was all they had in the little corner store, next to the hardware store.” He confessed, he thought it would be funny to buy them all, and one can never have enough chocolate.

“Thank you.” She giggled, opening one of them up, amused by his sense of humor and popped one into her mouth..

“You're welcome.” Sy nodded his head to her, butterflies filling his stomach hearing her laugh, making her laugh, and gulped as he watched her take the candy whole into her mouth, feeling something stir much lower than his stomach, before turning and going back to fix the shower.

“Is it working?” Lily asked, a little while later, coming into the bathroom to watch him work.

“See for yourself.” Sy replied, turning the tap on and stepping aside.

Lily stepped forward and held her hand out under the streaming water, feeling the pleasant warmth of it. She looked over her shoulder at Sy and smiled at him, proud and amazed. “That's amazing! Is there anything you can't fix?” She asked, drying her hand on the towel hanging on the rack.

“Oh, I'm sure there is.” Sy smiled, leaning back against the vanity. “But, if I encounter it, I'm sure I could figure it out.”

“I'm sure you would.” Lily smiled, patting him on the chest as she went out of the bathroom.

Sy beamed with pride, seeing how happy and proud of him she was, her gentle pat only re-enforcing that fact.

Later that night, Sy took the duffle bag he had filled with his clothing and other things he needed, upstairs to Lily's offered guestroom. It was a sweet little room, the window let in a lot of light during the day and he could see Billie Marlowe's crops and the beautiful night sky as he laid in bed. The dresser was big enough for all his things. He toed out of his boots and sat down on the edge of the bed, then laid back. It was a comfortable bed, more comfortable than the couch and the bed in the motel room he had been renting.

Satisfied, Sy stood, pulled out a pair of shorts and a black tank top, with a bar of soap, and crossed the hall to the bathroom.

He stood under the hot spray of the shower head, letting it seep into his tired and sore body for a while, before soaping up his body, head to toe, rinsed and dressed, before stepping out of the steamy bathroom. He paused in the hall and turned his head, Lily's room was at the end of the hall, the staircase leading into the kitchen between them, and her door was closed. But, he could hear the soft creaks of her moving about her room, no doubt doing the similar ritual he was, before going off to sleep.

Sighing, he went into his room, leaving the door cracked open for Aika to come in and out, and crawled into bed, the washed sheets and quilt smelled just like Lily, and he couldn't suppress the moan that escaped from deep in his throat, pressing the quilt to his nose and inhaling deeply. She smelled amazing, he wondered what her skin smelled like, before drifting off.

Lily wasn't sure what time it was, when she first heard it. At first, she thought it was just part of the dream she was having, but as it came more regularly, she realized it wasn't in her dream, but in the house. Her eyes opened, blinking in the darkness of her room as she laid still in bed, listening intently.

Yes, it was real and in the house, but what was it?

Shaking her head, she threw her blankets back and got out of bed, tiptoeing to her closed door and pressed her ear to the wood. It was a loud whimper, followed by a whine, with other noises mixed in. Daring to open her door, she stepped out into the hall and slowly followed the noise, down to Sy's room. She pushed open his half open door and peeked inside, Aika was sitting on the side of the bed, whining as she looked up at Sy, who was laying on his back, sweaty brow deeply creased and shaking his head, like he was trying to wake himself up, to no avail.

“Move.” He called out, body jerking. “Tristan.” He yelled out, then whined.

“Sy.” She called out to him, standing in the doorway. “Sy, wake up.”

But, he didn't.

Biting her lip, and stepping into the fray, Lily moved to the side of the bed, her stomach clenched as she sat down beside him, waiting for him to suddenly lunge at her, but he didn't. Her heart was pounding as she reached out and gently wiped away the heavy sweat on his brow, he made a sound, between a sigh and a growl as she did, his hands coming up, but fell back to the bed, before reaching her. She frowned at him, stroking the side of his face, his hair was slightly longer than it had been, when he first came. He usually kept it very short, but with her going into the hospital, he had neglected cutting it.

She touched the side of his head, feeling the soft hair just above his ear, then petting down his neck and cupping his cheek.

“It's all right.” She cooed at him in a soft and silky voice. “Ssshh, it's all right.” She spoke to him softly, caressing his bearded cheek with her thumb and rubbed his chest through the thin black material of his tank top.

Sy's wide and alarmed eyes shot open and he snapped upright, gasping for air and shaking, but he didn't lash out at her, like he had on the porch that day. She bit her lip, watching this bear of a man tremble, struggling to control his breathing and so frightened. Lily laid her hand on his tense shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze; Sy's head snapped to the side, looking at her, but not quite seeing her, but the face of the teammate he had been calling out for, one of the first men Sy had ever lost in combat.

“Lily.” He whispered, in a disembodied voice. “What are you doing here?” He asked, suddenly sounding alarmed and panicked, his sweaty body rigid. “It’s not safe, you have to leave, before more of them show up.” He told her, his voice still sounding discorporated.

“Who, Austin?” Lily frowned, shaking her head at him, not understanding what he was talking about. “Who’s coming?”

Sy’s vision hyper-focused on the small gap between them, twitching quickly side to side, like he was trying to reconnect unplugged wires in his jumbled up and confused mind, struggling to remember if he was in reality with Lily or in the nightmare of a long ago mission in Iraq that had gone bad for everyone involved, changing Sy forever, the first hung thread in a thick web of PTSD and flashbacks. But, the gentle touch of Lily’s hands on him, the soft whisper of his name in her voice, the close warmth of her body and her sweet smell gave Sy the traction he needed to pull himself back to reality and consciousness.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, biting his lip, self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right.” She replied, then wrapped her arms around him, hugging him against her and rubbing his back. “It's okay, Austin.” She whispered into his ear as he buried his face into her neck. “You're okay. Safe and sound, back home, and with me.” She told him, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her waist and he clutched her against his sweaty and shaking body.

“I've got you, Austin.” She assured him and rested her cheek against his temple, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. “I won't let anything happen.”

Sy nuzzled his face into her neck, taking deep breaths to calm himself down and took in the comforting scent of her skin as he did, it helped him relax, as did the soft words she whispered into his ear and the soothing touch of her hand on his head or on his back. He didn't want to let her go, afraid that as soon as he did, she would fade away and the nightmares would come back, having only tricked him into thinking it was her.

Even though her heart thundered in her chest, she made a choice. “Come on, Austin.” She said into his ear, patting him on the back and wiggling in his arms, trying to entice him to let her go, so she could stand up.

“Where?” He whimpered into her neck.

She licked her lips. “Come to bed with me.” She told him, her lips brushing the rim of his earlobe. “Let me hold you and keep the nightmares away.”

Sy moaned softly into her ear, but his arms secured themselves around her waist, shifting her into his lap and stood, picking her up, still very unwilling to let her go, even for the minute it would take to go down to her room. So, he carried her down the hall and laid down in her bed, only then, letting her go long enough for her to cover them up and lay down beside him. Sy turned onto his side, wrapping his arms around her and hugged her against his body, his head laying on her chest.

Lily frowned, sympathetically, down at Sy, caressing his head, neck and shoulders, whispering soft things to him, soothing and lulling him back to sleep, with the pound of her heart in his ear and the pillow-y warmth of her skin and breasts under his head.

“My sweet bear.” She cooed at his sleeping form, then kissed the top of his head.

[caker-baker]

ahh I loved 'If there was a crown' If you have time would you please consider writing a continuation? because it was amazinggg

The hero hated princes. Princes were annoying, vain, arrogant, and so very cocky, according to the hero.

The prince, on the other hand, didn’t so much mind bakers. Bakers were fun, scare-able.

At first, the prince was everso delighted when learning of the hero’s identity, his plot being decided in all of two minutes.

Then the baker-hero was there, and they were so different than the prince imagined. He always thought they would be strong, with or without the costume, but this baker was barely quelling their nerves.

And to hear them call the prince by his title gave him relief to no end. But it felt oddly wrong.

To see the fear dawn on the baker’s face - fear the prince had never seen in their fights - it was all too perfect, and all too short lived.

Next was the taunting, something the hero had always been able to participate in, and with the repartee being one sided, the prince was filled with glee.

Until he wasn’t

He was frustrated, he thought he would be happy. As a prince, he could have anything except the hero, and now that he had them, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, still.

The prince noticed the hero’s harsh concentration whenever he neared, their head working on ways to escape.

He was a diplomat, the prince. He was taking over the kingdom, he was raised to know what people were thinking.

“Pesky little hero, it’s no use.”

“What?” The hero snapped, still mid thought.

In response, the prince smiled, and tilted his head to the side. “Would it be fair to assume you have never been in such a situation?”

“Take your best guess, my prince.” The hero’s tone was anything but formal, but that didn’t stop the delighted feeling flowing throughout the prince.

“Such malice, baker.” His words were equally as venomous. “For someone in such a bind, I would think one to be kinder.”

“I would think I still have my dignity.”

“And shaking hands.”

The hero fell silent.

Sly eyes found their way to the crown in the corner of the cell. While it was hard to break, the hero certainly did try, the crown now dirtied and somehow slightly dented.

The prince didn’t know they had that sort of strength.

“I did mainly come to drop this off.” A tray of food rattled on the lone desk. “But it seems you are in dire need of company, what, with taking out your solitude on my most prized possession.”

“You shouldn’t give nice things to pesky heroes.” The hero bit back, the chains on their wrist becoming uncomfortably heavy.

“I told you, I would make an exception for you.”

Silence reigned for a brief moment.

“I could strangle you.” The hero said, voice soft and hands trembling. “If you just got close enough, these chains are more than enough, I could-”

“Then do it.” The prince stepped closer. “I won’t try to stop you. I will even assist you.” He turned around, back towards the hero. “I’m close enough, unsuspecting, a prime opportunity if any.”

Nothing happened. The hero didn’t move, the prince didn’t move, and the world came to a standstill.

“Or,” the prince spoke, still turned around. “Is this not how you would like me? Would you prefer I go to war for you? Some neighboring territories would be rather easy to take, if only in your name.”

The hero actually stepped back. “What is this?”

“Compliance. I’m being a kindly host.”

“A host?” The hero repeated. “This is a game to you?” Their face had twisted into a snarl, but no move was made against the villain. “Tormenting one while killing others?”

The prince whipped around. “What makes you think I’m practicing villainy again?”

“There was never a choice, was there?” A stark laugh came from the hero. “That’s why you’re the only one down here, isn’t it? Everyone else thinks I’m long gone. Besides, are your plans for the kingdom finished?”

Oh, this amused the prince greatly.

“Clever and pesky.” He muttered. “An awful combination.”

Despite their nerves, the hero managed to stare the prince in the eye.

“Won’t your guard be suspicious?” The hero asked. “The king?”

Pure anger flashed on the prince’s face. “That man is of no-” he remembered himself, the anger dissolving before a neutral expression took hold. “You should eat. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I hope you don’t value that bakery all too much.”

When the prince had gone, the hero let themselves come undone, trembling in a pile of fear.

No other threats were made past that one fateful day, on either end.

It became a routine, of sorts. The hero would try to find a way out, and the prince would sit back, amused.

Once, the prince stormed in, wrinkled papers clutched in hand.

“I’m working in here.” He announced, making use of the desk oh so generously supplied to the hero.

The hero had to wonder if that was the purpose of it, more for the prince than them.

“I thought you had no power.” The hero mumbled folding something from ripped book pages.

“I still have responsibilities, something I suppose doesn’t affect you anymore.”

The hero nearly crushed their paper creation. “My responsibilities were ripped away from me if you deign to remember!”

The prince waved them off, scribbling something with their other hand.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed for the hero, it was only when the prince sighed and leaned back did they realize time had passed at all.

“What are you making?”

“A child’s toy. Most every child in the kingdom can paper-fold.” The hero snorted. “Probably not royal ones.”

The prince stood tall over the hero, eyes landing on the expert foldings. “A paper crown. How ironic when a real one stays in the corner.”

“How ironic you keep coming here.” The hero set the paper crown aside, their hands clutched together.

They were refusing to look at the prince.

“Pesky little hero, your silence is suffocating.”

“What were you working on?” The hero said, still not looking at the prince, though they could see him in their side view.

“Are you truly interested?” The prince asked. “Or is this you trying to find information to use against me?”

“What does it matter to you? Any information I get will rot away with me. It’s ‘no use’, isn’t it?”

Clever and pesky indeed.

“If you must know, you pesky thing, I’ve been trying to worm my way out of a potential marriage.”

The hero’s head snapped up, only to find the prince already looking at them, smiling widely. “There you are. A possible wedding is what it takes for you to look at me?”

“So you won’t be getting married?” They made to look down again, but the prince snaked out a hand, grabbing the hero’s chin.

“You would make a pretty royal.” He said appreciatively, turning the hero’s head with his hand. “Especially done up for a royal portrait.”

“So you’ve said.” The hero tried to yank away, but the prince held fast.

“We,” he began, “are created to be perfect. I was created to be perfect. There’s something so fascinating with everyday people still being beautiful.”

The hero’s lip curled. “My appearances are not for you to marvel at!”

“My, my.” The prince dropped his hand. “Where do these little bursts of defiance come from? It feels as if I am truly talking to Hero, and not some baker. By the by, what do you call a baker without a bakery?”

“Go to hell.”

“At some point.”

The hero suddenly regretted their words, their bakery floating to the top of their mind.

“That’s not a concentrating face.”

They hated him, for being a prince, for figuring out their identity, for having power, even if he didn’t realize it. But most of all, they hated he could hold their bakery over their head.

“And that’s resolve. What, I wonder, is going through your head?”

The hero’s eyes dropped, their hands reaching to tear more book pages, and at this, the prince sighed.

“Fine then, I’ll leave you to your folding.”

“What do you care?” The hero asked, already making a crease in the words. “Are you just having your fun before you decide to kill me?”

“No.” The prince spoke quickly. “No. I am having fun, but you will not be dying. Not here. Not by my hand.”

“Then it is just simple then.”

“What is?”

The hero looked up. “You are a cruel bastard.”

There was no response, just a long and cold stare, then once again, the hero was alone. They were alone, and now had a plan.

The prince had mentioned it earlier, but the hero didn’t believe him, they thought he was still going to kill them. However, the quick desperation of his tone made the hero rethink otherwise.

The prince didn’t want them dead, did he? What were the chances of getting out if the prince thought they were close to death?

This was a flimsy plan, especially in that there was no telling when it would happen. The hero would have to make it look like something had happened, but the prince would have to be there to witness it.

So, the hero had to listen, and carefully.

Any sign of steps, and they would move. First, to the bed, where they would grab the blankets and pull them down, trying to make it look as if they had clutched onto something before falling.

Next was the positioning. The hero wasn’t sure about this, the chains being a bit inhibiting, but hopefully, if this all went as planned, the chains would be coming off.

Finally came the hard part, acting. They had never needed to pretend to be passed out, they had never had to force themself to be calm like this. It was already difficult for them to even their breathing while in a state of nerves, but to play at vulnerability while making their lungs steady was difficult to say the least.

So, it all came down to keeping their nerve, and timing. It would work fine, they were sure of it, despite how hard their heart was hammering in their chest. This had to work fine.

Listening was difficult, singling out one specific sound among dozens of others, especially to the untrained ear. Once or twice, the hero had prepared, positioning themselves with the blankets in hand, only to realize it was an echo of a sound.

Knowing what time it was would make it easier, the prince delivering meals himself at a specific time was otherwise useless information.

They couldn’t be sure how long they listened, only that they were suddenly on the floor, the sound of regal boots getting closer.

The creaking door opened, and the hero had to stop themselves from shaking. They had to do this right, it had to work.

The prince cursed, something dropping onto the ground.

Then there was the sudden closeness, the prince mere inches from the hero’s face, who could feel their muscles tensing.

Two fingers were on the hero’s neck, who almost cried having to keep still while the prince checked their pulse.

A rattling sound, then the weight on the hero’s wrists dropped. They had to stop themselves from flinching away, from running right then and there. They had to make themselves be dead weight when strong hands lifted them.

Breathe even.

Dead weight.

Don’t let your eyelids move.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

The steps the prince took were large, frantic. He was in a hurry to wherever he planned on taking the hero now.

And once the hero was sure, absolutely positive they were at least past the bars of the cell, at least far away from the manacles, and at least in an open space, they struck.

A fist flew to the prince’s jaw, his hold on the hero weakening. They hero leapt from his arms, rolling back onto their feet.

“And there’s that acrobatic hero I know and love.” The prince chuckled, rubbing his bruising face.

There was no time for the hero to play into what was surely his attempt at stalling. They could either incapacitate him now, or run and hope to find the quickest way out.

A prince knocked out in his own home might raise questions the hero couldn’t afford to answer.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to fight?” The prince baited.

It almost worked. Almost.

The hero, fists clenched, turned and ran. Maybe this wasn’t the brightest of plans, but none of the options were the best.

“I happened to have grown up in this place.” The prince said, leaning against a corridor wall the hero had just turned onto.

They immediately turned around again.

“Pesky hero.” They heard the prince tut, footsteps once again fading away.

A door, it was all they needed, a window is what they got.

They didn’t hesitate, smashing their elbow against the glass, cracks beginning to form. This was done again and again, until the window had shattered completely.

The hero peered down, looking at the two story height.

Considering the prince had taken them from seemingly below ground to upper levels of the palace, the height made sense.

And the height worked. The hero had done much more from much higher places. This would be easy, it might still hurt, but it would work.

The hero stepped up, their back facing outside, a slowly setting sun bathing them in light.

“Hero.” A voice said, cold and commanding. It was a voice future kings should learn.

“Your highness.”

“You don’t know what you would happen if you made a reappearance as Hero. You don’t know what would happen if you left.” The prince took a step forward, fully aware of the hero watching him. “As it turns out, I’m not the only royal who dislikes heroes.”

“Is that all?”

The prince cautioned two more steps. “I don’t think you quite realize what I have afforded you.”

After prince’s taunts, his fun, it felt good to see his discomfort, even if vengefulness wasn’t the hero’s style.

“I’m sure I don’t.”

Three more steps. “And I don’t know what stunt you are trying to pull here, but-”

“Not a stunt.” The hero interrupted. “I’m just leaving.”

It had gone right, this plan, and it felt fantastic, they felt calm for the first time in a while. They felt a lot that they hadn’t felt in a while.

“I think we could discuss this civilly, don’t you?” One more step, and he was in arms length of the hero.

“I think you’re wrong.”

The prince lunged, but the hero was quick enough, pushing him back as momentum for the fall.

If he wasn’t aware of the hero’s skilled ability in any and all things acrobatic, he would’ve been worried for their safety, but instead, he had a million other things to worry about, namely, how to get them back without making a fuss.

The prince chanced a glance out the broken window, but the hero had already faded away, disappearing with the prince’s dignity.

The worst and most daunting of it all was that the hero had managed to snag the prince’s brooch on their way down.

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 17

This is my @wackydrabbles​ post for week 87. The prompt is bolded. "No offense, but I'm not interested."

Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Drake and some language.

*I was in a silly mood and this turned into a dumpster fire lol and it feels very rushed but I was trying to meet the word count. There may be a little bit of plot in this.

Word count: 1999

------------------------

Liam sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress; one leg bent upright with the other extended crookedly out in front of him. Half of a bottle of Don Julio dangled loosely from a hand settled on his knee while two shiny gold rings encircled the pinky tip of his other.

In a fit of anger late last night, he searched for and consumed the first bottle of alcohol he came across in the liquor cabinet. He had no intentions of getting hammered or even a little drunk; Liam just needed something to take the edge off the hurt. Not that he for one second believed a word Riley told him before she walked out and boarded a red-eye commercial flight back to the States. 

As Liam pondered her abrupt departure in the early hours of the morning, one thing was for sure: He'd never been in love before, but what he felt for Riley was real -- and reciprocated -- that, "no," she spewed from her mouth when asked if she loved him was a lie.  

But why? That was the question he just couldn't figure out.

Having racked his brain for hours and with the sun finally coloring in the darkness of his chambers, Liam set aside his drink and lifted himself off the ground. Every thought that consumed him for the last several hours was riddled with putting the pieces together of why she actually left and why she felt she couldn't tell him the truth. Nothing made sense, yet ruminating alone in his room until he figured it out wasn't going to solve anything; the only way to get to the bottom of this was to retrace Riley's steps from the time she left the ball to when he made his way up to join her a little later. 

Stumbling to the bathroom -- mostly from exhaustion and perhaps a little drunker than he realized -- Liam stripped off the tuxedo he wore the prior evening and took a quick shower before heading down to the security office.

-----------

Riley's heavily drooping eyelids popped wide open when the plane shook from another vigorous tremor of turbulence. Gripping the armrests on both sides of her seat, she hesitated to peek out the window but was relieved when she saw the billowy waters of the Pacific had transformed into small, mosaic blocks of land covered by a shadow of the nearly setting sun. 

When the aircraft settled again, Riley reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to check the time, grateful to be landing soon. She planned to go straight home, sink into her bed, and sleep the rest of her life away. Maybe wake up every once in a while to sob again before going back to sleep. Whatever Riley decided to do, she hated Madeleine, she hated Tyler, and she hated telling Liam she didn't love him; the more Riley thought about the stunned look on his face when she said it, the more nauseous her stomach felt.

And the nausea was getting worse.

Riley caught the eye of a nearby stewardess and waved her over; she needed ginger ale, and she needed it fast. 

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I … I need, ginger ale, please." She asked through ragged breaths.

"Let me check and see if we have more." Riley nodded appreciatively.

"Hey. Don't I know you from somewhere?" A relatively large guy in the center seat, whose sweaty arm flab had been lodged in Riley's shoulder since takeoff, asked. Oh shit! Riley cupped a tight hand over her mouth and shook her head vigorously; the last thing she wanted was to be recognized. 

Or vomit.

While the stewardess searched the service cart for the requested drink, the gentleman's eyes enlarged. "Wait a minute. Yeah! You're that little gal who married some king, with ..." he snapped his fingers before adding in his thick Texan drawl, "the monkey and hookers and shit. Wow, my fiance wants to have a wedding just like yours." He held his hand out to her. "The names Beaver Calhoun, mayor of Slippery Nip, Texas. I guess you could say we're both royals, huh?"

Riley lowered her hand slightly; she was past the point of ginger ale helping, and this guy was blocking her way out. "Beaver, I need you to move." 

He stroked his chin in thought. "Well, I don't know, Queenie. I'm pretty content with my life there in Slippery Nip, Not really lookin' to uproot."

"No!' Riley's strained voice responded forcefully, "move out of the way--" She tried to fight it, but her head flung forward and everything came out with her last word.

Beaver looked down at his shirt and quirked a brow. "That's gonna leave a stain."

=============

On the second floor of a run-down Motel 6, just off the beaten path in Las Vegas, Drake tossed in the last of his clothes and airline tickets in a duffle bag and zipped it. Stepping over to the window, he pulled aside the tattered curtains to check if the airport's shuttle van had arrived yet. Disappointed, he grumbled to himself, "Where the hell are you? I'm ready to get the fuck out of here." 

The past week had been intense -- well, frankly, the entire month had been nothing short of shit balls. Five weeks ago, Drake landed in Las Vegas for Liam's bachelor party and won big money at the casino, only to have it all pissed away on some old, decrepit hooker who stole his wallet, cell phone, dick health, and what little joy he had in the world. Liam left with a sexy ass wife, and all Drake got was the false claim of fathering triplets and his scowling face on the front cover of the National Enquirer with Dr. Ethan Ramsey detailing the entire sordid journey from pre-surgical rooster rot to the aftercare.

He made a quick $500 for the story, in which he badly needed the money, considering he couldn't leave Vegas until the paternity test results came back. It was enough for his lodging, a couple cans of Beenie-Weenies and a few boxes of pepperoni Hot Pockets; his stomach felt like oil sludge at this point. But as a joke, Leo had sent a box of Ding-Dongs, so it wasn't all bad.

The rotary phone in his room rang out, and he answered the call from the front desk, which let him know transportation had arrived. Drake grabbed his bag, flicked a cockroach off of it, and exited his room into the enclosed hallway.

After stepping onto the elevator and hitting the down button, another person strolled on in a black leather mini-skirt, white see-through halter top, and a pair of fishnet stockings that he'd recognize anywhere.

"You!" He growled at the chain-smoking hooker, backing her up into the corner. "Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? And I WANT my wallet and cell phone back, now!" He hovered menacingly over the much smaller woman.

"No offense, but I'm not interested in giving them back to you," Pinquee Kittee sneered before reaching into her bra for mace and spraying him directly in the eyes. The rapid burn gave way to her next act of defense when a screaming, blinded Drake was doubled over by a swift karate kick to his newly transplanted organ. "Hiiiiyah!"

Drake cupped himself in anguish, fell to the floor, and slumped over as the elevator doors opened. Pinquee Kittee grabbed his duffle bag and peeked down the hallway to make sure no one was around before making her getaway.

------------------

Just outside of the palace's security office, Liam knocked on the door several times without an answer. It was rare that the King would personally pay a visit. Usually, he would call Bastien and have the head guard look into any issues. With him gone, this just felt like something Liam needed to do in person. 

After several more knocks, Liam reached for the door handle and slowly opened it to let himself inside. The lights were off, with only a few CCTV screens displaying various images of places within and surrounding the palace. Finding the light switch on the wall beside the door, Liam flipped them on, and his mouth fell agape at what he saw.

"What the hell happened in here?" He shouted as his hands shot to his hips, glaring around the room. 

On the floor was a maze of beer cans, whiskey bottles, remnants of silly string, a five-gallon bucket of butter next to a slip-n-slide, a voodoo doll with Liam's face on it, and half-a-dozen guards passed out. 

A furious Liam made his way through, kicking the feet of guardsmen as he stepped along. "Get up! All of you!"

One-by-one, they slowly roused until they realized it was the King in their presence, then they jumped to their feet at attention. 

"Would someone like to explain what the actual fuck happened in here?" Liam wasn't one to swear in front of his staff, but there was no way he could hold back after walking in on this scene. His glowering eyes shifted with expectancy from one man to the next, waiting for an answer, until someone finally called out, "We threw Rogers a going away party for his last night on the job, Your Majesty."

"And you thought having a wild party while you were ON DUTY to protect 400 members of the nobility for a major event was the time to do that?

The guard shook his head. "Not at all, Sir. I admit we weren't as attentive as we should have been last night ..." he pointed behind Liam, "but Prince Leo came by and suggested we kick it up a notch."

Liam turned around and caught Leo slithering along the edge of the wall toward the door. "Leo!"

The Prince stopped dead in his tracks, then flickered his eyes and jolted his body as if he were just waking up. Leo looked at Liam, acting surprised to see him. "Liam? Is that you? H-How did I get in here?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, Leo."

"What?” Leo shrugged innocently. “You know what I think happened. I must have been sleepwalking again. You know how I get when I watch The Duchess before bed." He cocked his head introspectively at his brother. “And you do look like the Duke from that movie, you handsome devil you?” He grinned impishly.

Liam stared blankly at his older brother for a few seconds, then turned around to face the others gathered around. "Who's in charge here?"

When one of the men raised a hand, the King stepped up to him and explained, "Alright, I need you to pull up security footage from last night. I want to review everything from the moment I stepped outside the ballroom to meet the Queen around 9:30, and where she went after I went back into the ballroom." 

If this were any other day, Liam would have fired every one of them on the spot and sent Leo to Antarctica, but he only had one concern: Finding out what happened to Riley.

As the guard typed in his computer to pull up footage from last night, Leo stepped up to Liam, who was hovering over the guard's shoulder with anticipation. "What's going on?"

Never taking his eyes off the screen, he responded. "Riley went back to Las Vegas last night."

"Wh-Why? What happened?"

Liam let out a breath. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Leo remained silent before giving his little brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and watching with him.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as different camera footages were switched to follow Riley walking from the main staircase, through several passages, and finally ending with the corridor outside of his quarters.

"Stop!" Liam leaned in closer as the guard paused the video; his entire body tensed up at what he saw.

"Is that ..." Leo scrunched up his face in disgust.

"Madeleine."

___________

Tags: @burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​  @jessiembruno​ @texaskitten30​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​s @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @charlotteg234​ @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5​ @graceful-leah​ @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful​ @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99​ @neotericthemis​ @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106 @lifeaskim @choicesstan650​ @emkay512​ @royalromancer​

Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen​n

Anything with Drake:@tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​ @secretaryunpaid​ @masterofbluff​

[moonscarsandstars]

happy birthday @sirrriusblack!! you’re an absolutely amazing person and deserve the worldd :)) i hope you have a super lovely day and a very very wonderful year ahead (or i mean just wonderful life in general you deserve it love), and hope you like this fic!

~~~

The bustle of the coffee shop may have been what Sirius loved most about it.

Something about the atmosphere seemed to be noisy yet all too calming at the same time. With the ecstatic chatter of people from Sirius’s classes coming in after school, the hum of the espresso machines at the counter, and the tinkling of the bell that was just above the door. 

In fact, it was that sudden tinkling of the bell that brought Sirius’s attention from whatever chaotic conversation he’d been having with James.

“Oh fuck.”

“What-” started James, before looking at the entrance and grinning. “I think I’ll let you take this shift.”

“Absolutely not,” muttered Sirius before ducking under the counter. There was absolutely no way he was going to tend to Remus Lupin- the exact same seventh year he’d been head over heels with for years now. Not if he didn’t want to embarrass himself by probably spilling coffee and forgetting his own name.

“Pads,” said James, trying to pull Sirius’s wrist. “Get up, you’re breaking at least fifteen rules here. It’s just going to be a few seconds of talking.”

“It’ll be the longest few seconds ever.”

“But it’ll be the best few seconds, won’t it?” Asked James with a smirk.

Sirius stuck his tongue out.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” 

Grabbing the counter, Sirius gave one last scowl at James before pulling himself up.

“Sorry about that,” he said, staring pointedly down at a pair of worn converse. “How may I help you?”

If the scraping of chairs in the background wasn’t so loud, the entire floor would probably be able to hear Sirius’s heart rapidly beating against his chest.

“As many double shot espressos as this can get, please,” said Remus flatly, slamming a crumpled ten pound note onto the counter.

Blinking, Sirius’s eyes widened.

“Exams.” Holding up a history textbook, Remus managed to drop at least a dozen loose papers.

“Ah, I see,” quipped Sirius with a grin. “On the house in that case. Name?”

“Moony,” replied Remus distractedly, trying to pick up all the papers and meet Sirius’s gaze.

God, his eyes were fucking beautiful.

“Moony?”

“Yes, M- oh, uh-”

“Moony it is.”

“I- okay, yes, okay.”

“Are you okay?”

Looking at the dark circles under his eyes and the constant yawning, Remus looked either like he hadn’t slept in days, or just woken up from sleeping for days. The irony was, Sirius couldn’t tell which.

“I’ll be good, thanks,” said Remus, wandering off after Sirius’s smile. But Sirius could here him vaguely mumble something along the lines of “even my textbooks aren’t okay” and couldn’t stop himself from chuckling out loud.

~~~

Maybe if Remus had any logic, he wouldn’t have deleted the exam timetable. 

Or had to cram in his ten hours of history content into two hours of revision. Or have stumbled into the exact coffee place he pointedly avoided everyday. Or be sitting here with five shots of strong coffee trying to read the same line over and over again.

Sipping on an extremely bitter glass, Remus glared at his illegible notes with an even more bitter look.

“Need any help?”

Remus’s heart skipped a beat.

“I think I’m good, thanks,” said Remus, proceeding to curse under his breath as he knocked over a glass.

“Oh, I should-” started Sirius, before running off and returning with a cloth and a spray as Remus quietly wished he could sink into the ground.

“Sorry about this. I- well- didn’t get the timetable,” he muttered sheepishly.

“You didn’t? Why not?”

“Well I did,” Remus looked away, before continuing. “But I deleted it.”

Sirius stopped what he was doing to look Remus dead in the eye. “You deleted it? The mocks timetable?”

“Accidentally! No- stop laughing!”

But Remus couldn’t stop himself from catching Sirius’s laugh, holding his aching stomach no matter how much he should’ve been worrying.

God, he had such a contagious fucking laugh.

“What’re you studying?” Managed Sirius, after an intense few seconds of holding his stomach and trying not to burst into laughter again.

“History.”

“I thought you loved it though, I mean, you’re always reading it in the-” Sirius stopped himself, as an almost invisible blush rushed up his cheeks.

“You noticed?”

“I- that was much creepier than it was meant to be.”

Remus chuckled, but there was no hint of discomfort, much to Sirius’s relief. “Love history. Hate history exams.”

“Makes sense I suppose.”

“As for being creepy, I suppose it makes up for me finishing your espresso stock,” said Remus, vaguely gesturing at his messy, half-finished collection of espresso shots.

“Oh please, don’t bother. We stock up for exam season.”

“You’re kidding.”

“And you’re not alone. I’ve a nice collection of coffee at my flat, actually. And history textbooks. Well, art history, but still.”

Raising his eyebrows, Remus quipped, “Careful, that might sound like an invitation.”

“Maybe it is,” said Sirius with what Remus could have sworn was a wink that sent the childish butterflies in his stomach crazy.

“Sirius? Where the hell are you?”

Jumping in surprise, Sirius yelled back “I’m coming!” before turning to Remus. “I’m very sorry, but I’m also very much in trouble.”

And with that, he rushed off leaving Remus flustered, confused and in realisation of just how much he’d put off. 

~~~

Reluctantly, after a few minutes of mindless doodling and giddy smiling, Remus came to the conclusion that he’d never finish anything in this particular coffee shop- not the studying, nor the coffee. Definitely not with all the distractions. 

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave, not with the memory of Sirius’s wide grin and sparkling eyes. That is, until a voice from behind managed to scared the living daylights out of him.

“This place does close unfortunately.”

Jumping out of his skin, Remus whipped his head around with a start. There Sirius was, grinning like an idiot, trademark apron folded on a shelf revealing his shirt- top two buttons undone, Remus noticed with a start- and black jeans. Suddenly, he felt a wave of consciousness in his overflowing jumper that rolled up at his wrists.

“That- really is tragic. I was planning to sleep here, you see.”

“Well,” started Sirius, a smile playing on his lips. “What if I offered you another place to sleep?” 

Remus silently cursed as his heartbeat raced. He thoroughly hoped that the heat travelling up his cheeks wasn’t as visible as Sirius’s knowing grin made it out to be. Sirius was going to be the death of him.

“But really,” started Sirius, giving a look at his watch. “It’s getting late.”

“Sorry,” said Remus, not at all sorry for every second he spent stalling and spending time with Sirius. “Just give me a second to pack up, yeah?”

“Of course. And my offer still stands.”

“Does it come with benefits?”

Now it was Sirius’s turn to blush, eyes widening and parting his lips in a split second of surprise that turned into that same, ear-to-ear grin. Pointing to the counter awkwardly, Sirius chuckled, “I’ll- I’ll meet you there.”

The way Sirius’s blushed seemed to travel to his neck brought a smile to Remus’s lips, filled partly with some sort of satisfaction and partly fluster in its own way. Heading up to the counter, he dragged his feet in a pathetic attempt to take as long as he could.

“I’ll be heading out now,” said Remus, slapping a pathetic two dollars onto the counter as some form of tip. But his tired expression turned into confusion as Sirius produced another order of coffee, fixing the lid on before handing it to Remus.

“I- I really appreciate this, but the ten pounds was all I had-”

“Oh please, this is complimentary. On me, if you will.”

“I couldn’t,” insisted Remus, finding it increasingly difficult to refuse something from Sirius.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll want it anyway. Really, consider it a gift?”

Sirius had that earnest look in his eyes- the one that reminded Remus almost of a puppy that you just couldn’t refuse. It was infuriating, he told himself as he accepted it. “Thank you so much, I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” said Sirius, leaving the counter and twisting the “open” sign to display the word “closed”. “I’ll see you soon if I’m lucky.”

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Remus confused and heart hammering against his chest. 

But that grin returned to his face as Remus turned to the cup, recognising that familiar scrawl spelling out the words scrawled on the cup read “To moony,” with an address.

[xhanisai]

What if you had it all, But nobody to call?

AO3 / FFN

Summary:  "...Am I dreaming?" 

Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot. 

Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins.

And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers.

    ~(x)~

.

.

.

   Ladybug and Chat Noir's abilities were capable of many, many things. Things that were miraculously incredible to say at the very least and beyond scientific comprehension- for goodness sake, how many times have Ladybug brought the dead back to life after the umpteenth distraught puppet villain razed them to the ground?  And how many times have Chat Noir managed to take down La Tour Eiffel with one singular touch, rendering it to nothing but ashes and dust in the wind?  However, as magnificent and majestic as their powers were, not even they were able to prevent the dreaded pandemic that took over the world by a storm and put everyone completely at its mercy.  This time, the heroes that the world needed were those with medical training, scrubs and a vow to the Hippocratic oath.  Mon Dieu, were they such brilliant, resilient heroes indeed.  .  Despite the United Nations worldwide urging all civilians to stay indoors at all times (unless necessary outings were needed) and countries locking down dozens at a time, Le Papillon let it all flow through one ear and out the other. It's as if he has an addiction to sending out akumas left, right and centre as severe as a chain-smoker and the fact that there's an airborne virus that could completely destroy even the most healthiest person was just a muted buzz in the background. 

 Then again, what does one expect from the tunnel-visioned, single-minded, 'father of the year', Gabriel fucking Agreste?

     "There are people literally dying out here and this crusty old man can't even take a hint!?"

   "My Lady, what do we expect from the same man who regularly akumatises M. Ramier?"

 Of course, the teenaged vigilantes had no choice but to risk their safeties as well as their loved ones by sneaking out of their abodes and battling the millionth akuma on the streets. 

   "Chaton...my parents are starting to think I'm constipated. CONSTIPATED."

   "I told you, just use the shower excuse rather than the toilet excuse."

   "But then they'll think I have some sweaty teenaged puberty problem!"

   "Either way it's a bit shit, isn't it?"

   "Oh fuck off..."

 Thankfully, Tikki and Plagg were able to upgrade their traditional superhero suits, extending the masks downwards so that they covered the heroes' lower faces and filtered out the air, keeping them safe as they battled. However, social distancing was a whole new different obstacle that made these very fights thousands of times harder to win.  The numerous events that Chat Noir had to be verbally restrained from going absolutely apeshit on akumas that gave Ladybug a beating that went too far when he could have pushed her away in ordinary circumstances was just insane. The heroine never realised how dangerous her infamous clumsiness could be at times, concluding her completely vulnerable and at the akuma's mercy whilst Chat Noir has no choice but to scream her name in agony a good distance away.  And vice versa.  Oh mon Dieu.    She has had witnessed her poor partner get skewered and burnt alive by the more unforgiving victims too many times, her shaking arms aching to bring his body against hers so that she can feel his heart beating under her touch and lay kisses upon his tousled locks just to ensure her barely sane mind that he was still alive.  That he won't leave her forever.  The pandemic was such a vile curse...  And it made everyone feel so, so alone.  Finally, after months of these life-threatening fights, both physical and internal, both Ladybug and Chat Noir against le Papillon and the doctors and nurses and essential workers against the virus, a new testing system was introduced.

   "I finally got my results! I got negative. What about you, Bug?"

   "I got negative too! Dieu merci...looks like those sniffles I had really was hayfever after all,"

   "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Ladybug. I...I couldn't help but think the worst when you mentioned about the sniffles last week...and I even yelled at you for coming out to battle the other day..."

   "Chat, you only had my best interests in mind...and I would have had done the same. But you can make it up to me, now that we can share a social bubble,"

   "How?"

   "Follow me!"

    .

   "-And now, we can freely grab each other whenever we want and we will be back in sync during akuma battles in no time. Isn't that great? Neither of us has to wallow in guilt or cry because we weren't able to push the other one out of harm's way." Marinette sighed happily, her bare hands squeezing her Chaton's as they both rested their backs against the pillar in between them.  The noir-haired girl couldn't help but let her fingers and thumbs map out every nook, every crevice and every feature of her partner's hands like a desperate lover.  The way that his longer, thicker fingers flexed under her touch and curled warmly against hers, the rough callouses on the palms that indicated years of hard work to whatever sport he's dedicated himself to, the glossy smoothness of his detransform miraculous on his right hand and its ridges poking into her skin and the sweet body heat that emanated from his caresses and sent her entire body aflame.  She missed this.  Dieu, she missed her partner's physical touch so much.

   .

   "...Am I dreaming?"

.

 Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot.  Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins.  And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers.  "Chat Noir?? What's wrong?" She asked, her heart skipping multiple beats when she attempted to move her hands away from his, only for Noir to grip them tightly and entwine their fingers firmly.  A perfect fit.  .  "S-Sorry...heh-I'm not upset," He reassured her, tightening his clasp on her hands lovingly, his lips aching to press against her sweet, bare-knuckles in a sound kiss. "It's just...it's just been a while since I've had proper human contact, My Lady...so I've almost forgotten what it's like to be touched...or touch another..."  Adrien felt her move, rather than saw, his Lady's breath hitching in her throat as she in return sent a squeeze back to him. It was as if his entire being was surrounded by a pool of warmth, lighting up his crushed soul and cleansing his shattered heart. The urge to just turn around and envelope her in his greedy arms was exorbitantly unbearable.   She was right there, just behind him, tempting him with that oh-so-familiar bakery scent of cinnamon and vanilla that he could taste it. Alas, his unwavering sense of loyalty to her rules and his primal feelings to keep her safe kept him chained down.  .  But sometimes, even the most beaten down, the most saddest and the most broken of people can receive a glimpse of hope.

   "Well, now you can have all the human contact you want, Chat. C-Close your eyes and I'll come to you- mine are closed too."

 She didn't give him a chance to answer, using her hands to manoeuvre her way towards him until finally, she found his lap and settled down before bringing him in for a well-needed embrace and burying his head into the crook of her neck. Adrien didn't hesitate in crushing her body against his chest, his arms locked around her waist, one hand digging into her smooth tendrils whilst the other one clenching the fabric of her shirt on the small of her back.  He selfishly inhaled in her scent, his tears saturating her neck whilst she in turn let her fingers tangle with his blonde strands, lips puckered against his nape as she memorised the pattern of his heartbeat in tandem to hers. 

   "How long can w-we stay like this?"

   "As long as you would like, mon Minou..."

.

They stayed like that in the same position, all night.

  .

.

.

~(x)~

[fruitcoops]

Hey! I absolutely adore your writing! It's incredible! I was wondering if you could do either 90 or 76 from the prompts list. Maybe even together if you feel like it idk but I'd love to see how you take those 💙💙💙

I had WAY too much fun with this, anon. It’s not smutty at all (except for jokes) so I’m sorry/ not sorry if you were expecting that. I’ll add 76 to the list, though! Credit for Coops goes to @lumosinlove!

“Hey, Lions fans! This is Remus Lupin—”

“—and Sirius Black—”

“—and we are proud to present bloopers from the most recent video on the Lion Pride social media page, where we made the terrible decision to set up Ikea shelves in our house. If you watched the video, you’ll remember we failed miserably. This is why. Enjoy!”

“Was that a double pride pun?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, you’re the best.”

The intro transitioned into a shot of Remus sitting on the floor with about a dozen sheets of paper scattered around him as he struggled to pry a plank of wood out of the mouth of a large black dog. “Come on, Hattie,” he grunted. Hattie bowed down on her front two legs and growled playfully. “No, no, no, this is not a toy.”

“What is it?” Sirius asked from behind the camera.

Remus paused. “It looks like a table leg, but that can’t be right. These are supposed to be shelves, yeah?” In his moment of hesitation, Hattie pulled hard and sprinted out the back door with the wood clenched firmly between her teeth. “Hattie! No! Come here!”

The next blooper began with both of them in the camera view and a baby gate set up to trap Hattie in the kitchen. She whined loudly and pawed at it. “I know, baby, we’re so mean to you,” Sirius said around the screwdriver he was holding in his mouth. “Just ten more minutes, okay?” Remus’ snort of disbelief eliminated the need for a response.

The sky outside was far darker in the following clip and about half of the shelf was set up, including a thoroughly-chewed side piece. Hattie, the poor thing, was still in the kitchen. “Just pound the nail into the wall,” Remus said as Sirius scowled at the instructions.

“I’ll pound you into the wall,” he snapped, then immediately flushed and dropped his face into his hands. Remus’ jaw fell open; his eyes went wide with unrestrained mischief. “Not like—stop it, I didn’t mean it like that—”

Remus burst out laughing. “Oh, please do, Captain.”

Without looking up, Sirius smacked him on the calf with a booklet of Swedish instructions. “This was not supposed to be a difficult video! How hard is it to set up some shelves?”

“It’s really hard,” Remus snorted. Sirius groaned aloud.

“You’re a menace and I’m banishing you to the kitchen.”

“Kinky.”

“Stop it!”

Remus was back on shelf duty when the next clip began; Sirius was nowhere in sight. “Baby, I think you did it backward,” he called, frowning at the pages laid out on the floor.

“What?” Sirius’ voice floated in from the other room. “No, I didn’t!”

“Well, whatever happened, we fucked it up.”

A heavy sigh. “Can you fix it?”

“I can try?” Remus picked up the hammer and a nail from the pile of junk that had accumulated next to the wall. “Here goes nothing.”

Just as he was about to secure the haphazard shelf to the wall, there was a clatter from somewhere in the house. He startled and the hammer missed the nail entirely, landing dead-center on his thumb.

“Motherfucker!” Remus yelped, dropping it with a clatter and spinning on his heel to pace around the room. “Son of a bitch fucking—”

The clip cut off and transitioned back to Remus and Sirius in the living room, where Hattie was stretched across both their laps. “As you can probably tell, we have since taken down the shelf and disposed of it properly,” Sirius said to the camera.

“By ‘properly’, he means we invited our friends over, set it on fire in the backyard, and roasted marshmallows.”

“We hope you enjoyed the bloopers as much as the actual video. Don’t forget to subscribe to the Lion Pride channel for more content! This is Sirius Black—”

“—and Remus Lupin—”

“—signing off for now.”

[pennamesmith]

Return of the Skeletor

A family reunion. Find more Skeletor stories here! 

*

Micah remembered the other world. 

Most people could, in fact. The whole planet was affected. They’d all lived a life they thought was perfect. They’d all imagined something intangible. The memories were faded and fragmentary, like the recollection of a dream, but everyone was certain it had really happened. 

Even if nothing that had happened was real. 

At first Micah didn’t realize anyone else had shared in the dream. He’d lost track of time on Beast Island long ago, and when the collapsing portal closed around him he only assumed it was one of the despairing wasteland’s many tricks. He never had long to dwell on the matter, either. Soon after finding himself returned to reality (he could remember shouting to Angella, reaching for her, trying to tell her “I’m not dead!”) Micah had met the loud and unusual Princess Entrapta. And after her there came…

“She-Ra! It’s She-Ra!” a nasally voice shrieked. 

Micah was startled out of his reverie by a sudden clattering of hooves. The door to his Bright Moon office burst inwards and he was presented with the sight of a breathless Swift Wind. Sitting astride the rainbow-winged unicorn was one of Entrapta’s bots, a lanky drone she’d named ‘Skeletor.’

“The time has come!” Skeletor said. 

“It’s true!” Swift Wind confirmed. “I felt the sacred bond return just a minute ago. Adora and the others are back from Eternia! Darla is over the Whispering Woods right now!”

“What?” Micah jumped to his feet, abandoning his desk without a second thought. It was covered in a mountain of paperwork: royal records, his regent’s duties, and the calendar pages where he’d marked off every day since Glimmer and the rest of the Princess Alliance left for their dangerous mission to another universe. He rushed to the door where Swift Wind was standing. 

Skeletor reached out and helped Micah onto the horse’s back. “Join hands as we bring together our mystic powers!” the robot cried. Once Micah was settled, Swift Wind turned and leapt out the nearest window. They sailed through the skies. 

“What’s going on? Are they all right?” Micah asked, with undisguised worry. 

Swift Wind banked, soaring over the tree line. “I’m not sure! The ship is under control but — look, there it is!” 

Darla, the rebuilt First Ones ship, was descending rapidly from the sky over the treetops. Her flight was steady, but parts of the hull were damaged, and smoke trailed from one wing. Suddenly the ship lurched and plummeted into the trees, vanishing from sight. A plume of vegetation went flying as it plowed to a smouldering stop. 

Micah felt his stomach twist. “We need to get closer!” he called out in a panic. 

“I can take you there!” Skeletor declared, urging Swift Wind toward the ground. They touched down by the edge of a long path of smoking destruction that stretched deep into the woods. 

“They must have landed near here,” Skeletor deduced, observing the massive trench in the ground. He hopped off the horse’s back and ran ahead, making anxious utterances as he went. 

Micah dismounted and walked beside Swift Wind. “I hate this,” Micah confessed. “The staying behind, I mean. At least on Beast Island I was the only one I had to worry about, and I was in control of my own survival. But having to stand by while Glimmer goes into danger? I’m so proud of her, yet I’m also so scared.” 

“I know what you mean,” Swift Wind answered. “I trust Adora, but I also worry about her, like, all the time. Whenever we’re apart I get so restless. I just feel powerless!”  

“Sometimes letting them find their own way is all we can do,” Micah mused. 

They came into a clearing in the woods. Darla was there, sparking and steaming but generally intact. Skeletor hammered on the door. 

“Here, let me try to get you out!” he called. 

Something inside the ship made a noise. There was a hiss and a jet of steam, and Skeletor tumbled backwards, landing with a squawk at Micah and Swift Wind’s feet. They all stared at Darla, holding their breath expectantly.

The front hatch of the spaceship popped open. Entrapta erupted out of it, tumbling down the landing ramp in a ball of frizzled hair. She pulled her goggles up. 

“Aha! We made it!” she crowed, taking in her surroundings. “All in the right dimension and everything!” 

She reached into the recesses of her hair and emerged with a haggard Hordak. “Your piloting saved us! I knew you could do it!” she told him proudly. 

Hordak squinted through half-lidded eyes. “Is it over?” he muttered. “Are we still alive?”

“Yep!” Entrapta wobbled to her feet and gathered her partner up in her ponytails. “Now, let’s get you a checkup and some rest. You’ve had a stressful voyage!” 

She suddenly seemed to notice the gathered onlookers. “Oh! Hi Skeletor. Hi Bird Horse. Hi Micah. Guess what? You’re gonna love this!” Entrapta turned back to the ship. “Safe to disembark, crew!” she yelled, before trotting off with Hordak.

“Now we’ll see how clever you are!” Skeletor said. 

Mermista peeked around the door. “Ground!” she cried, throwing herself across the dirt in relief. “I never thought I’d miss you so much!” 

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad a flight,” Sea Hawk cajoled, helping her to her feet. “Why, I can think of a dozen — no, two dozen more harrowing trips I’ve taken in the Dragon’s Daughter XXVIII.” 

“You fishmonger,” Skeletor scoffed. 

Frosta was the next one out, followed closely by Perfuma and Scorpia. “Eternia was amazing!” the teenaged ice princess announced, brandishing a pair of frozen fists. “I got to punch so much stuff!” 

“Come on, it wasn’t all violence,” Perfuma pleaded. 

“Yeah, we learned a bunch about friendship and responsibility too,” Scorpia agreed. 

“Punch! Punch!” Frosta said. 

“You’re becoming evil, I can sense it!” Skeletor hummed approvingly. “Excellent!” 

Catra and Adora came next, and they were accompanied by a young man Micah had never seen before. He had a pink shirt, bobbed blond hair, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Adora herself. A sword hung on his back. He blinked as he emerged into the light. 

Swift Wind’s jaw dropped. “Adora! Is that…?” 

“Hey guys!” Adora grinned sheepishly. “So, funny story. You remember how when I was a baby I was taken from a hidden First Ones faction that nobody has ever been able to find since?” 

She held her hands out, presenting the newcomer. “Well, uh, we found ‘em! This is my twin brother, Adam!” 

Adam smiled and waved. “Hello everybody,” he chirped. 

“Brother?” Swift Wind sputtered. 

“He-Man!” Skeletor bellowed. 

The group fell into a chattering commotion, but Micah was hardly paying attention. Glimmer and Bow had appeared at the top of the ramp, holding each other as they looked out. Emotions that went beyond words swam in the young queen’s eyes. 

Adora saw where Micah was looking and quickly pulled her brother away. “We’ll tell you the whole story later, sir! Trust me, it’s hilarious. Now come on, I gotta show you around Etheria, bro.”

“Sure thing, sis,” Adam replied, grinning hugely. They pounded their fists together, adding their own sound effects as they did so, and marched off laughing. 

“They have been doing that the entire. Trip. Back,” Catra groaned, following close behind the pair. “Somebody save me.” 

“You furry coward,” muttered Skeletor. 

At the entrance to the ship, Glimmer and Micah hugged each other fiercely. When they finally broke, the old king could see that his daughter was smiling through her tears. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Glimmer sniffled. “So much happened. You wouldn’t believe how scary things got! Oh, but I totally had everything under control.” 

“I know you did,” Micah smiled back. But he could tell there was more. 

Glimmer’s face turned serious. “Dad,” she said shakily, tripping over her own words. “Listen. Entrapta’s theories about the other dimension were right. When we — I mean, didn’t know if…” 

Bow stepped in. “Your highness, I think there’s someone you should see.” He beckoned gently. Still at a loss for words, Glimmer nodded and took her father’s hand, leading him inside the ship. 

Micah’s heart was racing even before she rose from the chair and turned to face him. His breath caught when he saw the spreading wings, the shining light, the smiling face that he remembered so clearly. 

Their eyes met. It was a miracle. 

Just like on the island, a part of him couldn’t believe this was really happening. But it was. 

They both reached out. They’d mourned each other once. Their hands met. 

“Micah?” she asked, hardly believing it herself. 

“Angie?” 

*

Outside, both the princesses and their well-wishers had gathered around Adam, excitedly showing off the wonders of their planet. He gazed with delight at everything, marveling in the magical light of Etheria. His laugh brimmed with kindness. 

Skeletor elbowed his way through the crowd. “I can’t let any of you delay me! Out of my way, now!” he jabbered. “This is no time for jokes!” 

He made it to where Adora stood with her brother and glared. Adam turned in surprise, not sure what to expect. They stared at each other. 

Skeletor held his arms wide. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment!” he cried. “Take this, He-Man!” 

Then he lunged forward, and wrapped Adam in an enormous hug. 

“He-Man, I am your friend!” 

[sapphic-sasuke]

Hello!! How are you? My ask is: what inspires you to write and read and create more content around sasuke? and what is your favorite scene from your fics? thank you!! sending you lots of positivity and strength for the new year ✨✨✨ much love

hiiiii im good wbu? :D just preparing for mock exams so a little stressed.

there’s so little sasuke centric content that shows what i want to see, namely a sasuke who is konoha critical and/or retains his ideals for a revolution. i think there’s so much interesting content that can be created from it. recently, ive been inspired by pro sasuke posts on here that bring forth so many interesting takes on his character, i think sasuke is a really flexible character and is so beautifully complex that i find more and more inspiration to continue writing for him <333

my favourite scene is a scene im actually currently writing although my favourite scene ive written so far is from chapter 7 of looking for forgiveness (i ran into your madness) heres a part of it:

“Saku—Sakura.” Sasuke’s tongue was lead, metallic, stiff and heavy. Deliriously, he tried to haul her body back. If they came up with another escape plan, maybe—maybe this nightmare could end. They were wholly outclassed that the difference in strength was insurmountable—but—but it wasn’t that far. Another few dozen miles. They could alert Konohagakure, send reinforcements. Another jounin as capable as Sensei fighting in their stead. It wasn’t cowardice.

Deidara watched the two as he would an interesting fight between baby animals. Cute at first but tiring the longer they dragged it out. His manic grin downturned into a scowl of annoyance. “You’re not my target. Out of my way.”

Sasuke heard a squelch, grimy, poignant and warm. His hand, curled around her forearm, froze at the feeling of something trickling down it. (He wasn’t injured, so why?) His eyes trained on the flecks of blood that trailed down Sakura’s arm onto his hands. They twitched and so did hers.

His head was ducked into an ocean where his vision blurred into a mass of shadowy figures, focusing in and out, rapidly.

Oh.

He tore his disoriented search upwards.

Sakura’s stomach—Sakura’s stomach was caved in, spurting with blood that slicked down her shirt and pooled to her feet. Her lips parted and opened slightly, words tumbling and dying in her mouth.

“Sas… Sasuke?” It was the quietest he had heard her ask his name in so long. The remains of Sasuke’s numbness fizzled out of existence and was substituted with horror, bone-chilling agony. Fingers curled in and out, heart hammered like the marching army of death, legs rocked and teetered as the earth bent and bore its jagged scars, its pile of corpses, once tucked away that he tripped on.

Sakura. Sakura.

“Sakura." He inhaled her name, but attached to it was blood, blood on her face, down her chin as she coughed and spat in vain. It circled around her like a halo or wing—and gods, why was he comparing her to that she wasn’t dead? His fingers met her pulse that was faint enough he had to press harder but still a sign she was alive. Her stomach took a blow to one of Deidara’s explosions but shinobi have survived worse odds, right? But there was so much blood. His hand was drenched in red as he tried to stop the blood loss, shivering with each soft, open flesh he touched.

What was he doing? What was he doing? He needed bandages, not his dirty hands. But he wanted her to stop bleeding. If he just tried emergency first aid, maybe he could—

“Oi, Uchiha. Eyes up here. I’m about to pummel you next, hm!”

Deidara’s words were ignored; it was like the muted sensation of water clogging his ears.

It wasn’t a graceful fall. Instead, it was fast, so light and heavy, so unlike Sakura. She was always moving, just like Naruto. Gazing into the future, working hard for the acknowledgement of her family.

And again.

Again. Sasuke watched. All he could do was watch.

Useless. He was so useless. Why was he the last one standing? He was so weak, with his shaking legs, tears in his eyes. To not even be able to protect his teammates, those dear to him, he knew his mother would be disappointed.

Useless, useless, useless. He didn’t know any medical techniques. He couldn’t take his eyes off the enemy to perform first aid. He was next and if he went down too even the slim chance of survival would slip through his bloody fingers.

the parallels of this to the uchiha massacre where sasuke has to watch those he cares about get hurt again is angst potential but also like idk. i think sasuke has major survivors guilt. its just so fun!! can u tell i only ever write angst? :D sending you lots of love for the new years too!! thank u and take care!!!!

[justcourttee]

Trigger warning: After posting one too many of Lila’s lies, the ladyblog faces severe backlash and lawsuits. One of the recent is from a respected journalist that Lila lied about being friends with their kid. Alya is facing defamation and the journalists Child had recently passed away further upsetting the latter. Alya tried to explain, but Lila quickly throws her under the bus. This is not Bashing, except actions have consequences and have to live with them. Lila salt is welcome though

I hope this is kind of what you were thinking about. I did my best to keep it as accurate as I could with French Law :)

Here

Alya couldn’t believe she was here.

As she stared at the multitude of cameras, all vying for her attention, she felt the sudden need to make herself smaller. Nino’s strong hand on her back, urging her forward gave her the strength she needed to make it up the courthouse steps. Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for one person in particular but alas, they were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she found two people she had hoped would miss this little event. Front row stood Marinette and Adrien, they’re eyes feigned with concern as she took the last step before the entrance. If only she could reach them, get them to testify on her behalf, but why would they change their minds now? It’s not like she hadn’t begged them too at the beginning of the month before everything had gone south so quickly.

As the doors were opened, the blinding light subsided as she was quickly ushered to a small room away from her adversaries that had lined the hallways, all ready to testify against her. She couldn’t believe how many there were.

“We should be safe here Miss Césaire, you didn’t talk to anybody on your way in, right? Journalists are like sharks, one small taste of blood and they’ll turn it into a frenzy.”

Alya scoffed at her attorney. She knew how journalism worked. You needed to make the story big and eye-catching otherwise nobody would bother to read it. It’s why she loved Lila so much. With her, the LadyBlog never had a dull moment.

“We have thirty minuted to prepare. Normally, they would not allow this public prosecution, but you and your friend have managed to upset a lot of people, Miss Césaire.”

Alya bit her tongue as she sunk lower in her seat. Where was her friend now? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “All rise for the honorable Judge Bethany Abadie.”

Alya stood slowly, trying not to let her stance waver as the sound of dozens of cameras sounded through the room.

“You may be seated.”

She felt a small hand lightly press down on her shoulder as her attorney tried to get her to sit, but she couldn’t. She felt frozen in place. Seeing the judge made everything feel so real and not seeing her made Alya see red.

“Miss Césaire, I suggest you sit down. Your charges today are quite serious under the eyes of French law and with the number of people attempting to sue your website, you better hope your defense team has an ace up their sleeve.”

It was like something snapped inside of her as she curled in on herself, trying her best to disappear in front of the courtroom.

“Now, let’s get started. In the case of the people of France vs. Alya Césaire, the defendant is charged with defamation of character and defamation of the deceased. How does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Her eyes wandered over to her defense attorney who looked no better than she did when the words came out of his mouth.

“I see, you were given an option to accept the price that the collective individuals offered you in addition to taking down your blog, instead you chose to fight their lawsuits. You do realize Miss Césaire that if the jury finds you guilty on these charges, that could mean up to a year in jail in addition to €12.000 per assailant?”

Alya mustered enough strength to nod much to the judge's dismay.

“Very well then, the prosecution team may lead with their first witness.”

One by one, every scoop she had posted unfolded and crumbled before her eyes. Jagged Stone denying writing a song for her friend, denying ever having a ‘filthy feline’. Clara Nightingale denying her friend’s involvement in any of her choreography, claiming it would be child labor. And worse of all, Nadja Chamack and her claim that her friend never knew her daughter, that Alya saying her child was brash and rude and an overall unpleasant kid was defamation.

“And what proof do you have that my client isn’t telling lies about your daughter, you do know that every child is different when they’re away from their parents.”

Alya breathed a sigh of relief as her attorney laid into the reporter. Just maybe, she had a chance of walking out of here unscathed.

“Because she’s dead.”

An eerie silence fell over the courtroom as Alya’s face ashened. No. That couldn’t be true. She had seen Manon the other day. She just knew she had. She went over to Marinette’s and the girl was there, as bratty as ever. But now she couldn’t remember the last time she had been to Marinette’s.

“How long has she been dead?”

“Councilman, I object!” The judge’s hammer slammed down, echoing throughout the room.

“No, no, it’s alright. Those two monsters need to hear what they put me through.”

Nadja met Alya’s eyes, not even bothering to wipe the tears that streamed down her face as righteous anger poured into her stare.

“My daughter died five months ago, a terrible car accident. I begged my team to leave it out of the report and only told my closest friends and family. The funeral was a week later and my heart remained shattered at the thought that some reckless driver hadn’t paid attention to her crossing the crosswalk, just like I had taught her.”

Nadja took a breath, trying to level her voice as the lump in Alya’s throat grew bigger.

“Three months ago, I ran across the Ladyblog. While it had mostly turned into a gossip column for this Lila Rossi person, I used to check it all the time when it had just started out. I honestly considered Alya as the next big reporter as she was always at the scene throwing herself into danger to get the scoop. It was admirable.”

Her praises caused the girl to flinch as if she had been struck.

“But as I clicked on the newest video labeled ‘Angel or Devil?: Is Manon Chamack really as everyone believes her to be?’, my heart immediately sank. Both girls sat on-screen as Lila Rossi went on for ten whole minutes about the time she babysat Manon during my interview with Prince Ali. She said my baby was a horror show and Alya agreed saying the few times she had helped Marinette were nightmares.”

Nadja lost her composure as the final word fell out of her mouth. Her tears were ugly as she barely managed an audible ‘could I be excused?’. The judge nodded calling for a recess before allowing the defense team to call their testimonies on character, but Alya couldn’t move. Nadja’s face was burned into her mind. She waited until the courtroom was cleared before standing, trying her best to swallow the lump in her throat but to no avail.

As her feet trudged behind her attorney, she kept replaying Marinette’s words from the beginning of the month.

‘You don’t want me to be expert testimony to your character because I’ll tell them the truth. And I’d doubt you’d like that very much at all.’

She couldn’t understand where all that anger had come from, all that pain, but now she did. Alya didn’t even want to know what her attorney had up his sleeve because honestly? She felt like she didn’t deserve a defense at all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Only one testimony?”

Her attorney nodded weakly as the judge sighed, probably already having determined Alya’s fate. She knew if it was her up there looking down on someone else, she would have given the maximum punishment the court allowed.

“The defense calls to the stand Lila Rossi.”

Alya sat up straight in her seat, her blood running cold as the sly fox breezily took the stand. Her smirk was brief and directed toward the auburn-haired girl, but it dropped into fake sympathy, a single forced tear rolling down her face.

“What can you tell us about Alya Césaire?”

“Oh goodness, where do I start?” Lila brought a tissue up to her eyes, lightly dabbing at the nonexistent tears.

“She coerced me into telling all those terrible lies about the good people of Paris. Every single one of my interviews was typed up and rehearsed several times before we even shot the tape. Here’s the proof,” With a fake sob, she handed the judge several transcripts, all seemingly printed from Lila’s email.

Alya clenched her fists underneath the table. She was lying. Straight through her teeth. Alya was wondering how Lila managed to evade the charges that were on both of them, but here it was lying in front of her. Lila was going to throw her under the bus.

“She’s a monster. She ditched her own best friend because she wouldn’t lie for her on the stand. She threatened to make everyone hate me if I didn’t keep up the lies. She knew about my disease and took advantage of it.”

Alya gritted her teeth as her attorney tried his best to get the girl off the stand, but it was too late. The damage had been done. One look at the jury and Alya knew. She was done for. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …

The jury took a whole thirty minutes before they returned with her verdict.

Guilty.

€48.000 to settle each lawsuit, the permanent closure of her LadyBlog, and 300 hours of community service. Lila received none of it.

“That’s not fair!”

Alya’s head whipped around to where the voice came from, her eyes landing on her former best friend.

“Young lady, I advise that you sit down and allow this court to adjourn peacefully. The verdict has been decided.”

“But Lila was just as much a part of this as Alya. In fact, if you even bothered to look at the interviews, Lila egged her on, there’s no way it was all scripted. Scrub Alya’s computer, I bet you won’t find a single email.”

“Young lady, I’ll give you one more chance, Sit down.”

Marinette opened her mouth, but she abruptly closed it when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. Her gaze shifted down to where Alya stood, a small smile peeking through her tears.

“Thank you Marinette, I really do appreciate it, but it’s time I took responsibility. I should have never trusted her too good to be true stories in the first place. I should have never hurt my best friend in the first place.”

Marinette hesitated, but as she stared into the auburn-haired girls glassy eyes, she understood as well. With a nod, she returned to her spot between Adrien and Nino, her own eyes glazing over as she watched her former best friend escorted out by her attorney and a few cops.

Once more, Alya was blinded by the flashing lights as she was ushered to her attorney’s car. As the doors shut firmly, her attorney released a sigh before jumbling his keys around, trying to find the ignition.

“Well, it could’ve gone worse if we’re honest here.”

Alya didn’t bother to respond. She simply stared out the window, her mind racing at a thousand miles a minute. Only one thought stood prominent above the rest.

Alya couldn’t believe she was here.

[pallasperilous]

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash.  It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp. 

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

 An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

 They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

  By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

 “Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

 Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

 Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

  Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out.  I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

 After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs.  “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

  Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

 By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

 What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

  Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.   

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

[cottoncandyjester]

heyo I was wondering if I could have some tendou comfort sex for a transgender y/n (ftm) who got deadnamed/misgendered and feel rlly bad about it? just tendou praising them and telling them how valid and handsome they are ♡♡ tysm!!

Oh as a trans man I felt like this was personal

this made me feel all warm and nice so thank you for asking for such a thing💖

[D/N]= dead name

Warning this story contains: wholesome sex, tendou being goofy during sex, praise, slight angst in the beginning

A normal date, it was supposed to be a normal date. You and Tendou went out for boba then walked around the mall hands laced together while the redhead was telling you some story about work

"so he ordered a custom made chocolate to look like babydicks and I was like oh alright cool but he wanted the inside to be cream filled and I didn't know what to say! Like what am I supposed to say when this big guys looks me in my eyes and tell me that he wants three dozen baby dic-"

"hey! [D/N]!"

Tendou's very amusing story was interrupted by a loud voice along with loud footsteps before you could react you felt a sharp slap on your back and you turned around to see a familiar group of people

"yo! Girl where have you been!? After high school you completely just vanished"

You were tense your heart hammering in your chest as you looked at the faces of the people who made your life a living hell, yet here they were acting sweet and nice..they weren't even saying the right gender.

I wanna go home

Stop saying that name

Leave me alone

You weren't even listening as the group of friends ranted about your old high school days, you felt dizzy and like you wanted to puke and before you knew it you felt something wet on your cheeks.

"heyyy, you guys have been talking for a while and irs all been trash. So could you shut up?"

Tendou's voice snapped you out the panic attack you were in and you felt the male pull you close to his chest holding the back of your head tightly with an annoyed huff

"don't you idiots know gender? You've been saying her and she this whole time and using a weird name that's not his name..it's [y/n]!"

"huh? You changed your name, it's cause you wanna be like a boy? It's a lesbian thing yeah?"

Tendou tensed up and anger bubbled within him, he was going to make a scene but he felt you tugging his shirt which made him pause to look at you

"I wanna go, please satori"

That's all he needed to hear before he guided you away taking you home, the entire time you were silent which scared tendou since he couldn't get you to crack even a smile.

Once you two got home tendou watched you go to the room and he tried to think if a way to cheer you up and an idea came to him. He stripped before grabbing a can of whip cream before sneaking into the room only to burst it open and hear a loud surprised yelp from you

Your eyes landed on his dick before a sniffle came from you as you sat up

"not in the mood for banana sundae tori go away"

"come onnnn~ my cute boy don't want to have fun? [Y/n], babyyy"

His singsong like tone made you fight a smile as he crawled onto the bed before spraying whip cream in his mouth before making kissing noises while wrapping his arms around you rubbing his cream filled cheeks against yours before kissing you sharing the sweet treat with a french kiss

You pulled back laughing when tendou reached under your shirt and tickled your sides watching you curl up laughing before tendou grinned now shaking the whip cream once more

"there's my cutie! You know I love ya right? Those assholes today we're such jerks but I know you're my sweet handsome baby boy"

"s-satori-"

You felt tears in your eyes before bursting out laughing at the sight of tendou spraying whip cream up in the air randomly getting it all over his hair and chest

"what are you doing weirdo?!"

"hey! It's snow [y/n]!"

You were a laughing mess before hearing the whip cream can squirt signalling that it was empty so tendou tossed the can aside with a goofy shrug

"eh who needs that when I already have a sweet treat right here"

With that tendou kissed along your neck slipping your shirt off easily, now throwing it on the ground before he noticed you covering your chest with your arms

Tendou's eyes softened as he stared at you before softly moving your arms now kissing along your chest and down your stomach

"my handsome boyfriend, you're so cute and handsome its honestly unfair!"

He licked his lips as he started to pull your pants down but saw how nervous you looked so he slowed it down

"how about we keep it vanilla eh? Let me just show you how much I love you"

With a shaky nod you let him strip you down before he moved up pressing his forehead against yours now pushing inside you watching your face twist into bliss as he pushed deeper and deeper but he also made sure to be gentle since it was more about making love rather than feral fucking

"such a good boy, god I love you so much yknow that?"

"i-i love you too satori"

Tendou's thrusts were soft yet filled with pleasure he knew exactly where to hit to make you a moaning mess, hugging your body close to his as he whispered nothing but praise and love in your ear as his hands gripped your hips

"my perfect man, I don't care what anyone else says you're an amazing boy alright? [Y/n] I love you so damn much"

He couldn't help but chuckle at your small whines and moans muffled from your face buried into his shoulder. The sounds of the creaking bed, blissed out grunts, and tendou's hips slamming against yours filled the room as he kissed along your neck his words of praise being neverending even as his climax grew close

"I'm going to cum, cum with me babyboy, be a good boy and cum with me"

His command was all you needed as he gave one final thrusts soon filling you up as you tightened against him and had your own very intense climax, as the two of you started to come down from the high of orgasm a single thought crossed your mind

"s-satori?"

"hmm?"

"thank you, for that"

Tendou cracked a huge grin before he squeezed your cheeks together now smothering your face in sloppy wet kisses earning your laughter

"how did you get sooooo cute! [Y/N] you're the cutest boyfriend in the whole wide world!"

Hearing you laugh made his heart full of ease knowing that he can bring joy to your life no matter what anyone else says, a monster like him can make you smile.

[internalsealpanic]

Fabulous Friday Evenings

Summary: You were having a really bad day.  Conner decides to help cheer you up and make sure your drunk ass doesn’t face plant on the side walk.

masterlist 

word count:  2,652

a/n: Special thanks to @anothertimdrakestan for helping with the ending and helping with editing! Love you, Elle!

warnings: alcohol and swearing and author does not know how alcohol works.  No one is under the drinking age. This may benefit from more editing. 

"Mosht people are jusht the careful scaffolding of complexshesh," you slurred, your face red, head half buried in your arms, and golden ear cuffs winking under the dim bar lights.

"You somehow still sound like a fucking nerd even you're when drunk," Conner laughed throwing his head back, handsome face stretched with a cheeky smile.  "You look like a mess," he said softly, reaching out for your cheek.

"Fuhk you! Not eberyone can be born too pretty for their own guhd- how did yah evehn know I was here? It was Tim wasn't it! "

"Good guess buuuut it was actually Bart" Conner explained casually taking a seat next to you as you lifted your head momentarily before plopping it back down to stare at the amber gloss of the drink. The light from the ceiling seemed to dance so elegantly in your eyes even as you wrinkled your brows. "That rat," you cursed miserably into your arm. 

Across from you, a pretty brunette shot you two a wink and without looking you could tell Conner flirted in kind. Normally, you'd have the audacity to steal the girl's attention away before Conner could even make a proper move but tonight you were in absolutely no mood to be charming. In fact, you were sloshed. You didn't know whether it was the fourth or fifth drink that did it but there you were sitting next to one of the most attractive people he knew with your makeup smeared and  eyes still swollen and puffy. You kind of just want a portal to open up and swallow you.

 The brunette made a motion to her friends which indicated that she was gonna try her luck and you wished her the best of luck. You bit your soft lips before pressing them into a pout. It took everything in Conner not to kiss you on the spot. Be the responsible one they said. It would be fun, they said. 

"We should go. You're-"

"Have fun," you said, patting him on the shoulder, cutting him off curtly; placing some cash on the bar before leaving. The buxom brunette approached Conner placing a hand on the shoulder you’d just touched moments before. He didn’t seem to notice her, his mind still lingering on the warmth of your hand.  Before she can say anything, he pivots and runs towards you .

The casual slump in your shoulders in place of your usual elegance was a pretty good indication that you would probably fall in a gutter before you got home. Conner highly doubted  you could see straight. 

"I can’t believe Roz let you get this sloshed without checking on you," He joked bringing one of your arms over his shoulder and slinging his own arm around you for balance. You walked like a newborn horse. It was incredibly embarrassing and you wanted to die. Conner, on the other hand, just found it incredibly hilarious.

 "She's out getting into her own brand of sloshed at a bachelorette party,"

"Huh. Didn't know she was the wedding type. Thought she hated going to those,"

"She's the stripper," You deadpanned, sounding abnormally sober.  With that Conner let out a genuinely hearty laugh. You would trade all the martinis, dackories, and margaritas in the world just to get drunk on that laugh. 

"That reminds me," Conner drawled, adjusting his hold feeling just how shaky you were from the late October Metropolis weather pressing you closer to his warm body. You kind of wanted to melt into his side but you had too much pride. "Bart never said why you were out here getting shit faced," You frowned at him but couldn't really muster any sharpness into your expression.

 There were lots of reasons to get 'shit faced' even in shiny Metropolis. You twitched your nose and mouth side to side gathering the makings of a sentence. Where do you even start? Your little sister got suspended, your mother (who somehow found out you were in Metropolis) is either demanding money or for you to drop everything to go back home to help around the house (translation: help out with the bills while babysitting your siblings), Bats and some other league members were on your ass for the last mission (probably the only thing on this list you found reasonable),  this morning, you got fired from your library job so they could hire Marco's girlfriend (who is in fact a perfectly nice person which means you can't really hate her), or the dozens of little annoyances such as Bart not being able to keep his trap shut. 

"This week was just a little much," 

A long moment of silence passes between you. Uncharacteristic for Conner but it was cute that he thought silence would make you fess up. 

"You know I could have gone home on my own. That brunette looked like she was up for a good time," 

"Yeah right. Also you're welcome." 

"You're right. Thank you for getting blue balled this fine evening to escort me" you didn't want to be prickly but Conner was being too nice and that made your skin crawl. Why couldn’t he be mean to you right now like a normal person? 

"First off, she wasn't even my type-" You raised a brow. 

"Kon, her tits were the size of Jupiter-" 

"Did you really  just say 'tits'?" 

You threw him a scowl clearly sobering up from irritation.

"Shut up. Point iiiis, you didn't have to-"

"You just said-"

"Oh for the love of- yes, I said tits. Speaking of which you should be staring at some instead of having to lug my sorry ass around on this fabulous Friday evening."  Your hand fluttering, gesturing vaguely in the air.

"Eh. There'll be other Fridays" Kon shrugged.  Pulling you closer and some selfish part of you felt relieved. 

----------

Much to your surprise (you really ought not to be), Roz wasn't home yet which meant you had to dig out the keys from the secret hiding spot- another hassle. You reached out peeling a hilariously well concealed hole in the wall and fished out the set of jingling keys. Conner looked like he was between amusement and bewilderment. Good enough.  At least, this stopped Conner's 30 minute TED Talk about the new 70s sitcom he'd found. 

You two entered the shoe box apartment clumsily thanks to your disastrous limbs. 

You blew out a breath and muttered a thanks as Conner helped you plop onto the couch.  Though, it was more like gravity decided to magnetize your body to the couch and Conner just let it happen. 

You shut his eyes for a moment wrapping a ragged blanket around you. You made a mental note to raid the thrift store for a new one. Preferably one void of holes. 

"So what's up and don't you dare say it was nothing. I've never seen you this hammered before," He said handing you a mug of steaming hot chocolate. 

"Does it occur to you that I might get hammered like this often and you might just not see it? Who knows maybe I'm actually a functional alcoholic?" 

"Ok, first off, you are barely functional. Second, that might be your weakest deflection yet.  Try again," 

"Ok... did it occur-" 

"I didn't mean it lite- just tell me what happened. Everyone's worried," 

You stared at the steam rising from the fresh cup of cocoa. It was none of Conner's business. It was no one’s business.  Your friends were too goddamn nice. Blowing out another breath, you said "You might wanna sit down too," 

Conner takes his own mug of hot cocoa and sits next to you because for some reason eye contact made you a better liar and Conner for all his dumb decisions wasn't gonna let  you off the hook that easily.  You shifted uncomfortably and muttered about either Cassie or Roz ratting you out. He assumed it was the eye contact thing. Conner felt a little offended. He might not be Tim but he’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Despite his hurt feelings and bruised ego, he decided to table that and focus on the current issue or, likely, issues.

 "Do you want it in alphabetical order?" 

"Please tell me you can actually do that," Conner teased with a wide grin. You couldn’t fight off a smile forming on your face. "Sadly, I am not Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. My brain cells work like a normal person's,"

"Didn't you die?" 

"Death only fixes stupid when you stay dead. You've seen Red Hood and whichever other Ex-Robin has been to the pearly gates,"

"You say that as if Jason wouldn't tell the big man to fuck off," 

You blinked and turned your head up to the ceiling. "Ok that's true," You conceded, your mouth twitching rapidly from side to side making you look like an exasperated rabbit.  Cute.

"So what's up?" 

 All the good mood from the past few minutes dissipated in an instant. You looked down solemnly at the still steaming mug. You were silent for what felt like an eternity. 

 "It's family- Immediate.  And the source of all evil-"  

 "Lex Corp?" 

You snorted a shy tired smile cracked across your face.  You shook your head. Those little gestures just make Conner feel a little warmer. You, on the other hand, cursed at how easily Conner could make you laugh. You were  supposed to be sad damn it. 

"Money," Conner knew immediate family was always a sore spot for you. No one knew the specifics except Roz but that was inevitable when you're cousins.  Money was also a sore spot and based on your near dead tone. You’ve either lost a lot of it or you’re in a tight spot but not ready to elaborate. 

"Wanna try buying a lottery ticket?"

"What?"

"Who knows you might get lucky?" 

"You could have gotten lucky you if you-" 

"Are you seriously gonna keep bringing that up?" 

"Yes, most likely. Depends," 

"On what?!" 

"On whether I can think of something funnier to give you shit about or if you can convince me-whatever the fuck you're thinking of doing stop!"Conner's cheeky grin did not disappear nor did the faint flush on your cheeks. 

"I wasn't thinking of anything, you sick pervert" he laughed. You really should have been exasperated with Conner. You tried damn it. You looked at him skeptically before violently letting his head rest on Conner’s shoulder causing the other boy to fall over. 

"Aaaaaaawwwww babe , if you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so," 

You wanted to. In fact,  both of you wanted to. But unfortunately neither of you were martian and neither of you was willing to say jack.  You closed your eyes trying to pretend Conner wasn't a little shit. Conner radiated too much smug for that though. 

"Shut up," You mumbled into Conner's shoulder already feeling sleep pull him under. You clung to him. Maybe just for tonight you can indulge in this. Just for a little while you can cling to Conner's warmth. Maybe in the morning your head will ache too much to remember this. Waking up alone wouldn't be too painful then. Hopefully. 

---------------

You woke up feeling like a troop of Can Caning hippos decided to host a live performance all over your head. You sighed remembering that you had in fact run out of Aspirin just days before so you decided on just lying there and praying that Roz also needed Aspirin and  had more energy to run to the store. 

You settled in nuzzling in to the warm- 

Wait. It was October. 

Nothing in the apartment should be warm. 

NOTHING. 

Then, you heard it.  A LOUD snore. It honestly sounded more like the roar of an engine than anything.  Everything else followed. The slow rising and falling of the chest beneath you, the press of stubble against your forehead, and the strong arms loosely wrapped around you. 

Yeah. You died again. Yeah. You finally went to heaven. Yup. You were ok with that. You were  definitely 100% A Ok with this if this was heaven. Being held tenderly by the guy you liked while you got a good night’s sleep was definitely heaven. God, you were such a sap.  

How the hell you missed all of that baffled you.

 Oh wait. Dancing hippos. Fuck. 

Your head felt like it was threatening to crack open but somehow you honestly could not mind even if you tried. You were  laying on top of a hot (literally and metaphorically) guy mutually cuddling. You nuzzled into the junction between Conner’s neck and shoulder in an attempt to steal more warmth. Sure, you were probably gonna go deaf from the snoring. Sure, you were definitely irritated by the stubble pressed against your face. And sure, you would probably die of embarrassment once Conner woke up. You could worry about all that later. All you could think about was how nicely your arms fit around Conner’s neck and how Conner’s arms wrap around you a little tighter in return. 

Click. 

Click. 

You could hear the distinct sound of your own camera shutter. Each sound chipped away at your peace of mind. You lifted your head only to see Roz holding your camera. 

TAKING PICTURES. 

Your cousin was nothing if not a petty opportunist. 

“I would tell you to get a room buuuut the only bedroom iiiiis preeeeeeetty occupied,” Roz drawled  smugly way too pleased with herself. You opened his mouth to ask but you’d already made the mistake of walking in on Roz and a guest once and you were  pretty sure you needed more therapy for that than you did for your murder. You just sighed as Roz took another picture.

“Come on, (y/n), smile a little,”

“I’m not smiling for your blackmail material,”

Roz gasped trying to sound scandalized. She failed, only sounding amused beyond belief. “It’s only blackmail if you’re ashamed of it. Personally, I think you’re scoring big time,”

“Roz please just fuck off before you wake him up,”

“Too fuckin’ late for that. He’s been awake for awhile,” 

You could  feel Conner smiling into your hair and his arms wrap around you  a little tighter. You tried to straighten up. To tower over him. To look intimidating. 

But…. you couldn’t. You were kind of trapped because, yanno,  super strength.

 You were seething and threw a scowl at Conner who only chuckled at you in response.  

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” You snarled, clearly exasperated and feeling the hippos start their encore performance. 

“ Mmmmmm, it depends,” Nope. The hippos did not only come back for an encore. They brought friends. Based on the absolutely smug look on Conner’s face, you were in for an entire parade. 

You let out a breath not sure if you wanted to play this game but not really seeing any other options.  “On what?“

Conner paused and hummed and hummed and hummed some more as if he was actually thinking but you knew from the crook of his lips that he had this planned out. Maybe not this exact scenario but something close“Go out on a date with me,”

You blinked then rolled your eyes theatrically enough that your head rolled along with it.   “And be seen with you in public?” You teased, an almost sheepish smile tugging at your features.

Yeah, Conner wasn’t exactly expecting you to say yes.

 “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” You said playing it off as casually as possible but you couldn’t help but mirror the absolutely goofy grin plastered on Conner’s face.  His happiness was infectious. You felt weightless. It was probably the fact that you were floating with him but you were pretty sure you were just on cloud nine. You were doomed. Definitely, inevitable, indubitably doomed. Even though everything has been shit up to now. The happiness radiating off of Conner was enough to make everything feel a little better.  

Thank you so much for reading!

tag list: 

@idkmanicantenglish

@batarella (I thought you might like it?)

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Touching | 8. shielding the other one with their body, Dick & Rachel - for @wonderbatwayne

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Safe Haven

Series: Physical Affection - Tumblr Prompts

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: "The answer is simple, Grayson. Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me. Now I'm taking what's yours."

2x07 AU

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

Safe Haven

You really wanna be back here?

Dick tried to ignore his father's voice as he marched between the rows of wooden benches.

"Where is he?"

Deathstoke led him to this church - to the place where everything went down five years ago. But now it was empty.

Bruce showed up in front of him, blocking his way.

He's feeding on your guilt. Like a spider. He's lured you away from where you need to be… who you need to protect.

"He killed my friend," Dick argued.  "Nearly killed Jason. He has to be stopped."

Very heroic of you. Except… you don't give a shit.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't know."

But I do, Bruce said as he walked up to him. I know everything. That's why you brought me. Just like I know why you keep sneaking off on these solo runs, just like you did five years ago. You have blood on your hands. 

"Not just me."

But you have more, son. Blood only you and Slade know about. You're afraid of the dark. Always have been. Even as a little boy. The great chasm of silence. The coldness of isolation. You're afraid if the others know your secret they'll leave you and you'll be alone, again. And they may. 

His heart sped up in his chest, his mind forgot how to breathe for a monent.

"They don't need to know," he said finally. "What difference does it make? It's done, it's in the past. It's behind me."

But it's not. It's got to come out.

"God damn it!" he shouted, feeling his nerves snapping. He was really getting tired of all this bullshit. "Can you leave me alone?"

You know how to get rid of me. You've known the whole time.

Tears started burning behind his eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Of course you do, son. You always have. You just have to tell the truth.

But he couldn't. It was too much. It would destroy him, destroy everything he had with his team.

"It's too hard." he whispered, dropping his head in shame. It was getting harder to keep tears at bay.

His father reached out and gently brushed his fingers down Dick's cheek. Even if he was only a prodcut of Dick's own fucked up mind the touch felt very real and it brought some sort of comfort to him. 

His gaze then fell on the altar and he froze, noticing something he hadn't before. Bruce stepped out of his way when he moved and walked up the stairs to a heavy wooden table. Upon one look at the display it showed his blood ran cold.

At least a dozen pictures were scattered among lit candles and each one of them showed Rachel. Sitting on a couch with Gar, both laughing. Talking with Kory. Eating breakfast in the kitchen with Hank, Dawn and Donna around. He saw himself in those photos too - training with her in one, walking with her on the street in the other, with coffee cups in their hands and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. But in most of these pictures she was alone, usually somewhere around the Tower, in her bedroom or the kitchen and it was clear all the shots were taken without her or any of them knowing. 

At the very centre of the table was a small black box. 

With a shaking hand and a heart hammering in his chest Dick reached for it and slowly lifted the lid. On a white satin pillow meant to hold some kind of jewelry lay a lock of dark blue hair, coated in crimson blood.

Dick's knees almost gave out under him, sending him on the floor.

"No."

He left those for you, Bruce said behind him. He turned to his father for a moment, his face twisting in shock and confusion, but quickly came back to the display, hoping it disappeared when he wasn't looking. Because it couldn't be real, just like this Bruce wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. But the pictures were still there, as well as the box and the candle flames were still burning. 

Go home, Dick, his father's voice rang in his ears. It seems like one way or another, the monster's been in the Tower all along. 

He couldn't take it anymore. The mix of fear, fury, worry, confusion and dozens of other conflicted emotions he couldn't name was about to explode, ripping him apart from within. He smashed his hand on the table sending all the pictures and candles flying, tossed it all on the floor in blinding rage and whipped around, ready to run out of the church. He needed to get back to the Tower, to find Rachel. Maybe this was all some kind of a sick joke, maybe Slade is bluffing, playing mind games on him to keep him on edge. Maybe it's all one big-

"Well, look who finally made it."

Dick stopped to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat. The front door to the church was open, revealing no other than Deathstroke standing in the door frame with his blade pressed to Rachel's neck. She was almost limp in his hold, barely awake but conscious enough to be standing on her feet. Her head was swaying dangerously like she's in a haze, the side of her face covered in blood oozing from a split on her temple. 

"Dick…" she muttered, her voice weak and faint as a whisper in the wind carried out in the acoustics of the place and his heart jumped to his throat. He instinctively moved, wanting to rush to her but Slade stopped him, tightening his grip on her and pressing the blade harder to her skin. A drop of blood trickled down the shiny steel and Rachel instantly stilled.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the masked man said slowly, a clear warning in his deep voice.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "What did you do to her?"

"Not much. Yet." he slowly tilted his head to the side. "I just gave her something to neutralize her powers. A small gift from this little group that eloquently calls themselves… The Organization?"

Dick felt his fists clenching so tight his knuckles must have turned white. He was trembling but unable to move. His eyes were locked on Rachel's pale face as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Questions were piling up under his skull, starting with how did this happen but there was no time for getting answers, first and foremost he needed to protect Rachel.

"I hope you enjoyed our little game." Slade continued, pushing Rachel onward so he could walk deeper into the church. She staggered on wobbly feet but he didn't let her fall. He wasn't gentle in holding her up either and hearing her grunt made Dick grit his teeth. "You must have had a nice ride around the city, following false leads and fake clues. Gave me enough time to get to this one while the others were busy jumping to each other's throats."

He risked one step forward, glaring at the face hidden behind the mask.

"What do you want from her?" he asked instead of giving Slade satisfaction by reacting to his words. "It's me you're after and I'm here. So let her go and let's get this over with. Rachel has nothing to do with this."

Slade let out a gurgling laugh and shook his head which only infuriated Dick more. His blade twitched in his hand and Rachel flinched, her face twisted in pain.

"Oh don't you see? She has everything to do with this." His masked face got uncomfortably close to Rachel's face and she turned her head away, cringing in fear and whimpering. Dick barely could hold himself back from lunging at Slade. "Poor kid. Snatched from the street, taken under the caring but broken wings of The Fallen Grayson just to be let down and end up dead. Funny how history loves to repeat itself but twists the ending at the last moment."

His arm gripped her tighter and Rachel's body tensed like a string that's about to snap. Her breath quickened and pupils widened up in terror. Their eyes met for the first time and Dick's heart broke seeing how scared she was, how she was silently begging him to save her.

"Rachel!"

"The answer is simple, Grayson." Slade hissed, fixing his grip on his sword and shifting the blade so the cold steel was now touching Rachel's cheek. "Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me." He moved the blade slowly, making a shallow cut on her face and Rachel whimpered in pain. "Now I'm taking what's yours."

And he pulled the sword down.

"DON'T!" 

Slade stopped with the sword pressed to her carotid artery and looked at Dick who was aiming at him with the gun he was holding in his hand this whole time. His finger stilled on the trigger, grip so tight his knuckles bleached but his arm - no, his entire body - was shaking. His breath became shallow and rapid, heart trying desperately to break out of its cage.

"DON'T HURT HER!" he shouted and risked taking a few steps closer. He must have looked like a madman and he wouldn't be one bit surprised because that's exactly what he felt right now - madness. "Don't you fucking touch her or I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Deathstroke scoffed.

"We both know you're not gonna shoot." he said in a tone so light like they were discussing weather or something equally trivial. 

Dick brought his other hand up to steady his grip on the weapon but in his current state it did him no good.

"Watch me."

"Are you willing to risk your precious little girl's life, like you did with Jericho? Or have you learned from your mistakes by now?"

"Don't listen to him, Dick!" Rachel suddenly spoke. Her voice was strong and she was staring at him with terrified but focused eyes. Dick let himself quietly sigh in relief. Whatever drug Slade had given her must be wearing off.

"Shut up." the assassin growled in her face, threatening her with his weapon again. She eyed the sword and gulped down hard but remained silent.

Dick took another step closer.

"Rach, look at me." he asked gently, for a moment not caring about how Slade might react. Risky move but he needed to talk to her. She did as he told her and their eyes met. "Listen, you're gonna be okay. I promise."

"Oh, isn't it adorable." Slade scoffed again, shaking his head. Dick was almost sure the man was rolling his eyes under that hideous mask. "I see you've learned nothing. Even after all this time you lie in their faces that they're gonna be safe with you. It's pathetic."

Neither of them were listening to his little tirade. While Slade was talking they were having their own silent conversation. Rachel held Dick's gaze to make sure she had his attention, then pointed her eyes at the elbow of the arm Slade was holding her with. Then her eyes went back to Dick and she mouthed one short word.

Shoot.

He shook his head, feeling a bile of fear forming in his throat. It was a huge risk. An inch to his right and the bullet could pierce Rachel's chest. All it takes is for Slade to move or Dick's arm to tremble. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the bullet went the wrong way.

But her eyes were full of faith and confidence when she was looking at him. A small smile appeared on her lips. She knew he was hesitating because of her and tried to encourage him as well as she could without Slade noticing. He could read what she was trying to tell him in her face.

I know you won't hurt me.

He would never. He'd rather die the most painful death than be the reason a single hair falls off her head.

He pulled the trigger.

Deathstroke's armor clinked when the bullet made contact with his elbow. It didn't do any damage, but that wasn't the point. Slade cried out, more surprised than hurt because he didn't think Dick would actually fire that gun, but the impact made him release Rachel from his hold. She was still swaying on unsteady feet but she instantly lunged herself to the side, hiding between the rows of benches and getting out of the way.

Good girl.

In the meantime a fight broke out between two men. Dick charged at Slade, fueled by hot rage burning inside of him. He didn't have his Robin suit anymore or any of his gadgets but his body was a weapon in itself due to years of training and experience. He was throwing kicks and punches, dodging and turning and moving. Slade threw away his sword and sent him falling on his back with one strong kick to his chest, but despite the hit pushing all air out his lungs Dick managed to quickly jump back to his feet. They danced around each other like it's a choreography learned a long time ago and the moves are now coming back to them with clarity after years of not using them. Every move of the assassin was full of precision and technicality, cold, strong and perfectly aimed while Dick filled his every action with images of those he was fighting for. He thought of Garth falling to the ground with bullet in his chest while connecting his foot with Slade's jaw, sending his head to the side. He thought of Jason hanging on one hand from one of the tallest buildings in the city with terror in his wide eyes as he punched Slade in the diaphragm so hard the skin on his knuckles split and started bleeding. He thought of Jericho bleeding out on the floor of this church when he jumped on the benches and swiftly moved to find himself behind Slade's back. And he thought of Rachel, pale as ghost and terrified, with blood trickling down her face when he round kicked Slade in the back, sending him to his knees.

"So emotional." the man grunted and straightened up. He reached for his baton and with one push of a button turned it into a spear. "So… attached."

Dick roared like an angry lion and attacked again.

This time Deathstroke got the upper hand, pushing Dick back towards the altar. Blocking the spear wasn't easy without any weapon in his hand and soon he was covered with smaller and bigger cuts. He fell on his back at the stairs, hitting the back of his head so hard his sight became foggy but he still managed to use his legs to cut Slade from his feet. However, the man didn't lose his balance, only jumped out of the way and pushed his heavy boot to Dick's chest, then pressed the blunt end of the spear to his Adam's apple.

"You were right," Deathstroke breathed out, turning the spear around. Dick heard his voice as if coming from underwater. His mask was a blur of color. "Let's get this over with." Then he raised his arm and stabbed.

But the blade never made it to Dick's chest.

First he saw a shadow looming over him and when his sight cleared he recognized the head of blue curly hair. He lifted himself on his elbows watching in horror while his heart screamed in agony.

No. Not again.

Please, not again.

Rachel pushed herself between him and Slade and shielded him with her own body, just like Jericho did five years ago.

She slowly looked down at the blade sticking out from her chest before Deathstroke harshly pulled it out. Her hands covered the wound, her fingers instantly turning red and then she swayed, about to fall down.

"Rachel, no!" Dick cried out and caught her, laying her down on his chest. A sob wrecked his body when he saw the waterfall of blood coating the front of her black sweater, making the warm wool stick to her body. He pressed his hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding while she looked up at him with those big blue eyes and he felt tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh God, Rachel. What did you do?"

"I had to- s-save you-" she choked out, a drop of blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed it tight. "I cou-couldn't let you- d-die."

In the meantime Slade stepped back and hid his weapon. He was watching the scene in front of him unfold, still as a statue.

"Now you know how it feels," he said, aiming his words at Dick, who lifted his tear-stained face to glare at the man, "to have your own child bleeding out in your arms. Death would've been a mercy for you, Grayson. This… this is a lesson you will never forget."

"I will fucking kill you." Dick snarled at him, gritting his teeth. "I'm gonna hunt you down, you hear me?!"

Deathstoke chuckled and turned his back to him.

"Good luck with that." he threw over his shoulder then headed out of the church, leaving the other two alone.

Dick made some sort of a sound. A noise that he himself couldn't even describe. It sounded as if something had brutally ripped his chest open and tore out of it. He roared like an animal, venting his despair and anger.

"Dick..." a soft whisper pierced through to his consciousness, drawing his attention. "It's okay."

Another sob shook his body.

"Rachel… Rachel, my Rachel." he whispered, hugging her and frantically brushing the hair wet with blood and sweat away from her pale face.

So much blood. He was completely covered in it now, it soaked through his clothes and bit into his skin.

"It's not okay." he shook his head. "I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around."

She managed to smile at him.

"We're supposed to… save each other… remember?"

"Not like this." he said, his voice breaking. "Never like this."

She squeezed his hand again. Their fingers, slick from her blood, entwined together tightly.

"You were my… save haven."

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Then the meaning behind her words hit him like a speeding train and he held her tighter.

"No. Don't say that." he ordered desperately. "This is not a goodbye, you hear me? You're not going anywhere."

"Dick-"

"No! Help me." he croaked, pressing their clasped hands against her bleeding heart. "Use your powers. Take my energy, absorb it."

She coughed, spitting blood. They were running out of time.

"I can't- h-heal myself."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

But she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyelids closed slowly and her head fell on his arm.

"Rachel?" Dick's voice grew louder, breaking and rising like waves away at sea. "Rachel, my baby, please, honey, open your eyes, it's me, Dick, I'm here with you, I'll always be here, please, please…"

He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, letting out a painful cry. He howled like a wolf, his shoulders trembling, heavy tears splashing on her round cheeks. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. A part if him knew it would end like this the monent he met her. But his love was too strong and he ignored the warning. Now she was paying the price. 

"Don't go, Rach." he begged, his voice shattered. "Don't leave me alone in a world without you in it."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand with such force that he felt her knuckles grinding in his grip.

Rachel, please come back. We can do this. You saved my life in more ways than you can imagine. Nothing is impossible for us. I love you, okay? I love you and please come back to me.

He reached deep into his memories. Rachel at the police station in Detroit looks up and stares at him as if she saw a ghost; Rachel, curled up in the bathtub of that crappy motel, surrounded by scraps of paper with crosses drawn on it, throws herself into his arms crying; Rachel leans over him in the asylum and reminds him of his promise to never to leave her; Rachel comes out of the fog with her head held high proudly after defeating Trigon; her smile and eyes wide open when she saw the inside of the Tower for the first time. And many, many other memories he will cherish for the rest of his life.

Heal, he begged because there was nothing else left to do. Take my life, take it all. Heal.

Something changed. Rachel's hand in his hold started getting warmer. He lifted his head slightly, blinking away tears and gasped at the sight of a bright purple glow seeping through his fingers. He watched in complete awe as the wound on her chest slowly started closing until there was nothing left beside a thin pink line that was already fading as well. The color came back to her face and she took a gulp of air, almost choking on it. Then she sat up, her eyes opened wide and she pressed her hands to her chest but to no use because there was nothing there, only drying blood on her clothes. She looked down at herself then back at him.

"How?"

He smiled at her and scooted closer. 

"I told you you can heal yourself."

Her brows furrowed in confusion but then understanding flooded her face and she smiled back.

"It wasn't just me… it was you, Dick. You willed me back to life and… and my powers listened." she grabbed his hands in hers. "I didn't heal myself, you healed me."

Still holding her other hand he reached out to cup her face. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

"All I knew was that I couldn't lose my safe haven." he whispered softly and that's all it took for her to fall into his arms.

She clung to his shirt, buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her on his lap and started rocking her gently. He loved how warm and familiar she felt in his hold, how solid and safe she was. He pressed a loving, desperate kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I love you so much." he mumbled into her skin. Rachel shivered and hugged him tighter.

"I love you, too."

Dick leaned away and took her face in his hands, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Let's get outta here, huh? We need to get you cleaned up."

She glanced at the blood on her clothes, then moved her gaze to his own bloody shirt and jacket.

"You don't look exactly better, you know?"

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, thanking God she was still here.

"Yeah, it was my favorite jacket. Now I have to burn it." they both laughed, happy to relax and lighten up, but looking at her face made him worried again. "You sure you're okay?"

Instead of answering Rachel stood up on her own and reached a hand out to him.

"Definitely."

He took it gratefully and got up to his feet, then immediately pulled her closer, crushing her to him.

"I am never letting you go again." he said, his voice hoarse and heavy from emotion. 

Rachel melted into him and took a deep breath.

"Please, don't."

Over her head he noticed Bruce standing by the church's door. His father smiled proudly at him and nodded, then slowly turned around and walked out, disappearing in the light of day.

[daydreamed-snippets]

The bell above the entryway jingles as someone slips through the door. Looking up from their work, basting a hem in a customer’s pair of trousers, the villain freezes. 

In the threshold of their store stands their nemesis’ young sidekick. Dressed in unassuming civilian clothing, they stroll in and begin to poke around the front displays of fitted ensembles, single and double-breasted suits, fine gowns, and the like. 

The villain sits there for a minute. Willing themselves to blink, to swallow, or to move their fingers along the soft trouser fabric. Something to start up their heart that stopped dead at the sight. 

It is the movement of a stack of neckties, knocked over by the sidekick that did the trick.

Obliging, their heart roars to life, hammering a threatening beat. Adrenaline dumps into their system like a drug as they flip up the presser foot on their industrial sewing machine, and slide their chair back. They flounder for the long metal bar they secured to the underside of their sewing table. Their powers teeming to life, ready to call specific metals they’d hidden throughout the back of the store to come into their waiting hands.

How the hell did their nemesis find this place anyway? This little hole-in-the-wall tailor shop, near the bottoms in Relictus City? 

Damn it! 

This place is lost now. Their livelihood would likely be burned to cinders in the upcoming crusade. How frustrating, since it took them months to vet a dozen or so locations before choosing this one. Sure that no hero of the Covenant would find it, only to be met with the sidekick’s appearance.

Or was this a joke? Did their nemesis need a hole patched in their super suit? Probably put there by the villain themselves. Their store wasn’t exactly a five-star boutique that most of the heroes preferred. Those were located in the more affluent parts of the city—where the sidekick should be perusing. Not here.

Or maybe this was just karma. The universe’s version of a kick in the teeth. Of punishing them for getting too complacent in this place. Of becoming too accustomed to working odd hours in the little shop then heading upstairs to the maisonette, their living quarters above. They’d placed their major bases (they had three) far from this location, hoping to avoid this very situation. No cross-contamination. They were smart about it. 

Well, it looks like it didn’t work. 

The villain tenses, ready for a fight as the sidekick makes their way through the store. Around unopened boxes and half-dressed mannequins. They sidestep a display case and approach the only other customer there who was browsing, trying to kill time while they waited on that hem. Rocking back on their heels, the sidekick smiled impishly. “Hey? Do you work here?” 

Barely looking up from the rows of tabled dress shirts, the customer shakes their head and gestures towards the back of the store. 

Fuck. 

A power core they hid in the cabinetry near the cash register silently darts into the villain’s hand. They hold it behind their back, trying to stay out of sight until the last moment. This may get messy. And the civilian; their customer….

They glance over at them. Unassuming and pathetically ordinary. The villain supposes they would become an unavoidable casualty in this skirmish. Especially once their nemesis barges through the door, leveling the place. 

Or maybe they could avoid bloodshed. That would be best given that they were probably outnumbered. Scores of Covenant guards and other lesser heroes waiting to pounce just outside of the large bay windows.

The villain takes a step back, hoping such a move wouldn’t draw any attention to themselves. Twelve steps in retreat would take them to the stairs that led to their apartment. If they could only make it…

“I know you’re there,” came the youthful voice. The villain startles, choosing to remain rooted to their spot. They would take their last stand here. The sidekick squeezes between stacks of boxes the villain has yet to unload and comes to the kiosk cash register. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.” 

The villain swallowed, wondering if the kid was wearing a wire. If their nemesis could hear this interaction. If they were loving this ambush. “You’ve disguised this place pretty well. It was really hard to find. But the jig is up. I’m here.”

Even in the loose sweatshirt, beanie and jeans, the sidekick strikes a pose. Chest out, hands on their hips and a wry smile pulling at the corners of their mouth. 

The villain let out a steadying breath and flips on the power core. It swells to life with a low hum. 

“I see that,” they say, on edge. Ready to strike. 

“You’re going to be grateful that it was me, and not someone else. You’ll see that I’m the only one fit for the job.”

“Excuse me?”

The sidekick let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry. I’m really trying hard to sell myself. That’s what her—I mean, my friend told me to do.”

“...What?”

“You put the ‘help wanted’ ad online? Plus you have a sign out front. I’m here to apply.” They presented the actual sign, holding it up proudly. “I’m here for the job.”

“Ah…,” the villain scrambled to recover. “Do you have any prior experience?”

“Well, no,” they said, shuffling their feet. They place the sign on the kiosk before shoving their hands in the pocket of their sweatshirt. They look hopeful. “But I’m a quick learner.”

What. The. Hell?

“I need an experienced tailor,” the villain said, playing the part. Looking above the sidekick’s head, to the street outside their window. Where was their nemesis? What the hell is this? “I’ve been getting a lot of business lately, and I find myself a bit overwhelmed.”

“Ok, so I can’t sew,” the sidekick starts, “but I can do anything else you need me to. I can sweep, and dust. I can answer phones. I can manage your online store. I’m good with computers. Social media is practically my playground.” They catch the doubtful look on the villain’s face. “Oh, please! It would give you more time to, you know, sew and whatever else you do. I can start as an intern. For a week. No pay. If you don’t like me then you can yeet me out the door. Promise.”

“Ok…” This was an unusual tactic, but maybe their nemesis banked on the hope that the villain wouldn’t recognize them. Stil… they needed more information. Or at least time to figure out what was going on. “Why do you want to work here?”

The sidekick hesitates. “I need to get away...from where I’m at.” They look up at the villain reading their concerned expression. “Oh, no! It’s not like that. I’m not running away. I just want a… vacation.”

“You want a vacation doing menial work?” 

“I want to get away. And to make some money while I do it. You know. To have an emergency fund. Just in case.” They shuffled their feet. “So do I got the job or not. I have six other places to go to before it gets dark. Maybe they’ll hire me if you don’t.”

Interesting. Very interesting. Especially if what the kid says is true that their nemesis doesn’t know that their sidekick is here at all, begging for a job. This could play in their favor. It would be risky. A big risk. On one hand, their nemesis could be playing the long game. Drawing this farce out. Goading the villain into revealing their associates. Base locations. Possible details of their plans. But if their nemesis had no idea the sidekick was here...

“Do your parents know you’re here?” the villain tentatively tries. 

“I don’t live with my parents. But my legal guardian said I could do whatever I wanted with my free time. So, here I am.”

The villain holds their hand out for the crumpled piece of paper tucked in the sidekick’s front pocket. Their resume, the villain assumes and assumes correctly. The sidekick hands it over and they skim its contents. 

Member of the Sidekick Foundation, though it doesn’t say in what capacity. So if the villain was truly clueless, they wouldn’t know if the sidekick was truly a sidekick or just as a full-time student. Their legal guardian is the superhero Fission. Only it doesn’t say that. No, the sidekick has put down Fission’s real name. And their real name. Their age—sixteen years old—and their skills.

Gods, this kid’s naivety was sickening. On this paper alone, the villain had more than what they could garnish from three months of reconnaissance. Names. Place of residence. Contact information. 

“The store opens at 8 am,” the villain instructed, ignoring the sidekick’s delighted face. “Be here at seven. You can start by opening up these boxes, and putting the clothing on hangers. You’ll have to answer the phone if it rings while you’re doing this. Then the shop needs a good dusting and the bathroom in the back needs attention. You will get an hour lunch break, and the day ends at 4 pm.” The villain looked them up and down. “And try to wear something nicer than a sweatshirt.”

The sidekick breaks into a grin, thanks them profusely, and practically sprints out the door. 

The villain hopes they won’t regret this.